#a baby dean to put a smile on your face

[fatecantstopme]

Spell Bound

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: It's sex pollen...I couldn't help myself.

Warnings: cursing, use of pet names. An excessive amount of heavy SMUT, unprotected sex (P in V), rough sex, oral (F receiving), multiple cream pies

"I freaking hate witches," Dean mumbled as he picked the lock on the apartment door.

You chuckled softly, very used to hearing him grumble every time you were hunting a witch.

He slowly walked into the apartment and you followed in after him.

"So what exactly are we looking for?" you asked quietly.

"Big scary magic book. Sam said it's probably on or near some kind of altar."

"Big scary magic book," you muttered under your breath. "Makes perfect sense."

You sighed as you walked into the living room and noticed several bookcases lined with large books. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Dean shot you a weary smile. "Guess it might take a little longer than I thought."

"You think?"

You took one side of the room and Dean took the other. Sam had described the look of the book to the both of you, but there was really no way to be 100% certain if you found it.

About 15 minutes into your perusal, you spotted a large leather-bound book tucked under what appeared to be an altar cloth. You slowly removed the cloth, wary of what you might uncover. The book was almost exactly as Sam had described, so you had a feeling it was the right one.

"I think I found it," you said aloud.

At almost the same exact moment, a crash sounded from behind you and Dean let out a string of curses.

You spun around to see the hunter brushing off some sort of florescent pink dust from his face. "What the hell did you do?"

"I was moving some of the books and this box fell out and some powder just kinda...sprayed my face."

"Seriously?"

He looked sheepish. "I didn't even see it."

You sighed. "Great. God only knows what the hell that was."

He looked at the box carefully, but there was nothing written on it to identify the powdery substance he had inhaled. He gave you another sheepish look and shrugged. "Maybe it's not harmful."

You shot him a stony look. "Dean...it's a witch. It's not gonna be fairy dust."

He sighed, knowing you were right. He started shifting his shoulders a bit as if he was uncomfortable.

"Let's get out of here. I'll call Sam on the way back to the motel and see if he has any idea what it could be."

Dean nodded and followed you out the door. By the time you got outside the building and to the car, he was twitching like an addict in need of a fix.

"Dean?" you asked tentatively.

"My skin feels like it's on fire and--and it's like--itchy. And there's a weird feeling inside that I can't describe, but it doesn't feel nice."

"Okay...how 'bout I drive?"

He looked up at you with concerned eyes, but he handed you the keys and got into the passenger seat. You knew he must really be feeling terrible if he was letting you drive Baby.

You started the car up and pulled out of the parking spot while simultaneously calling Sam on your cell. He answered on the third ring.

"Dean got some sort of witchy powder on his face and now he's...itchy?" you said quickly in lieu of a greeting.

Sam sighed. "What are his symptoms?"

You put the phone on speaker. "Dean, what are your symptoms?"

Dean couldn't look at you and when he spoke, his voice was barely above a growl. "I feel like crawling out of my own skin, everything aches, and I'm having a hard time breathing right. Oh and I can literally smell (Y/N)'s skin, which is totally not normal!"

"You can smell my skin?"

He grumbled under his breath. "I can smell your skin and your shampoo and your goddamn body wash, and I want--fuck. What the hell is wrong with me, Sam?"

"Uh, I honestly don't know. Let me call Bobby and see if he has any ideas."

You set the phone down on the seat beside you. "Maybe you're turning into some kind of animal?"

"What?"

"Well, I mean...you can smell me...which is weird and kind of--animalistic."

"I don't think that's it," he said harshly. "My body is aching in a way I can't even begin to describe to you, but I don't think I'm morphing into anything."

You eyed him carefully, worry etched into your face. He was your closest friend and trusted hunting partner, and you hated seeing him like this. Witches scared the shit out of you...you knew what they were capable of.

"Maybe drive a little faster," he hissed.

You pressed harder on the gas and the Impala shot down the road. When your phone rang, you answered it immediately.

"So I think I might know what it is, but I have something I need to ask Dean first," Sam said.

"Okay." You looked at Dean. "Can you hold the phone? Sam wants to ask you something."

Dean took the phone from your hand, hissing as his skin made contact with yours. "What?" he grumbled.

"This is gonna be awkward, but I need to know, okay? Do you feel--umm--aroused at all?"

Dean was silent for a moment as he let his brother's question sink in. Ohhh fuuuuck, he thought to himself. He glanced down at his jeans and noticed the bulge straining against them. With the intense pain he was experiencing, he hadn't really noticed. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled. "Yeah."

"Okay, well the good news is, I know what it is. It's called sex pollen."

"It's called what?"

"Sex pollen. The name doesn't really matter, but you have all the symptoms. They're only going to get worse until--well until you die."

"Die? Is there a cure?"

You looked over at Dean in terror, your foot pressing down even further on the pedal. Dean's hand was shaking slightly as he put the phone on speaker so you could hear.

"You have to--uhh--well--shit. You have to umm...fuck it out."

"I have to what?"

"Dude, I know, okay? But you don't have a choice. If you don't you'll die a rather painful death."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said again. "Can I, umm, take care of it myself?"

"According to what Bobby read, the only option is actual intercourse with another person."

"How long do I have?"

You were acutely aware of Dean's close proximity to you, and now you understood the nature of his pain. Your own breathing was more labored, but you desperately tried to maintain control of yourself. Don't make it weird, (Y/N), you thought to yourself.

"30 minutes from the time of contact until...until death," Sam answered.

"30 minutes?" you gasped. You started doing the math in your head as Dean continued talking to his brother. "We have maybe 10 more minutes until we get back to the motel and that leaves about 10 until..."

Dean looked over at you, his normally green eyes dark with need. "I'm so fucked," he muttered.

"That doesn't really leave us time to find someone for you to--you know," you said worriedly.

"Shit."

"Might wanna make it fast," Sam said.

"Obviously," Dean snapped. "How long will it take to...get out of my system?"

"That depends," Sam began. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

"Another story?"

"It could take a lot longer."

"Great," you mumbled.

"Sam, don't be there when we get there," Dean growled at his brother before hanging up the phone.

"Dean?" you questioned softly.

"Just drive, (Y/N)."

You continued driving, but your focus was most definitely not on the road. You could hear the heavy breathing and the soft pained sounds coming from the man beside you and it made it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything else. It certainly didn't help that you had wanted him for years and seeing him like this was making you feel things you absolutely shouldn't be feeling.

Dean flirted with you regularly, but he flirted with almost every person he came into contact with. It's just a part of his personality, so you never read into it. While Dean quite obviously adored you (and you him), you were not his type. You were a good fighter, sure, but where you really excelled was research. You were brilliant--almost as knowledgable as Bobby, though you still had plenty to learn. You were also significantly more--voluptuous than the women Dean gravitated to. Soft, chubby, more to love--whatever you wanna call it. As such, you'd never made any sort of move to announce your feelings for him. You didn't want to face his rejection.

"Sweetheart, if you don't speed up, I'm liable to die before we make it there," Dean hissed.

You shot him a look. "We're less than two minutes away, so don't die on me yet, Winchester."

He exhaled sharply and nodded. "I'm not gonna make it either way, (Y/N). Like you said, we don't have enough time to find a, uh--partner."

You took a deep breath. "I can't let you die."

He looked over at you and you felt his gaze boring right into your soul. "I can't do that to you."

"I really don't see how we have much of a choice here."

You pulled into the motel parking lot before he could respond.

"Let's go," you said quickly as you got out of the car and made your way to your room.

Dean was right behind you, so close you could feel his breath on the back of your neck. As soon as the door was unlocked, Dean was pushing you through it and locking it behind you.

"Shit," he muttered. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"It's okay, Dean," you said softly. "I'm not afraid."

His eyes widened and he grabbed your chin. "You should be...I'm going to lose control."

"It's alright...use me."

He let out a low growl and squeezed your chin tighter. "I--I won't be able to make this good for you."

You pressed yourself against his body, feeling the hard ridges against you. "It's not about me. You need this."

That was all it took for Dean to let go. His lips attacked yours with a hunger you were not expecting despite the intensity of the situation. He was not at all gentle as he tore your clothes from your body, ripping his own off with equal force.

He tossed you down on the bed with shocking ease. He had absolutely no difficulty manhandling you. You weren't sure if it was the sex pollen or just him.

His lips and hands were everywhere, touching every inch of your soft skin he could possibly reach. He needed to be inside of you so badly it was almost impossible to breathe. His skin burned with each touch and his instincts screamed at him to just break you.

He moves his way down your body and you're surprised as he stops just above your core. "Dean, what are you doing?" You knew he needed a release--and soon--or he wasn't gonna make it.

A voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him this was (Y/N), his (Y/N). Even in his current state, he wanted to avoid hurting you if he could. "Need to get you ready," he grunted.

The words were barely out of his mouth before he was devouring your pussy. The sounds he made were incredible, the feeling almost electrifying. He slid two fingers in and moved them in a scissoring motion to help loosen you up.

He was only down there for a 30 seconds before he came up and locked eyes with you. "I can't hold off anymore."

You nodded. "Just let go. I'll be okay."

He knew the moment he slid inside you, he'd be a goner. Whatever tiny amount of self control he'd managed to hang onto would disappear in an instant. But he could also feel the roaring agony inside him and he needed to feed it before it devoured him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered against your ear a split second before he sheathed himself fully inside you.

You cried out--pain mixing with pleasure as his large member stretched you in ways you'd never before experienced.

Dean couldn't give you time to adjust--he was too far gone. His hips began to move and his sole focus was on his own pleasure--his own release.

His thrusts were powerful and fast, so much so that your body started to scoot farther up the bed. He grabbed your hips and held you in place, pace never faltering. The sensations were almost painful given his size, but you wouldn't have stopped him even if you could have.

"Fuck, baby--you feel so good," he grunted.

You were more than a little surprised when he spoke--you hadn't pegged him as a dirty talker. Then again, it could very well have been the pollen. The same could be said of the sounds coming from his mouth. You'd never heard such sinful noises and you loved them.

"So tight--squeezing me so good. Feels like heaven."

You squeezed his cock purposefully, making him groan each time you clenched down. He needed his release and you were gonna make sure he got it. Your own enjoyment was far from your mind--this was essentially a transaction--a lifesaving measure. You had to view it that way to protect your heart...at least that's what you told yourself.

"Baby," he moaned. "Imma fill you up--so close."

Despite the voice in your head telling you this wasn't real--that you shouldn't have any emotional attachments--you reached up and touched his face, caressing it lovingly. "Cum for me, Dean," you whispered.

His eyes locked on yours and he bit his lip--hearing you say his name in the heat of the moment was a bigger turn on than he'd ever imagined. It pushed him right over the edge and he spilled inside of you with a grunt.

You lay beneath him, panting despite the minimal exertion on your part. He'd had his orgasm, but he was still moving, much to your surprise. "You're not done--?"

He shook his head. "Need more."

He pulled out and quickly flipped you over with no warning. You instinctively lifted your hips to allow him access, which he took without hesitation. His cock was still throbbing and the need still burned in his veins. His mind remained singularly focused on his relief--his pleasure.

He slammed into your pussy and set a brutal pace, earning a cry of pain from your lips. This new angle allowed him better access, sending his cock deeper inside of you. His head brushed against your cervix with each thrust, a stinging pain accompanying the pleasure.

Dean's large palm came down on your ass with a hard smack, eliciting a gasp of surprise from your lips. Your pussy clamped down on his cock as he landed another slap to your round cheek.

"Fuck baby, you like that don't you?" Smack. "You like it when I slap this sexy ass?" Smack. "Fuck--squeezing me so tight, sweetheart." Smack.

He was right though, you loved it. You always had, but there was something extra enjoyable about having your ass smacked by Dean Fucking Winchester. Even if you couldn't verbally express your pleasure to him, your pussy made it well-known.

