Supernatural Imagines

Dean x Reader ~ Hushed

Summary: You are injured on a hunt, and although it isn't serious, you are fairly shaken up afterward. Dean comforts you.
Warning: smut, very minor description of injury, comfort sex (is that a warning?)

"You okay?" Dean glanced over at you, away from the dark road broken only by the headlights of the Impala.
The cool glass of the window felt wonderful against your forehead, and you didn't bother to open your eyes as you nodded. You didn't have to look to know that Dean didn't believe you. It didn't matter. It wasn't something you wanted to talk about.
Dean stayed blissfully quiet the rest of the way to the motel as you took deep breaths, the sharp soreness in your throat fading into a deep throb. That ghost had managed to get a grip on your neck that had almost killed you, and you knew you'd feel it for days. In fact, you probably already had bruises, and there was no way you'd be able to talk tomorrow. You could already feel your throat swelling.
Dean stayed close behind you as you walked from the Impala to the motel room, silently letting you know that he was with you, right there if you needed him. Still, you said nothing.
"Sorry," Dean said, opening the door to reveal one king size bed rather than your usual two queens. "This was the only one they had."
Opening your mouth to tell him it was fine and that you had shared a bed before, you immediately winced, tears forming in your eyes as your voice broke on the first word. Instantly, Dean reached for your shoulders.
"Shh, don't try to talk, it will only make it worse. Why don't you change while I mix up some salt water for you? It'll taste gross, but it will help."
You nodded silently, grabbing your bag and heading into the bathroom to change. It didn't take being away from Dean for more than five seconds before you were holding back sobs, knowing they would hurt your throat, and that they were useless anyway. You were fine. The ghost hadn't done permanent damage. It wasn't as if you'd never been in life or death situations. Tonight had just been a really close call. But there was no need to panic now, not now that you were safe in the motel, with Dean there to help fix up your injury.
Of course, you knew all of that logically. Still, you changed into shorts and a tank top as quickly as possible, hands shaking, then flung open the door, breathing a sigh of relief when you saw Dean at the sink, swirling a glass in his hand.
"Here." He looked at you closely, green eyes clouded with worry, but he didn't ask you anything. He only watched as you gargled the nasty concoction, forcing it to coat your throat before spitting it into the sink and grimacing. Dean chuckled at your face and nodded. "Hopefully the bruising will be the worst part." There was a strange pause, in which you wanted to speak but couldn't, and Dean shuffled his feet. "Bed, I guess?"
You nodded.
The sheets were cold against your skin, and you shivered slightly as Dean turned out the light. The sudden dark made you blink, visions of the ghost hovering over you, wrapping ice cold hands around your neck, getting closer and closer...
Breathing deeply, you focused on the sounds of Dean undressing, anchoring you to the here and now, bringing you out of the bad memory.
The bed dipped under Dean's weight as he joined you, careful as always to stay on his side, rolling so that his back was toward you. You continued to stare at the ceiling, listening to the silence of the room.
You're okay, you thought. You're okay. Do not panic.
As the adrenaline drained out of your system, everything went darker and scarier, your mind catching up and realizing exactly what had happened tonight, and how close you had come to not having anymore nights at all.
Before you could stop yourself, you were shaking violently, silent tears falling down your cheeks as you took huge, gasping breaths. As if he had been waiting for it, Dean turned and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your neck. You could feel his eyelashes brushing against your skin, a small tickle that was gentle enough to almost break you out of your panic.
"Shhh," he soothed. "I know. It's okay. You're okay." Dean's large hands splayed across your back, rubbing rhythmic circles.
It was almost too much, how gentle and sweet he was, how strong and solid his arms felt around you, and you let the tears fall, unable to say all the things you wanted to say. You cried long and hard, until the sobs finally quieted into small sniffs, and you felt like you had no more liquid inside of you to release. It was all over now.
Dean continued to hold you, not willing to let go until he was sure you were alright. You wanted to thank him, wanted to tell him how much you appreciated him, but your damn throat was pulsing with pain, aching and useless, and you couldn't. Dean pulled back slightly, and you kissed his cheek instead, telling him 'thank you' the only way you could.
Only you didn't pull away. There was something safe and comforting in the contact, and you let your lips brush from his cheek down to his jaw, the stubble on his skin scratching you, craving more, wanting to be closer.
Dean froze, and you realized suddenly that you had crossed a line. There had been plenty of tense moments, plenty of 'almosts', but never before had an actual move been made. You froze too, inches away, wondering how he would respond.
The glow of the streetlight filled the room with enough light for you to make out the lines of Dean's face, the shining of his eyes as he rolled, gently forcing you to your back as he hovered over you. He stared at you for a moment, something soft and sweet in his face, something like worry and relief (or were you making that up?), and then leaned down slowly.
