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cognacdelights · 5 days

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Stay With Me

A Supernatural Story

~Dean is into his second bottle of whiskey, desperate to drive his problems away. But he knows deep down, the booze isn't what he truly needs...~

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

1,390 Words

Warnings: Bittersweet Angst

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

In one fluid motion, he cracked the seal on the new bottle of whiskey and plopped back down into his chair. The old seat groaned and the wheels rolled back a bit, sliding with the force of his weight over the polished floor.

Dean poured himself another healthy shot and stared down into the glass, enjoying how the light from the glowing table beneath set the crystal aflame. His lips turned in a half smile and he sighed.

“If you hold it up to the light at the right angle, you can see a rainbow.”

Y/N’s voice hit his ear and he lifted the glass to his lips, smiling even wider as she came into view.

Dressed in his old green flannel and seemingly nothing else, she leaned against the archway, arms and bare ankles crossed. He looked up and licked a drop of drink from his lips, savoring the taste and the way she looked. Her hair was a beautiful mess, the day’s makeup smudged around her eyes like she had meant it to look that way. Her mouth still held a faint stain from her faded lipstick and she pouted as he stared, driving his mind towards unholy thoughts.

“Rough day?” she asked, pushing off the tiles to walk slowly towards him.

“You should know,” he sighed around the rim of the tumbler. “You were with me.”

Y/N nodded and pulled out the chair across from him. “True.”

He eyed her over the glass, loving the way she sat down so delicately only to slump against the back of the chair. She leaned back and kicked her feet up onto the map, toes casting a shadow over Brazil.

“But really, it wasn’t that bad,” she teased. “Not bad enough for a second bottle of bourbon, anyway.”

“It’s whiskey,” he corrected.

She shrugged. “Same thing.”

Dean shook his head and set the glass down, fingers lingering on the sharp edges of the design. “Not true. Bourbon is always whiskey, but whiskey ain’t always bourbon. This is just straight up, get ya drunk, forget your life for a few hours whiskey.”

She knocked her feet off the table and turned to face him head on. “And why would you want to forget your life, Mr. Winchester? What’s so horrible lately that you’d want it to go away?”

He laughed sadly, bowing his head, avoiding her eyes. “Oh, you know me. Just being overdramatic.”

Y/N leaned forward and set her clasped hands in front of her. The ring he’d given her glinted in the warm golden light from below and Dean’s gaze was locked on the antique silver and brilliant red stone.

He remembered when they saw it in that little shop outside Paramus. The old hippie behind the counter told them that carnelian was special, used for protection and to ward off evil spirits. Y/N had laughed so brilliantly when she heard that, rolling her eyes at the thought of a cheap little ring keeping the demons away. Her smile had been so beautiful that Dean doubled back later that day and purchased the ring for her.

She never took it off.

“Dean Winchester, you are never overdramatic,” she asserted. “Medium dramatic, sure. A little crazy sometimes? We all are. But never overdramatic. Under dramatic if anything.”

She winked and Dean’s shoulders relaxed, his heart melting for her like it did every time she was close by. He was quiet for a long moment, just studying her face. Memorizing the way the lights and shadows played on her cheeks, the unique line of her nose, the fan of lashes curved over her pretty eyes. She was engraved in his mind, her face always hiding just behind his closed eyes.

“Under dramatic, huh?” He took a sip and let the whiskey burn his tongue a bit before swallowing. His mouth was mostly numb by now, but the little bit at the roof of his mouth still felt and that feeling needed to be punished.

“You know I’m right,” she grinned and sat back. “I always am.”

Dean chuckled and drained the glass. “Sure are.”

It was an old joke between them. She was always right no matter the situation, no matter the topic being discussed. The unwritten rule was that even when wrong, Y/N was always right. She also seemed to win every single competition and argument. A smile could get her out of trouble, a pout would break him enough to roll over and let her win. Every single time.

“You’re damned right, Winchester. I’m always right.” She dipped her chin and stared at him, gorgeous eyes peeling back the mask he so often hid behind. “So, spill. What’s wrong?”

Dean licked his lips and tried to look away. “I’m fine.”

She clicked her tongue. “Bull. What’s going on?”

Again, he tried to tear his eyes away, but he was locked in her gaze, trapped by her voice. “Nothing.”

With a huff, she stood up and kicked the chair away with her right foot. It coasted across the floor until it hit the wall and spun around on itself.

Slowly, she walked around the table and perched on the edge next to him. He closed his eyes for a second, breathing in the sweet smell of her. Faint coconut and something sugary filled his senses and Dean leaned back with a squeak of antique coils.

