I heard of a girl
Title: I heard of a girl
Author: sa_kun
Fandom: Supernatural, Harry Potter
Characters: Dean, Harry
Rating: Adult themes
Word Count: 1185
Prompt: 089, she
Summary: Harry has been cursed. The attempt at robbing Dean is not entirely successful.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author’s Notes: Dean POV. Title from this song by Miss Li.
She's gorgeous, all pink lips and fleeting touches, no make-up and tits that are perfect and just fill up your palms, easy as anything. So you take her back to the motel, send a text to Sammy not to come back for a couple hours, then bury your mouth where she wants it. She's bossy, which you have a kink for, and the blowjob she gives you fry what little sobriety there's left in your brain straight out of you.
She says no when you try to fuck her, so you don't. You play with her tits and let her rub herself off against your thigh until she comes with a choked groan. The grin on her face is lazy and content, and it's all the warning you get before you find yourself on your back, pinned down. She tells you to leave your hands there, to not let of the edge of the mattress, then she goes back down, sucking, kissing, nibbling, until there's not a shred of coherency left in you.
After, you gather her as close as she'll let you, then fall asleep.
Dean wakes when the mattress shifts, but he doesn't get up (awkward is really too tame a word to describe what happens when you try and interrupt your one-nighter sneaking out). He's feeling sated and lazy, content to doze awhile, fucked out beyond- Yeah, that sounds kind of like my duffle being opened.
It fucking figures the best fuck he's had in months has got sticky fucking fingers.
So Dean opens his eyes, notes that, heh, the chick's still totally hot. She's in a tank and boy briefs, and fuck if that isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen. He grabs the knife from under his pillow, pulls it out, and sits up. "You know," he says, watching her jump. "Some people call that stealing."
"Sorry," she says, but she doesn't sound or look it. At all. She has the demon killing knife in her hand and, yeah, that's just not gonna fly.
"You need to put that back, sweetheart."
"I really don't, and if you call me that again, I'll cut your prick off."
Dean winces and crosses his legs. "Is it some kind of thing? British chicks in the US have to be fucking hot thieves?"
The chick shrugs - dammit, but Dean can't remember her fucking name. "I can give it back. Maybe. I just need it for a while."
"If you made a deal, that thing ain't gonna let you off the hook."
She just makes this face, as if that's the stupidest fucking thing she's ever heard. She rubs a hand over her face, through her hair. It's short, which is really, really sexy. Dean's dick agrees. It's messed up, though, and it looks just as thoroughly fucked as Dean feels (or felt right up until he caught her sneaking through his stuff, anyway). "Not even I am desperate enough to make deals with demons, and that's really saying a lot. I…"
"You…?" Dean prompts. He throws the stained sheets to the side because, hey, he figures he doesn't really need to be sitting bare-ass naked in bed having this conversation. He tugs on the boxers she throws him, then the jeans that're lying in a heap on Sam's bed.
"I was cursed. The reversal spell I found said I need a 'tool capable of slaying darkness'. This knife kills demons, correct?"
"Yeah, but how'd you find out about it?"
Now she grins, and Dean kind of really wants to fuck her again. "Please, as if you Winchesters are capable of being subtle."
Dean has to agree, because she's got him on that one. "So last night, you tried to con me?"
She shrugs. "Last night I was looking for a good time, so, no, no con. I had names but no faces." She nods at the table. "Your collection of IDs tipped me off."
"You know, if you'd come up and asked, I probably wouldn't have said no." Dean leers, throws in a wink for good measure, then stalks over to her. She stops him with the knife, pressed to his sternum, and a sexy-fuck raised eyebrow. "You got a name?"
"Harry," she says.
"Weird name for a chick."
She rolls her eyes. "Well, until recently, I used to be a bloke."
"Ah," Dean says, and wonders if the fact the he still thinks she's the hottest thing since Rhonda Hurley and the pink panties make him gay or not. Not, he figures, 'cause the packaging on this one is, well. Smoking is one word. "So. Witches?"
