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deeranger ¡ 8 days
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the deadly heatwave in the summer of '99 wasn't entirely bad, if you asked dean
...
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deeranger ¡ 9 days
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Yum. 🥵 I love how Sam tries to take total control.... Like it'll be less of a sin if he feels like he's "punishing" her. Tsk, tsk, Father Sam.... I'm afraid it doesn't work like that. 😏
FORGIVE ME FATHER, AND ABSOLVE ME OF MY SINS; SEQUEL
This is a part two to “Forgive Me Father, For I Have Sinned.” I greatly appreciate the support I got on that, so thank you! I hope you all enjoy this :-) Fair warning, this does have smut in it and there will be sensitive themes, so please be warned! Reader is female.
{ @deeranger requested to be tagged in pt 2, so here u go!! :) }
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Her words rattled through his body like a lightning strike, causing him to clench his jaw and look up at the arched ornate ceiling of the Church. His knuckles turned white as he gripped her hair harder, earning a satisfactory groan from the girl who sat on her knees before him. He was giving her exactly what she wanted, he was starting to cave in and she knew it. “What wrong, Father?” She grinned, looking up at him with fake displays of innocence and confusion on her face. Reluctantly, he locked eyes with the girl, exhaling through his nose sharply at her image. Him being face to face with a demon was nothing new; but the difference was that he was the leader of this Church, unarmed, getting seduced and trying not to give into temptation. “You know what’s wrong.” He said behind gritted teeth, anger seething behind each word that fell from his mouth. “Isn’t it your job to help me find the right path..?” She asked, tilting her head, “That’s all I’m asking of you.” She said, pouting as she gently placed her chin against his bulging crotch.
She could feel his length twitch beneath his confining zipper, earning a frustrated whimper from him. “Please, I can’t do this.” He whined softly, “You know I can’t.” She laughed softly, “Then let go of me, and I’ll leave.” She responded bluntly, quirking an eyebrow up at him. He paused, looking as if he was arguing with himself internally. “Aww, that’s right; you know you can’t.” She mocked, he tilted his head back once more towards the ceiling, and sighed. He was getting more frustrated with each passing moment, and she was living for it. “Fine,” He started, looking back down at her after a moment. It was as if in those few moments of clarity he had to himself, something inside of him snapped. His patience with the girl finally ran out, and he was going to ensure that she was aware of it. “You want to be saved? Then you’re going to do what I say, how I say, when I say. Do you understand?” He growled, leaning down so he was closer to her face. She looked surprised; she wasn’t expecting him to be this dominant. She nodded slowly, “Y-Yes, Father. I understand.”
He squinted softly and he nodded, his lips pursed into a tight smirk. “Good. Now get to work.” He said, nodding toward his crotch. She quickly began to unzip his black slacks when she was met with the hem of his black briefs. She looked up at him once more, to which he nudged his head expectantly. “Don’t play stupid. Be a good girl and undress me.” He sneered down at her. She nodded, looping her pointer and middle fingers beneath the hemming of his clothes and using her thumbs for support as she pulled his pants and briefs down. She was greeted with a large, hard, and angry cock that gently swayed once it was released from its confinement of clothes. She had never dealt with anything this big before, but she was more than willing to see how much of him she could handle. She reached for his member, but before she make any contact with it, the hand that held her by her hair was removed and used to swat hers away. She jumped slightly, looking up at him, confused. “Did I say you could touch it? Did you ask for permission?” He asked, causing her to shake her head quickly. “I-I’m sorry, please, can I suck your cock?” She asked meekly, her hands intertwined with each other in her lap. He scoffed and leaked forward, placing his thumb and middle finger on her chin gently, “I’m sorry ‘what’?” He asked, tilting his head up and waiting for her answer, eyes still locked on hers.
“I’m sorry.. F-Father. Please, can I suck your cock?” She asked once more, to which he smiled softly and nodded. “Very good girl.” He cooed, straightening his posture and placing a large hand on the back of her head, gently guiding her towards his now leaking hard on. Her plush lips parted as his precum made contact with them, the fat tip of his cock beginning to enter her mouth. She could barely fit the tip; did he expect her to take the whole thing? He grunted softly as he pushed himself into her tight mouth, “Take both of your hands and start to jerk me off while you suck. Understood?” He said, to which she moaned gently in agreement. She raised her hands in a similar fashion as before, and wrapped them around his cock. She started to bob her head slowly as she twisted her hands around his huge dick, looking up at him in the process. Her hands barely fit around his length, and so far she was only able to fit about four inches into her mouth. His breath hitched while she worked, his head rolling back as he squeezed his eyes shut.
He began to thrust into her mouth slowly, matching her rhythm. She gagged quietly, but stubbornly refused to take a breather. Spit began to pool in the corners of her lips, then started to drip down her chin and onto her chest. Tears started to well in her eyes, her cheeks getting red from the lack of oxygen. He looked down and chuckled in a degrading manner, “Look at you, getting what you wanted,” He sighed, which earned him a harsh look from the girl. He smirked and placed his hands on either side of her head, “I hope you prepared yourself. I never said it was going to be easy to save you.”
Before she could react, he began thrusting faster into her mouth, causing her to squeeze her eyes shut and gag. He tightened his grip on either side of her head, his long fingers getting tangled in strands of her hair. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and more spit pooled from her mouth down to her chest, and eventually down to her thighs. Her hands found themselves on either one of his thighs as if she was bracing herself for each thrust. “That’s it, good girl,” He huffed between breaths, “Take it. Take all of it.” He groaned, his breath hitching. He continued to use her throat as a fleshlight, disregarding whether or not she had to breathe. He was full of anger, now lust; and he was going to make sure that she new it.
The sound of gagging mixed with hot spit hitting the cold marble floor echoed through the church. Her throat began to get sore from the constant stretching and contracting from his length. Her jaw felt as if it was starting to lock, whimpers and soft sobs managing to escape her airway. He put both hands on the back of her head, shoving her down to take as much of his length as she physically could, and held her there. He let out a loud, guttural moan as he did this, “Oh, that’s it. Right there - Keep it there like a good girl,” He panted, strands of his hair falling in front of his face as he looked down at her. His face was painted with pleasure, his cheeks red, his eyes squinted slightly as he watched her. She coughed on his cock, her nails slowly digging into his thighs as she struggled against his strong grip. With a loud grunt, he pulled her off and let her breathe. She fell back on her ass, coughing and panting. He eyes locked onto the altar ahead for a moment, until he looked back down at her. He would do his own repenting when he was done with hers, that was for sure.
He stepped forward, towering over her once again. “You’re not done yet.” He growled lowly, grabbing a fistful of hair from the back of her head with one hand, and using the other to jerk himself off. The excess spit on his cock began to leak down his wrist as he pulled her face close to his length once again. She looked up at him, still panting, practically pleading with him. “Tell me what you want, tell me you want me to come all over that pretty face.” He huffed, taking time between every other stroke to rub his cock on her sore cheeks, taunting her even more. “Please,” She stammered, “Please, cum on my face; please, Father, please,” She continued, looking up at him with wide eyes. The look she gave him almost made him blow his load right then and there, causing his cock to twitch as he clenched his jaw and watched the girl below him, nodding as if silently telling her to continue. “I-I need you to cum all over me, please, please cum for me, Father!” She stammered, grinning as he sped up with jerking himself off. She loved to watch him crumble in front of her, and whether or not he felt like he had his way with her, she knew she was winning the so-called reformed man over.
“Open your mouth. Now.” He ordered quickly. She obliged, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out, softly laughing as she did so. It only brought him closer to the edge, watching and listening to her beg for it. With a loud grunt, his head rolled back and he squeezed his eyes shut, shooting his hot seed into the girls mouth and onto the rest of her face. He let out strained moans as he did so, his stroking slowing down significantly. He looked back down at her, attempting to catch his breath. She leaned forward, gently lapping up the rest of his cum off of the tip of his cock, earning a satisfactory moan from him.
After several moments, he let go of her and backed up. He leaned down and pulled his briefs and pants up, zipping them and fastening his buckle. He walked past her and towards the altar, grabbing a spare cloth that was laying around and walking back to her. He handed it to her and looked down at her as she took it, clearing his throat. She wiped her face off as he spoke, “Clean yourself up and leave.” He said coldly, to which she smirked. She stood up and tossed the rag to the side, landing on a nearby pew and earning a disapproving look from him. “What’s wrong, Father? Am I still tainted?” She grinned, flattening out any wrinkles on her shirt. He looked her up and down, disgusted with both her and himself. “You got what you wanted. Don’t come back here again.” He said blankly, stepping away from her and walking towards the altar. She laughed and began walking to the same mahogany doors that let her in an hour prior, her shoes once again clicking against the marble floor.
He sighed as she opened the heavy doors; the only light that peered in were from the streetlights a bit farther ahead, illuminating the building and streets for the night sky above. He looked back at her from his post, standing in front of the cross he was sure to spend several hours in front of begging for forgiveness. She looked back at him as well, locking eyes with him from across the building as her hand held open a door to walk out of. She smiled,
“I’ll make sure the next time I decide to sin, I’ll see you right away. See you soon, Father.”
