Shitshitshit, was playing on a fucking loop inside your brain as you scrambled off the floor, away from the blood that was spraying like a geyser from a freshly opened artery. Normally, you wouldn’t be running like a scared puppy, tail between your leg, but he… it got too close for your liking. Thankfully, it wasn’t a solo hunt. John Winchester came to your rescue at the last possible second, machete whistling through the air, sending the head bouncing on the floor like a basketball. That was when you ran. Or tried to.
John’s hand was on your elbow and he was ushering you to his big black truck, looming in the almost darkness, casting a large shadow from the crescent-shaped moon. It was intimidating; both John’s actions and the truck he all but threw you up into. Before disappearing, he covered your shaking legs with his jacket and stared at you with dark eyes. It looked like he was going to say something, but then his jaw clenched, and he was storming back into the house.
The ride back to the cheap motel wasn’t any better,. The silence stretched between you, growing thicker with each mile marker the truck barrelled past, spitting rain and gravel from her tires. Despite the heavy weight of John’s jacket and the heat being on full blast, you were still shivering, and it had everything to do with John.
White-knuckled and weathered hands were gripping the wheel tight enough that you could hear the creaking of leather, the smell of him was thick on his jacket, the heat from the vents pushing it into your face. It was hard enough to not moan when the man was within kissing distance, but his jacket covering half your body? That was the last straw.
You had just moved to shove his jacket away when the truck rolled to a stop. John cut the engine, hopped down, and ran around to help you down after you barely managed to open your door. What the hell was wrong with you? You weren’t some damsel in distress! You were a hunter, for fuck sake. You killed the things that went bump in the night, the things that gave normal people nightmares; not the other way around. But tonight, when the vamp’s fangs had scraped your neck, you thought you were done for.
John’s hand was heavy between your shoulder blades as he ushered you inside, his jacket hanging loose and heavy on your shoulders. He wouldn’t let you in the room until he made sure that no one… nothing had snuck in during the hunt.
“Coast is clear, sweetheart,” he breathed, a little closer than you anticipated. John smirked when you jumped, gripping the lapels of his jacket tight, wrapping yourself tighter within the heated cocoon of his jacket.
You gave him a sweet smile and brushed past to enter the room, which was a bad idea, because as soon as you moved, his scent surrounded you in a thick cloud of sweat and grease, whiskey and hops, gun oil and gunpowder, manliness and absolute fucking power.
“Baby girl,” he rasped, eyes half-closed, mouth slightly parted, tongue playing between his teeth.
Without a second thought, you pushed up to your toes and kissed him, tangling your fingers in his thick hair. He didn’t respond immediately, and for a second, fear and doubt crept into your brain, telling you what a colossal mess you had made of things. And then he moaned. John’s tongue was in your mouth, memorizing every dip and point of your teeth, the way one of them was slightly crooked, where the dentist only removed the wisdom teeth from one side. He picked you up, wrapped your legs around his waist, kicked his jacket inside with one foot, then closed the door with the other. It hit the frame with a resounding slam, but you barely registered it over the hammering of your heart.
With your feet back on the floor, John’s hands went about greedily pulling the clothes from your body. He wanted you naked, and he wanted you naked now. Not that you were thinking any differently. Clothes were tossed over shoulders and off to the side, until finally, the both of you were naked. And what a glorious sight it was. You’d seen him without a shirt on many times, even seen him without pants. But 100% naked was something new. John Winchester was thick in all the right places, and then some.
“Holy shit!” You quickly realized your astonishment had been said aloud.
“You’re telling me, baby girl,” John breathed, calloused hands reaching for you and pulling you into him by your hips and ass. The thick weight of his cock was pressed into your belly and your entire body hummed with pure arousal.
You grabbed onto him, nails digging into the back of his neck and shoulders. An excited squeal escaped you as he picked you up and unceremoniously threw you onto the bed. Your breasts hadn’t stopped bouncing when John covered your body with his, settling his thick weight between your legs. Your legs curved around his waist and his hands were everywhere and nowhere at the same time; his rough touch greedy, like he wanted all of you, all to himself.
He pushed into you, pulling a throaty gasp from you at the stretch of skin and tissue around his substantial girth. John’s bottom lip was between his teeth, dangerously close to splitting the skin as he watched himself sink into you.
When he was buried to the root, he blew out a ragged breath and praised your body with his hands, his lips, his words. “Fuck, baby girl,” he rasped. “Feels like you were fuckin’ made for me. So goddamn perfect.”
You could only nod, your eyes tearing up as he tipped his hips forward a little bit, a smirk settling permanently on his face. He did it again, obviously enjoying the reaction he got when he dragged his cock against your sweet spot.
“Harder, John,” you breathed, fingers digging into the small of his back. “I ain’t gonna break.” You squeezed around him, a sinful moan filling the small space between you.
John slid a weathered hand under your arching back, callouses scraping over your skin, blunt nails catching on your shoulder blades before his fingers gripped your shoulder. “Your wish is my command,” he growled before driving into you, pushing the air from your lungs in the form of an appreciative grunt.
His head dropped against your shoulder when you rolled your hips, and again when your body rose to meet his. It was as if your body was an instrument, and he knew all the ways to play you, to make you sing his favorite song, building you up to the bridge, to the shattering point. You came with a strangled cry, thighs shaking, head pushed into the pillow, liquid fire bubbling beneath your skin. John followed three deep thrusts later, teeth digging into your shoulder, shoulders bowed, hot air blasting out his nose, sweat dripping from his forehead.
With your body still thrumming and aftershocks rolling through you, John rolled to his back. The pair of you laid there, hearts hammering, gasping for air. You rolled to your side, perched on your elbow, and watched John; the way his lips pursed and relaxed with each breath, how the moon shone of his sweat-slicked skin, how the silver in his sideburns seemed more pronounced, the scars amidst the charcoal hair…
“You still with me, sweetheart?” John rasped, rolling to his side, mirroring you.
Reaching out, you grabbed his hand. “Always, Johnny.” When his dark eyes narrowed and he smirked, you asked, “What?”
“You called me Johnny,” was his breathy reply. “I like it.” John tugged on your hand, pulling you into him for a long kiss.