Dean's right hand gripped your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him as he continued pumping. His left hand trailed up your back until he grabbed a fist full of hair at the base of your neck and pulled. Your head snapped back and you cried out, but you didn't fight him.

"Do you know how badly I've wanted to pull this hair, pretty girl? Fuck--I think about it all the time." His pace was relentless and his hand remained entangled in your hair.

You'd never really noticed him looking at your hair in any particular way, so you assumed once again the pollen was making him say such dirty little things.

After several more thrusts, Dean let go of your hair and pushed down on your upper back, forcing you to press your upper body into the mattress. Dean gripped your hips with both of his hands and slammed into you with an intensity that was unmatched by any of his previous actions.

You had a feeling he was close to another orgasm, at least if his grunts and curses were anything to go by. You clenched down around him again, intent on pushing him past the brink.

It worked like a charm. Dean came with a cry of your name, thrusts continuing as he emptied inside of you once again.

You were exhausted and you hadn't had a single orgasm. Part of you really hoped Dean had gotten it all out of his system, but another part of you didn't want this to end. Even if it wasn't real--even if he didn't actually want to be having sex with you, you liked pretending, if only for a little while.

Dean pulled out of you slowly and rolled you over with a surprising gentleness. You assumed that meant he was satiated and the pollen was out of his system.

When you met his eyes, you were surprised by how brilliantly green they were. You'd almost gotten used to the dark forest color that had taken over as a result of the pollen. He was looking at you with an odd expression you couldn't quite place, but for some reason it made you want to scurry away and hide.

"Better?" you whispered.

He cocked his head to the side and a small smirk played on his lips. "Not even close," he murmured.

His lips met yours in a fiery kiss before you had time to respond. Unlike the previous kisses, this one was more passionate, more intense. It made your body tingle all over and a warmth spread through your veins.

Dean's brain fog had finally cleared enough that he could actually slow down and focus on what was happening--on what he was doing, or rather who. He hated that he'd cum twice without even thinking about you, let alone making you orgasm. Dean prided himself on being an excellent lover and he wasn't about to let you leave this bed unsatisfied.

His cock brushed against your pussy as he shifted to hold you closer. You both inhaled sharply, enjoying the sensation. Dean's lips began to travel down your neck, leaving soft, wet kisses in his wake. He nipped at your pulse point, earning an excited moan from you. He liked hearing that sound, so he sucked on that spot until you were panting heavily beneath him.

His hands traveled over your soft curves, touching and squeezing all the parts of your body you were self-conscious about. Dean didn't seem to give a damn that your stomach wasn't flat, that your hips weren't narrow and your thighs weren't skinny--in fact, he seemed to be reveling in the feeling of softness.

His lips were so gentle as he continued his downward movements. He kissed and licked and sucked on each of your breasts, spending several minutes focusing on each one. "You have such perfect breasts," he murmured.

You were too surprised, and perhaps too lost in pleasure, to formulate any kind of response to his words. Luckily, he didn't seem to need one, and he refocused his attention on you.

Once he was satisfied your breasts had received enough love, he continued moving down your stomach, stopping to place soft kisses to every mark and scar he saw.

When he reached your sweet pussy, he spread your legs as wide as he could and settled down between them. You were surprised at his actions, especially since you knew he was still hard--that he still needed another release.

Dean was now singularly focused on one thing--and that was you. Now that his damn brain was working properly, he wanted to make sure you enjoyed this--even if it was a one time thing because you didn't want him to die, he wasn't about to walk away from this without making you scream his name at least once.

He breathed in deeply, smelling your arousal mixed with his own spend, and he smirked. His eyes flicked up to yours and his mouth latched onto your clit, unleashing an overwhelming assault on your swollen mound.

You gasped as the sudden pleasure washed over you. You couldn't take your eyes off the man between your legs--nor did he take his eyes off you. Every time your hips bucked or you tried to move, his strong arms held you in place so he could continue to watch you.

You were writhing against the sheets in what felt like seconds--it was probably longer, but either way you felt embarrassed at how quickly you fell apart under his touch. Your orgasm tore through you like a hurricane, broken moans dripping from your lips.

To your shock, and perhaps concern, Dean didn't stop his assault on your pussy. Even as you tried to squirm away, he held you in place, desperate to give you another orgasm. You whimpered that it was too much, begged him to give you a break, but all of those words quickly morphed into pleas to keep going--don't stop.

"Dean," you gasped as your fingers slipped into his hair, grabbing hold of the short locks by the roots. Your nails scrapped lightly against his scalp and he let out a soft groan.

His tongue seemed to dance across your clit, creating beautiful designs and languages only he seemed to know. He paid attention to what motions made you quiver, which ones made you moan, and which ones had you tugging on his hair with an iron grip.

"Dean, please--I--so close," you moaned.

He smiled, enjoying the immense pleasure he was giving you just as much as you seemed to enjoy it. A few moments later, you were once again coming apart against his mouth and he eagerly lapped up everything you had to give him.

This time as you tugged on his hair and squirmed away, he obliged, lifting himself up from between your thighs. He licked his lips as he looked down at your blissed out face.

"You taste like heaven, baby," he murmured. "Wanna taste?"

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes widened and you nodded hesitantly. He smiled wolfishly as he leaned down to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth almost instantly, allowing you to taste yourself.

You moaned into the kiss and he held you even more tightly, lips sealed to yours like he needed your air to breathe.

He wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to control his urges long enough to coax two orgasms from you, but he could feel that control waning. "I need you, baby," he whispered against your lips. "I need you so badly."

You looked up at him, a small smile playing on your lips. You lifted your hips to brush against his cock and he groaned at the contact. You nipped at his jaw and pulled him back down to you. "Fuck me, Dean. Please."

He groaned. "Yes ma'am."

He didn't hesitate as he gripped his cock firmly and lined it up with your entrance. He slipped inside easily, having plenty of lubrication to assist him. Despite having been inside of you multiple times at this point, he was still taken aback by how fucking incredible you felt.

"God, I love this pussy," he murmured. "She was made for me."

You moaned softly at his words and the feeling of him inside you once again. As he started to move, he was much more gentle and you found yourself enjoying the sensations--perhaps more than you should.

"You're so good for me, (Y/N)," Dean mumbled, already lost in the feeling of you.

You would have given anything to hear him say that, but the words broke your heart a little. Had he had any other choice, he likely wouldn't be here right now--you wouldn't be the one he was fucking.

"Hey," he whispered, a rough, calloused hand running along your cheek as he looked at you. "Where's that pretty little head at?"

You smiled at him. "Right here, Dean."

Somewhere inside of him, he knew you were lying, but the damn pollen was still affecting his senses. He accepted your response and went back to his actions, focusing on the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock like a vise.

He wanted to feel you cum one more time...wanted to feel the way you'd squeeze his cock as you came. He wanted to watch you come undone beneath him, lost in pleasure he gave you.

He grabbed a pillow and gently lifted your hips, sliding the pillow under them. This provided him a new, improved angle, allowing him to cage you beneath him and hit that sweet spot inside you.

"Dean!" you gasped as the first thrust hit your g-spot.

He grinned and picked up his pace, slamming into it repeatedly. Each thrust sent you closer to the edge of an orgasm you knew would ruin you. Dean Winchester already made you feel things no other man ever had and his ability in bed was no exception. Damn him.

His thrusts were firm and measured, each one sending wave after wave of pleasure crashing through your body. The familiar tightening in your gut was so intense you thought you might actually explode.

Dean's strong arms were on either side of your head and he was looking down at you with that same strange expression from earlier. "You're so damn beautiful, baby. I wanna watch this pretty face as you cum for me."

You gasped, unprepared for the way his words made you feel. You felt emboldened, so you asked for what you needed. "I need more, Dean."

His hand slipped between your bodies, a single finger gently massaging your clit as he continued to fuck you. "That better, baby?"

You nodded rapidly, earning a soft chuckle from his sweet lips.

"You gonna cum for me beautiful?"

You nodded again.

"Yeah? I want you to keep those pretty eyes open when you cum, okay? Wanna see you fall apart."

"Dean..." you whispered.

"I know, sweet girl. I've got you."

Your brain seemed to short-circuit in that moment. All you could feel was a blinding hot pressure immediately followed by an intense euphoria. You heard someone scream "Dean!" and you belatedly realized it had been your voice.

The intensity of your orgasm sent Dean spiraling over the edge of his own. He hadn't even been prepared for it--the mixture of you screaming his name and the sensations of you squeezing him so tightly and the gorgeous way your face contorted as you came was all he needed.

He emptied into you a third and final time, his cock finally beginning to soften as he helped you ride out your high.

He pulled out and flopped down beside you on the bed, his body aching from what had to be some of the best sex of his life--sex pollen or not.

You were just as sore as Dean--probably more so given you literally couldn't move. The two of you laid there in silence, slowly coming down from the electrical highs you'd experienced, both trying to catch your breath for the first time in what felt like hours.

Dean was the first to recover. "Did I hurt you?" he asked so softly you almost didn't hear him.

You turned your head to look at him and your heart clenched at the expression on his face. He was genuinely worried, brows furrowed in concern. You contemplated lying to him, but you knew he'd see right through you.

"A little," you said honestly.

He winced and his beautiful eyes closed. "I'm so sorry, (Y/N)--I would never hurt you on purpose--ever."

You offered him a small smile he couldn't see, until your hand touched his cheek and he opened his eyes again. "I know."

There were a thousand other things you wanted to say--a thousand words you wanted to string together into just the right sentences, but you couldn't. You wouldn't put yourself through it.

"Shower?" he asked softly.

"I honestly don't think I can stand."

A smirk played on his lips. "That should not make me feel so damn good."

You laughed lightly, glad to hear the teasing tone in his voice that you loved so much.

He managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "It's not ideal, but there is a bathtub..." he trailed off.

"I wouldn't mind a bath," you admitted.

He nodded and got to his feet. He was a little unsteady at first, but managed to make his way to the bathroom. You heard the water running as he filled up the tub.

You laid there thinking about everything that had just happened. This was a position you'd never imagined you'd be in--with anyone, let alone Dean Winchester.

You knew this wasn't something you were going to be able to forget about, but you hoped things would go back to normal between the two of you and eventually this would just be a funny story.

Suddenly, Sam's words from earlier snapped into your mind. "If it's meaningless, one and done. If it's someone you care about...that's another story."

One and done...one and done. This most definitely had not been a 'one and done' scenario. But didn't that mean...? No. No way. Impossible. Dean Winchester does NOT have feelings for you.

You began to rationalize your thought process. Maybe "care about" included a friendly relationship. Yeah...yeah that made the most sense. Of course Dean cares about you. You're his best friend. There couldn't possibly be anything more to it...right?

As if on cue, Dean stepped back into the room. "Bath's ready."

"Okay." You tried to pull yourself up, but you immediately fell back against the mattress, body too worn out to sustain any kind of movement.

Dean chuckled lightly and came up to the side of the bed. He pulled the pillow out from under your hips and slipped his arms under your body, hoisting you up bridal style.

"Jesus!" you yelled. "Put me down! I'm too heavy--you'll throw out your back."

Dean laughed. "Calm down, (Y/N). I just threw you around this bed repeatedly with zero issues. I promise I can carry you to the bathroom without dying."

"But--"

He glared at you and tightened his grip on you as if to prove his point. "Ain't a damn thing wrong with your body, so shut it."

Your mouth closed immediately. His words sent a jolt directly to your core and you were almost annoyed by it. As if three orgasms wasn't enough...

Dean very gently set you on your feet in the bathroom and slowly helped you into the tub. As soon as he got you into a seated position, he got into the tub as well, slipping in behind you.

"Umm...whatcha doing?"

"Taking a bath."

"Isn't the tub a bit small for both of us?"

You could feel him shrug behind you. "I think it's perfect size. Now come here." He grabbed your shoulders and gently pulled you back so you were laying against his chest. "That's better," he muttered.

