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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 2 years

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༉‧₊˚. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝? || 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

― pairing: dean winchester x plus size!reader

― summary: dean's always up to try something new.

― warnings: oral sex (fem rec.), face sitting, face riding, dean's a thigh man, a weak attempt at banter, dean lowkey has a smothering kink.

⋆ a/n: this is part one of the hungry man series! this is yet another filler as i work on getting caught up with kinktober :] thank you for your kind words!

masterlist | iahm masterlist | AO3

You loved trying out the new things in the bedroom, it's what kept things exciting between you and Dean. When he had the time, he'd restrain you, play with your senses, even deprive you of an orgasm, but strange enough, out of all the things he could have chosen to pick tonight, he chose something extremely vanilla; at least to you.

"Hey, sweetpea?" Dean called for you. He was sitting up in your shared bed, gaze locked on his laptop; you were laying over the edge, your face stuffed in a book that you were reading. "Yeah?" You mumbled, flipping the page as your eyes trailed along the new scentence. "Why haven't you ever asked to sit on my face?" Your head snapped to look at him, an incredulous look on your face. "Well— I uh— to be honest with you, I haven't really thought about it, you know? With everything we've done, it seems kind of— I don't know. . . vanilla?" He nodded in understanding, shutting his laptop and patting his chest.

"Well all-aboard the Winchester express." He had a shit eating grin on his face as he sat up to tug his shirt off, his bare chest now exposed to the cool air of the bunker. "You wanna try it now? Like right right now?" You asked with a raised brow. "Why not? We're not doin' nothin' and I'm a hungry man." You giggled at his words, an amused smirk on your face as you gave in quickly. "Can it, Winchester." You laid on your back, lifting your hips to pull off your pants and underwear, throwing them to the other side of the room before sitting on your knees.

"You got to scoot down a little more, dont'cha think?" You teased. "Oh, so you know more than me now?" He retorted, but nonetheless took your advice and moved down a bit. "I never said that." He snorted at that, but there was no malice in your banter, only now a tense atmosphere settling over the two of you as his eyes locked on your heat. "Come to papa." He mumbled to himself as you clambered onto his firm chest.

You settled over his face, Dean's big palms placing themselves on the sides of your thighs.

"What's wrong, scared?" You scoffed and lowered down a bit, your wetness smearing on his lips a bit in a teasing manner. "Not in the slightest." With that, you fully sat down, your boyfriend's eager tongue licking a blood stripe through your slit, finally getting to taste you. You moaned, locking your fingers in his hair. It wasn't long before you were grinding desperately on his face, his nose snug against your swollen clit.

With every jerk of his head that you provoked, his tongue traveled further into your entrance, pushing in and massaging your inner walls with his eager appendage. You squirm above him as desperate pants of air leaving your mouth, your head thrown back and your eyes tightly closed. Dean was entranced by you; even though your large stomach slightly blocked his view of you, your noises and taste alone was enough to make you sound ethereal, absolutely perfect and all for him.

Your hips moved on their own accord, fucking yourself onto his stupidly handsome face as his three'o clock shadow scratched against your inner thighs, causing a bit of beard burn that only added to your pleasure as you got closer to your orgasm. Dean could sense it, the way you were squeezing around his tongue, your whole-body tensing and your moans getting louder as every minute passed you two by. He switched to wrap his lips around your clit, sucking harshly and licking the bud that made you almost completely melt, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave as you painted his mouth with your release.

He pulled away from you once you whimpered in overstimulation, taking the time to catch his own breath since his face was red, his lungs burning from his sparse amount of intake. There were many times that Dean had died, and it wasn't the way he wanted, but if suffocating between these favorite thighs of his while slurping on your delectable pussy were his way to go, he'd be more than grateful— hell, even write it on his gravestone.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice gravelly as he looked up at you. He massaged your hips comfortingly, helping to bring you back down to earth just in case. "Are you kidding me?" You giggled, "Of fucking course I am." He laughed along with you, despite his smile being covered with your juices.

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green-fifteen · 1 year

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Day 6: Stretch

Fandom: Supernatural

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Word count: 2,988

written for @fluffyfebruary

read on ao3 instead

Dean’s boyfriend is an angel. Probably lots of people say that, but when Dean says it, it’s actually true.

Castiel is the whole package: wings, good looks, asshole parents, you name it. Dean asked him if he kept a halo lying around and he’d just never seen it, but Cas told him that those 14th century paintings were rotting his brain. Well, he didn’t say it like that, but that was the gist. He even has a special, terrible, otherworldy form that he won’t show to Dean.

“I do not want your brain to leak from your eyes,” he’d said, but Dean thinks he’ll wear him down eventually.