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deeranger ¡ 11 days
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Wow, that's really bloody hot!!! Literally. 🥵 I absolutely adore this.... I mean, mixing slutty Stanford Sam with raw male domination and homemade piercings gone wrong... Only to sprinkle it with a such a delicious amount of messy S/M undertones??? Well, MWAH?! Friggin perfection! 😍
It's his first piercing, probably done against his better judgement. The guy who did it had called himself ‘Tool,’ and he was huge, taller and definitely broader than Sam. Their paths had crossed when he grabbed Sam by the waist and tugged him out of a doorway, turning to glance at him with a wink and a smile as he walked through to the kitchen. Naturally, Sam followed him.
or,
The story of Sam Winchester's safety pin initiation into the punk scene at Stanford.
cw: mild blood/gore, oral sex, wincest themes & references, under-negotiated kink (but Sam's into it, re: he's a whore)
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Sam's wearing a shirt that's hopelessly sweat-stained, to go along with where it's literally dripping from his skin and too-long hair. The sweat and grime around him blend in with his own in a heady mix of adrenaline and chaos.
He's screaming his throat raw at a show, throwing fists and elbows just to stay upright along with all the other scumbags down in the pit. His height keeps him from the worst of it, but he still takes hits to his own shoulders and jaw. One solid knock gets him in the gums and makes him bite his tongue and cheek in one go, mouth filled with blood instantly.
It tastes like copper. It tastes like sex.
His blood's all thin 'cause he's drunk, so he's bleeding enough for it to drip out of his mouth- crimson spraying out as he shouts along to the lyrics, the words punchy and mean, scratching out from the back of his throat.
He's got a safety pin shoved through his swollen right earlobe, done two hours earlier in some punkhouse bog that probably carried more diseases than he cared to know about. The alcohol is making the fresh piercing drip blood down the side of his face, adding to the crusty brown trail it's already left every so often whenever his ear gets jostled by the crowd. He doesn't notice.
It's his first piercing, probably done against his better judgement. The guy who did it had called himself ‘Tool,’ and he was huge, taller and definitely broader than Sam, and he wasn't afraid to use it - bodily moving people out of the way as he moved through the overcrowded punkhouse. Their paths had crossed when he grabbed Sam by the waist and tugged him out of a doorway, turning to glance at him with a wink and a smile as he walked through to the kitchen. Sam's heart had stuttered in shock and, to his surprise, crackling waves of lust had splashed down the insides of his torso, settling into a low tingle in the spots where the man's hands had been.
It shouldn't be a surprise, though. Not really. In that moment, Tool had so effortlessly made him feel so small, so delicate, and enveloped in a way he hadn’t been since even before he'd left that godforsaken motel room, forbidden from ever returning. He hadn’t felt this specific, intoxicating facsimile of nostalgia since he’d outgrown the only confining force he’d ever known. John had tried to be that, tried to shove Sam into a box of his father’s creation, but Sam had only ever absorbed it (accepted it, needed it) from Dean. 
But the feeling hadn’t left when Sam was finally big enough to win in a spar against Dean or anything like that, no. It had slowly started chipping and splintering away when Sam caught Dean kissing a girl for the first time (and then every time after that, when he caught Dean with a girl, or caught him inside one, or caught him coming home from the bar reeking of that specific girl-scent that was simultaneously exhilarating and rancid coming from his brother's skin-).
It had all finally collapsed for good when he’d just turned 17, and Dean was with a girl in the bed that they had been forced to share because they were tight on cash. It was a common enough occurrence by then, but as Sam was waiting outside the door, he heard Dean calling out the girl's name, Sam- ah- Samantha!
So, Sam hadn’t felt held, felt subsumed since then. A feeling like betrayal itched from under his skin, but he didn’t examine it. And maybe it was an illusion from the drinks he'd had already, or from the rebellious company (or from the crushing loneliness), but this random guy in a shitty punkhouse in the fringes of Palo Alto had recreated that feeling so perfectly, just with a simple, thoughtless gesture. 
Naturally, Sam followed him. After a lifetime of slipping in and out of towns and spaces and people’s lives, he weaved through the crowd easily, catching up to him as he was in the depths of the punkhouse fridge (is that mold?). They bumped shoulders slightly as he stood, Sam crowded in too close, but excusably so because of the crowd. The man had two beers in hand, and he immediately shoved one of them into Sam's. Sam had a sinking feeling that the guy knew he would follow after him. He ignored it. 
“New to the scene, huh? Pretty sure I would’ve remembered a face like that, otherwise,” his gaze scraped Sam raw from head to toe, jaunty smile searing itself into his brain. 
Sam smiled ruefully with a nod, blush forming on his face and neck despite his best efforts. “Yeah, just moved here, so…” 
He returned the other's gaze quickly, almost unconsciously- he was built, and Sam had to look up to meet his eyes, an uncommon occurrence ever since he'd outgrown John. He had an undone mohawk that was bleached to shit, basically straw- spikey and stiff in a way that suggested he usually put it up with copious amounts of heat and hairspray. Piercings littered his ears and face, with the beginnings of tattoos poking out from all edges of his crew-cut collar. He was dressed similar to Sam, layered shirts that were all various stages of slouchy, but his were all torn up, even worse than Sam's. Worn and repaired repeatedly, it seemed, safety pins and roughshod patches holding together parts of his ratty jeans, t-shirt holes exposing more glimpses of tattoos over his torso. The flash of arousal from earlier returned with a vengeance, starting up a burning heat in Sam's gut.
The guy offered him a hand, “Well, I’m Tool, then.” Sam took his hand instinctively in a firm grip before his brain caught up, right- a name, and obviously “Tool” wasn’t the guy’s government name, and duh, of course, we shouldn’t say our real names, so he scrambled to think of anything that wasn’t his own and the silence was stretching and they’d been shaking hands for slightly too long and-
“Dean! I uh. I'm… Dean.” What the fuck. DEAN?
Tool raised his eyebrow with a slow nod like, Sure it is. 
Sam ducked his head with a sheepish smile in response, acknowledging, Yeah, that lie totally sucked. But it didn’t matter. Tool knew why. “Dean” knew why. It didn’t matter.
Tool let him off easy with a clap to the shoulder and a raised beer, “Welcome to the fuckin’ fold, man. Hey-” He turned to somebody slightly off to the side, keeping one hand on Sam's shoulder and using the other to jostle the person for their attention, “Hey, this guy’s a punk virgin, ‘ve you got any pins?”
He turned back to Sam, “We’ve gotta christen you, kid. You’re too clean-looking- they’ll eat you alive if you turn up to the show like that.” 
A wad of safety pins, all strung together onto one bigger safety pin, sailed into the side of Tool’s head with a jingling thwack. Sam went to catch it as it fell without much thought, only belatedly noticing with a thrill how close he had to get to the other man to reach for it. 
The thrower shouted a loud GOAL!  that had Sam laughing as he handed over the pins, “Christen me, huh? What, one beer in, and that’s all I get?” 
And if it came out a little flirty, Sam blamed the alcohol. And besides, why not? Wasn't this what college is for? Because you gave him your older brother's name as your own, THAT'S why not.
Tool grinned, “Hell yeah, dude, gotta get you deflowered.”
Sam felt the flush build on his face once more. Deflowered. He looked Tool up and down again, catching minutely on the curve of his bulge in his threadbare jeans before quickly snapping back to his face. He huffed a laugh with a casual, low-toned, “Yeah, alright.” He gestured to Tool's piercings, which gleamed tauntingly in the dim light, “You know what you're doing, right? You wanna stab me?” 
A rush of satisfaction ran down his spine as the other man's gaze darkened, roaming down across his body, tongue flitting out to wet his lips as he grinned, “Dean, shit dude- I was just thinking we'd fuck up your threads. You wanna get pierced?”
DeanDeanDean-
Sam nodded, his blood thrumming. It was impulsive, sure, but he needed to get closer to this guy, to get him alone. To soak in the first familiar thing he’d experienced the whole time he’d spent in California. 
Tool's grin grew sharp at his nod in a way that made Sam shiver with anticipation, the prey part of his brain lighting up in a warning that had him adjusting himself in his increasingly too-tight jeans.
“Sick, man, let’s move,” he drew out all the vowels, in that funny Californian vocal-fry way. Sam couldn’t help but think about sounds drawn out for different reasons (Sam- ah- Samantha!). 
But then he was being pulled out of the kitchen via the hand that Sam hadn’t realized was still on his shoulder, though it was now migrating towards his bicep, gripping just on the right side of too-hard. Following Tool's lead, Sam drained his beer, and they tossed their crumpled cans into a pile in the corner of the kitchen as they exited.
The bathroom - more of a bog, really - was just around the corner from the kitchen, where Tool dragged him inside before shoving the half-hinged door into the frame to effectively wedge it upright and shut. Holes were punched in various places in the drywall, and it reeked of piss and various smokable substances. A lighter was helpfully attached to the (doorless) sink cabinet by a string. The floor gripped at their shoes with an undeniable stickiness.
It was foul. It was perfect.
The toilet didn’t have a lid or even a seat, so Tool guided Sam to sit on the sink counter, face now just at the chest height of his soon-to-be piercer as he stood in front of him. The hand on his arm finally left it, leaving a cold spot in its wake as Tool pulled up the hanging lighter and got one of the safety pins out of the bunch.
“You thinking of an ear?”
Sam shrugged, “Figured I should start off with something simple.” He bared his neck and ear towards the front, his hair subsequently falling down and obscuring it. Sam twitched his hand up to fix it, but Tool got to it before he could, dragging his fingers through Sam’s hair more than a few times, raking through it, soothing and nice. Sam thought it was probably just to make sure the hair stayed on the other side of his head.
He nodded at Sam’s response, flicking the lighter on under the opened safety pin. “The right one? That how you want it?” He met Sam’s eye with a raised brow. He didn’t just mean the placement of the earring.
Sam held his eye as he bit his lip, giving a slow, purposeful nod; he knew what it meant. 
Tool knew what it meant, too, giving him a crooked, wry smile. “Me too, but you knew that,” he spoke out in a low register, voice caressing the air. Sam shivered, swallowing heavily and leaning into the hand that was back in his hair.