Your mind began to race once again as you laid there, body tense and uncomfortable.

"Okay, (Y/N), I know you better than anyone, so don't you dare lie to me. Where's your head at?"

"I--" you sighed. "I'm not really sure how to feel."

He nodded. "I know you didn't want this--I feel like I had to literally force myself onto you and I hate that. I know you only agreed so I wouldn't die, but--"

"Woah--stop." You sat up and turned your head to face him. "That's not true at all. You didn't force me to do anything."

"Okay, maybe 'force' is the wrong word...but you did have sex with me to save my life. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I'm painfully aware," you muttered.

He ran his hand over his face. "I'm not saying any of this right."

"Then what are you trying to say?"

He bit his lip. "Remember what Sammy said? About...how long the effects would last?"

You nodded.

"Well in case you didn't notice, I had three orgasms."

"Both me and my very sore vagina noticed," you said lightly.

He sighed. "Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you, (Y/N)?"

You turned a little more so you could see his face better. He had that same look he'd had when he was making you feel incredible. "I need to hear you say it..." you whispered.

He nodded and leaned forward so his face was mere inches from yours. "He didn't mean 'care' as in 'we're friends, so I care about you'...he meant 'care' as in 'love'."

Your lips parted and you inhaled sharply.

"So you see, I don't just care about you as a friend...and I don't just love you as a friend...I'm in love with you."

"You--you love me?"

"In love," he repeated. "For as long as I can remember."

"You're in love--with me?"

He chuckled softly. "Who else would I be talking to, baby? Yes, I'm in love with you."

"I--I don't know--" you stuttered.

"The only thing you need to know is how you feel. Do you know how you feel about me, (Y/N)?" he whispered.

You nodded slowly.

"And?"

"I'm in love with you too."

He grinned widely. "Yeah?"

You nodded, cheeks turning red.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back against him. He looked down at you with that expression he'd been wearing and you suddenly realized what it was...it was love--real, true, beautiful, heart aching love.

He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to your lips, which you returned in kind. He held you tightly, loving the feeling of your body in his arms.

"We better get cleaned up before this water gets cold," he said softly, lips pressing to your hair.

"Mhmm," you hummed.

He chuckled. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me, babe."

"But I'm comfortable," you whined.

He smiled against your cheek. "Give me five minutes to clean you up and then we can sleep, okay?"

You looked over at him and smiled. "Deal."

Loved this fic? Support my work by buying me a coffee 💜

#supernatural #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader #dean winchester x plus size!reader smut #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfic #supernatural smut

[pawnshopbleus]

On Top

Young!Coriolanus Snow x Fem!Plinth!Reader

Warnings - Smut, Penis in vagina sex, Cunnilingus, Squirting, Abortion is mentioned once, Angst with a happy ending. Not beta read :0

Authors Note - I think this is the first time I’ve written p in v sex so please bear with me.

Standing in front of the door to the Snow residence, you made sure you had everything. The basket you brought over for Coriolanus and his family was filled with food, gifts, and roses for Grandma’am. You wanted to celebrate Coriolanus’s historic win in this year's Hunger Games. Well, Lucy Grey won, but she wouldn’t have done without your Coriolanus. 

Your knuckles tapped the door three times and you patently waited until the door opened to reveal Grandma’am’s signature snow-white hair. She smiled at you and embraced you. She stepped aside and let you enter the home you had become so familiar with over the years. 

“Grandma’am, I wanted to bring this little gift for Coriolanus’s big win. The flowers are for you, by the way,” you winked and placed the basket on the table. “Speaking of, where might he be.” 

Grandma’am's eyes softened at your comment. “He’s with the dean,” she said, “He will be here any moment. You can wait for him in his room if you’d like.” Grandma’am rushed over to examine a particularly pretty white rose. 

You sat on Coriolanus’s bed tracing hearts on his pillow for what seemed like hours before his door opened. He looked frantic as if someone found out something they weren’t supposed to find.

“Come on, Coryo, you’re supposed to be smiling. Lucy Grey won. Aren’t you happy?” 

“I cheated,” he sighed. 

Your heart stopped. He what? Never in a million years did you think that he would do such a thing. With strong women like Tigris and Grandma’am raising him, you would have thought that he had the decency to break up with a woman before he did that.

Coriolanus shook his head as soon as he realized that you might have been taking his comment in the wrong way. “I cheated in the games. Not on you. I would never do that.” 

Your body relaxed and then it shot back up again. “Wait, what do you mean you cheated in the games? Is that even possible?”

Coriolanus explained what he did in order to get Lucy Grey to win. The compact mirror that used to belong to his mother had been packed with rat poison, poisonous to anyone who came in contact with it. He also put his father's handkerchief which was covered in Lucy Grey's scent in the snake's cage. If the snakes were familiar with her scent then they wouldn’t kill her. So it wasn’t her singing that saved her, it was Coriolanus. 

“What are they going to do to you?” Your eyebrows scrunched together with worry. You couldn’t lose Coriolanus for his stupid, yet chivalrous actions. 

“I don’t know yet. I don’t want to think about the future. Right now, I want to live in the moment with the prettiest girl in all of Panem.” Coriolanus smiled at how your face heated up so quickly, but deep down he was hurting. He knew what his punishment was. Twenty years of service as a peacekeeper in the Districts. He would leave the Capital and everything he’s known since he was a baby. That he could deal with, but losing you would be the hardest thing he would have to deal with. 

He knew that you would run to your father and beg him to get Coriolanus out of serving, but he didn’t want you over-exhausting your father's resources. He was a big boy and he needed to learn how to deal with his consequences. He would be fine. After all, Snow lands on top.  

He wanted to live in this moment with you. He wanted to memorize every inch of your body. He wanted to hold onto that memory and make it last. 

Your smile calmed him. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, eyes focused on your lips.

You nodded your head and smiled into the kiss. It was soft and sensual, vastly different from the kisses that the two of you usually share. Your lips brushed together as your bodies got closer to each other. By the time the two of you broke apart, you were under him, his forearms caging you underneath him. There was no need for him to do that. This is where you wanted to be, with Coriolanus. The toxic and tyrannical world that you lived in was long forgotten as she swooped in for another kiss. 

His lips traveled down to your cheek, then your jaw, and settled on your neck. He spent the majority of his time kissing and nibbling at the skin on your neck. There would be pretty little marks on your skin later, reminding people that you belonged to him. Coriolanus doesn’t remember when he got this territorial, but he sure loved the fact that Strabo Plinth’s beautiful daughter was his girlfriend. His girlfriend to mark and fuck and love whenever he wanted (with your consent of course.) 

You laughed as Coriolanus licked the sensitive patches of skin that he nibbled raw. “My parents are going to kill me when they see what you’ve done.” 

Coriolanus kissed your lips one more time in response to your comment. He then resumed his exploration of your body. His hands traveled down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it up to reveal the bra that he unclasped in less than five seconds. He threw it on the floor of his bedroom, letting it get hooked onto the pile of books in the corner. 

Coriolanus kissed in between the valley of your breasts. He flicked his tongue over your sensitive nipples. It was cold in the Capital of Panem and unfortunately, the Snow’s didn’t have indoor heating. Maybe it was because they didn’t want to melt. 

You sighed in pleasure as Coriolanus continued to explore your breasts. After five minutes of teasing, he began to travel south to the part where you needed him the most. He hooked his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, “may I?” 

You nodded, “Ever the gentleman.”

With your permission, he ripped your pants off of you and threw them on the floor. They were lost in the pile of clothing that had gathered on the floor. Coriolanus had shed some of his clothing as well. His ripped body was adorned in nothing but his white underwear. 

Coriolanus spread your legs apart, “Look at how wet my girl is.” He traced a finger down the cotton of your underwear and slowly slid it up your legs. He wanted to drag this on as much as possible. You let out a grumble of frustration, getting tired of his constant teasing. Coriolanus gave in and got rid of your underwear. 

The same finger that was used to skim the fabric of your underwear was now being used to gather your slick and spread it across your sensitive pussy. You took a deep breath of air into your lungs. The feeling was new, but not unwelcomed. Coriolanus flicked his tongue over your sensitive clit. Your clit was pulsing with need. You needed Coriolanus to drop the act and eat you out like he was a starving man.

“Coriol-” Your word was cut off by a moan as his mouth did exactly what you wanted it to do. Coriolanus delved into your pussy, tracing shapes onto your clit with his tongue. Your back arched off of the bed again. Coriolanus’s fingers teased your hole, trying to find the perfect time to ease into your channel. 

Coriolanus’s fingers weren’t thick, but they were long making it easier for him to tease your G-spot. He fucked his fingers in and out of you as he sucked your clit. You had to bite your lip in order to keep quiet. Your lips were sure to be chewed raw after this, but they would serve as a reminder that you had a man who was willing to do this for you. Many high-society women told stories about their husbands not pleasuring them when they had sex. It sounded like a horrible life to lead, but they were rich and beautiful so they needed to sacrifice something. 

Coriolanus curled his fingers up, letting them knock against your G-spot. He continued to kiss and lick at your clit. You were close. By the way you were clenching down on his fingers, he could tell that the waterworks were coming. Your naked chest rose and fell as you played with your nipples, increasing the pleasure that you felt. Your head fell even deeper into the pillow as a chill ran down your body. That chill eventually led to where Coriolanus was currently still working. He ate your pussy like a starved man, just the way you liked it. 

Without warning, your juices painted Coriolanus’s face. He wasn’t surprised that you came so fast. The last time you had sex was two months ago. You were burning for him and he was burning for you. 

Coriolanus wiped his face with the back of his hand and laughed. That was the first time he had actually made you squirt. It had always been a personal goal of his after Tirgis explained to Coriolanus how a woman's body works. At first, he was traumatized. He didn’t want to have the sex talk with his dear cousin, but when he laid eyes on you for the time, he wanted to do everything Tigris said and more. 

His cock was hard. You could see the outline of it through his white underwear. You would tease him about his tighty whities later. Right now, you were laser-focused on the fact that Coriolanus hooked his thumbs under his waistband and lowered them, exposing his cock to the cold air. His hard cock slapped against his lower stomach. He jerked his cock off, spreading his precum all over his length. He wanted to make sure that it went in as smoothly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to hurt you. 

He lined himself up at your core. He slid his tip up and down your pussy, gathering your slick with his dick before he pushed into you. Your insides welcomed him with little to no problem. The stretch felt good. You were all slicked up and ready for him.

Contraceptives weren’t a problem for you. Coriolanus was always careful and made sure to come somewhere that wasn’t your vagina. You didn’t want to have a kid just yet. First, you wanted to study at the University and travel back to District Two if you were given the chance. Then you wanted to get married. Pereferabbly to Coriolanus, but you didn’t know if that was possible yet. With his fate still undecided, your plans to marry the love of your life dwindled. Besides, even if you were to get pregnant your father would have enough money to get you an abortion

Coriolanus’s head fell forward as he buried his cock in your tight pussy. Two months and he had forgotten how good you felt. Your insides fluttered around him as he bottomed out. 

Coriolanus began to thrust his cock in and out of you. He was methodical with everything he did. Coriolanus set a rhythm as he fucked into you. He fucked you hard and fast. The side of his bed slapped against the wall and his mattress cracked and groaned as he fucked into you. You prayed to the heavens that Grandma’am and Tigris were in a deep sleep. Or that the walls of the Snow residence were thicker than Coriolanus’s cock. 

Coriolanus peppered your mouth with kisses in order to muffle your moans. He kept his pace as he did this. Your breasts jiggled as he fucked into you. Your hands found their way down to your extra-sensitive clit. You circled it with your fingers and moaned in pleasure at the feeling. 

His balls slapped against your ass as his strokes became more deep and labored. He was going to come soon. He needed to come soon. He couldn’t hold on much longer. Two months with no sex had gotten to him. “Fuck,” he said under his breath as your pussy clenched around him. “Where do you want it?” He asked, his voice was strained from trying to keep his composure. 

