Dean One Shots

Dean's Tie (smut, submissive Dean, at least for part of it)

You love a sharp-dressed man. There was something about a guy in a well-fitting suit that made your insides tingle. Seeing a handsome man in a 3-piece suit and dress shoes with a matching tie had always been a turn-on for you. So when Dean strolled into the bunker wearing a dark blue suit and a red tie, you practically had to wipe the drool from your chin.

You'd been crashing with the boys ever since they had accidentally set your kitchen on fire trying to banish a ghost. Apparently burning the former owner's belongings inside the house was a mistake. At least the whole place hadn't burned down, there was just a ton of smoke damage to the kitchen and hallway. The boy had graciously offered to let you stay with them while it was being repaired.

When you met Sam and Dean, they had posed as family members of the previous owners of your new home. You had been aware that the people who lived there before you died a grisly death in which the wife killed her husband and then shot herself, but you weren't superstitious and the house was really cheap, so you'd bought it and moved in. You had been mentally kicking your ass every day since.

Dean pats you on the shoulder as he walks by you. "Hey Y/N. You miss us?" You stare at his ass openly, which is showcased by the tight material of the suit encasing him.

"Absolutely. Um, if you don't mind me asking, why are you in a suit?" You ask curiously.

"We suited up to interview some witnesses today. Being the genius he is, Sam lost the bag that had our regular clothes in it." He pulls a beer out of the fridge and pops the top, taking a long drink then licking his bottom lip. You find yourself wishing you could lick that lip too.

"Y/N? Everything okay? You're staring." He asks with a smirk. You jerk your gaze up from his mouth.

"Of course. Where's Sam?" you ask, trying to act cool and calm. You can't stop staring at that bright red tie. You have a mental image of it wrapped around Dean's wrists and you shake your head back and forth, as if trying to shake the image from your mind.

"He's in town. Supply run. You sure you're okay?" He sits his beer on the counter and peers at your face, looking concerned.

"You're so fucking hot in that suit I can't think straight." You blurt out. His eyes widen and you clap your hand over your mouth. "I can't believe I just said that out loud. Um, just ignore me. I didn't get much sleep last night."

He chuckles. "So hot you can't think straight? I know the feeling, sweetheart."

"Um, you do?" you ask, confused.

"Oh yes. Those blue booty shorts of yours? Well, when you parade around in them I can't form a single coherent thought. It's becoming quite a problem." He approaches you slowly. "Did you know they show the bottom of your ass cheeks? It's a sexy ass sight, literally."

You swallow hard. "Um, I didn't know they were that short. Sorry if it's a distraction."

He shakes his head. "Don't be. I'm not." He steps closer to you and slowly trails his fingers from your wrist up to your shoulder. You shiver at the contact. "So, you like me in my suit?"

"Oh yes." You say breathlessly. "I've always had a thing for a man in a suit."

He gives you a lazy grin. "Oh yeah? What is it about a suit that does it for you, Y/N?"

"Right now it's the guy wearing it." You admit. "You know you're hot as hell, don't act like you don't."

"Fair enough. But do you have any idea how hot you are right now? You're using your fuck-me eyes. It's quite the turn-on." His fingers slip under the tiny strap of your tank top and slide it slowly off your shoulder, inch by inch. "Gives a man all kinds of ideas."