Despite being an actual angel, Castiel is getting the hang of living with humans pretty well. Dean worked very hard to socialize him and teach him all the right vocabulary. There are still hiccups, but they’re working on those as they come up.

Like, the other week Cas had gone with Dean to buy groceries. While he was in another section, Cas had found the free samples. Dean arrived in time to see the kosher sausage saleswoman begin to sob. Dean rushed to comfort her while Cas chewed a frank with scientific interest. What did you say to her? he questioned in the car. Cas looked impatient. I told her the sausage was not actually kosher. And that her mother won’t kick her out for dating the girl at the cheese counter. I was being kind, Dean. Dean had given him a dubious look and lectured him about boundaries until they got home.

Anyway, even accounting for the occasional misstep, Cas is doing much better in human society than he had been four years ago. Sure, people can usually tell he’s an angel just by looking at him, but it’s not like that’s a secret. In fact, Dean practically writes it on his forehead in the mirror every morning, he mentions it so much. I CAN KISS AN ANGEL WHENEVER I WANT!

And it’s not that Dean is smug about locking down a divine creature of unknowable power (although he is), he just thinks Cas shouldn’t have to hide in his own town. He’s aware that some angels do hide, when they live among humans. Cas’s brother Michael moved to Tulsa and wears straps to keep his wings down inside his power suits. He says it’s only until he can find a job, but Dean doesn’t want that for Cas. Not ever.

Even before he really knew Cas, he was fascinated by his angelic nature. The first time he saw him, they’d both been sixteen. Dean was coming home with Sam, who was in the same school as him for once and taking the same bus. He was taller than him at only twelve years old. (Yeah, his brother was a genius who skipped grades. Dean was sick with pride but pretended to make a fuss about his kid brother harshing his game with the high school chicks. Sam just rolled his eyes and told him to stop blustering. ???)

A boy with gigantic wings had been standing in the driveway of the house next to theirs, helping the adults move boxes from an oversized U-Haul. His back had been turned to them, so he hadn’t noticed either of them slowly walking up the path to their front door. Dean and Sam both were staring openly, forgetting themselves in their surprise at seeing some kind of bird-boy in a weird linen shift.

It was Sam who gasped softly and said, “Dean, I think he’s an angel,” which is why he’s the genius. The angel kid had turned around and seen them then, but he didn’t react except to stare, creepily. His parents noticed him looking and made some hand gestures and then the boy sighed and walked over. They were frozen on the paving stones, watching him approach.

“Mother and Chuck said to introduce myself. I’m called Castiel, in your tongue.”

Just as he finished speaking, the door to their house opened and their father called, “Hey, Stretch, get the good rune-chalk from the cellar, would you? We’re re-doing the basement tonight.”

Sam stomped off rudely, obedient and irritated. Dean didn’t have the talent for wards like his brother did, which was just as well in his book because he didn’t have to do stupid shit like play twister with chalk lines in the cold-as-hell basement.

Dean and Castiel watched as he rounded the house, then focused on each other once more. They made eye contact and Dean wanted to smile at the serious expression on his face, but he didn’t.

“I’m Dean,” he said and reached out a hand. It hovered lamely in the air when Castiel didn’t take it. He pulled it back and wiped his palm on his jeans.

“So, you guys just move to town?” he asked, awkwardly.

Castiel glanced back at the U-Haul. “Yes.” His tone said obviously.

“Uh, how do you like it?”

“We arrived 40 minutes ago.”

Dean was beginning to wish he was better at drawing runes. He made a few more lame attempts at small talk, hoping Castiel would remember he was supposed to be helping his parents with the truck full of boxes and let Dean escape inside. He didn’t, just answered Dean’s inane questions with bone-dry syllables and never stopped looking directly in his eyes.

“Listen,” Dean said eventually. “I’ve got homework to do and dinner and stuff.” And to be polite, he said, “Maybe you could come over for dinner? Anytime you want to, you guys are welcome.”

He cringed at himself. His dad would probably not like hosting the neighbors for dinner and honestly, Dean didn’t even know these people. What if he’d just sentenced his family to an entire night of conversations as awkward as this one?

The angel had accepted the invitation with disproportionate gravity (I thank you for opening your home to us, Dean) and they’d parted. The next night, he showed up at the Winchester’s front door at 5 o’clock, alone.

“Is this too early?” he asked, peering around Dean into the house.

Dean shook his head mutely, gave him a polite smile, and waved him inside. When he stepped in, Dean’s dad looked up at them, gave Castiel a quick once-over, then quirked an eyebrow at Dean.

“This is Castiel,” he explained quickly. “His family moved in yesterday, next door. I invited him over for dinner.”

John looked like he wanted to laugh. “How neighborly, son,” he said. Dean flushed and escaped to the kitchen, dragging Castiel behind him.