Y/N reached for his glass and Dean watched as she lifted it to her lips, held her breath, took a long sip. She shivered as it burned down her throat and coughed gently.

“This is terrible,” she laughed, setting the tumblr back down.

He nodded. “It’s not great.”

“So, what’s got you trying to kill your liver with the worst fucking whiskey I’ve ever tasted?”

She wiggled a bit to get more comfortable, spreading her knees just enough to touch his leg with her toes. He melted into the touch and fought back a fresh wave of tears.

He knew she wouldn’t let it go until he confessed, knew she’d keep on teasing and prodding until he gave her what she wanted. But he couldn’t say it aloud, couldn’t let the words leave his head and fly out into the world.

If he did, she would leave.

He needed her there, just for a little while longer.

Needed to smell her coconut lotion, feel her toes on his thigh, see her sweet smile. He needed to hear her say his name in that sweet, secret tone she only used with him.

A single tear slipped through his defenses, sliding carelessly down his cheek.

Y/N gasped under her breath and reached for it, wiping the wet away with the soft pad of her thumb. “Oh, baby… it’s ok.”

Before she could pull away, Dean grabbed her wrist. He wrapped his fingers tight around her arm and held her there, letting her heat fill his mind, soothe the pain.

“It’s not OK, Y/N/N,” he whispered. He closed his eyes and took a breath, one last drink of her air, her being. “I- I don’t want you to go.”

She leaned forward, dropped a kiss to the top of his head. “I have to, Dean. You know that.”

Drunken tears flowed freely; his throat closed tight. “Please,” he begged, close to choking on his grief. “Stay with me. Just a little bit longer…”

Y/N sighed and slid down off of the table, her hand still locked in his. “I’m sorry, baby. I have to go.” She chewed her lip and smiled softly. “But I’ll always be with you. I promise.”

Green eyes rose to her face. She was haloed in something brighter than the Bunker’s lights, something sacred, some glow cast down from Heaven.

“Please… Stay with me.”

Her image began to fade but her smile never did.

Dean closed his eyes, kissed her hand, whispered her name into the empty room.

She was gone again, drawn back into his memory, a ghost only in his whiskey addled mind.

He knew she wasn’t really there when she appeared- he’d set the pyre ablaze himself. But still, whenever he met the bottom of a bottle, he’d dream her up and feel her spirit around him. Nights like these he wondered if maybe, if somehow… she had stayed with him.

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!) @alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05

#well now i’m crying #it’s 2am and i am crying #so thank you!!!#this hurt me #fic recs #dean winchester

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cognacdelights · 17 days

Note

Hello, me again

Could you make also, a Dean having erotic/dirty dream with his female best friend or rival (or a best friend that is also a rival).

And all that she does remember him of his smut dreams

Not So Sweet Dreams

Author note: Sorry for the delay, I've been super busy with unrelated things, but I had a lot of fun writing this and trying to get into Dean's mind set. I hope it's what you wanted and that you enjoy it!

Pairing: Dean Winchester/F!Reader

Rating: M/18+

Words: 3349

Content: Dean being jealous and over-protective. Male gaze/male fantasies, drinking, swearing, violence, blood, vampires, arguing, hatesex, (kinda) subby Dean, teasing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, p in v sex, woman on top.

Please remember: That you deserve love.

You were being surprisingly level-headed about the whole thing. The two of you had inadvertently wound up at the same nightclub, hunting the same nest of vampires. You’d begrudgingly agreed to work together, two hunters are better than one, after all. But you’d been reckless. You, strutting around in your skimpy black dress to get their attention, acting drunk and helpless, had been part of the plan. Watching you had undoubtedly been his favourite part. You letting one of the vamps take you into the back office without warning and without backup was not. You were supposed to lure them outside, not deeper into the building, behind far more security. By the time Dean had found a way to stealthily follow, he’d found you in a precarious position. Time seemed to stand still as he took a moment to process the sight. Your dress, or what was left of it, was all but hanging off as you fought back against not one but THREE bloodsuckers. The image of your ass in that tiny little thong, would be etched into his mind until the day he died. When he found his bearings again, he stepped up. If there is one thing he’s good at, it's decapitating vampires. Even you couldn’t deny how quickly and skilfully he’d taken out your opponents before swooping you into his arms and taking you back to the car. He’d expected your normally ungrateful ass to be, well… ungrateful. After years of reluctantly crossing paths, he’d come to expect your brash, defiant attitude but you were taking the whole thing pretty well. In fact, he was considering how he might slip you some holy water when your voice interrupted his thoughts. “Thank you so much again, Dean.” You purred, and he looked over at you, sitting in the remnants of your disguise and his jacket, comfortable and safe in the passenger seat of his baby. The words sounded all wrong coming out of your mouth, but he wasn’t complaining. You reached over and patted his inner thigh, making his breath hitch as you continued. "Really, I’m so grateful.” At that moment, he pulled up outside the motel the two of you were checked into, separately. Taking advantage of your newly found pliable nature, Dean asked, while cocking his thumb towards his room; “You wanna come in? Have a drink?” You nodded and allowed him to slip his arm around your waist as he led the way. You didn’t object when he guided you to sit on his lap or brush him off as he examined the scrapes and bruises on your arms. “I didn’t know you could be so well-behaved.” He teased as he finished tending to the worst of your wounds. You giggled in response, actually fucking giggled; it was magical and confusing as hell. “What is up with you today?” “I want you, Dean,” you replied, looking down at him through your lashes. You placed your hand on his cheek, gently pulling him closer until your lips locked. Your lips were so soft against his, and in that moment, he decided to stop questioning your personality transplant and just go with it—at least for the night.