“Inside me,” you said. You were close too, the feeling of your finger frantically rubbing your clit and the feeling of Coriolanus's cock buried deep inside of you spurred your orgasm to come out from the woodwork.  

You have come a second time, your pussy fluttering and squeezing Coriolanus cock that was still inside of you. A string of curses fell from Coriolanus’s lips as he came inside of you. His pulsing and throbbing cock pushed his come deep inside of you as he continued to fuck you as he came. His thrusts were slow but intentional. He would have lasted a few more seconds, but with the way that your pussy squeezed his sensitive cock, he came instantly. 

Coriolanus slowly eased his cock out of you. The both of you were breathing heavily as Coriolanus went to grab a towel from his closet. He eased your legs open one more time as he cleaned you up. He was slow and gentle with it. He knew that you were still sensitive after two orgasms.

His come eased out of you and onto the towel. The sight almost caused him to get hard, but he didn’t feel like tiring you out even more. 

Once he was done cleaning you up, he tucked you into his chest and covered the two of you with the blankets on his bed. He kissed your forehead and your cheek. Coriolanus’s love language was kissing. He loved kissing you. He loved doing anything with you, but kissing was his favorite. 

Your eyes closed, but you weren’t falling asleep. Not yet. Sex might have been a clever distraction, but now that you were coming off your high you needed to know what will happen to the future of your relationship. 

“Coryo, what is going to happen to you? I know that you know what your punishment is. I'm not stupid.” 

Coriolanus sighed as he tried to keep his voice from waving. He rarely cried, but in moments like these, he did. Just you and him shielded away from the rest of the Capital were his favorite. “Twenty years as a peacekeeper.” 

You let out a shuddering breath as you tried not to cry. Your body ran cold as you repeated those words in your mind. Twenty years as a peacekeeper. Twenty years without your Coriolanus. Your Coryo. 

“My dad can-” 

“No,” Coriolanus said. “I don’t want your dad to get me out of this one. I need to learn how to do things on my own.”

“What if I had a crazy elaborate plan to get you out of it?”

“Nothing could be crazier than this.” Coriolanus got this crazy idea. It has been sitting in the back of his mind ever since you agreed to be his girlfriend. “Marry me?” 

This isn’t how he wanted to propose to you. He had already gotten your father's approval months ago. You were perfect for him and you deserve a perfect proposal. He wanted to take you to a fancy restaurant, get down on one knee, and ask you that way. Traditional and expected of Capital people, but things never go as planned when you’re a Snow. 

“Seriously?” You were in disbelief. Of course, you wanted to marry him, but this all seemed a bit rushed. “I mean, yes, I’ll marry you, but Coryo. You’re about to leave.” Then, your brilliant mind comes up with the perfect plan. 

You’ll marry Coriolanus, making him one of the heirs to the Plinth fortune. Thus making him more valuable to the Capital. This way you get to marry the love of your life and keep him within arms reach. Were you being possessive? Maybe, but it was better than the dean having to deal with an angry Plinth. 

And your plan worked. You and Coriolanus got married a week after he proposed to you. It was a bit rushed, but the two of you were ready. He was going to be a loving husband, and you, a loving wife. Coriolanus’s punishment would be reduced to two months of training in District Two. He would then return to the Capital as a peacekeeper. He would keep the peace during the day and return to you at night. 

Turns out Snow does land on top.

---------------------

Time to study up on straight people sex!

#coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #the hunger games

[sayoneee]

☆ PARENT TRAP

in which, a plan is devised to set the two of you up (1.9k)

contains: luke castellan x fem! reader. mortal au. baby percabeth (they are 12). percys pov. loser older brother luke castellan 🔛🔝

kashaf’s note: i think we can tell i love my music references by now. (answering requests soon!)

i. remember the time - michael jackson

PERCY HAS ALWAYS liked afternoons: sitting on the green couch in his apartment, the smell of his favorite blue cookies wafting through the air, and the constantly running episodes of gilmore girls on the tv — that you had convinced him to give a try — and sometimes the addition of grover, who was prone to start passionate tirades on climate change.

though after summer camp, his relatively quiet afternoons now included at least two mentions of “seaweed brain” and two of “wise girl”. 

percy’s trying to stay focused on rory freaking out over thanking dean for something (annabeth is almost laser-focused), but the doorbell rang a while ago, and you still haven’t returned. 

“annabeth,” he whispered, to no avail — he guessed dean really had that effect on people. he tried again, waving a hand in front of her face. she blinked twice before being lifted from the spell of gilmore girls. 

“what?” annabeth asked.

“who’s at the door?” 

annabeth’s eyebrows rose. she turned around, looking past where you were still holding the door open, one hand animatedly gesticulating, the other still on the doorknob. 

“that’s my brother,” annabeth said, turning back to look at percy. 

but percy isn’t paying attention to her right now, instead, he’s focusing on the bits of conversation audible between you and this stranger, who’s smiling very peculiarly down at you.

“— no way, me too,” the stranger is saying, grinning.

you’re saying, “deadass? prove it —” 

“— are you always so skeptical —” 

percy gets up off the couch, annabeth beside him, striding over to you and the stranger, who, for a reason he can’t quite put a finger on, seems weird. 

“hi,” percy says, looking at you, pointedly ignoring the stranger. you and the stranger seem to freeze, your hand halting mid-tuck of your hair behind your ear, something percy has only seen you do around one of your ex-boyfriends. 

“hi,” annabeth says, looking at the stranger, who smiles in response. again, weird.

“ready to go?” the stranger asks, “or are you going to take over their spare bedroom?”

“luke, you’re not funny,” annabeth grumbles, but she doesn’t look that put out by luke’s teasing percy notes. 

you’re smiling, but you’re not looking at annabeth. you’re looking at luke, your one hand still on the doorknob. interesting. 

“you’ve got your yankees cap?” you confirm as annabeth laces up her converse, as you and luke are engaged in a tiny conversation of your own. percy wordlessly hands the worn-out cap to annabeth once she’s finished, saying his goodbye.

once annabeth and her brother are long gone and you’re no longer leaning against the door, you’re still smiling widely, and percy wonders why.

ii. shoop - salt n pepa  

gilmore girls is on again, and luke is here to pick up annabeth. again. but for whatever reason, annabeth still hasn’t left, and you and luke are sitting in the kitchen, alone, conversing loudly. 

annabeth isn’t as hyper-focused on dean and rory’s argument as percy had thought she would be a week ago — he assumed that dean’s appeal died the minute he got mad in that banged-up car. annabeth is saying something about architecture, eyes shining, though he’s not sure which one she’s talking about, hagia sophia or st. basil’s cathedral. your loud laugh seems to ring from the kitchen every minute or so, and well since you’ve begun babysitting him, he can’t say the sound is unfamiliar, but the frequency is suspicious. he doesn’t trust luke. 

“annabeth,” he says, when she’s stopped talking.

“percy,” she responds in the same tone, her smile bright.

“how long has your brother been in the kitchen for?” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, but missing the mark horrifically.

annabeth looks at the watch on her wrist, “woah —”

“what does woah mean?” percy knows he’s being impolite, and his mom taught him to never interrupt people, but he can’t help it at this moment. 

“i was just getting to that, seaweed brain,” annabeth rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “we were supposed to leave an hour and half ago.”

this was bizarre. “no offense, but what does my babysitter and your brother even have in common to be talking nonstop for an hour and half?”

“no idea,” annabeth says, thoughtfully. “is she in a band? luke’s in a band.”

“no,” percy says, but he thinks he remembers your last boyfriend being in a band. “is your brother a senior?”

“yeah — does she do boxing? luke does.”

“i actually don’t know,” percy pauses, “i think we should see for ourselves,” he stands up. 

“wait,” annabeth says, “they might go quiet if they see we’re around. let’s just turn off the tv and eavesdrop.”

percy grins, annabeth was such a genius, “you got it, wise girl.” 

they’re both so silent, he wonders if you’ll notice, but with the way you’re laughing again, borderline giggling, actually — which is odd — as you say, “shut up, you know what i meant,” he doesn’t think you’ll realize. 

“erm, actually i don’t,” luke says, nasally (in what percy hopes is mockery). 

percy looks at annabeth, who rolls her eyes at him and mouths, ‘he’s being ironic’. percy stares at the patterns in the carpet, and annabeth stares at the picture of percy and his mom hung on the wall, as they continue to strain their ears — which isn’t hard because of how noisy you and luke are together.

“you’re so insufferable.”

“and you’re the one who invited me in, so.”

“i was being nice,” you sound like you’re protesting, but percy and annabeth note the amusement in your voice with another shared glance.

“you? nice? let’s be forreal.”

“i’m literally not even mean.”

“you literally are.”

annabeth peeks at him, and percy thinks he’s had enough of listening to this conversation, which is quickly becoming weird. and mushy. he can practically see how you’re looking at luke, and how he’s looking at you, which is not at all something he wants to imagine.

he nods at annabeth, and they both try to make their footsteps as loud as possible when they start approaching the kitchen, just in case. 

he’s grateful to every higher being out there when he and annabeth find you and luke in the kitchen simply sitting next to each other, no funny business involved. 

iii. doo wop (that thing) - ms. lauryn hill

you’re on the phone, giggling. annabeth is over again, and there’s no luke in sight, but percy suspects he’s on the other end of the line. 

percy sighs and turns to annabeth, who always seems to know what to do because this little situation has gotten unbelievably out of hand. 

“is that your brother on the phone?”

annabeth’s concentration on the teetering jenga tower on the coffee table lingers, doo wop (that thing) playing on the tv in the background, “yeah, i think so.”

“how do you know?” percy asks, watching annabeth carefully choose a jenga block to remove.

“they like each other,” annabeth says, looking at him, as if it’s as obvious as grass being green.

“no, they don’t,” percy pauses for a minute when annabeth raises her eyebrows at him. “how do you know?” 

“luke’s always calling her at home,” annabeth said, “and he made her a mixtape.”

“that doesn’t mean they like each other, that just means he likes her,” percy points out, crossing his arms. 

they hear you giggle in the kitchen again. annabeth looks at him as if that proves her point.

annabeth blinks, her face lighting up, “oh my god, percy, we should set them up.” 

percy stares at her. he can’t deny that for as long as he’s known annabeth, she’s seldom been wrong, but he doesn’t think this is the best idea. but, percy trusts annabeth, so he agrees.

iv. this is how we do it - montell jordan

percy’s spying on you. well, he doesn’t consider it to be spying exactly, he’s just making sure nothing happens to you because despite annabeth’s constant defense of her brother, percy still doesn’t trust luke. percy’s always thought of you more than just his babysitter, after all the attempts at making blue hot chocolate and the comforting after nightmares, you’ve turned into his sister. 

he’s at annabeth’s place now, and both of them decided to put their — what annabeth swears is fool-proof — plan into action. step number one: getting luke to invite you inside when you come to pick him up (which was so unbelievably easy, considering how luke has perpetual heart eyes when you’re around).

currently, you’re in the kitchen with luke (the two of you are always congregating in kitchens for some reason), and annabeth decided that she and percy absolutely had to keep an eye on the two of you.

you’re gasping, “luke castellan, you are such a liar.”

luke is laughing, “no i’m not.” his cheeks are red.

you’ve seemed to notice this, and percy can see your gaze soften as you look at luke, but that doesn’t stop you from making your point, “no, oh my god, you call me the mean one but here you are, talking shit about your rivals, just because they’re better?”

percy has seen you argue with your ex-boyfriends, but not like this — not bright-eyed, and smiling, and none of them have been able to just flow the way you seem to with luke. this is it, he thinks, annabeth was completely and utterly right (as she is 90% of the time). 

“you take that back right now, those motley crue knockoffs aren’t better than us,” luke says, sounding kind of angry, but percy can see his smile.