Harry rolls her eyes. "Oh, I wish," she mutters.
Disarming her isn't the easiest job in the world, but he gets it done. It's easier than it could have been, because she isn't out to hurt him, or kill him. She's got a curse she wants to lift, and that's it. Discarding the knife to the floor, he pins her to the wall. "Listen, Harry, I really can't let you run off with the only fucking advantage me and my brother have over the hordes of demon spawn after us. You get that, right?"
Harry nods, eyes on his. Dean grins. "Good, 'cause I like you. So, I was thinking, maybe you can hash it out with my geek brother, maybe we can get in touch with a couple of friends. See what they know. Yeah?"
Harry rolls her head back, lets it thunk against the wall. "I just want to turn back into me again," she says. "I really hate this. Boobs and a vagina isn't all they advertise it to be."
So, yeah, Dean thinks, he's probably messing up on all the pronouns, but he figures it's not like Harry's gonna know, right? Also? It's easier, and he's not gay - and trading handjobs in high school don't make you gay, all right? Bi-curious, maybe, but that's it.
Then Harry smirks. "What?" he says.
"Getting laid's way easier, though."
Dean blinks, then kind of wants to roll his eyes, because, duh, it's so fucking obvious once you've got the two braincells required to rub together. "You bat for the home team, don't you?"
"It's what got me into this situation in the first place. Word of advice, Dean: when trickster-inclined fertility goddesses make a pass at you, you don't bloody well turn them down."
"You- Who?"
Harry shrugs. "She said her name was Chastity, but to my knowledge there aren't any gods by that name." Then she shifts in a way that make Dean's eyes hone in on her tits faster than he can blink. "So, are you going to let me go?"
Dean purses his lips, his hands move from where they were pinning her against the wall to softly rounded hips and perky little tits. "Well, maybe round two first?"
"Just don't stick your prick in me and do as I say," she says, bossy smirk in place as she goes for the buttons on Dean's jeans. And, yeah, Dean can really kind of live with that, 'cause she's awesome and hot.
Continued in Walking on sunshine.
Author: sa_kun
Fandom: Supernatural, Harry Potter
Characters: Dean, Harry
Rating: Adult themes
Word Count: 1185
Prompt: 089, she
Summary: Harry has been cursed. The attempt at robbing Dean is not entirely successful.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author’s Notes: Dean POV. Title from this song by Miss Li.
She's gorgeous, all pink lips and fleeting touches, no make-up and tits that are perfect and just fill up your palms, easy as anything. So you take her back to the motel, send a text to Sammy not to come back for a couple hours, then bury your mouth where she wants it. She's bossy, which you have a kink for, and the blowjob she gives you fry what little sobriety there's left in your brain straight out of you.
She says no when you try to fuck her, so you don't. You play with her tits and let her rub herself off against your thigh until she comes with a choked groan. The grin on her face is lazy and content, and it's all the warning you get before you find yourself on your back, pinned down. She tells you to leave your hands there, to not let of the edge of the mattress, then she goes back down, sucking, kissing, nibbling, until there's not a shred of coherency left in you.
After, you gather her as close as she'll let you, then fall asleep.
Dean wakes when the mattress shifts, but he doesn't get up (awkward is really too tame a word to describe what happens when you try and interrupt your one-nighter sneaking out). He's feeling sated and lazy, content to doze awhile, fucked out beyond- Yeah, that sounds kind of like my duffle being opened.
It fucking figures the best fuck he's had in months has got sticky fucking fingers.
So Dean opens his eyes, notes that, heh, the chick's still totally hot. She's in a tank and boy briefs, and fuck if that isn't the hottest thing he's ever seen. He grabs the knife from under his pillow, pulls it out, and sits up. "You know," he says, watching her jump. "Some people call that stealing."
"Sorry," she says, but she doesn't sound or look it. At all. She has the demon killing knife in her hand and, yeah, that's just not gonna fly.
"You need to put that back, sweetheart."
"I really don't, and if you call me that again, I'll cut your prick off."