Tool used it to tilt his head slightly back into the light, letting go to line up the supposedly sterilized pin to his ear: no ice, no wipes, just a raw, soot-covered safety pin. 
“Fuck, ‘s gonna look so good on you…” it came out absently like he didn’t really mean for Sam to hear it. Sam’s hand came up involuntarily to rest on the other’s waist in front of him, holding him close as he thumbed almost fondly over Sam’s ear. His hand was cupping Sam’s face in the process, big enough to fully span the side of it. He crowded in closer, to the point where Sam’s nose and chin bumped along his chest and upper abdomen (just to steady him, surely). 
Sam couldn’t help but lean in, inhaling the scent of sweat and stale cigarette smoke that permeated the shirt he was now resting his face against. 
He looked up to see Tool bite his lip (obviously just in concentration) as he finally began to line the safety pin up, Sam feeling the prick of it against his earlobe. “You want a warning, kid?”
Sam hummed a “no,” eyes now closed and pressed up against the man in front of him. He was held. Subsumed. At peace, even if it was just for a moment. 
Tool finally grabbed his ear, bracing a finger against the back of his earlobe and holding it firm as he placed the pin against it. The pinching sensation increased sharply with the applied pressure until it quickly crested and Sam felt it stab through him, making his breath catch in a rush of pain-hot-arousal. 
He slowly exhaled, though it quickly turned into a groaning hum as Tool fiddled around with the safety pin to close it, tugging and moving the pin around in a way that already ached. It shouldn't have been erotic, feeling the metal minutely slide back and forth inside of him, but it had Sam shifting uncomfortably in his jeans all the same. 
The torso Sam was resting against rocked with repressed, disbelieving laughter and a muttered fuck as the fingers on his ear slid off the pin and snapped down onto his earlobe. It made a jolting, swollen pain ring dully from Sam’s ear straight down the inside of his torso, washing down low into his gut and warming him from the inside out. He managed a minute flinch, trying to keep up appearances, but it was belated and unconvincing.
In a voice full of amused apology, Tool spoke up, “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig, man, it's making it all slippery.” 
Sam could feel the drops of blood already sliding down his neck, backing up his story. He laughed softly in response, giving his own muttered apology with a shrug, still resting against the other man with his eyes closed.
After a moment of continued fiddling, Tool clicked his tongue and gripped Sam’s hair none-too-gently with his less-bloody hand to pull his head back further into the light, ripping Sam away from his warm resting place. The separation caused a protest to escape the younger man’s throat before he could stop it, the pull in his hair then making his breath pick up in a way he couldn’t quite get a handle on. 
Tool tsk-ed again after another failed attempt, more of that pinching, sore pain racing down Sam’s spine as he missed, making the younger man slowly open his eyes just in time to see Tool stick his bloody fingers in his mouth and then wipe them down the front of his shirt, getting them dry once more. 
That was Sam’s blood in Tool’s mouth, Sam’s blood down his throat when he swallowed-
He moved his face in extra close next to Sam’s ear so he could see, breath tickling the side of his neck. He gripped Sam’s ear and the pin ever so carefully, and with a muttered fucking finally, he got it closed. He dropped his head onto Sam's shoulder, suffering a quiet bout of exasperated laughter that fanned onto Sam’s skin. 
Sam laughed with him, sliding the hand he had on the man’s hip up to pat his back sarcastically, “Jesus, man, talk about a first try.”
Tool laughed harder at this, finally pulling back to wipe a hand down his face. “Fuck- Dean- I’m sorry, I swear I’ve done this before- you’re just bleeding so much, dude, it’s everywhere…” he trailed off, looking over Sam’s ear which was still tilted toward him. He bit his lip as he looked down at Sam, “It looks sick, though. You should leave it like that for the show, the blood goes hard.”
(“Fuck- Dean-”)
Sam stood up from the counter then, the two men just barely fitting between the wall and the sink as they faced each other. He still had to tilt his head up to meet Tool’s eyes, and he did so with a deceptively sweet smile that turned sharp just at the last second, “I should leave it for the show, or I should leave it for you?”
All at once, he was being manhandled again, shoved up against the opposite wall where Tool had just been standing. Tool’s hands were in his hair and gripping his face, his middle and ring fingers framing Sam's right ear and brushing the brand-new piercing in the process. Sam groaned into the thin sliver of air between them as his ear throbbed, the pain more and more insistent ever since Tool had really begun to fuck with it, trying to get it closed. 
Tool was breathing heavily into the space between them, tongue darting out over his lips and looking for all the world like he was about to swallow Sam whole. Sam’s lips parted in response, inhaling on Tool's exhale, head tilted back and eyes fluttering with desire-lust-need, tauntingly pushing his chin up to tease at a kiss, trying to goad the other into it. 
He succeeded, Tool moving in on cue like he aimed to devour, laying a claim he didn’t have the authority to enforce. Their lips pressed together hard, mouths opening to each other far too soon, brutal and wet and dirty. Lips got caught harshly between teeth - though Sam wasn't sure whose - and then everything tasted like blood and spit. 
Kiss, “Fuck, look at you,” kiss, “just a punky little fag, huh?” kiss, “You want dick that bad,” kiss, “just willing to shout it out to everyone,” kiss, “who sees you with that pin?” 
Sam was actively gasping for air, trying not to waste his limited breath on a moan but trying to nod at the words. Needy, like a whore who wouldn't even get paid by the man molesting her oh-so-perfectly, but to whom she would return over and over again, instantly addicted and helpless to it. 
Tool crowded in closer and closer throughout their kiss, pressing himself in a long hard line up against Sam, up against the disgusting, smoke-stained wall. Sam gave back in kind, opening his legs to slot them further together, hot brands pressing against each other through their zippers. Tool didn’t waste a second in gripping Sam’s hips, putting one knee between both of Sam’s and hiking the younger man up his own thigh, Sam now straining on his tip-toes to accommodate the position and still keep their mouths deliciously connected.
They ground together gracelessly, Sam keeping his hands clutched around Tool’s head and neck, not unlike the way girls would often do with Dean, alternating between putting his thumbs at the man’s jaw, gripping the back of his neck, and sliding up further to grip at the strip of hair from his ‘hawk. In turn, Tool groped everywhere he could reach - Sam’s ass, his sides, his chest. Tweaking his nipples, harsh and mean, eliciting a sharp sound from the back of Sam’s throat, who pushed his chest up into the grip wantonly, encouraging, begging as the other man abused his flesh.
The caresses migrated upward, up and up until Tool was thumbing at the piercing again, Sam’s nerves lighting up with pain - sore and aching and making him weak at the knees. Such an innocuous spot of skin made into such a fiercely erogenous zone, all from a simple piercing. Entering onto a higher plane of existence that only pain can bring you to, as Sam knew well.
The tugging on his lobe made him cry out viscerally, cock throbbing in his jeans, breaking the kiss to gasp out, “Please, unh- please-”
He didn’t know what, exactly, he was asking for - he’d never even done anything like this with a man before, now just acting on pure instinct and unadulterated lust. 
But Tool seemed to have an idea as he pulled his head back, panting harshly, responding, “Yeah- ah, Dean- yeah.” 
He gave one more devastating grind of his thigh into Sam’s groin before ripping himself away and leaving Sam to sag against the wall with a whine. But Tool kept them connected, pushing his hands down on Sam’s shoulders until the younger man couldn’t help but fall to his knees with a painful thud onto the sticky floor. 
(“Yeah- ah, Dean-”)
Tool gripped his chin with one hand and undid his belt and zip with the other, forcing Sam’s head up to face him, “You wanna be a faggot so bad, Dean? Fucking prove it.” He shoved his jeans and boxers down, letting his, fuck, extremely proportional dick swing tantalizingly in front of Sam’s face. 
Sam swayed forward instinctively, mouth sagging open and eyes fluttering as he inhaled deeply, salt and days-old sweat permeating the air in a way that should’ve been revolting, but just made Sam’s cock leak in a way he could feel. 
His thoughts were like syrup. Dean. A giant dick waving in his face, reeking and gorgeous. Dean. His mouth watered.
A mean laugh sounded above him, “Already cock stupid, of course. Undo your zip, but don’t take your pathetic excuse for a dick out. You won’t need it.” 
Sam quickly fumbled to do as he was told, entirely cock drunk just as Tool predicted, not even comprehending the insult but turned on further nonetheless. His cockhead showed obscenely through the giant wet spot on his boxers, poking out of his jeans and catching on the zipper teeth.
“I’m gonna fuck your face, and you’re gonna like it, got it?” Sam moaned pathetically with a nod, feverishly anticipating it. 
He reached his hands up to grab Tool’s hips to steady himself but was slapped away, “Hands behind your back, you don’t get to fucking touch.” 
Sam hurried to comply, gripping his hands together at the small of his back, dropping his mouth open further with his tongue out instead, leaning forward desperately with an open-mouthed moan to try and get Tool’s cock in his mouth. Aching to get his first ever taste of man-sweat-sex - real and tangible, not just something he could faintly smell on Dean's skin after midnight in a motel room.
Tool’s hands gripped his hair painfully tight, making Sam’s dick weep into the fabric covering it. The hands held his face back, pushing his head into the wall and keeping it there, pinning his arms and hands awkwardly between his back and the wall. The man shuffled forward, shoving a boot between Sam’s legs as he went, Sam’s hips fucking forward onto it even as he tried to stop himself, trying to be good.
Sam kept his jaw limp, eyes crossing as he focused on Tool’s dick as it pushed forward. Tool used Sam’s hair to tilt his head this way and that, rubbing his cockhead against his face, demeaning and dreamy, wiping pre-cum all over. Sam was whimpering embarrassingly with each initiation of contact, twitching his face to try and tilt it into his mouth.