“you’re totally bugging,” you say, “what’s wrong with motley crue?”

luke looks scandalized, and almost as if he’s pleading, he says, “please tell me you’ve at least listened to guns n roses,” pushing his hands together in a namaste position.

“i don’t live under a rock, castellan,” you rolled your eyes at him, pushing his hands down. annabeth shares a look with percy.

“i mean, you never know,” he says, and you scoff, shoving him.

percy raises his eyebrows at annabeth, and she seems to know exactly what he’s thinking — time to put step two into action: set up a going-out idea.

percy and annabeth pretend to walk closer to the kitchen, to give the two of you time to spring apart, because you and luke weren’t a very pg distance right now — maybe pg-thirteen, but percy wasn’t supposed to be watching those, so.

annabeth jerks a finger at percy, as you and luke looked up at their arrival, addressing luke, “percy doesn’t believe that your band actually plays in public.”

percy’s head whips toward annabeth, trying not to glare at her, because the look on luke’s face right now was not at all amusing, but at least you were smiling, so you’d definitely stop luke from killing him.

“yeah, luke,” you say, smirking, “where do you guys even play?”

luke frowns, “the usual but we’re playing at the fair next week if you’re so interested.” the last part is aimed at percy, but their plan is going well so far, so percy doesn’t think he’ll have to sleep with one eye open tonight.

“when?” you ask, interested.

percy watches luke turn to you, surprised. “saturday — why, you wanna come?”

“yeah,” you admit easily.

percy looks at annabeth, who’s smiling and percy can’t help but feel proud of their idea.

“really? we don’t go on until like seven though.”

“yeah, someone has to be there to cheer for you so you don’t feel too bad when no one else does,” you grin.

luke turns to you, masking his smile with a fake air of irritation, “gee, thanks.”

“what are friends for?”

percy shares a disappointed glance with annabeth who begins to shake her head, as luke’s smile freezes in place, and you suddenly look extremely remorseful.

time to come up with a new plan. 

© sayoneee on tumblr. do not repost, plagiarize, translate or claim any of my works as your own.

#luke castellan x reader #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #luke x reader #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x fem! reader #percy jackson imagines #luke castellan one shot #luke castellan one-shot #luke castellan oneshot #percy jackson fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #woc friendly #mortal au #percabeth #kashaf ki likhai

[uncouth-the-fifth]

click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (circa season 1) Tags/Warnings: cabin-in-the-woods moment, fluffy bestie banter, virgin reader, first time sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, and of course, Sam is a pussy god, as per usual. Word Count: ~20k (shhhh don't talk about it i have a problem) Notes: that's right, i make moodboards now bitches. these photos were collaged by my wonderful commissionee @daffodil-mania, who asked for: ""a reverse (you are a) natural, baby? where sam is the reader’s first time + a smutty cabin in the woods-type situation." Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

“Okay, okay,” you thought out loud, thinking hard, “my turn—if you could have anyone as a dinner guest, alive or dead, who’d you pick?”

A few paces ahead of you, Sam hummed in thought. His puffy winter coat made the outline of him against the swirling snow thicker, and if it was possible, taller, a menacing wall of deep blue between you and the woods. Something hiding out here and spying could even mistake Sam for something scary. Luckily, you weren’t that stupid.

Sam, for the millionth time in the last minute, checked that you were where you were supposed to be. (Two immediate steps behind him. Or he’d die). Looking back at you made the wind mess up his hair every time, and every time Sam tucked the same two strands behind his ears again. Like the shy girls in rom-coms did. Truly, monsters trembled at the sight of him.

He geeked at your question, but managed to play it cool: “Gandhi. Feel like he could teach me something. We’d probably like the same food, too, so it’d make for a good dinner.”

“Oh yeah, he was a vegetarian, right? You two could have a nerdy little salad together.”

Under the soft swell of the wind, you thought you heard Sam laugh, but it picked up in loud gusts at times that swirled skirts of untethered snow around your ankles. Well, your knees. The snow was tall enough here to seep into your boots. You’d given up totally on finding your own footing and started walking in Sam’s tracks, which were wider than yours almost all the way around. You told yourself that this was to confuse anyone tracking your prints in the snow, but really it was just fun to compare your shoe size to Sam’s. This set the walk back to the cabin at a snail’s pace. But with the way this conversation was going, you didn’t exactly mind freezing your ass off.

John had left his boys yet another unfinished hunt to distract them. Sam and Dean, tired of being distracted, changed tactics and split up. Dean was following a lead in Montana that could actually take him to John, and you and Sam were tying up John’s loose ends in upper Washington. The two of you had spent the last three days researching bloody disappearances in the area. An area in the thick of its snowiest, blurriest season, mind you, miles from anything but one of the Winchesters’ off-the-grid apocalypse shelters. This wasn’t how you and your mother had operated when you’d hunted together, but. Things changed. Parents disappeared.

Sam seemed to be shoving himself through John’s absence as best he could. You got smiles out of him here and there, but especially today, playing question games to pass the time mapping the woods and putting down traps.

“Gandhi was a fruitarian,” Sam clarified. He shielded his face from the snow by hiding in his collar, so you may have misheard when he added, “So, yeah. Him or my mom.”

Months ago, a mention of Sam’s mom would’ve shocked you into a full-on coma. He kept her memory even closer to his chest than Dean did, in some ways, and either brother even sneezing in the direction of their storied past had been a once-in-a-lifetime event. Before this hunt, that is. Now you couldn’t get Sam to shut up. Either the isolation had made him lonely or something else had pushed him to trust you, because the last two days had been spent this way—trudging through snow and spilling your guts about everything under the sun together. Sam loved to read and watch documentaries, he was fascinated by astronomy and meteorology and organized crime history and Native American folklore, and, hey, big surprise, reading. You’d never heard him talk about anything with so much passion. You hadn’t heard that passion in your own voice since before you’d lost your mom.

Still. As comfortable as you suddenly felt with Sam, you were sure to tread lightly. You risked a glimpse at his broad, snow-dusted back. “Mary would be nice too. Maybe you’d get to try some family recipe she’d make or something.”

“I think I remember my dad tellin’ me once that she hated cooking, actually, but m’ not sure,” Sam said, a bit of humor in his voice.

You thought of the soup Sam had turned to lava over the wood stove that morning, and grinned, “Yeah, I think you got that from her.”

Keeping casual eyes on your feet, you tried to see how fast you could get your boot through each foothold in the snow. Sam would make deep gouges in the powder with his longer strides. Crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch. You’d clear them three in a row, sometimes four, then stop short a step behind Sam and wait for him to make more tracks. Like hopscotch, almost. Every once in a while a huge gust of wind would force Sam to stop, and without a word he’d form a wall between you and the blast. You’d learned pretty much everything there was to know about Sam these last few days, but out of all his best dorky qualities his chivalry was your favorite.

“S’ not that I hate cookin’, I just suck attit.”

And the accent. The accent was gold, when the pretty drawl of it crept through with Sam’s boredom.

A little further and the spindly, snow-heavy trees parted for the lake you and Sam had been using to navigate. On your first day scouting you’d noticed how the icy surface had frozen like a misshapen heart, and since then Sam followed the point of it back to your cabin every night. Southeast of it was the abandoned mining facility that’d swallowed three people whole, and to its far right was where three more had disappeared. Your guess was a couple of territorial tree nymphs or werewolves, and Sam was betting on a Winter Hunger. The loser would take the first shift driving down to Montana.

Seeing the lake, Sam starts to arc your march around the edge, his sharp eyes on the treeline across the ice. The wind was stronger with room to run over the lake, but you reminded yourself that being a little cold was the gentlest way to die out here and forged ahead. Besides, most of your body had gone stark numb miles back. When you remembered how bad your cheeks were stinging, you’d bring your scarf tighter around your face and watch Sam, his long legs cutting easily through the snow.

The wind cooled down to a whisper. You reminded him, “Your turn.”

You’d reached a point where coming up with good questions had become harder than answering them, so Sam took a bit to stew on something good. There’d been a silent agreement on who was responsible for which kinds of asks. You would probe Sam with the deepest, most personal shit you could come up with, and after he explained what his life’s accomplishment was and what friendship means to him, Sam would go, uhhhh, what’s your favorite color? He was definitely the smartest shovel in the Winchester shed.

“How about this,” Sam cleared his throat. “Would you ever wanna be famous?”

You must’ve made a noise that gave away your surprise at the quality of his question, because he made a snooty sound back that had you seriously considering shoving him in the snow. You put your hands on his shoulders and everything, but where there should’ve been normal guy shoulders there were buff guy shoulders, which wouldn’t budge an inch. Sigh. What a lousy, muscly jackass.

Sam planted his feet, whining your name. “C’mon. Answer.”

“I’m thinking!” You laughed, and pushed with your legs until Sam tilted forward into his next step. It took a moment for you to keep your hands to yourself. “Okay. In this hypothetical world, what am I famous for?”

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

You splashed a little snow at his jeans, deciding to save your funny feelings about his answer for later self-reflection. “Dude. Be realistic.”

At this, Sam snickered, and even with him facing forward you could imagine the dry sloping smile pressing into his dimples. “Okay—across the whole entire world, you’re famous for cooking the perfect soup in a can. Like, in ways no one can even imagine, that’s how good. You make millions of dollars off it and become a household name. Would you want that?”

“God, no,” you wuffed out, immediately sending Sam into a fit of giggles. “Are you kidding me? All those strangers knowing me, not giving me any privacy? And don’t even get me started on all those soup-hounds throwing themselves at me for my soup-money.”

“I guess that’s true. You could never marry for love, 'cause everybody would just want your soup,” Sam mourned. Another great Sam quality: he was excellent at going along with a bit. “You’d just have to live with brief soup-flings for the rest of your life.”

You thought about what a soup-fling could entail for all of one second, then burst out laughing, warm clouds of it spiraling into the air through your breath. The shoulders of Sam’s coat shook with glee. It was funny for a few more beats until it warmed into something that was light and airy, something you hadn’t heard from Sam since you’d met him. He had the sweetest laugh. It made your damn teeth rot.

“Y’know, speaking of flings,” you hollered over the hissing wind, “I have no idea how your brother does that shit.”

Dean was safe and familiar territory; he was the centerpiece of everything you had in common with Sam, so your conversation circled back to him plenty. Every conversation you’d had with Dean orbited around Sam some way, too, so you’d come to expect it. You’d never seen two brothers care about each other as much as they did. Which was hilarious, since the moment one of them got you alone all they did was bitch. Dean’s been driving me up the damn wall. Sam keeps stickin’ his nose in my business. Neither of them had ever had a trusted third set of eyes before, or at least one who understood that their complaints were overshadowed with love. John had been someone to look up to, to emulate and impress, but you were a fresh outlet available for family baggage. The boys were your outlet for bitching too, since it was understood that your bitching also came from the heart.

“A girl in every port sounds fun in theory, but I feel like I’d get sick of it fast,” you confessed.

The snow underfoot began to crunch harder with each step, packed down into a firm sheet. Soon Sam’s prints were so shallow that you could see the tips of your boots again. Taking the chance while you had it, you fought against the snow to walk side-by-side with him, then fought again to match him stride-for-stride. Sam’s poor face had been pounded with so much snow that his bangs were soaking wet, but he still managed a half-frozen smile seeing you next to him.

“And, I dunno. I think I care about hurting people’s feelings too much to just…” you gestured stiffly, “head to the next town after sharing a night with someone.”

“Same here,” Sam sighed, then gave a very subtle cough as a sign to shift gears: “But, uh, I think it’s kinda a stress relief thing for him.”

You probably should’ve guessed that Sam wasn’t the fling type, since you’d been there every time he’d shied away from Dean’s plans to pick up girls, but the idea… sat there. Staring at you. It’d be stupid-easy for Sam to live that lifestyle. Dean had his own notions about what girls were most into (bad boys, leather jackets, you know), but you happened to be certified in what girls were into, and you had it on good authority that Sam was a total dreamboat.