Every tiny detail of his illicit dream flashed through Dean's mind now as he watched you across the dancefloor. Your little black dress wasn’t quite the same as in his dream, but it and everything else was damn close enough. Where your weapons were hidden was totally beyond him.

You’d been less than thrilled when you’d bumped into him at the motel, but had reluctantly agreed to team up with him for the hunt. The similarities should make him nervous, but he just couldn’t seem to make himself care in the moment. Not at the sight of you, seemingly lost to the music, dancing beneath the flashing lights. Your body was so much hotter than he’d dreamed it. He was so engrossed in the sway of your hips that he barely noticed the glare you shot him before shimmying further into the crowd.

Dean takes a swig of the beer he’d bought as a prop, attempting to clear his head from the fantastical image of your hips, naked and riding him, from the way your body curved with each move. This is gonna be a long night. With another sip of his beer, he starts walking, patrolling the club, taking stock of the exits, the staff, all the things he should be keeping tabs on.

When he sees you again, you’re seated at the bar, smiling, chatting with a bloodsucker whose hand is so far up your thigh he’s surprised you aren’t squirming. In his dreams, your skin burned hot, and your breathing hitched when he ran his hand between your legs.

He slows, trying to eavesdrop, but he can’t make out a word over the booming music and the hustle of the crowd. He wants to head up to the bar to get closer in case you need help. But he can’t afford the risk of making a scene, so he keeps walking, intent on circling the building once more before finding a vantage point he can monitor you from. But when he returns, you’ve left the bar.

Cursing under his breath, he scans his environment; he finds you on the other side of the floor. Stumbling around in the arms of the same handy bloodsucker you’d been pawing at the bar. He should have fucking known this would happen. Exasperated, he watches as you’re guided through a door with a keypad, not an exit door. You were being herded into some kind of off-limits staff area. This was not the plan.

He pulled out his phone, watching intently as he waited for the time display to change. As much as it killed him, he couldn’t hurry in, guns blazing. That would put you at even more risk. As soon as 3 minutes had passed, he checked his surroundings for fangbangers before marching to the door. Luckily, the keypad was old, and the numbers 1278 were worn. He started punching in codes until the door gave way on 1827. The hallway was clear, and he could hear commotion coming from a room at the end of the hall.

When he entered, you were anything but the helpless damsel he’d saved in his dream. You looked powerful and radiant. You were stood tall, fully dressed, and swinging your knife at one of the four vamps as they attempted to advance on you, until you locked eyes with Dean. The swing of you knife had stuck the landing, but the distraction had opened you for an attack from behind. The biggest of your opponents had grabbed you, forcing you into a full-nelson, rendering your arms almost entirely useless. Regardless, you bucked your hips up and kicked at the vamp still in front of you.

That’s when fight mode kicked in for Dean. He pulled his machete from its risky position tucked in the inside of his jeans and started swinging at the other two vampires, taking one out almost instantly. The other was smarter and faster, dodging his strikes and mouthing off every chance he got. Dean didn’t bother quipping back. This was the same vamp who’d been cosying up with you earlier, and he didn’t want to waste any more energy on him.

By the time he’d taken the vamp out, you’d gotten free and were evading the big guy. It seemed your knife was laced with some potent dead man’s blood, because the one you’d stabbed earlier was whimpering on the floor. Dean put the thing out of its misery as he crossed the room to help you.

You had to tag team the last one, taking turns distracting and swinging for it until Dean landed the decapitating blow.