Finally, Tool acquiesced, muttering through a laugh, fucking cockslut.
The slide over Sam’s tongue was slow and oh-so-blissful, Tool feeding him his dick steadily and not stopping, even when Sam gagged, instead pushing further into Sam’s throat with a groan. He kept it there, adjusting Sam’s head slightly to rub the crown over the closure of Sam’s throat, making him cough and wretch further, completely unused to the stretch in his esophagus. 
He was tearing up enough as he gagged that it spilled onto his cheeks, head in a haze as his oxygen was cut off. Through the haze, Sam idly noted that it must’ve been his lip that split earlier, during the kiss, as the drag of Tool’s dick into his mouth brought in a fresh wave of blood that made the truly eye-watering taste all the more sweet. 
Tool finally started to fuck into Sam’s mouth, pushing Sam’s head against the wall and drawing back with his hips just to thrust forward, again and again, at an entirely heady pace. 
He grabbed roughly at the piercing, clearly an obsession at this point, groping Sam’s bleeding ear with a sickeningly smug moan, muttering, “Getting so wet, fuck,” as he shoved his cock further down Sam’s newly devirginized throat, his fingers covered in Sam’s blood. 
Sam gave an instinctive, unavoidably high-pitched squeal that came out garbled and obscene, combined as it was with the disgustingly thick, wet sounds of getting face fucked within an inch of his life. He twitched uselessly, both into and away from the grip on his ear, indecisive of wanting or hating it, effectively rocking into the rhythm set by Tool’s hips. The man let go at his squeal but moaned with the vibrations, clearly expecting the response and reveling in it.
After his ear was let go, the movement of Tool’s legs was enough to draw Sam's attention back to his own neglected groin, the steel-reinforced toe of Tool’s boot shifting against and underneath him, shoved far back enough to tease at his balls. It ground into him almost painfully hard and without remorse, ratcheting up Sam’s arousal further and further, the combined sensations of the pressure from Tool’s shoe and the friction from his own zipper and boxers entirely intoxicating.
Sam’s head kept knocking into the wall with the force of Tool's thrusts, arousal too twisted up in his guts to brace himself, and the man above him not doing a thing to stop it. It was disorienting, more than the blood leaking into his mouth or from the side of his head or even the distinct lack of air making its way into his lungs, keeping him solely focused on the repetitive thud-thud-thud of his head slamming into the wall. 
He barely had enough cognizance left to register the deep uh-uh-uhs that Tool was steadily letting out in time with his set rhythm. His breath was getting harsher and harsher, hands turning fidgety and restless, accidentally wiping blood further onto Sam’s face. It was far enough forward on his cheekbone that Sam could look down and see it, a deep, shiny crimson.
It was all Sam could do to stay upright, compliant like putty in Tool’s hands, dutifully gasping in air when allowed, and obediently keeping up as much suction as he could manage, even though his jaw ached with it, unused to the awkward strain. All of it combined to raise Sam increasingly higher into the aether, senses inundated with the thrillingly new and yet heartbreakingly familiar ministrations of masculine domination. 
Sam was fucking up onto Tool’s boot in earnest now, whining and twisting in place, desperate for friction but keeping his arms demurely locked behind his back, willingly following orders for the first time in his life. He blinked pretty cocksucker tears out of his eyes as he let his gaze roam over Tool’s figure in front of him, taking in as much as he could, memorizing it, leading Tool to meet his eyes with a punched-out groan, reaching down to thumb away a tear track on Sam’s cheek.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Gorgeous little whore, drooling all over the place,” he pressed his boot up even further under Sam’s dick as he continued to slam into the back of Sam’s throat, making Sam drive onto it harder, Tool’s laces and his own jeans’ zipper chafing his cock raw. “That’s it, slut, grind that dick on me… ‘s it turning you on, getting off on my boot like that? Bet you’d wanna get stepped on, huh? You’d let me grind you into the fuckin’ floor.”
Sam nodded with a pitiful moan, inhibited by his mouthful but captivated by the imagery of Tool’s words, hips pumping and surging forward erratically, pushing him humiliatingly closer to the edge. So, so close, but it wasn’t enough, tears of frustration welling up as he just couldn’t quite manage to get there. 
Tool read the expression on Sam’s face like a book and laughed at him, gripping his hair tight, “Aw, Dean, you’re so close… What's stopping you? Not a good enough whore to get off on just this?” 
Sam lit up with simultaneous shame and arousal, his brother’s name firing up neurons he didn’t know existed, sending nauseating arousal racing right through him, reeking of guilt and disgust.
Tool’s own rhythm was starting to falter now, jostling Sam’s whole frame as he started pulling his face forward to meet his thrusts. He was biting his lip, not focused on Sam at all - using him like a toy, just a cocksleeve for him to fuck. 
In his distraction, he moved his grip from Sam’s hair to the sides of his head, clutching around the back of it with his fingertips and subsequently grinding the palms of his hands into Sam’s ears, smashing Sam’s bloody earlobe and safety pin harshly between his hand and Sam’s skull-
An absolutely wrecked, screaming moan ripped its way out of Sam’s throat, tears instantly pouring down his cheeks from the sharp, violent pain. He choked and gagged on the cock in his mouth, torso twisting around involuntarily with the raw intensity of it, completely electrifying. The cumulative tenderness of a fresh piercing that had been fucked with over and over again in such a short time ultimately resulted in a specific kind of agony, unlike anything Sam had ever felt. Unlike being shot, stabbed, scratched, bitten - unlike even a thumb being shoved inside an infected wound, which was its own special sort of pain.
A fresh wave of blood poured out from Sam’s ear, splashing all warm and wet down the side of his neck as Tool pulled away, startled by the sound of his scream. The air filled with the smell of rust.
The hot-mean-lightning sensation still rang through Sam’s system even after Tool let go, forcing him deliciously close to the edge. His hands shot forward to grip Tool’s leg and keep it from escaping, exerting the strength he’d gained from years of grappling big, buff older brothers. Trapping Tool’s leg between his own, thrusting against it, keeping the man's cock deep in the recesses of his throat.
The pain, the smell of blood, the cocksucking adrenaline - they all combined to finally, finally scratch the itch in his brain just right, and he shot over the edge with a wail, coming so hard he could see stars. He kept thrusting against Tool’s leg through his orgasm, pinning him against the sink and humping him like a dog, whining and scrabbling with his hands against anything he could grab, ending up with fistfuls of denim and cotton and the skin underneath. 
He pulsed shot after shot of hot, sticky release into his boxers, all drawn out as he felt Tool’s dick twitch and throb in his throat as he clutched at Sam’s hair with a stunned, moaned-out warning of his own release, shaking apart above him. Sam drew back just enough to get the satisfaction of salty, bitter come sliding down the back of his tongue and throat as he swallowed it down with a moan.
He kept suckling and teasing at the man’s dick, feeling more than a little mean now that his high was starting to taper off, still forcing Tool up against the sink and making him just take it.
“A-ah! Stop- dude,” he was actively pushing at Sam’s head now, voice a little shaky, which made Sam laugh around him before he gave one final sucking, too-rough pull on his cock, just to be an asshole, and then finally letting him go. 
Sam leaned back against the wall, collapsing into (more than slightly hysterical) giggles, still a little drunk, high off of adrenaline and remembering Tool’s scared reaction when he’d screamed in pain, which was supremely funny to him in that moment, for whatever reason.
Tool shoved his pants up past his ass in an attempt to save himself from potential health hazards and then collapsed down to the disgusting floor with him, joining in on the laughter as they both panted through the sharp afterglow. They were soaked with sweat, clothes and hair wet with it, more than a little blood spread between them, belatedly drying on their skin as they cooled down. 
They sat for a second before Tool spoke up, infuriatingly smug, “Dude, your ear is gonna be so fucked.”
And when Tool didn't make it to the show later? Well, Sam thought, surely his freshly-broken nose had nothing to do with it.
49 notes ¡ View notes
deeranger ¡ 12 days
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Well, fuck me. 😳 I love this. Priest!Sam versus a demon succubus? Hell yes! I adore the way you write, the description of the church, Sam's helplessness and frustration.... All very yummy! And very intriguing too! I seriously need to see where this goes, please do continue? Please? 🥹 Either way, you've painted a lovely picture in my mind. Thank you for that.
If you do decide to continue the story, can I be tagged? 😍
FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR I HAVE SINNED
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Sam Winchester is a Priest and the reader is a powerful demon who plans to break him. Female reader, implied smut, dark themes! If enough people would like a part two, ill do it :-)
The sun shone through the large stained glass windows of the Church, painting its marble floors and ornate walls in different colors and designs. The Priest, Sam Winchester, sat kneeling in front of the alter, praying. He had a lengthy history with hunting, and decided to change his ways and repent, becoming a priest and spreading the word of the lord. He left his previous life behind after yet another near death experience, and swore he met Christ in the process. He decided to break away from his once violent lifestyle, changed his name, took an oath, and now found himself baptizing babies and conducting a mass every Sunday. He was content now; and for the first time, he felt as though his life had purpose and structure. And at the end of each day, such as now, he would thank God for changing his ways and making him the man he is today.