Dean could have kissed you, could have said something, could have done a million different things. What he chose instead was to lean down, eyes not leaving yours until they had to, and kiss your neck, right over the forming bruises.
His lips were impossibly gentle, warm and soft, not painful at all, as he dragged them over every inch of soreness. You tilted your head back, giving him room to work, closing your eyes as each brush of Dean's perfect lips erased any and all fear you felt.
The first brush of a hot tongue made you shiver, but this time it wasn't fear that made you tremble. Your hands found his shoulders, gripping and pulling at his t-shirt as he kept kissing, so carefully, replacing all the panic with security, turning your trauma into something small and manageable, something easily forgotten as his teeth caught on your bottom lip.
"Y/N," he breathed against your lips, "are you sure?"
Had you been able to answer, you would have told him yes, of course you were sure, that he needed to keep touching you until you couldn't remember what had scared you in the first place. Since you had no voice, you simply curled your hands around his sides, feeling hard muscle beneath your fingers, and pulled him over your body until he was settled between your legs. Wrapping your legs around him, you hugged him as close as possible as you kissed him again, rubbing your tongue against his, before pulling away and raising your eyebrows.
Dean understood your silent question. "Yeah, I want to..." And with that, there was a sudden frenzy as the two of you pulled off each other's clothes, laughing as you got tangled in one another, as Dean's shirt wouldn't come off, as your underwear got caught on your ankles.
The laughter stopped when Dean finally had you naked beneath him. He knelt between your legs, looking down at you with an almost awestruck expression, his hands idly resting on your ankles for a moment before sliding up your legs. Slowly, he scooted back and stretched out, dipping his head down to kiss the wet heat of you once before fluttering his tongue over your clit.
God, did Dean know exactly what to do with his mouth. He practically worshiped you, lingering and unhurried, tasting every bit of you and moaning like it was his favorite flavor of pie. He made you practically dance on his tongue, your back arching as your legs bent and straightened over and over, moving against the budding pressure inside of you. And he just kept going. He never sped up, never increased the pressure of his tongue, never even added his fingers. He just kept going, patiently and happily circling your clit in between gentle, shallow thrusts inside you, until you were sweating, pulling at his hair, screaming for more.
When he pulled away, you almost cried in frustration, but he swallowed the shuddering breath with a kiss. "I got you," he grinned, pulling away. His fingers brushed over your bruised neck again, feathery light despite the fact that you could feel the callouses on his fingers. "I got you," he repeated, and you felt his cock push against you.
Your legs fell open even farther as your hands dropped to his lower back, pulling him in, mouth opening in a silent moan as he slid inside you, a delicious stretch that curled your toes.
Dean stilled inside of you and smiled, breath coming in ragged bursts as he tried to hold on to his composure. "I would normally be concerned or worried that you weren't making any noise...but I think the way you're digging your nails into my back makes up for it."
You shifted slightly, gasped without sound again, and playfully smacked him.
Once again, the joking didn't last very long as Dean rolled his hips, your bodies fitting together like that's where they were meant to be. Just as he had with his mouth, he moved slowly, tirelessly, like he wanted nothing more but to crash his hips into yours like ocean waves for the rest of the night, until the pleasure crested and broke over you both. Between the wet, wonderfully messy kisses to your mouth, Dean dropped his lips to your neck, eventually just burying his face there, nose pressed against your bruises as he breathed hot, healing breaths.
His thrusts came faster then, both of you sweaty and writhing and desperate. He had spent so much time expertly pushing you to the edge, and now you were more than ready to fall over with him. You silently let go when he slid his hand down and rubbed your clit as he pushed into you, hands clawing at him as your toes curled into the mattress, your orgasm washing over you, intense and powerful.
Dean slammed into you hard, his groan the only sound in the room as he spilled into you, and God, you were almost grateful for your own inability to make noise, because it would have been a tragedy if you had missed a single second of the sound of Dean's orgasm. The vibration settled inside of you and drew your orgasm out, making you almost dizzy as your panting breaths tried to make up for your inability to cry out.
"You okay?" Dean asked, face still in your neck.
You nodded and rubbed his back, feeling the muscles flex and roll under your fingertips.
Minutes or hours later, Dean rolled to his side, pulling you with him. Now would be the time to talk, to tell him that you hadn't expected this to happen but you were glad it did, to tell him how amazing you felt right now, how perfect he had been...but you couldn't. All you could do was run your fingers over his lips, smiling when he kissed them.
Dean didn't speak either, and as his eyelids began to droop, you decided that was probably for the best. You'd have the awkward conversation some other time.
But tonight, you were going to fall asleep feeling completely safe once again.
And completely satisfied.

(full creds to tumblr)