He turned to you, grinning and ready to brag about taking out most of them alone, but he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the nasty gash you were cupping, leading from your shoulder and over your chest. There were more, up and down your arms. Instead, he barked, harsher than intended. “We should get out of here. Fast.”

“But there’s still more.” You argued.

“I don’t care.” His anger didn’t let up. He grabbed you by the wrist, ensuring there were no injuries there first, and began pulling you into the hall. “We’ll deal with that later, let's go.”

He’d offered you his jacket, but you’d declined. This was not how he’d dreamed it. You sat in the passenger seat of his baby, your dress torn and bloodied, your face sour, refusing to look at him. He heard you take a deep breath and braced himself for your snide comment.

“What were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed.” You didn’t even sound mad, you stated it like a fact.

He couldn’t help but do a double take as he processed your words. “Me? We had a plan, and that wasn’t it. What were you thinking, going off alone with them?”

“I had to think on my feet, and it was going perfectly until you barged in and fucked it all up. God I am so sick of you.”

“Perfect my ass! Putting yourself in dange-”

“I was fine, YOU put me in danger.” He opened his mouth to interject but you continued, going full rant. “They saw you sniffing around the club, and when you broke in, they saw you on the CCTV. It wasn’t exactly hard to put 2+2 together. You always do this, you underestimate me. I am not some damsel in distress, I can handle myself.”

The air was thick with bitter tension as he drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence. He didn’t like you going off alone like that, but maybe you had a point. Hunting wasn’t exactly the safest of jobs, and you’d made it this far without him. He should have apologised or tried to smooth things over, but instead, he asked, “Well, princess, will you at least let me patch you up?”

You watched with furrowed brows as he cocked his thumb to point at his room. He’d expected you to ignore him and head for your own room, but you agreed with a nod and crossed your arms as you followed him inside.

He didn’t try getting you to sit in his lap. You sat yourself on the end of the bed as he located his makeshift first-aid pack.

“Should I put the TV on?” He asks, knowing it’ll likely be a long, quiet process if not.

You glare, and he knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s reminded of the look you’d given him across the dancefloor earlier and everything else he’s associated with it. Eventually, you answer. “Whatever.”

He sighs, switches on the TV, and begins patching you up in silence. He tries to be gentle, but the alcohol makes you hiss and groan as he cleans you up. Every moan evokes an indecent image that makes his skin burn with inappropriate arousal. He wonders if you sound the same in bed.

When the worst of the damage is patched up, he starts cleaning up the excess blood, checking for any he might have missed. Blood from the cut across your chest has gathered and congealed in your cleavage. He hooks a finger on the low neckline of your dress and looks to your face for approval. You’re unbothered, eyes fixated on the TV screen with such distaste he wonders if inanimate objects can take offence.

He tugs at the dress, not enough to expose anything but enough to get your attention. You glance down at his hand, then to his face, and shrug before diverting your attention back to the TV. Taking that as permission, he pulls your dress down, almost certainly too far. He takes an involuntary moment to soak in the image, blood and bandages included, you were a vision in your lacy black bra.

Your deliberate coughing brought him back to the present, and he made quick work of cleaning your chest, avoiding your gaze as he worked. When he was done, you pulled your dress back up without delay. You made no move to get up, and he made no effort to move you. Instead, you continued to sit in awkward silence. Both of you too stubborn to speak first.

When you finally broke the silence, you didn’t sound angry anymore, just tired, worried. “The rest of the nest is gonna be on our trail.”

“I know.” He conferred, trying to match your energy. “But it’s almost sunrise, we have time to rest and regroup before tomorrow night.”

“And will I be allowed to fight them, or would you like to cover me in bubble wrap?” Your voice still lacked malice, just sarcasm.

Without taking the time to think through his words, Dean replied. “You can do whatever you want. Just don’t blame me when you get yourself killed, or worse turned.”

“There you go again.” You leaned away from him, rolling your eyes, exasperated. “All your mouth does is talk dumb shit.”

“My mouth does plenty, thank you very much.”

“Like what?” You ask, tone defiant as you watch him through your lashes. The words were wrong, but the intense gaze matched his fantasy. He half expected you to reach out and pull him in for a kiss. When you don’t, he does it for you. You taste like salt and booze, but your lips are so soft, they melt right into his.

When you pull away, he braces himself for you to yell, or punch, or leave, but instead, your eyes rake over his face. He notices the heat in his cheeks when you comment, “Are you blushing, Winchester? Because of me?”

“No, it’s hot in here.” He replies curtly, still not wanting to give you the upper hand.

“Funny.” You aren’t laughing as you look around the room. “I’m pretty cold.”

“You lost a lot of blood. That’s one of the symptoms.”

