Electric Whispers
Synopsis: Dean Winchester, off on another of his hunts, left y/n behind in the bunker. What started as an innocent conversation quickly escalated, turning their virtual exchange into something far more intimate. This one-shot smut delves deep into the passion and intensity that defines their relationship, even when they're a phone call away.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, first-person POV, phone sex, masturbating, P in V, unprotected sex (again, don't forget to wrap), dominant Dean, doggy style
A/N: The videos included below prompted this one-shot smut.
I'll always think of you inside of my private thoughts
I can imagine you touching my private parts
And just the thought of you, I can't help but touch myself
That's why I want you so bad
I don't know what caused me to write this smut in 1st person, but hopefully, it does what it's supposed to do...entertainment (What are you thinking?!). :-) As always, thank you, everyone. Y'all are the reason I'm able to write these fantasies.
I took a moment, breathing deeply, hoping to catch the faintest whiff of his cologne that might've lingered. Every corner of this room held a memory, and I felt the weight of each one pressing on my chest. I found comfort in the small things — the texture of the sheets he chose, the worn-out leather jacket hung carelessly on the back of his chair.
I wandered over to the bedside table, picking up the unframed photograph. Young Dean, with that mischievous look in his eyes, stood beside his mother, both beaming. My fingers brushed the photo, tracing their outlines, wondering what it might've been like to know him then.
The four pillows on his bed stood out, and I couldn't help but smile at the thought behind it. Dean always joked about the extra pillows, but he knew they made me comfortable, and he wouldn't have it any other way. The idea of him buying those just for me warmed my heart.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, feeling the soft fabric beneath me. It was tempting to curl up there, to be surrounded by what little of him remained in this room. It was his space, and I had always respected that. But tonight, I needed to feel close to him, to remember the strength of his arms around me, the gentle rasp of his voice whispering sweet nothings.
Hugging one of the pillows close, I inhaled deeply. There it was — that familiar scent of his, a mixture of leather, gunpowder, and the woody cologne he liked. My emotions overwhelmed me. I missed him more than words could express, and the silence of the room echoed the void he had left behind.
Holding the pillow like a life line and with a shaky hand, I tapped on his name, watching the word "calling" flash on the screen. My heartbeat quickened, each thud resonating in the silence of the room. Subconsciously pressing my earphone, the seconds stretching into what felt like minutes.
"Come on, Dean…" I whispered, clutching the phone a bit tighter.
After several rings, I began to lose hope. Just as I was about to hang up, there was a click on the other end.
"Hello?" It was his voice. Gruff, slightly groggy, but unmistakably Dean.
I was momentarily stunned into silence. The relief, joy, and anxiety all blending into one overwhelming emotion. "Dean," was all I managed to say, my voice cracking with the weight of my feelings.
"Hey," he responded, a note of surprise in his tone. "Wasn't expecting your call. Is everything okay?"
I chuckled softly, brushing away a tear. "I just… missed you," I admitted. "Needed to hear your voice."
There was a pause, and I could picture him, on the other end, ruffling his hair, a half-smile on his lips. "I miss you too," he finally said. "Every damn day."
I was caught speechless. Dean typically isn't one to openly express his feelings, but he always manages to surprise me. Hearing him admit he missed me made me giddy like a teenager. Just then, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind. I prompted Dean, "Guess where I am right now?"
There was a brief pause before he responded, "No clue. Fill me in."
Taking a deep breath, I admitted, "In your room. Just... trying to catch any lingering scent of you."
He chuckled, his voice warm, "You know it's only been what, a few days, maybe a week since I left?"
"I know, I know," I sighed, frustration evident in my voice, "but it feels... longer." I trailed off, letting the weight of the silence communicate what I couldn't put into words.
I sighed, struggling to find the right words. "It feels like forever. I know it sounds silly, but the bunker feels... emptier without you. Colder. Everything just seems duller when you're not around."
Dean's chuckle was soft, filled with warmth. "You always did have a flair for the dramatic."
I rolled my eyes, like he could see it. "Shut up, Winchester. Just... come home soon, okay? Until then I'm cuddling your pillow, wrapping my legs around it, pretending it's you." To which I did.
Dean's breathing seemed to become a bit more shallow. "Yeah?" he said, trying to maintain the casualness in his voice, but I could hear the shift, the underlying curiosity and desire.
"Yeah," I whispered, "It's the closest thing to having you here with me. It's silly, I know, but it's comforting."
There was a pause, and I imagined Dean taking a moment, picturing the scene in his mind. "You're not being silly, y/n. Believe me, if I could be there with you right now... I'd be there in a heartbeat."
I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. "So, Mr. Winchester, if you were here, what would you do?"
He chuckled softly, "Now you're just trying to torture me."
I smirked, "Maybe a little. You started it."
He sighed, "Well, for starters, I'd kick that damn pillow away and take its place."
I chuckled, giving the pillow a playful squeeze. "Poor thing. But if it were you here instead, holding wouldn't be the only thing on my agenda."
"Oh?" his voice had a teasing lilt. "And what exactly would be on that agenda, sweetheart?"
