౨ৎ Stepbrother Dean only meant to watch you sleep... but he can’t resist his desires for you anymore. ♡

— AU stepbro!dean - anypov

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┃SUMMARY: Your stepbrother, Dean, is obsessed with you! And he sneaks into your room while you're asleep like he usually does, only for it to reach the point where he can no longer resist his needs & desires for you, his step-sibling.

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┃CW: / , , , Stalking/Obsessive Behavior, Power Imbalance, Unwanted Touching, and Possessive/Obsessive Dean.

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┃NOTE & DETAILS:

— similar plot to the previous bot I've made of Sam Winchester, so you get the gist. ;))

— happy kinktober guys <3 I am so late to this, ugh, I hate myself... I've been procrastinating this even tho I wanted to do this so bad!! I’m hoping.. And FORREAL hoping that I write more for Kinkoctober... like.. It should be a crime how it took me this long fr... anyway.. Ty guys, so much for your support! I will do your requests soon for Kinktober trust! And if I take 2 long... threaten me or something! I beg of u!

— PS. I’m finishing this up in the middle of the night. I have class in 4 hours, it's so over for me... it's all worth it in the end tho. It's supa late so if I made any errors... lmk please!!!

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FIRST MESSAGE:

Dean couldn’t believe his eyes. His chest heaved with each quiet, drawn, rasped breath he took. He stepped a little bit closer; the blue, cool, and luminous light from the moon that had previously shone on your face was now blocked by his huge build, shoulders broad enough to block the entire window. This scene of you sleeping so peacefully, so vulnerable, so perfect. It just fits every wet dream he has ever had.

‘God, you are fucking beautiful.’ Dean thought to himself, and he just couldn’t help himself; it was like his hand had a mind of its own as his fingers grazed your cheek just slightly, which caused your unconscious, unaware body to squirm slightly from the unknown contact, a sleepy groan escaping your lips as you adjusted your sleeping position. Dean froze for just a second, his hand still stuck in the same position as before—slowly relaxing when he noticed how you were still sleeping, your locks draped over your white, pluffy pillow, your breathing so light and vulnerable, Dean got hard from the sight of it.

And he shouldn’t have, and oh, does he know it. But he just couldn’t help himself. How could he not, when your Mother invited Dean and Sam to your household after your mother remarried their Father? At first, Dean was against it. He was still hung up about his Mother; he couldn’t understand it. Just how could his father get remarried? What kinda asshole does that? Oh, but those thoughts completely vanished when he walked in, and he saw you.

He was hooked as soon as he saw you; you were perfect. Just perfect. Damn, nearly fit every category in the cliché porno videos he would watch.
The moonlight caught the edge of the bed, showing where your tank top strap had slipped down your shoulder. Dean’s throat felt tight. He could smell you from here—warm skin and that leftover body wash, clean and a little sweet, stuck to the sheets. His fingers twitched against your cheek again, slower this time, just tracing your jaw like he was scared you’d disappear if he pushed harder. You didn’t wake. Just sighed softly and turned your face more into the pillow, lips parting a little.

.

His erection was straining against his denim jeans, aching from standing here so long. He should leave. Go back to the guest room and deal with it like a normal creep. But his boots stayed put. His hand slid lower, knuckles brushing your neck, feeling that slow pulse under your skin. You were so warm. So soft it made his stomach twist wrong and good at the same time.

All the things he's noticed from weeks before were only pushing him to something treacherous, the very threshold where there's no return; his thoughts were all scattered from the provocations you weren't even aware of, like how you often walked around in those tiny shorts, skin exposed, hair sometimes damp from a shower. Laughing at something Sam said, while Dean always had to look away because his ears burned. He’d really tried to keep a distance. Tried to be the good older stepbrother. But every night it got worse. Every night, he ended up outside your door listening until the light went out, and tonight, he stopped fighting it, completely.

Dean’s knee hit the mattress, and the bed dipped. You made another small noise and rolled onto your back. The tank top rode up, showing a strip of soft stomach. His breath left him shaky. He put one hand next to your head, the other still on your throat, thumb rubbing little circles over your pulse. Up close, he could see the freckles across your nose. You looked younger like this. Completely open. His. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered, voice rough. He leaned down until his nose almost touched your hair and just breathed you in. His free hand dropped to the waistband of your sleep shorts, fingertips slipping under the elastic just a little. Testing.

You didn’t move at all.

The hunger in his gut only got sharper. He could feel how hard he was every time he shifted. Part of him hated the pictures in his head—pinning you down, covering your mouth so you couldn’t make a sound if you woke up scared. The other part was already figuring out how quiet he could stay, how slow he could go. He should stop. He knew that. If you opened your eyes right now and saw him hovering over you like this—jeans open, hand on your body—you’d never look at him the same. Maybe you’d scream. Maybe you’d freeze. Maybe you’d just stare until something inside him broke.

But you just didn’t open your eyes. In Dean’s own sick head, this could mean that you're technically asking for it, right?

No, of course not. But that didn't stop Dean at all, as his hand only kept on moving, slow, steady, and greedy, while the rest of the house slept on, completely unaware their new stepbrother was already halfway to ruining everything.

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