You nudged Sam with your shoulder, coaxing him open with a well-placed smile. This was unearthed territory. “Not your thing, huh?”

The snow had pinkened Sam’s face enough as it was, so what he was capable of on his own was downright impressive. Even his ears went red. “Uhh,” he chuckled, too skittish to look you in the eye. “No, not really. I’m. I, uh, I’d rather get to know her first, y’know. Before we’re intimate. And hopping towns doesn’t exactly give you the time to do that.”

Yup. Total dreamboat.

“Oh, so that’s your plan, asking me all these personal questions.”

Sam controlled his sputtering by pressing his lips into a firm, flat line, which refused to indulge your silly flirting. “You’re a jackass,” he said, and the growing smile in his voice betrayed just how little he thought that was true.

When you were done laughing at your own joke, Sam guessed, “So that’s not your thing, either? One night stands?”

You were having fun—pulling Sam’s leg, for one, but also talking to him in general, so the truth glides right out of your mouth.

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

Sam had left his filter two states behind on the drive up, so he doesn’t even think to cap his disbelief. He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

His mortification with himself makes contact two beats later, and while you’re smirking and floating unbothered across the snow, Sam nearly goes belly-up falling over himself to apologize.

You soak up his groveling until Sam’s embarrassment hits a breaking point, then, in your humblest and kindest princess voice, you say, “It’s cool, Sam. No worries. I’m not at all offended you think it’s weird I’m a virgin.”

“I don—I-I don’t think it’s weird,” Sam stressed, going a little wild in the eyes. “It’s great! …I mean, not like, great, I just mean. It’s not a bad thing or anything.”

You meet his awkward silence with a smug, pleased one of your own. Sam’s smart enough to realize he’s stumbled into your trap, but not quick enough to find an escape, so he sputters for a long time and falls back on his third option.

“I’m just wondering,” he winces, knowing his question is stupid, “why are you still a virgin?” You’re about to laugh in his face, but the earnestness in Sam’s voice makes you hesitate. His question is a genuine one. “...That sounds awful, m’ sorry. But, c’mon. You’re smart enough to know how pretty you are. Charmin’ enough to use it, too. I mean, I’d…”

He caught himself. “—Anyone, would, uh…”

Sam didn’t finish his thought. He changed his grip on the shotgun swinging from his hand, self-conscious, and cleared his throat.

Well. That wasn’t obvious at all. No way in hell you were leaving that alone.

“You’d what?”

Sam didn’t say anything. He just tucked his hair behind his ears again, too shy to say what he was thinking but bold enough to let it be spoken in his silence instead. And it was a very, very telling silence.

Your brain scrambled to cram as much as possible into the blank Sam had left. There was so much potential in that one little word. I’d…

I’d understand if someone wanted to have sex with you.

I’d have found someone by now, if I were you.

I’d have sex with you.

I’d take that opportunity, ______, if I could.

Hm. Okay. Okay, huh. There weren’t a lot of people in the world capable of making you question your life decisions so quickly, but of course, this was Sam. His silence persevered. Your train of thought became an internal trainwreck.

A few opportunities had cropped up over the course of your life—third dates with guys that hadn’t totally sucked, a few handsome barflies—but nothing had… clicked. Because there was supposed to be a click, right? Before sex? Some compass in your body, moving you in a certain direction? You hoped to drift toward something that fit better than a stranger, but like Sam had said, that level of commitment wouldn’t be waiting for you out on the road. You could hook up with civilians or hunters as you pleased, but just the thought made your chest ache. Real connection wouldn’t be waiting for you in the back of a truck or a sleazy motel. Hunters lived short lives, sure, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a hopeless romantic.

You’d held onto that notion for a long time. Someday, something would click, and it’d be worth the damn wait.

Now, Sam was here, blinking coyly at you through his bangs, keeping you close to him, listening when you spoke. Click, goes your brain. Like a gear notching into place. He has those mossy, sensitive eyes that pry right open just for you and the prettiest rasp to his voice. Click click.

“C’mon,” Sam coughs. “Cabin’s just ahead.”

I’d… Sam had said, and left you to fill in the blanks.

_

The next day, both of you were proven wrong. You found out the hard way that the disappearances weren’t caused by cannibalistic spirits or werewolves. After getting mauled by living hills of snow and almost swallowed by an avalanche, you and Sam got the very subtle and not-at-all-lethal impression that you were dealing with an insane case of cursed ground. (Cur-sed, Sam had said, because he was fancy.) It took some on-the-spot ritual work and a day’s worth of walking to bury hex bags in the right spots, but by dusk you were alive and comfortable back in the cabin.

“I say we stick around for one more night—make sure this place is clean,” Sam suggested, shaking himself out on the welcome mat. When he shucked his coat off, the silky interior and the back of his shirt were dark with melted snow.

You glanced between Sam, who was blue at the edges, and the shifting tides of flakes on the wind outside. If you stared long enough the whole mountainside seemed to come alive in the dark.

“Uh,” you told him, “are you sure? If we got even one of those spells wrong, what’s stopping this thing from burying the whole cabin?”

But Sam had already thought of that, like he’d already thought of everything else. He rose from where he’d been kicking off his boots to give your icy hands a quick, warming squeeze. “I got it covered. Go—get a fire started, and fast.”

Since you were still riding the wave of adrenaline that’d kept you alive against moving, living forces of nature, you were already following Sam’s orders before he’d finished saying them. He didn’t act hardly as hurried. Being soaked and half-frozen was apparently second nature to him, since he navigated uninhibited through the duffle of ingredients you’d unloaded on the cabin’s floor. Your fingers were so numb that it took three tries to scrape some fire out of your matches, and by then Sam was already tying off his millionth hexbag of the day.

You didn’t regain your senses until a few minutes later, which passed as slow as hours did. Somehow in that sliver of time you’d hauled more firewood inside, hurried it into the fireplace, lit it, helped Sam bury the protection spells around the yard, raced back inside, and laid all your wet clothes out in front of the hearth. The second the doors were locked, your high started to tank. Sam was talking.

“—will last us through til’ tomorrow. Then, in the morning, we can use the spell to see if the land is purified. It might even be a good idea to check with the dowsing rods, too. If this ground is as cursed as we think, the hexbags will be just fine, though, so you don’t have to worry. You listenin’?”

Sam was a big, fuzzy-edged shape sitting criss-cross on the ratty rug a few paces from the fire. His silhouette was outlined by it in handsome shades of gold and honey-white, ‘cause of course he was the kind of movie beautiful that suited romantic fire lighting. Like, really romantic. Your brain had been baking in the panicked sludge of fleeing and hunting all day, but even it was capable of looking at that image of Sam and going, Uh, yeah. There’s something going on here.

For the last few days, the two of you had purified the ground of the cabin, too. It was the most telling relic of Sam and Dean’s life with John Winchester: rationed, unglamorous, and harsh. John was usually an out-of-bounds subject for the boys, but Sam had spent the last few days describing him at length. He was paranoid and obsessive—hence the cabin’s military rations, hidden weapons, traps, metric fucktons of salt, and next to nothing else. John hated any music and technology post-1980—hence the cabin’s record player. It was the only source of entertainment on hand, and the same three records only lasted so long. Even as hunter’s hovels went, this one was impressively oppressive.

Sam, plagued by abysmal hunter-kid memories of being stuck out here, had warned you about it ahead of time. You’ll get bored and miserable. He’d said that and you’d thought to yourself how hard it would be to get bored and miserable around Sam, who mystified you just sitting there. Still, you splurged on some big fluffy blankets, the shittiest and cheapest chess set you could find, pillows, and s’mores. Not exactly the John Winchester essentials, but. Just in case.

Stuffing the footwell of Sam’s stolen truck with cozy bullshit had been worth it in the end, purely because you wouldn’t wish the sleeping situation in the cabin on your worst enemy. There was a single, boxspring-less bed crammed in the bedroom’s corner, with a blanket too pitiful to put into words. It only had one pillow. This pillow also happened to be of unknown origin and age, and you were only brave enough to touch it because you’d worn your big girl pants that day. Sam had banked on the two sleeping bags he and Dean had left there as kids, but they were unfortunately still kid-sized. The two of you would’ve been forced to share body heat under one petal-thin blanket. Now, loaded up with massive, fuzzy comforters and heavy quilts, the two of you were happily sharing body heat under enough blankets to drown in.

Sam had insisted on making a bed for himself on the floor the first night. You’d let him, purely because he was pouring on the chivalry by the truckload and you were too grateful to know what to say. Any plans to argue were pinned down by that stern, unguarded stare. S’okay, I’ve been sleepin’ like this since I was little. Just a few minutes sinking into your snug nest made you rot with guilt. Being on the road with the boys put you in a bed with Sam plenty of times, and though the quarters were a bit tighter in the cabin, the cold was sharper too. You confessed your guilt to Sam the next day, and after the usual research marathon that night you felt his weight fill the untouched side of the bed.

Okay, Sam had caved. But—you’re sleeping on the inside, by the wall. I’m a lighter sleeper. That way if somethin’ comes in, I can protect you.

Hearing that, you’d grabbed his wrist and pulled it over your side. You’d kept one hand fisted around the knife under your pillow and the other folded over Sam’s hand, as if to say, I can protect you, too. Sam must’ve understood, because he’d pressed his cheek against your shoulder blade and succumbed to sleep. The rest of the week was spent like that, Sam herding you against one side of the slim bed with his legs and his arms and his sleepy-soft breaths. Though the bed was toasty and the contact was a one-stop sleeping pill, you stayed up with your knife for company. Sam deserved to feel safe while he slept.

You didn’t get that often as a hunter. Especially the touching part. Touching of any kind only really happened when you trusted someone, and trust was earned on the road with all the ease and painlessness of pulling teeth. In Sam’s case, he was an untapped well for little doses of affection. The moment that line was crossed, the second you’d taken a hit in his place for the first time, the second you’d torn your own clothes to wrap his wounds, Sam was open to you. He would never reach for your hand first (not if he was still Sam, who thought he didn’t deserve it), but you could reach for his and he would take it without question. You could pull his arm around you and Sam would wrap it tight, pressing his nose into your back. There was an exchange that occurred. He trusted you to give him something he was too proud to ask for and you trusted him to let you in, the two of you careful not to break the magic.

While he poked at the fire and lit candles, you flitted to the other room to scoop up a blanket to wrap yourself up in. The constant back-and-forth insanity of the day had made you too nauseous to eat, but you knew your stomach needed something. Preferably something sweet to trick you into feeling rewarded. Military rations really weren’t your thing, so you opted for the pomegranate Sam had avoided to keep his research papers clean.

He’d been going through your plan for tomorrow, right. “I’m listening, Sammy.”

When you circled back to join him on the rug, you opened up an arm of your blanket-cape for him. Sam, without comment, ducked under it, and you shuffled around for a minute to give his broader shoulders some fabric to work with. “All we can do for now is wait,” he told you, “so… whaddya wanna do?”

You put a bowl down in front of you and started splitting the pomegranate with your knife. “Chess again?”

Sam’s lip slanted in a frown. All his energy for smart stuff had been spent on the hunt today, so you weren’t all that surprised at his reluctance.

“Cards, then?” You guessed. Beads of rich red fruit started to fill your bowl, which Sam didn’t hesitate to sneak a hand into.

“There’s only so many rounds of Go Fish a guy can handle losing, _____,” Sam teased.

It was true. You’d obliterated him every round so far, the poor bastard.

Sam leaned into your side, filling your peripherals with his know-it-all smirk. “Unless you—”

“We’re done playing poker,” you said, having suffered your fair share playing against him. The emptiness of your wallet must’ve reflected in your voice, since Sam started snickering into his lap—and yeah, maybe the whole cute-shy-guy routine had worked on you, but knowing Sam he’d find a way to sneak the money he’d won out of you back into your bag. He was sweet that way. Evil, but sweet.