“Isn’t delirium also a symptom. If it’s that bad, are you taking advantage of me?” You raise brows at him, challenging him.

In return, he shoots you with the most puppy-dog concerned face he can muster. “Are you? Delirious? Should we stop?”

“No, get back over here and kiss me.” Now you reach for him, placing both hands on his cheeks and pulling him closer until your lips lock again. Mid kiss, you straddle him, holding him still with your arm around his neck as you begin to grind against his clothed erection.

He paws at the skirt of your dress until you get the hint and pull it over your head. He only gets a second to enjoy the view before you return the gesture, lifting his shirt up until he finishes the job for you. By the time he’s done, you’ve removed your bra as well. He greets the unobstructed sight of your breasts by planting himself between them, lavishing them with his mouth, sucking and nibbling at your nipples as you roll your hips against him.

Offering you reprieve, he pulls back to watch you as he dips his hand into your panties, happy to be greeted by the slick between your folds. Not bothering to tease, he plunges a finger straight in, enjoying the way your heat immediately clenches around him. He pumps the solo digit a few times before adding a second and a third, and you take each one perfectly. The sounds you make are just how he’d dreamed it, but also somehow better.

The best sound is the squeal you make as he quickly retracts his fingers and switches your position, laying you flat on your back as he straddles your thighs. You take it in your stride, however, and plant your hands on his shoulder before slipping them down his chest to hook into the waistband of his jeans. You work together to undo his belt and jeans. Dean shimmies them down just low enough to expose his dick. You must like what you see because he notices the way you lick your lips at the sight. He makes a mental note to see about putting your mouth to good use at a later time.

Your whole body seems to shiver when he runs the tip of his hardened cock between your slit, deliberately circling your clit.

“You like that?” He coos.

You respond by pushing him off you. He concedes, rolling onto his back and letting you mount him once again. “Shut up.”

He laughs but otherwise does as he’s told, barely able to keep his composure as he takes in the sight of you. You grip his cock, pumping a few times before you start lining him up with your entrance, and he prays you don’t mock his blushing again.

You don’t say anything, but you lock eyes with him as you slide his cock between your lips and sink down onto him. Fuck, you feel so fucking good, better than he could have imagined. Your walls are tight and wet around him, and he can’t help but grip onto your hips, not to force you down, but to make sure you don’t retreat.

When you reach the base, you seize all movement, presumably allowing yourself to adjust, but he can’t help rocking his hip beneath you. You both groan in sync at the feeling.

“Impatient.” You scold, but your voice is soft and dreamy.

“Can’t help it.” He returns, thrusting up again and enjoying the way your eyes roll back in response. “You feel too good, you take it so well.”

You glare at him, challenging him as you reposition your feet, readying to start, and he bites his lip in anticipation.

With no further warning, you start riding him, setting a fast, reckless pace, and releases your hips to fists at the sheets, trying to distract himself from the fact he’s already about to blow his load.

“I think I’m gonna-”

He’s cut off by the immediate narrowing of your eyes. “Don’t you dare, not until I’ve cum first. You owe me.”

“Fuck. Yes ma’am.” He groans through gritted teeth as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock.

It’s agonising, watching you sway above him, taking what you want from his body. He watches with bated breath as you start to play with your clit, pleasuring yourself. His whole-body jerks, trying to hold back when he feels your walls squeeze around him. You lol your head back, moaning to the ceiling when you finally hit your climax.

Your body slows as you try to catch your breath, but it’s Dean's turn. He sits up, lifting you by your ass just enough to ease the process of him rutting up into your leaking cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum deep inside you.” He chants.

You nod, blasé and tell him; “Do it.”

As if on demand, he shoots his load, spilling inside you with a loud, animalistic groan.

Your weight falls on him, your head resting against his shoulder. He feels his own energy slowly draining as well, but that doesn’t stop him from placing absentminded kisses on the back of your neck as he carefully falls back against the bed, taking you with him. Of everything that had happened that night, cuddling was the most surprising to him.

After a few minutes he speaks up, shifting to guide you back up. His soft cock slips out, and he feels his own cum drip back onto him. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, taking his queue, standing from bed, and heading for the bathroom to get cleaned up. “And we should really start working on a plan nightfall.”

“Maybe we should get some rest first. Regroup when we're not both exhausted.”

“Are you kidding.” Your head pokes out of the bathroom door. “They could be on our trail right now… What?”

“Nothin’.” He shrugs. All the tension you’d just released together was already building back up. “You just don’t ever fucking change.”

#oh this was hot #baby boy is so in love and she’s NOT having any of it #dean winchester #fic recs

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