The big white wings were tucked modestly against his body and Dean was distantly grateful, considering all the glass jars and framed pictures they had in the kitchen. He made himself busy with setting the table, ignoring the persistent awkwardness Castiel summoned in him.

“You can get the cups down from that cabinet,” he said, pointing. He followed each of Dean’s instructions until the table was ready, heaped with enough spaghetti and meatballs to feed a small Italian town (as long as they weren’t that particular about eating sauce from a jar.)

Sam crashed into his chair when Dean hollered and their dad came leisurely to the kitchen a minute later. Sam gave Castiel a toothy smile.

The angel seemed perturbed when they started eating.

“You won’t say grace?” he asked.

Dean felt caught. He looked at his dad, who glowered slightly.

“Not anymore,” he said curtly. Castiel just looked thoughtful.

The humans ate quietly, focused on their plates. Castiel was eating slowly, watching the others and copying their behavior. He saw Sam mop the edge of his plate with a piece of buttered bread.

“Stretch,” he said, politely. “Please pass me the bread.”

There was a confused silence before Sam hesitantly passed him the bag of Wonder Bread.

“You meant me, right?” he asked, muffled through a full mouth of food.

Castiel just said, “Yes. Thank you, Stretch.”

Dean stared at him for a second and then lost it. His laugh started strangled as he tried to keep it in, but he really couldn’t stop himself. He had to put his fork down on his plate.

That night had been Cas’s first lesson in humanity. Sam had formally introduced himself (Dad just calls me that because I’m tall, he explained, red-faced) and Dean eventually stopped laughing long enough to finish his dinner. When the food was gone, he pulled Cas out of the kitchen, saying Dad and Sam’ll clean up, I cooked and you’re a guest.

Cas asked him what he liked to do for fun. Grinning, Dean took him to his bedroom and climbed out the window. When they were both on the roof, sitting silently and listening to the soft noises from the town and the woods behind the neighborhood, Dean realized Cas was surprisingly easy to talk to.

And that had only been the beginning. After that night, Cas was at their house all the time, listening to Dean talk with the focused attention of a congregant. Dean took the responsibility of educating him very seriously and taught him the funniest swears first. He had a lot of fun with that until Cas absently called Dean’s (admittedly crotchety) grandma a ‘shithead’ where she could hear him. He’d had a hell of a time explaining himself while simultaneously guarding Cas from rapid elderly thwacks.

Dean doesn’t spend as much time at Cas’s house, which is how they both like it. Cas’s parents make John Winchester look like a stoner hippie Kindergarten teacher. They’re really strict, is the point. And startlingly conservative, for a pair of people who were pooh pooh’d out of their angel community because Cas’s mom had a second marriage. Needless to say, they aren’t terribly warm toward Dean. They’ve never been rude to his face, he doesn’t think. But their lack of approval is clear.

Even before the first time Cas had kissed him, they sometimes made excuses why he couldn’t see Dean and, around Dean’s seventeenth birthday, took him along on a business trip to Springfield, even though there’d been nothing for him to do there. Cas had missed his party and been angry with them for weeks. Dean thinks Cas’s parents knew about them before they did, which is why they told Dean things like Castiel is studying for his exams, after he knew Cas’s homeschooling program was already finished for the summer. And Castiel needs to rest, he has.. the flu, on a clear August day. (Dean was pretty sure angels coldn’t get the flu, then Cas had barged past them out the door, looking very hale and pissed off.)

They did figure it out eventually, though. It started when were both newly eighteen and sitting on a blanket in the park, watching The Matrix Reloaded. Sam was in front of them, eyes glued to the side of the white plaster building where the movie was being projected. Dean had made dumb jokes all throughout the first movie, much to Sam and Cas’s irritation. He was distracted as the second movie played, looking at the side of Cas’s face. Cas was just so focused and interested.

On screen, Persephone was bargaining with Neo. You have to make me believe it’s her, she was saying. Neo kissed her briefly and she pulled away. Terrible. Forget it.

When the movie ended, they took a break to stretch their legs and walk around a curving path opposite the building. Sam stayed behind, happily snacking and waiting for the third movie in the marathon to start.

“What did you think?” Dean had asked, kicking rocks in front of his feet.

Cas made an assessing noise. “There is... a lot going on in these films,” he eventually said, voice as starched and diplomatic as Dean had ever heard it. Dean laughed, punching him on the arm.

“You must have liked some of it,” he insisted playfully.

Cas was quiet for a long moment, walking next to him and looking at the ground. He spoke as they reached a bend in the path. “I was curious about one scene,” he said slowly. “The character-- what was his name, the important one?”

“Neo.”