“Okay,” Sam wet his lips and wracked his brain. “...I could read my book to you. It’s the one I was telling you about—”

“—with the corrupt cops in L.A,” you filled in. Separating the pomegranate seeds from their core was bloody work with your knife, so when the natural halves of it were happily in the bowl you picked the rest apart with purple-stained fingers.

“Uh-huh. And we’re at a part I think you’d find pretty interesting, all the crazy trial stuff.” Sam shrunk into his shoulders a little bit, then added in a quiet voice, “If you, y’know. If you want.”

Hmm. You swiped the book from Sam’s other hand, the planes of his fingers making brief, electric contact with yours. A sharp flash of heat whipped through your belly, sizzling through your nerves. It took a bit for you to refocus, but the pause made you look like you were some deep scholarly person really inspecting the back cover, which Sam seemed to appreciate. You took care not to get any fruit stains on the pages. When you turned to pass it back to him, Sam was rubbing his bruised knuckles into his sleepier eyes. How he could keep reading after staring at nothing but old newspapers all week, you had no clue.

You reeled the book back toward you. “...How about I read it to you?”

Sam froze, considering this. He considered it so long that you could watch his cheeks color in real-time, the same red they’d been in the snow, until he broke out of his trance and managed a warm, surprised sort of smile.

“Okay,” Sam melted.

“C’mere, lawboy,” you decided on a whim, and pat the top of your thigh. True to form, Sam took his permission and ran with it, twisting shyly to lay on his side and prop his cheek on your leg. “Lemme impress you with all the big words I know how to say.”

Sam chuckled, and it was the kind of laugh that told you just how many weird law words were about to trip you up. It was also the kind of laugh you could feel, rumbly and real through your leg, which was. It was. It was something. He got comfortable, curling a lazy arm around your knee and using you as a proper pillow.

You really should’ve put more thought into having Sam this close. Like, really should’ve, since he’s so big and warm that it has you running on nothing but instinct, and your first impulse having Sam in your lap is to go straight for that gorgeous hair.

You take the lock Sam’s been messing with all day and tuck it behind his ear, just because his head is there and you need a damn place for your hand to rest. Right. A deep and draining sigh airs out of Sam’s nose being touched like that, and you start to wonder if this was something he’d masterminded. He seeps into your lap like he’d been chasing this all day, all week, and something about it makes you feel special in ways no one else could manage.

You open to the page Sam left off on and start to read. Sam doesn’t move an inch, laying statue-still in your lap. He only moves to sneak pinches of pomegranate seeds. Stiff as he is, he’s there, the furnace you’ve relied on for the last few days to keep warm. You get through a few chapters this way, Sam pausing you every ten seconds to explain something or hum or snootily translate some lawyer-speak for you. The whole time you do an excellent job of keeping your hands to yourself. Ever since Sam’s comment from yesterday, the little pieces you’ve gotten of him have made you greedy. Click.

The fire and the candlelight create a perfect bubble of heat on the otherwise icy floor, so it doesn’t take long for Sam to go from resting in your lap to downright oozing across it. From your point of view he’s nothing but a mop of shining hair and a big hand curled around your knee. His presence seeps into you as much as his warmth does, and after so long it’s almost overwhelming to taste someone else’s vulnerability this way. Click click. You’re reminded of how much you care about Sam, and how long it’s been since you’ve been allowed that. There was something about him that would always be worth protecting. Maybe it was how fucking good he smelled.

“Doctor Janen’s contributions to the investigation, especially her knowledge of luminol, were,” you trailed off, “were…”

Sam’s breathing had evened out in your lap. Or, you thought it had, until his posture shifted under the sweater he was wearing. He rolled out of your lap and onto his hands with a reluctant groan. Tired as he was, Sam was always capable of being a smartass. “D’you know what luminol is?”

“Yes, detective,” you scoffed, maybe a teensy bit disappointed that he’d left your lap. The outline of his touch on your thigh burned like a heat beacon. “Should I go back and read the last few paragraphs, or was that you just pretending to sleep?”

Sam rubbed at his face, like it was possible to physically scrub the sleep from it. He sat up next to you, blinking slowly to get his bearings, and for no logical reason your heartbeat built to an ear-ringing throb in your chest. You were completely alone with him. For once, you had Sam all to yourself. Soft shadows kissed his arms and hands and neck. He was made up of nothing but full endless sloping lines, a charcoal sketch come to life.

“I was restin’ my eyes,” he sassed. “We should stay sharp through tonight, though. Stay up. I can take the first shift, since you’ve taken the last three.”

You didn’t miss the little nod to your sleeping habits. Which meant Sam had also laid awake long enough to know you hadn’t fallen asleep until late, which meant he’d laid awake next to you. In bed. Thinking with that big brain of his. It made your own big brain run around in crazy circles, chasing whatever conclusions he might come to.

You stole a glance at the nearest window. The salt lines were laid neatly on its sil, on the off chance boarding up the glass turned out to be useless. “That’s okay. I’m not exactly tired yet.”

Sam popped a few pomegranate seeds into his mouth, humming in thought. “Then it’d probably be smartest to keep each other up.”

“Samuel!” You gasped. He froze mid-chew, confused, and remained confused until you started poking him and laughing. “I’d expect a line like that from your brother, but never from you.”

You were a tease-first-ask-questions-later kind of person, so you understood Sam’s particular brand of banter and how he liked to respond to yours. Typically, you’d annoy him with a playful little taunt and Sam would let you know you were funny by calling you a jackass. You waited for Sam to hear your line and brush you off as an idiot. Instead, he did something much more interesting: he got defensive.

“I meant stay up like, like talking,” he sputtered. “I would never—y’know. I wouldn’t. Do, uh. Do that. Why don’t we keep up our question game from before? It’s, it’s your turn, right?”

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

This was the fastest question that either one of you had managed to whip out all week, and that fact hung so obviously in the air that you could feel it between you and Sam on the floor. It dropped so hard in the middle of the conversation that it shut you both up, silencing Sam’s sputtering and veering your train of thought to a shrieking, sparking halt. Sam was smart. His big brain would put together—had probably already put together—that you’d thought about asking him this. He might even be smart enough to intuit why you’d been itching to bring this subject back up, and for the first time in your life you prayed that Sam was the dumbest, most thick-headed man to ever hunt with you.

He did a great impression of someone less clever than himself. “Like. The first time I…?”

You chewed a few pomegranate seeds. “Uh-huh.”

“...Right.” Sam registered. He conveniently decided to fixate on the fire instead of you, which should’ve helped your sanity, if that was even possible anymore. The bulb of his nose and the swell of his lip curved just perfectly in profile, made even prettier by the firelight. God.

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

Sam swallowed. “No, no. You’re okay. Just thinking.”

You bit down on your tongue. Oh, awesome. Thinking! Exactly what I want you to be doing right now!

Sam swiped two sweaty, corded hands down each of his thighs. Tucked his hair behind his ears. Made your belly flutter and twist like a huge gust of wind going through a spring-fresh tree.

“I was seventeen,” Sam cleared his throat. “We were in Utah—well, I was in Utah, Dad and Dean were… Whatever. But I was sort of, um, on this rebellious streak at the time.”

You lazed back on your hands. “So, in hunter-kid terms, counting the days til’ you’re eighteen and packing your rucksack?”

An abrupt laugh barked out of Sam. His gaze loitered on your face with renewed comfort, remembering, again, that you’d both hidden your acceptance letters where no parent could see them. This was another Sam-move you knew the steps to.

“Yeah,” his eyes glittered. “Exactly.”

(The day you met Sam, the one reference you’d made to your associate’s degree had him crossing his legs under the table. He’d asked in a husky, tight voice what you’d gone to school for. Just hearing the words folklore and mythology had the guy close to pitching a tent.)

Sam managed to take his eyes off you. “But, uhm. There was this girl at school my Dad had ordered me not to hang around, so… I hung around. After a school dance. In her car.”

You were a very mature adult who was not at all jealous of a teenage Utahn, and thus sculpted your face into something playful. “Dirty,” you snickered. Sam’s light smile was encouraging, so you said as an afterthought, “Sounds like a squeeze, though. Don’t know if I’d want my first time to be in a car.”

“Especially in a tiny, cramped Nissan,” he agreed, chuckling. The smidgen of regret in his voice shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d earned a point against Random Utah Girl, but it did. You scolded yourself for it (your imaginary point gripped in one fist).

It was now Sam’s turn to ask a question, and he asked it fast. Impressively fast. “Okay, so. No car. Where would you want your first time to happen, then?”

Though you were an absolute animal when it came to Go Fish, your empty wallet was proof enough that you were a lousy poker player—due to an even lousier poker face. Hearing Sam’s question, it did you no favors. Even before you’d formed any thoughts about… everything, your body knew its answer, pointing every delicate nerve in your body toward the open doorway to the cabin’s bedroom.

You flicked a glance at the warm, intimate darkness waiting for you there.

It was only a second. But that one look was enough. Your hand was exposed, and Sam, by comparison, was an excellent poker player.

In a rush, you scrambled to put some distance between yourself and your obviousness. You winced. No way out. “Uhh, anywhere cozy. For the first time, I dunno if I’d wanna be cramped in a closet or something, no matter how sexy it may be. Is it lame to say… a bed?”

Sam hummed. As you’d talked, he’d become more and more relaxed in front of the fire, lounging on a propped-up arm and picking out of the fruit bowl. There was a long silence from him that could’ve been the weighted silence before a judge’s verdict.

…You’d never seen a judge draw his hand up to his mouth, suck pomegranate juice from the pads of his fingers, then pull off them with a noisy pop, but. But maybe they took a different approach at Stanford.

“It’s the standard for a reason, right?” Sam shrugged, amused.

He pushed the bowl across the floor with his wrist instead of his spit-slick fingers. It made a hollow scraping sound that brought your head back to the conversation, thank god, since the last seconds of your life post-fingers-to-mouth action had been spent elsewhere. The specific “elsewhere” that entailed Sam’s thick-knuckled fingers and Sam’s pretty pink mouth. You’d had the occasional intrusive thought about men creep up on you before, but the tricky part was that those thoughts pushed their way in. They jolted into your life then jolted back out.

Single-handed, Sam had hooked you, reeled you in, and pulled you “elsewhere.” Keyword: pulled. Not pushed.

…Then… maybe… pulled you again. And pushed you back. And again. Pulled out, then pushed in. Pulllled out slow, only to ssssink back in, deeper than before. Pulling and pushing with rhythm. Pulling, pushing, faster, deeper. Making you gasp and yelp his name, his fingers—Sam’s fingers—digging into your waist, your belly—

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

You’re so self-conscious you think you could feel the individual atoms of your body clanging against each other. “...Uh-huh?”

It’s your turn to ask a question next. But Sam breaks the rules and speaks first, since he knows exactly what he wants to ask you. He glides up onto one hand, his whole body a twenty-page study of lanky coyness, and tilts in close to you.

“If you could lay it all out—the timing, the place, the person…” Sam’s face glittered with a poker player’s curiosity. “What would your perfect first time be like?”

Or: Give me the manual, and I’ll follow it.

Your mouth was watering. It was one of a million things making it impossible for you to speak right now, including the sudden, nigh-unbearable heat of the room under your collar, and, oh right, the metric fuckton of slick soaking your underwear. The speed at which your arousal hits you is enough to make you dizzy, and in the haze you swear you start to hear something. Click. Click. Click click click click click click click—

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

“I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”

Which was a blatant lie, since you’d spent the last ten minutes thinking of nothing else. Sam either sensed you weren’t telling the truth or was looking for something more, because he let you linger in your own answer, prying the rest out of you with his hanging silence.

Really, you should’ve been tougher, but the first long breath without anything from him shredded your strength. You caved and filled the quiet.