Latin hymns reflected on his knelt figure from the windows as he prayed, his hands clasped together and his eyes closed. Soft swirls of incense floated among the floors and across the decorated walls, the scent of Frankincense and Myrrh wafting throughout the cathedral he often called home. He mumbled to himself; or really, to God. The vast wooden doors to the church creaked open from, disrupting the large man from his one sided conversation. After looking up to the quartzite statue of Mother Mary, he turned back from the alter, letting go of his hands and standing up. Confused, he watched as the girl entering shut the heavy door behind her, the light that momentarily flooded the entrance once again hiding behind the ornate mahogany panel doors. “Father Wesson,” The girl started, the sound of concern lacing her words. His brows twitched in confusion as he tilted his head, watching her walk towards him. The sound of her shoes clicking against the cold marble echoed through his house of worship as she got closer to him. “I’m so sorry to disturb you after traditional hours, but I must speak to you urgently.” She said, her brows laced with worry as she looked up to the towering man.
“Please,” He started, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t realized how hoarse his voice was from his hours spent alone praying. “What’s troubling you?” He asked concerned, raising his brows and tilting his head to her. She sighed gently and smiled, looking relieved, “I have a confession, and I can’t bare the thought of living with my sins. Please, I need to confess my sins and repent.” She said, her eyes welling up with tears. His face grew soft as he nodded, “Of course. Have a seat.” He smiled warmly, nudging to one of the many pews behind them. She returned the smile, “I can’t thank you enough, Father.” She said, turning around and walking to one of the benches. He followed, sitting next to her on the uncomfortable wooden seat, the plastic cushions letting out what sounded like a sigh beneath the two from the sudden weight.
He couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut; maybe he was just paranoid. He didn’t recognize this girl, he was sure he met most of the people from living and praising in this small town for well over two years. He pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind, shaking this feeling of uneasy off and readying himself for her confession. “I’m always here to listen. What’s your name?” He asked, head tilted. A sly smile grew on her lips, “Asmodea,” She said. She saw him visibly tense up, “But Dea works fine.” He swore he heard that name before, and every single siren and warning light was going off in his head. He paused, looking forward and furrowing his brows. He was deep in thought, trying to remember, but he couldn’t. “Father? Are you alright?” She questioned, looking up at him with concern. He quickly cleared his throat and nodded, “Yes, Yeah, uhm.. Everything’s fine. My apologies.” He stammered, smiling, “Dea, confess whenever you’re ready.” He said, a soft look of patience painted on his face.
“I’ve been having these.. thoughts.” She started, trailing off. “I can’t seem to control my anger and lust. I need help.” She said, looking down guiltily. He nodded, raising his brows, “Okay. And.. these thoughts. What kind of thoughts are these?” He questioned, his interest peaking. She inhaled sharply and continued, “All I can think about is sex and violence.. I can’t get these thoughts out of my head!” She whimpered, defeat all over her face. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, “You need to let the lord in,” He smiled gently, “You need to forgive yourself for these thoughts, and then he can forgive you.” He nodded. She smiled and looked up at him, “I understand.” He straightened his posture, “Have you acted out on these thoughts and feelings?” She tilted her head and pursed her lips, “Not yet.” His gaze hardened ever so slightly, giving her a quizzical look. “What do you mean by ‘not yet?’” He asked, his throat going dry. “Tell me, Father..” She started, standing up and walking out of the pew and towards the altar ahead. His eyes were locked on her figure, fear slowly starting to sink into the pit of his stomach. The sound of her shoes clicking against the floor bounced off of the vaulted ceiling as she approached the sanctum. He rose slowly as she began to speak, a hand on the pew in front of him, “Have you ever tried to run away from a life of sin? It just always seems to catch up to you.”
He seemed almost stunned at the question the girl asked. This was supposed to be her confession, not his. He went to speak, but nothing came out. He knew something was wrong, and he had nothing to defend himself with. As the girl faced the cross in front of her, she began to speak once again. “I just feel like.. No matter how many times I confess, and no matter how many times I try and reform myself in the eyes of god, I just can’t escape my right of passage.” She sighed, looking down. He slowly and cautiously walked towards her, “Dea.. What do you mean by right of passage?” He questioned, “You still have time to change your life around and give yourself to the lord.” He said optimistically. “You and I are very, very, similar, Father.” She smiled, “The both of us just can’t seem to escape what we were put on this earth to do.” She said. He stepped closer, clenching his jaw, “I don’t understand what you mean by that.” He said defensively; the reality he feared slowly began to sink in. She laughed softly and turned around, revealing her once innocent looking doe eyes to be pitch black, such as a void. The reds, blues, greens, and yellows from the stained glass washed over her from above, and an intense gust of wind seemed to rush through the aisle of the church, blowing out every candle of remembrance and honor in its way.
He stepped back in shock, his eyes wide as he faced the demon in front of him. He clenched his fists, sweat beginning to form in his palms and between his fingers. Before he was able to retort, she spoke, “I love this new look on you, Father Winchester.” His face grew pale as he trembled with both anger and fear, “Who are you?” He asked sternly, breathing heavier, “What do you want?” He growled. She laughed and walked towards him slowly, “You know who I am, Winchester. Don’t play stupid.” She grinned. It all hit him at once; years ago, both him and Dean came across a dead end on a case of what seemed like a succubus case. They beat themselves up over their loss for days until a new case hit, then they had no choice to move on. He remembered during his countless hours of research seeing her name somewhere in a demonology book, but chalked it up to a succubus that managed to escape the two. “I want you, Sam. And ill do anything and everything in my power to have you.” She said, inches away from him now. The smell of frankincense and myrrh was quickly replaced with roses and what he could only assume was pheromones. He shuddered as she placed a hand gently on his chest, “Please, father.. Forgive me for what I must do.” She said, looking up at him.
He snapped out of it and placed his hands on hers, pushing her off gently and backing up. “I’m a different man now, Asmodea. I don’t want to fight anymore. I just want to preach what I believe in.” He said, gulping as he nodded towards the cross behind her. “Oh, Father,” She said in a sultry tone, causing him to shift uncomfortably. “I don’t want to fight either.. I just want to show you how badly I want to worship you.” She said. She blinked up at him, her eyes returning back to a human facade. He shook his head, “No. Absolutely not.” He whispered, still in shock over the situation. “How did you find me?” He asked, backing away from her. “I’ve had my eye on you since you were hot on my tail a few years ago with Dean. You came really close to finding me, but I managed to stump you both.” He hadn’t heard someone mention Dean since he stopped hunting and turned his life around. Anger was visible on his face, “It was you. I knew it was you.” He snapped, only making her smile more. “Aww, Father..” She sighed, her brows furrowing, “Please, Forgive me for my sins.” She grinned, once again placing her hands on his chest and planting a kiss on his now dry lips; which of course wasn’t returned. “No. Get out.” He growled, to which she smirked and placed gently kisses on his jawline and whatever parts of his neck were exposed. “Please, Father,” She whispered. He let out a strained groan, looking away in disbelief. “Let me show you how sorry I am for being such a filthy sinner.” She begged gently, lowering her hands down to his waistline beneath his shirt and looping her fingers in his belt loops.
He groaned, his head rolling back, “This is wrong.. This is so wrong, we can’t do this.. You can’t do this to me.” He sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. He refused to look at her or at any of the Church decor. He swore that if he opened his eyes, Christ would be glaring daggers at him and the statue of Mary would be crying. “I know you think its wrong, Father.. But I need you to save me, I need you to fix me.” She answered, “Only you can help me.” She said, slowly lowering herself down to her knees in front of him. She smirked as she placed her cheek against the large bulge in his now tight black slacks, running her hands gently up and down his thighs. Her pleading was almost too much for him to handle; and her scent was driving him insane along with those pretty words she was using against him. “Please,” He whimpered, his voice strained. He managed to muster up the courage to look down at her, his hands down at his sides, “Please don’t do this, its against all I believe.” He said, shaking his head. “I thought you believed in saving others, Father.. And you know as much as I do that you want this.” She laughed softly, slowly pressing her cheek a bit harder into his now raging erection. She intertwined a hand with his, and guided his other to the back of her head. He couldn’t help but tighten his grip in her locks, clenching his jaw as he looked down at her.
“Forgive me Father, and absolve me of my sins.”
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deeranger ¡ 12 days
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Cuteness overload! 😍
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a smol wincest smooch animation made on flipnote! (yes the one on nintendo ds😗)
some stills below in case anyone is interested in that
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454 notes ¡ View notes
deeranger ¡ 25 days
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Well.... Fuck. 🥵😳
Tough Guy
(Supernatural)
Sam and Cas will kiss and hold hands whenever they get the chance, but date night is for heavy kink.  And Sam has really been wanting to try some kidnapping roleplay.
Sam is a trans man in this story.  Dom!Cas/Sub!Sam.
Warnings: Roleplay of a kidnapping and rape.  Knifeplay and threats of violence, gagging and handcuffing.  Although there are no slurs, there is (roleplayed) fetishization of Sam’s trans-ness.  This is consensual and all of it was discussed ahead of time.  There is a safeword and aftercare.
Like this story?  It was a commission!
Keep reading
222 notes ¡ View notes
deeranger ¡ 29 days
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OOo, yummy and very promising.... 😏 Love me a horny priest!Sam. I'm excited to see where this goes and how kinky it might get. I'd love to be tagged when you post more, @bunnysbrainrot? ❤️
Sinners - Teaser
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Relationship: Sam Winchester x Reader
Content: Explicit sexual content, teasing, more kinks and details to come with the full version, nothing too warning-worthy right now?
Summary: Disguised as a priest and nun on a case, time alone with Sam back at your motel is everything but holy. The taboo of your situation has Sam dealing with some… impure thoughts. Will Sam be able to contain himself?
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In the past few weeks you and the Winchesters uncovered some suspicious deaths in a remote area of Georgia. The locations of the tragedies spanned over 50 miles apart, meaning that the team had to split up to cover more ground. Dean had split from you and Sam two days ago, and the night before in the motel had been fairly normal. It seemed like Dean did this on purpose; you had drunkenly admitted to him of your affection for his younger brother.