Dean winces and crosses his legs. "Is it some kind of thing? British chicks in the US have to be fucking hot thieves?"
The chick shrugs - dammit, but Dean can't remember her fucking name. "I can give it back. Maybe. I just need it for a while."
"If you made a deal, that thing ain't gonna let you off the hook."
She just makes this face, as if that's the stupidest fucking thing she's ever heard. She rubs a hand over her face, through her hair. It's short, which is really, really sexy. Dean's dick agrees. It's messed up, though, and it looks just as thoroughly fucked as Dean feels (or felt right up until he caught her sneaking through his stuff, anyway). "Not even I am desperate enough to make deals with demons, and that's really saying a lot. I…"
"You…?" Dean prompts. He throws the stained sheets to the side because, hey, he figures he doesn't really need to be sitting bare-ass naked in bed having this conversation. He tugs on the boxers she throws him, then the jeans that're lying in a heap on Sam's bed.
"I was cursed. The reversal spell I found said I need a 'tool capable of slaying darkness'. This knife kills demons, correct?"
"Yeah, but how'd you find out about it?"
Now she grins, and Dean kind of really wants to fuck her again. "Please, as if you Winchesters are capable of being subtle."
Dean has to agree, because she's got him on that one. "So last night, you tried to con me?"
She shrugs. "Last night I was looking for a good time, so, no, no con. I had names but no faces." She nods at the table. "Your collection of IDs tipped me off."
"You know, if you'd come up and asked, I probably wouldn't have said no." Dean leers, throws in a wink for good measure, then stalks over to her. She stops him with the knife, pressed to his sternum, and a sexy-fuck raised eyebrow. "You got a name?"
"Harry," she says.
"Weird name for a chick."
She rolls her eyes. "Well, until recently, I used to be a bloke."
"Ah," Dean says, and wonders if the fact the he still thinks she's the hottest thing since Rhonda Hurley and the pink panties make him gay or not. Not, he figures, 'cause the packaging on this one is, well. Smoking is one word. "So. Witches?"
Harry rolls her eyes. "Oh, I wish," she mutters.
Disarming her isn't the easiest job in the world, but he gets it done. It's easier than it could have been, because she isn't out to hurt him, or kill him. She's got a curse she wants to lift, and that's it. Discarding the knife to the floor, he pins her to the wall. "Listen, Harry, I really can't let you run off with the only fucking advantage me and my brother have over the hordes of demon spawn after us. You get that, right?"
Harry nods, eyes on his. Dean grins. "Good, 'cause I like you. So, I was thinking, maybe you can hash it out with my geek brother, maybe we can get in touch with a couple of friends. See what they know. Yeah?"
Harry rolls her head back, lets it thunk against the wall. "I just want to turn back into me again," she says. "I really hate this. Boobs and a vagina isn't all they advertise it to be."
So, yeah, Dean thinks, he's probably messing up on all the pronouns, but he figures it's not like Harry's gonna know, right? Also? It's easier, and he's not gay - and trading handjobs in high school don't make you gay, all right? Bi-curious, maybe, but that's it.
Then Harry smirks. "What?" he says.
"Getting laid's way easier, though."
Dean blinks, then kind of wants to roll his eyes, because, duh, it's so fucking obvious once you've got the two braincells required to rub together. "You bat for the home team, don't you?"
"It's what got me into this situation in the first place. Word of advice, Dean: when trickster-inclined fertility goddesses make a pass at you, you don't bloody well turn them down."
"You- Who?"
Harry shrugs. "She said her name was Chastity, but to my knowledge there aren't any gods by that name." Then she shifts in a way that make Dean's eyes hone in on her tits faster than he can blink. "So, are you going to let me go?"
Dean purses his lips, his hands move from where they were pinning her against the wall to softly rounded hips and perky little tits. "Well, maybe round two first?"
"Just don't stick your prick in me and do as I say," she says, bossy smirk in place as she goes for the buttons on Dean's jeans. And, yeah, Dean can really kind of live with that, 'cause she's awesome and hot.
Continued in Walking on sunshine.