“Neo was trying to convince that woman to show them to the Key-person. And he had to kiss her.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Her husband was cheating on her and she wanted to hurt Trinity’s feelings, I’m pretty sure.” He hadn’t been paying that much attention, but Sam had made him watch these movies eleven million times before tonight.

“He had to kiss her well. She could tell when he did it wrong.” Cas stopped walking and turned to Dean. “Is there a way to kiss wrong?” His eyes were a little panicked, like he hadn’t even thought about kissing anyone before but now he had to worry about doing it incorrectly.

Dean smirked. “I’m pretty sure there is, yeah.” He made a showy gesture to his own face. “Not that I’ve had any complaints.”

Cas looked unimpressed. “I believe you have to have customers first, to recieve complaints.”

Dean had flushed and spluttered, “I’ve kissed people, dude! Last summer, I kissed Alexis Ford at her birthday party! With tongue!

“Alexis lost a bet,” Cas said, cruelly recontextualizing the one and only kiss of Dean’s young life. Dean glowered and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“I bet you’d be a bad kisser,” he grumbled. He didn’t mean it. Actually, he’d thought about kissing Cas earlier that evening, during the first Matrix. And in the car on the way to the park. And the day before, when Cas greeted him on the lawn after work. And at least forty other times since they’d both graduated high school. None of those imagined kisses had been bad. They’d been pretty embarassing, though, which is why he slam-dunked them into the “do not talk about to anyone” drawer in his head. And then locked it.

Cas looked offended. “What is your evidence? I’ve never kissed anyone. There’s no data.”

“I just know. It would be slimy and horrible, somehow.”

They were behind the building now, out of view of the picnic area. They were almost alone, except for a few people hurrying to the restrooms.

“You’re just being hurtful,” Cas said, sounding cross. “I think I could kiss well if I were able to practice. It has to be a skill, like anything else.”

He stopped walking, suddenly. Dean halted in place, looking over his shoulder at him.

“I’ll kiss you,” he said, head tilted. He grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him.

“Ack! Hey!” Dean protested.

“You can tell me if it’s bad. If I need practice.” He had that look on his face then, the one he got when he was gung-ho to learn something about humans that only Dean could teach him.

Dean swallowed, keeping his eyes on Cas’s resolutely. “Um, are you--” he swallowed again. “Are you sure?” The idea of pulling away from him had occured to Dean and he knew it was probably the better one, but instead he stayed right were Cas had put him, heart hammering.

Cas nodded, then stood looking at him for a long moment.

“Dean?”

“Uh, what?”

Cas rolled his eyes, huffed a little can he be this stupid? sigh and kissed Dean on the lips.

A terrible, pleased noise escape Dean’s throat and his hands moved up without his input, catching and holding Cas’s shirtfront. When Cas pulled away, his eyes were wide.

“That was--” he cleared the gravel from his voice. “That didn’t feel very bad.”

Dean had been zapped into goo and couldn’t speak. Cas touched his own lips with an awed expression and Dean wanted to kiss him again, so bad. He gathered himself enough to croak, “Beginner’s luck.”

The angel’s eyes immediately flashed at the challenge and he reeled Dean in with a hand at his back. They made out behind the building until Sam came looking for them midway through The Matrix Revolutions.

After that, it had been zero to sixty-- Dean was Cas’s boyfriend to everyone they met. Cas met him on his lunch break from the garage and kissed him in front of his dad. Dean dragged him out onto the roof to take his clothes off of him and dig his fingers into the clean white feathers of his wings.

Now, Dean has been kissing Cas (and a little bit more than that) for two years. Cas checks Zillow every day and sends him houses he likes the look of. Dean has programmed ‘This is not in our budget’ into his texting app so he doesn’t have to type out all the words every time Cas sends him the listing for another million-dollar development property.

Chrissake, Cas, you’re a guidance counselor and I fix cars. Think a little smaller, babe, he told him. Cas made a face and told him not to swear.

Dean can see a future for them and he wants it more than anything. He keeps teaching Cas human things like replacing the goddamn toilet paper and how much detergent to use in the washing machine. He’s still weird in an obvious way, and Dean still doesn’t want to change that. He thinks they’ll be sitting on their front porch, Dean old and gray, Cas looking however the hell he’ll look in sixty years (Dean should ask him, actaully), and Cas will still make remarks like Dean, these adult diapers do not wick nearly as much moisture as the packaging claims. He thinks he’ll still smile at him, every time. He’ll still feel the same way he did when Cas made him laugh for the first time at the dinner table. He’ll want to keep him. Forever.

When he looks at Cas, wide eyed like a newborn and holding Dean’s hand in the supermarket, at the park, in line at the DMV-- forever doesn’t feel like much of a stretch.

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