Whether or not Sam knew of this, you had no clue. And now in your nun getup, it was all too fitting that you began to pray that Sam was unaware. The two of you calmly made your way past the yellow police tape, preparing warm smiles for a victim’s family.
Sam knocked on the door, letting out a bated breath. Weren’t nuns supposed to dress modestly? Your outfit was the proper attire, but the way it hugged your curves left too much to Sam’s imagination. It was his turn to pray that it didn’t stir too much in him, to let him keep his composure.
An older man answered the door, his expression easing at the sight of your attire. Turns out this costume was better received than you thought. You had to channel your tone and proper verbiage before speaking.
“Apologies for showing up unannounced, Mr. Peters. I’m Father Jeremy, and this is our sister from a local church.” Sam waved a hand for you to introduce yourself.
You chose to use your name, seeing that this was your first nun-appearance.
“We’re here on behalf of the church to offer support for your family, but we also have a couple of questions, if you don’t mind.”
Hopefully there were no questions about the nearest Catholic church, otherwise this whole façade would crumble. Mr. Peters’ face only softened further.
“I’m glad you’re here, Father, Sister,” he addressed you with a sad smile, “Please, come in.”
Sam stepped in first, using a beckoning finger behind him to have you follow him. The house was modest, but eloquently decorated. You recalled the murder that had happened, that brought you to this town, and shuddered. Mr. Peters’ daughter had been brutally murdered and discarded in a creek, signs indicating the presence of a vampire. Their daughter had been missing for two weeks before the time of death, which is what you and Sam aimed to discover.
“Mr. Peters, we are part of a youth outreach program at the church. Our aim is to help troubled youth, with restorative services and social connection. We were wondering if your daughter had any odd behaviors before she went missing. Perhaps she became more secluded?”
The man looked confused at first, “Odd behavior?”
Sam gave a small nod, “We notice that teenagers in need of help oftentimes become more distant with their families. Our goal is to provide better services to our youth, which does include finding the source issue.”
Mr. Peters have a small background of his daughter, admitting that she had become distant with the family. Not just that, but her anger had only worsened, amongst several harmful habits. It wasn’t uncommon for teens to become immersed in the occult and all things dark, but being surrounded by the wrong people can lead to harmful connections.
“I see,” Sam started, “and do you know what kind of people she was surrounding herself with?”
Another confused look from Mr. Peters.
You added, “This way, we’re able to identify warning signs - things to be wary of as our youth members meet new people.”
This seemed to clear things up, bringing out a detailed recount of his daughter’s recent social group. But, their social media had been recently deleted, preventing the family from getting their closure. As far as they knew, their daughter had made new friends, ran from home, and was found brutally murdered.
Sam’s eyes darted to you when you shifted in your seat, the fabric of your black dress sliding gracefully along your thighs. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but seeing you dressed up like this sent his mind spinning. The last thing he should be thinking of is taking you dressed like this, but he couldn’t shake it. His mind raced of scenarios the two of you could create, each one dirtier than the last.
But right now, the task at hand was covering the tightness of his pants. He leaned forward, the broad muscles of his arms flexing beneath his black shirt. Blush creeped onto your cheeks, much to the attention of Mr. Peters, who looked at you with concern.
“Sister, are you feeling alright?”
You nodded and gave a small wave, “Oh, I’m fine. Just a little warm is all. I apologize.”
Mr. Peters stood, “No need to apologize, let me get you some cold water. I’ll only be one moment.”
The room had gone oddly quiet paired with Sam’s intent stare at your face. You turned to find a concerned Sam inspecting you fully.
“You sure you’re okay?” He asked softly.
A slight nod, “Yeah, it’s just stuffy in this outfit.”
“Well, once we’re back at the motel we can get you out of it.”
A beat later Sam realized how that sounded. He tried to backtrack, but Mr. Peters had already returned with your glass of water, which you gratefully sipped on. It took everything in your power to resist the images that came to mind. Sam’s hands roaming your body, stripping that baggy dress off of your body, his mouth finding every nook and cranny of your neck.
Sam seemed to have taken over the conversation for the last few moments before standing. Mr. Peters had already given a short list of his daughter’s friends, and their usual hang-out spots. Your attention snapped back to reality; you placed the water glass down with a small thank you, being pulled up by Sam.
His hand could practically wrap the entirety of your arm, his grip stable and warm. Goosebumps rose on your arms, brushing against the tough fabric of your dress. The air outside carried the comfort of fall, the breeze being cool and refreshing on your hot cheeks.
At the car, Sam reached for your door to open it for you, something completely new to the both of you. You glanced up at him with wide eyes. The movements he made to reach the handle had pulled your bodies dangerously close, fully brush against his chest, pressed into the car. A inexplicable scenario that would raise a few eyebrows, for certain.
“Sorry, I just didn’t want you to trip on your dress,” breathed Sam.
Honestly, he was thankful for the little slip up - being this close to you had been a wish of his, but there had never been any excuse for it to happen. Your focus shifted from his soft, hazel eyes down to his parted lips. Sam’s attention shifted to your lips, lowering to your chest for a split second. A selfish move on his part, but the damage had already been done.
Your hand fumbled for the door handle, fingers sliding over his own. The two of you shared another longing glance before getting you into the car. Sam tucked in loose bits of your dress so the door wouldn’t snag on them.
“Alright, hands and feet it, watch out,” he whispered. You noticed how his hands fumbled more than usual, surely due to the nerves. Perhaps you had been reading this wrong, maybe you had taken things too far? Maybe you had overstepped and embarrassed him?
“Thank you,” you replied, giving him a genuine smile. Sam’s cheeks flushed, unmistakably a sign that maybe your anxieties been just that. Simple anxieties from overthinking this whole thing.
Now settled in the car, the two of you made the trip back to the motel. After stepping inside you beelined for the bathroom.
At least, until Sam’s voice stopped you in your tracks.
“Hey, could I talk to you about something?”
You turned to face him, eyebrows raised. You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat.
“What’s up?”
With the silence in the room, you took the cue to sit on the bed. Sam towered in comparison, his lean physique defined by the lamplight.
His voice softened, “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get that close, I-“
“Sam, it’s okay,” you cut him off with a laugh, “don’t worry about it. I wasn’t bothered by it.”
He relaxed his shoulders. Sam began to dig through his bag for another set of clothes.
“You look good as a priest, by the way. You sell the bit nicely,” you stated.
What you said made his heart skip a beat. Was that a compliment, or just conversation? Sam couldn’t tell, so he turned to you once more with a goofy grin on his face.
“Thanks,” his expression darkened as his eyes raked you over, “You look good as a nun.”
There was no mistaking it - he was taking his time looking over you. Your breath hitched in your throat when he turned, leaned casually against the desk your bags laid on. You transfixed on the way his hands moved around his belt buckle. Mildly fiddling, but you couldn’t help but imagine him following through.
“Not my best outfit, but thank you,” you replied. Sam pushed away from the desk, slowly stepping toward the bed where you sat, tense with every step.
“I would agree there, you’ve worn better,” he commented.
You head snapped up to meet his eyes. A surprise note of flirtation filled your voice.
“Okay, so what’s my best outfit, then?”
He scoffed, “We playing twenty questions?”
You pointed to your outfits, smirking proudly at him, “Look at our getup, man, it’s like a confessional.”
A bright laugh came out of Sam; he tilted his head back as he thought.
“My answer isn’t exactly… appropriate.”
“Sam,” you laughed, “Confessional. You gotta tell me.”
He let out a groan before lowering his head, steadily giving you his answer, “Your dark jeans, and that long sleeve shirt. The, um… the one with the v-neck, you wore it almost every day over winter.”
“And that was inappropriate?”
“It’s why I like it that’s inappropriate.”
“Okay, then, why do you like it?”
The last thing you expected was for Sam to close the distance. He stepped until he was directly ahead, arms crossed over his chest as he locked eyes with you.
“It made your ass look nice.”
His tone was surprisingly serious, like he had been thinking of this answer for a while.
“Hugs your body in the right ways. And it makes your, well, chest… look nice.”
Sam humored your shocked expression but pushing things further. If you could dish it out, he could dish it back.
“What’s my best outfit?”
As you collected yourself, Sam stepped closer, bringing a hand to your cheek. He lifted your head, hai thumb grazing over your cheek.
“It’s a confessional. You have to tell me,” he joked, earning a slight glare from you. That sour face melted away when Sam placed his hand beneath your chin. He tilted your head back to have you look at him.
Shit.
“Jeans,” you breathed, “V-neck black shirt.”
Sam leaned in, brushing his lips across your cheek. The closeness set your skin ablaze, each trailing lip and finger sending shivers up your spine.
“Is that all?” Sam whispered.
His eyes met yours once again, a startling seriousness lurking inside. You pushed past the shyness of your answer. The honesty could break the tension that had building all this time.
“Pajama pants… no shirt. When you just get out of the shower.”
Sam’s lips curled into a satisfied smile before planting a slow kiss to your cheek. He moved gradually to your jawline, sprinkling chaste kisses until his lips hovered over yours.
“Have you wanted this?” he asked.
Your frustration was intangible - a bottle that had been shaken too much, and ready to blow. He was centimeters, millimeters away from giving you what you’d truly wanted. The silence between you signified the utter defiance to give him this so easily.
“Confessional,” Sam’s voice reverberated against you, but he offered nothing to your pleading lips, “tell me, little nun, have you thought about this? Wanted my lips on yours?”
A small whine escaped you as Sam’s hand lowered to your throat, pressing softly to the tender flesh. The loss of blood flow muddled your thoughts into complete ecstasy, with no urgency to regain control. With just one move, it was clear to Sam that you were undoubtedly his.
You gave him a small nod. A low growl thundered in his chest before pressing into you further, laying you flat on the bed. Locks of chestnut hair framed your face, with a breathy Sam hovering his mouth over your neck.
“Nodding doesn’t count. You gotta use your words, sweetheart.”
Amidst the constriction on your throat you nodded and choked out a small, "Yes."
Sam's growing smile is all you need to know you've satisfied something deeper within him. Darkness floods his eyes seeing you like this, utterly at his will under his touch. If he'd known sooner that this would be the outcome, he'd have bought that nun outfit ages ago.
"That's better," he whispered.
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Hi everyone! I know it's just a teaser for now, but I wanted to show you something I've been working on! I've also been pretty busy with work and writing for my book series, so things have been a bit busy for sure haha
I love you all, and I keep an eye out for the full version of Sinners!
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deeranger ¡ 1 month
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OOo, it is I! 😁
Rating:
Explicit
Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Category:
F/M
Fandom:
Supernatural (TV 2005)
Relationship:
Jody Mills/Sam Winchester
Characters:
Sam Winchester
Jody Mills
Additional Tags:
Sam Winchester Has Mommy Issues
Breasts
Parental Jody Mills
Mother Complex
Drunk Blow Jobs
Blow Jobs
Tired Sam Winchester
Horny Sam Winchester
Dom Jody Mills
Dom/sub Undertones
SPN Masquerade Kink Meme
Whiskey & Scotch
Drunk Sex
Age Difference
Drunken Kissing
Vaginal Sex
Chair Sex
Awkward Tension
Mistakes
Episode: s07e12 Time After Time (Supernatural)
Language:EnglishStats:Published:2023-08-23Words:5,821
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deeranger ¡ 1 month
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'try not to stress out so much Sammy, you're too tight'
full pic : here
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deeranger ¡ 1 month
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Well.... Yum. 😳
crazy on you
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pairing: soulless! sam x reader
CONTENT: smut RIGHT under the cut, porn what plot, dom/sub dynamic, s&m, unprotected p in v, usage of sir, bondage, marking, slapping/spanking, riding, dacryphilia, overstim, multiple organisms for both, light possessiveness, choking, pain kink? ig goes with s&m
word count: 2.9k
a/n: prompts used by @loveisanimaginarydagger3000 "Phrases/Actions that have my legs divorcing" @smaoineamhsalach "smutty dialogue prompts" @creativepromptsforwriting "smutty one-liners". all can be found in my master prompt list, linked in main masterlist. dividers by @cafekitsune
nothin' left to do at night / but go crazy on you
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The door to the hotel room you were staying in slammed, making you fly bolt upright in bed. You relaxed when you saw that it was only Sam, the guy you had been hanging out with (and fucking) all week. His broad shoulders stretched beneath his worn flannel as he unloaded his pockets onto the side table, followed by a pistol from his waistband.
You didn't really know what it was that Sam did all day, sometimes night, or for a living. You had some inkling that it was violent, seeing as how he often came back bloodied (not always his own). But damn, gangster or not, he was good in bed, so you didn't ask questions.
Tonight he looked okay. The only flaws on his face were bruises from the week past, nothing fresh. His warm brown hair was messy, sure, and when he turned around, you saw that his t-shirt was dark with something that was probably blood, but if he had been fighting, the other guy lost.
"Hey," you called softly, voice thick with sleep. His head snapped towards you like he had forgotten you were there. "Welcome back. Kind of late."
Sam walked toward you slowly like a predator stalking its prey. His eyes glinted in the darkness. "It's only two."
Your heartbeat quickened, knowing what came next. This was the routine: Sam left for hours, came back beat up, then fucked you into tomorrow. You weren't sure when the man slept. You had resigned yourself to taking short naps while he was away.
"You're not how I left you," Sam observed.
Shit. He had told you to stay naked after your escapades last night and to be in bed when he came back. You had only fulfilled half of his requirements.
"I-I had to leave to get food," you offered lamely, knowing full well he had left you a credit card to get room service.
"Right," he said slowly, creeping closer. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach and down to your core.
"I'm sorry," you said, crawling backwards against the headboard. Sam tilted his head. "Sir," you added quickly.
The corners of Sam's mouth quirked up momentarily. "Strip."
"You first," you retorted, a rush of confidence emboldening you.
"Behave, I wouldn't want to punish you now." He looked at you warningly and finally touched down on the edge of the mattress.
You gulped and nodded, making quick work of your pajamas. You hadn't bothered to wear any underwear. "Make it even," you told him, shivering in the air-conditioned room.
Sam's head tilted in the other direction, almost like a dog. "Who do you think is in charge here?" he asked, voice dangerously calm.
You took a deep breath and shakily said, "I just wanna see you."
He chuckled, shaking his head, and peeled off his flannel, followed by the t-shirt that was damp with blood and sweat. "Better?" Sam asked, but the way he said it was almost mocking, like you were pathetic for asking.
His large hands gripped your knees where they were bunched up at your chest and spread your legs apart. He looked down at your pussy hungrily and ran a finger through your dampening folds. Your eyes closed at the sensation and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. After a week of being pounded into the mattress for hours at a time, you were more sensitive than you'd ever been in your life.
You felt him grip your wrists and shove them above your head. You opened your eyes to see him grab a blue tie that had been on the nightstand for days and use it to secure your wrists to the headboard.
You whined and pulled against your restraints. Sam just laughed triumphantly and got up from his seat on the edge of the bed.
"Not fair," you complained as he took the opportunity to remove the rest of his clothes. He disappeared into the adjoining bathroom for a minute, you heard water running, and then he was back, sans blood. He approached the bed slowly, lustfully. The look in his eyes was animalistic, and you had been around him enough to know that it pretty much was. You closed your legs instinctively, drawing back into yourself.
Sam kneeled over you and spread your legs again, more roughly this time. "Do I have to tie your legs down too?"
"No sir," you squeaked.
He grabbed your face and hummed, turning it side to side, fingers digging into your skin. You shivered at his touch, somehow giving you so much and so little at the same time. His head swooped down and he began kissing you aggressively, tongue invading your mouth. The taste of him had become so familiar, you relaxed in his hold.
Then Sam released you with a pop and started biting at the skin on your neck and chest, following the marks he had mapped out days before, darkening them. You arched your back into him, straining at your bonds.
"Sam," you moaned shamelessly.
He took your nipple into his mouth, rolling it gently between his teeth. You gasped and pitched your hips up into him. His hand came down to your stomach, holding you down firmly.
Sam took his mouth off your breast and blew cold air over the spit he left behind. "Come on baby, if you want something, use your words."
You shivered intensely. "Just fuck me already," you whined.
He delivered a sharp slap to the outside of your thigh. You jumped. "Language."
"Sorry, sir," you breathed. "Please."
Sam smirked approvingly, moving up to sit against the headboard beside you. He lifted you up and turned you around so that you were straddling him, twisting your bonds so your arms were around his neck. He dragged his wet mouth up your sternum, breath hot against your skin.
You ground against his hard cock with lips pursed, staring him in the eye, daring him to do something about it. Sam didn't care much about making you use your words in that moment, and lined his cock up with your entrance.
You sunk down gladly, feeling yourself stretch around his length. He swallowed a groan, gritting his teeth and giving you that look again. He was restraining himself. For the time being, you were thankful, because you definitely needed to cum at least once before letting him loose on your body.
Sam's hands fell on your hips, urging you to lift up and start moving. You started bouncing on his cock, hips slamming together, his tip hitting the deepest part of your pussy and still not fitting all the way. Your thighs started to burn and shake and you put more of your weight on your arms, using your bonds to pull yourself up. But you couldn't keep it up and started slowing down, whimpering.
The pain seared up your legs into your dripping core. You could come just like this, you thought. Just clenching around him, staying still. Pain sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You closed your eyes and focused on the knot forming in your stomach, willing it to come undone.
But of course, Sam wouldn't let you. He slapped your ass, bringing you back down to earth. "Come on," he growled. You protested, opening your eyes. "You have to work for it."
"Help me," you whispered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you dragged yourself up and fell again.
"No," he said bluntly. He was smiling coldly, actually enjoying your suffering.
You let out something like a broken sob and began riding him again, slower than before as the muscles in your legs cried out for reprieve. Sam kept his hands on your hips, guiding you as minimally as possible, still making you do most of the work.
"Good," he growled. "Keep going."
He bit kisses into your jaw as you rode him, grinding your clit against his hips, head thrown back. Your breasts bounced as you heaved yourself up and down in a broken rhythm, feeling his cock drag through you unpredictably as your hips stuttered.
After minutes of slow building, the knot inside you suddenly snapped, and you were cumming around his cock before you knew what was happening. "Ah- fuck, fuck," you moaned. You couldn't find the strength to keep fucking yourself with him anymore and dropped.
"Fuck, baby," he groaned as you came fully seated on him, feeling the deepest parts of your walls gripping him like a vice.
You collapsed against his chest, exhausted, your arms suspended above you limply. You felt him tugging at your restraints and they came free, allowing your arms to drop to your sides. Then, he lifted you off his dick and let you fall to the mattress on your back.
Sam was back inside you almost instantly, allowing you little time to recover before he was pumping into you roughly. He propped up your legs, allowing them to fall open on either side of his hips as he fucked you into the mattress.
You could hardly catch your breath with the way he was on you, kissing and biting your lips and jaw. Another orgasm started building inside you, faster than you would've liked. Sam sure knew how to draw them out of you, thrusting at a pace that built the most friction and hit your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure to have you squirming beneath him in seconds. He had learned your body well over the past several days.
You came again with a cry, pleasure washing over you blindingly fast, but Sam showed no signs of stopping, instead doubling down. Tears streamed down your face as he pressed your wrists into the pillow by your head, a feral expression covering his face as he drilled into you.
"Yeah, keep fuckin' comin' for me baby," he growled. A whimper fell from your lips. He didn't even seem close. You had no idea how he had this kind of stamina, especially since you weren't sure if he slept.
Suddenly he released one of your wrists to reach down to the place you were connected, rubbing your clit vigorously. You moaned desperately, hand flying to his shoulder and clawing at his back. He threw his head back and moaned himself, pace faltering.
"Yeah? You like it when I do that, huh," he gritted out. Your nails dug into his shoulder, breaking skin as you came around his cock for the third time.
"Sam!" You practically screamed his name, restrained hand flexing into the air, desperate for something to grasp. Sam grunted and kept thrusting into you, fucking you through your high, and then you felt his warmth seep into you as he followed.
He pulled out and sat back on his knees, continuing to rub your clit as your hands grabbed the pillow behind your head in an effort to lighten the overwhelming sensation.
"Oh god Sam, fuck- stop, please, sir," you blabbered. You opened your eyes to see him stroking his cock to you in the same rhythm as he rubbed your clit; slow at first, but picking up speed in response to your moaning and writhing.
Sam smiled unfeelingly, showing no mercy. "Can't you handle it, baby?" he asked wickedly.
Your hips bucked of their own accord. "Yes, I can- fuck, I can handle it," you whined, eyes wide and shiny, staring desperately at him.
The look on his face alone was enough to send you careening over the edge again, thrashing in his grip as you chased more. More sensation, more of his touch, just more of him. You could feel your mascara melting down your face as involuntary tears flooded out.
You felt him spread your folds with two fingers, smearing your wetness around your pussy and thighs. You jolted as his fingers skated over your clit. "So fucking pretty," he growled. "If only you could see how your pretty pussy is leaking my cum. All pink and puffed up just for me."
Your breath came out in little moans as you struggled to think of a response. "Water," came your voice, barely recognizable to yourself. You tried to sit up and find the glass you'd set by the bed.
Sam grabbed you by the throat and threw you back down. "We're not done yet."
You whimpered, looking up at him to find that same cruel glimmer in his eyes. You felt another pang of arousal rush your body. The way he controlled you was toxic, you knew, but it also turned you on insanely to be thrown around and used like a limp rag doll.
Sam's smile was strangely devoid of emotion as he looked you over, his gaze ending on your face. He wiped your wet cheek with his palm. "Don't cry, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need."
His words were sweet but his expression was deadly. You suddenly found yourself wondering what would happen to you once Sam left. Would he just leave you behind, imprisoned by his memory?
Perhaps it would be your blood staining his shirt one day.
Better to seize the moment while it's still here. You laced your fingers up Sam's neck, grabbing him by the hair, and pulled him down roughly to meet your lips in a messy kiss. He growled into your mouth and gripped your waist tightly. His body weight crushed down on you as he slowly thrust his half-hard cock back inside you. You gasped, the walls of your pussy fluttering at the sensation.
Sam hissed, nose and lips pressed into your neck. His long hair brushed against your cheek. You hooked your legs around him, wanting him closer than was humanly possible.
"Come on, Sammy, fu-uuck," you breathed, nipping his ear.
He jolted up, eyes narrowing on you. His hand was instantly back on your throat, and your own flew up to meet it.
"Don't call me that," he said sharply. His hand tightened below your jawline. You grasped weakly at his fingers. You were becoming lightheaded, but his bruising grip was all you wanted.
Your lips tried to form the words I'm sorry, but no sound would come out. Sam started driving into you, holding you where he wanted you by your neck. With each thrust, the pressure on your neck increased, then decreased. Increased, decreased. You gasped in air on the upstrokes and let yourself become dizzy on the down strokes.
Fire blazed in your core, and you weren't sure if you were cumming again or if you just never stopped. Sam hit deep inside you every time, and soon the pleasure was constant and the pain was fading away. Or maybe it was the opposite. You couldn't tell anymore. You could hardly think anymore, Sam the only thing on your mind.
His hand wrapped around your neck. The weight of him on top of you. The feeling of his cock splitting you open for... was it the fifth time tonight?
"Sam," you rasped, eyes rolling back. The hand squeezing your neck loosened for a moment.
"What?" Sam almost looked angry. He always looked angry, seeming like he had some pent-up rage about something to get out.
"Hurt me," you begged. "Do whatever you want, don't stop- ah!"
Sam squeezed your neck once harshly and let go, hand flying to your thigh, scooping your leg up and pressing it forward, calf resting on his shoulder. He slapped your ass sharply, followed by a slap to your face. You cried out in surprise.
"Such a fucking slut," he grunted, pounding into you harder than you thought possible, his tip bruising your cervix, causing a pleasant ache to rise in you. You couldn't even hope to respond, breath coming out in short pants and gasps.
Pain lit your core on fire, mirroring the blaze in Sam's eyes. You came faintly, feeling exhaustion set in and becoming aware of the layer of sweat that covered your body, dripping onto the sheets.
Sam's skin shone with sweat too, but he glowed. You could only lie there and take it, imagining how worn you looked compared to the god of a man above you.
"Good fuckin' girrrll," he said, sounding strained. His brow knitted together, eyes closed, as his rhythm began to falter once more.
"Give- give it to me," you stuttered, struggling to catch your breath. "Fuck, sir- please!"
Sam's arms scooped underneath you, holding you tightly against his body as he buried his cock deep inside you. His voice cracked as he groaned deeply, pressing into you as far as he could as he released inside you again, shuddering.
It was still for a moment. Sam held you caged in between his big arms, breathing heavily, your hips closely attached. Then he raised his head from where it had dropped into the crook of your neck and fell on your lips, kissing you roughly, letting out the last of his energy for now. You kissed him back with fervor, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other embedded in his bicep.
Sam pulled out, releasing your mouth with one last wet suck, and rolled to your side, pulling you with him to hold you tightly. You traced your fingers dazedly up and down his torso, blinking heavily as exhaustion threatened to take over.
Strangely, Sam didn't seem tired. At least, he didn't seem like he was going to fall asleep, like most men would after going that many rounds. He stared at the ceiling, thinking about something you would never learn. But you had come to expect this from him. He would hold you selfishly until morning, and then he would be gone again, leaving you weak and horny and unsure if he would return in one piece.
You supposed if he didn't sleep, there wouldn't be much else to do at night. You were sure this wouldn't last, he would move on and find another girl to pass the time inflicted by his insomnia. When he left, you would remember how he had made you feel, picturing his face with every other partner, always hoping he would come back and rock your world just once more.
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deeranger ¡ 2 months
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In the woods
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Sign-ups are now OPEN!!!
Artist | Author | Pinch Hitter | Beta
2024 Schedule February 1st Sign Ups Open April 1st Sign Ups Close April 2nd Art Due April 4th Art Reveal April 6th Art Claims April 13th 1st Check In June 1st 2nd Check In July 1st 3rd Check In Posting information will be collected at this time. July 4th Posting Announcement July 25th Posting Starts
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deeranger ¡ 2 months
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Just also finished this sam Winchester art piece
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deeranger ¡ 2 months
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Oh, but he is... Just look! 😅 Fashionista!Sam ftw!
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drenched in hellhound gore and he still looks like he should be on the cover of a magazine
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deeranger ¡ 2 months
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Holy crap, this is sooooo good!!? Thank you so much for doing this?!!! 🤗🥺 I adore that resigned and stoned look on his face, the slouch, the gloomy darkness of it all, and, oh fuck, his hand that extends out of frame...?! 😳 Is he... Is he maybe reaching for his phone to call his brother for help, finally? Or maybe it's the opposite, maybe he's calling Ruby? Or maybe she's already paid him a visit and he's just reaching for the jar of demon blood she left behind? 😭 Aaah, so many questions, so much pretty....??? ❤️ I love it!!
OMG, your art is amazing! 😳 I love your style, it's crazy pretty. Just found your blog now (late to the party, I know) and thought I'd tell you, heheh.
Also, if you ever feel like drawing a gloomy and sad blood!addict!Sam I would stare at it forever! I can just imagine him in some crappy motel room, all high on demon blood, shirtless in a dark corner, just reminiscing and dreaming about not being such a "freak", ya know? ☺️
If I had to put a title, which i never do, it would be "relapse"
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Not late, just in time!! I've been here for only a month after all... i don't have that many followers. small party here! AND OMG your prompt. Thank you for your kind words -- and if I ever say no to a shirtless whump!Sam, check if I've been kidnapped.
This took a while, mainly because I forgot about Dean's birthday and I had to hurry a quick sketch yesterday, but also because this prompt gave me sooo many different ideas and I started three times before settling on this one. I also spent 3h trying to find reference pictures ;; I hope you like it!
My art tag. ⸜(。˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
Ask me a question/say hi/make a request... ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀)
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deeranger ¡ 2 months
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Awww, likewise, @arwenadreamer! I'm so happy to know you - and I'm excited that I finally get to meet you - and your friends - irl at Infinity Con this year! ❤️ Eeee!
And if anyone else out there feels like saying hi, dropping an ask or a message, please do!! I'd love some mutuals to squee over Sam and Jared and SPN - or anything - with!!? Come talk to me! 😁
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reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions
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deeranger ¡ 2 months
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Codependency at its finest 😎
This is probably the most dramatic thing ive ever drawn (seems pretty in character for wincest tho jus sayin)
Extras/transcript below cut
Transcript:
We’re just two jagged parts of the same broken whole
I’d watch the whole world burn if it would save your soul
Extras:
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