“I mean,” you toyed with your hands in your lap. “No matter what, I’d want it to be special. Bein’ out on the road, marching around, that’s not really a luxury we’re allowed to have. It’s like you said yesterday. I wanna be with someone I’m connected to, and I don’t think that’s gonna be in the back of a bar or—”

“—in a stranger’s bed,” Sam softened with understanding. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” You echoed. The fire crackled and popped, loud enough that you could use the sound as an excuse to look elsewhere. “And if I happened to find that person, they’d have to be in the life. We can only trust other hunters, nowadays.”

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

It disappointed you how much you had to agree with him. There used to be a sense of mutual understanding among the hunters you’d met, but something had shifted since you were little. The world was a much scarier place, and the hunters that’d survived to see it had darkened to meet it. You’d dodged all shades of skeevy, selfish people before you’d landed in the Impala’s backseat. Even Dean and Sam had colored the list of hunters you’d been warned to avoid. Of course, every inch of it had turned out to be triple-hand gossip. Maybe you were quick to judge or the boys were just good seeds in a shitty crop, either way, ending up with them was the kind of good luck that beat the devil.

You’d never had the chance to tell Sam that before.

“I dunno. Not to go all mushy on you, but I do feel pretty lucky.”

Sam indulged you with an inviting tilt of his head, impressed that either one of you had a sliver of luck between you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This last year, before I joined up with you n’ Dean, there wasn’t a single living soul out there I thought was worth putting my faith in,” you said, easing your mushy confession onto him under the guise of fact. Sam couldn’t digest it any other way. “I’m really grateful you changed that for me. It feels—it feels good to trust people. To feel like somebody knows you.”

Sigh. The side of your personal bubble filled with nothing but Sam started to seep with quiet, disbelieving fondness, and you could tell because Sam was giving you the eyes. The eyes. The ones that people brought out their wallets for and sent girls like you into romantic psychosis.

You dared to face them head-on, which was a reckless idea (probably brought on by romantic psychosis). Sure enough, his gaze was big and soulful and heart-rending. Sam was sitting so close now that you could almost soak up his body heat. The biting wind wormed its way through the thin walls and the fire was fading with it, but Sam oozed magnetic warmth by comparison. Stuff-your-face-in-his-neck kind of warmth.

“Do you feel like…” Sam rasped. He brushed the flats of his knuckles down your arm, breaking that final touch barrier. “...like I really know you?”

Your entire nervous system implodes with fluttery feelings. It’s just two fingers, brushing soft down your arm through your sweater, but. It’s confirmation. It’s Sam’s yes, I want this, and it puts into perspective how the two of you have spent the last week: alone together. Curled as one shape in bed. Talking just loud enough for only the other to hear, and never an octave higher. Never more than a few feet apart. If you reached for Sam first you knew he’d accept your hand, your boots in his bootprints, but when he coasts his palm down the swell of your shoulder it’s him reaching out for you.

You reach right back. You curl a hand up to cover his hand with yours, those big doe eyes asking that same question on repeat. Do you think I know you? Do you trust me? Do you want this?

“All I’ve got is me, you, and Dean. And it wasn’t him that I told all my deepest hopes and shittiest moments to,” you laughed. “So…”

Every other time you’ve hit this point, you’d been distracted by the logistics and the math of sex—protection, chemistry, the when and how, and the consequences of both. It’s not gonna hit you until two days after this moment, after Sam has you as many times as you want in the plush cabin bed, that there was no math with him. Just want. Just things sliding into place. Click click click.

“So…” Sam’s face tips even closer. Your head fogs with the heat and smell and presence of him, mesmerized.

He puts it all together for the two of you: “Your perfect first time would be with a hunter, somebody in the life that you trust. Somebody who could make you feel special. Somebody who really knows you.”

You smirk before you can stop yourself. “Do I need to drop any more hints, Sam?”

Damn, could that boy put a fireworks show to shame. He lit up. Sam’s shoulders did this really cute boyish swell and his lips parted, telegraphing with every piece of himself, Oh, you really want this, you really want me!

You’d never seen him wear that kind of happiness before, and it made sense why. Thank god the two of you were off the grid out here, because you didn’t doubt that Sam’s smile could pop every lightbulb in the entire country.

Sam aimed a bubbly laugh at his lap, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’m getting the full picture,” he tried to flirt, “a few more, maybe?”

So, getting less and less subtle as you went on, you explained to Sam the hypothetical author of the night of your life. He’d be sweet. Polite. Smart, too, but not the type to rub it in your face. (This made Sam laugh). He’d be gentle and considerate and frankly fucking awesome, but not so shy that he couldn’t give you a wild time.

When he was blushing so hard you stopped needing the fire for warmth, you sprinkled one last handful of flattery on him. “And, jesus,” you whistled, “this guy I’m picturing? Total dreamboat. So pretty it makes me wanna write dumb songs about him.”

Predictably, Sam got so flustered that he went back to futzing with that same strand of hair by his ear. With the touch barrier between you broken, your mind buzzed with a million different ways to reach out and feel him, to draw him in, and all those ideas coalesced seeing Sam’s hand come up to his cheek. Before you lost your resolve, you stroked the messiest portion of his bangs behind his ear for him. Sam melted. He liked to do that around you.

“Now I’d just sound arrogant if I assumed that it’s me,” Sam snorted.

You pressed the flats of your knuckles down Sam’s warm, smooth cheek. “It’s you. It’s been you for a while, actually.”

The easy, loving contact dazed him. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and a short, shaky breath puffed out of him in one bracing go. It was clear that he hadn’t been touched this way in a while. He sat there absorbing your touch for a long time, a cat resting his head in the full scope of your palm. You turned your body to face his and Sam’s gaze, which was layer after layer of hazels no artist could mimic, opened for you.

You thought about saying something cheesy like, wow, ain’t I lucky, having the whole world in the palm of my hand, but Sam was much faster (and much, much cheesier).

A leather-tough hand scooped around the back of your neck. The touch was fucking-christ-big and god, so was he, the line of his thumb to his wristbone as long as the length of your neck. You knew this because that’s exactly where Sam placed it, stroking your chin with his thumb. Prickling chills tickled up your legs. He scrutinized you—and you say scrutinize loosely, since the Sam-equivalent was gazing into your face like a fatal decision was held there. Your mental yes, yes, I want you was so loud that Sam could’ve psychically heard it. If he did, it was enough to make his pupils become huge pools of want.

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

You laughed. “M’ practically nose to nose with you, Sam, I don’t have any further to—”

The rest of your teasing was lost to a louder yelp. Sam scooped his arms around your middle and. And hauled you. Into his lap.

His—lap.

There was no way to survive this landing. You were plopped right on top of his barrel-wide thighs, your every sense instantly stuffed full to bursting with every wonderful thing that made Sam himself. A steam of woody body wash and aftershave put you under his spell. Two massive hands soothing down your back glued you happily in place. Sam’s warm chuckles seeped through his chest and into your hands, because, oh yeah, you were allowed to touch him. And there was so much of him to touch now, too. The entire front of your body was cozily smushed up against his firm, longer frame, filling your hazy vision with the soft shadows on his throat and collarbones and those fucking dimples. What the fuck.

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

The only time you’d been permitted in another person’s space like this was to hug them. Overwhelmed with choice—you could kiss him, touch him, run your fingers through his hair this close—you defaulted to what you knew. Sam hesitated, but with a breath, the coil of his body unwound and the two of you slid together with a satisfying smush. (Or maybe a click).

Oh my god that’s good, your senses wailed, but all you could manage with your face muffled in his neck was, “Warm. Sooo warm, Sammy.”

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

You pulled your face out of his shirt to sigh. “The biggest yes of your life.”

Sam gleamed. Being so close to the source of all happiness on earth (the toothy grin he was biting back for your benefit) should’ve instantly pulverized you and every other hot-blooded being on this side of the planet. It should’ve. But your soul was still ringing around in your feeble body, and sure enough, your calves were still snug around Sam’s thighs like they’d been before. You’d survived being inches away from Sam’s face while he smiled all shy for you, and succeeded in feeling only a teeny bit like a pile of smoking ash because of it. For a second you tricked yourself into thinking you could survive him.

That is not the case.

With impeccable timing, Sam kisses you. Just a brief, firm peck on the mouth. Testing the waters. The waters that are now a fucking ocean in your underwear, thank you very much. It’s only a two-second kiss, but the instant Sam’s lips pop off of yours an embarrassing happy squeal follows him out. Definitely not the suave reaction you were expecting from yourself. Sam just laughs, which translates as a sexy hum under your free hand.

“That was cute,” he whispers, eyes crinkling.

“Shut up, Sam.”

He hums, still brimming with that big spoiled grin. He takes you by your prickling arms and starts to pull his hands down them, again and again, squeezing the anxiety out of you in huge handsy swaths. You feel a bit better about being such a nervous wreck. His hands are trembling too.

The first kiss was good. Really good. Wetter, warmer than you were expecting, but so fucking—good. His mouth was soft and stained by the pomegranate, but, oh no, you’re already forgetting what it was like to taste him. It’s so tempting… to just… lean in…

He’s just as tempted. Sam meets you in the middle for a second kiss that he finds so satisfying, so right that this deep rumbling moan purrs right out of him. The pink swell of his lips are, of course, pressed hot to yours, filling you head to fucking toe with that single bassy note. You gasp through your nose—because nothing is worth breaking his kiss. Not a desperate breath of air, not an uttered word.

Sam kisses you with his hands as much as he dazzles you with his mouth, laying heavy touches down your back, then your waist, then your legs, inspecting and absorbing. You’re hardly as methodical. He is a wonderful beach and it’s your first time seeing the ocean. You take the biggest fistfuls of him that you can, feeling the silky sand of him slip between your greedy fingers.

Sam is apparently into being your metaphorical beach, since after he’s done melting your brain and your underwear in the most intense make-out session of your life, he pulls away to speak.

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

It takes you a moment to respond, because. Well. A, that’s the sexiest way someone has asked to have sex with you, no contest, and B, you’ve been waiting this whole time for the moment where you don’t want this anymore. With other men, your body had just never found the spark that should’ve been there. Was this time different? Had things click click clicked into place?

You take a step back to put this in perspective for your future self. As vividly as you’re able, you think about having sex with Sam. You visualize Sam’s sharp eyes, his naked back, the cut of his hips, all of it, as he fucks you straight through the shitty mattress in the cabin’s bedroom. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his—of his fucking paws, essentially, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls. You think about it some more. How Sam would moan, how his lashes would screw shut in ecstasy as he filled you. You keep thinking about it. When your mind starts to deviate toward the filthy, thick sound of him… o-of Sam plunging into you over and over again, smushing you under his weight… uhm. Uh.

Yeah. Yeah, this is everything you fuckin’ want.

It takes conscious effort for you to close your gaping mouth, then pry it open again to blurt: “Please, yes.”

A tiny piece of his posture relaxed in relief. Sam smushed a cute, giddy peck into your cheek, reminding your entire tingling nervous system that there was a really sweet guy underneath the deadly-efficient hunter you knew.

“Okay,” he beamed, and shyly tipped his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”

You feel like you should be doing more than being demure and nodding a lot, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. After you climb out of his lap and find your footing on your jellified legs, he unfolds off the floor like bucks do, knowing on instinct how to conduct the body he has so much of. The fire’s sleepy and weak in the hearth, and with it dead, Sam is the new center of heat in the room. He takes your hand and just touching the middle of his palm spurs shivery warmth down your legs. Now, you’re all too aware of Sam’s proportions—how encompassing his hand feels, how easily his shoulders fill the doorway to the little bedroom. Feeling mature, you fill the next room with bright giggles. You see in real-time how Sam melts at the noise.

Like you have the last few nights, you each scoop up a candle and find a place for it amidst the hunter clutter. It takes a beat to find your way through the dark. The space is just big enough for the slim bed pushed snug into the corner, and already you know from experience how you and Sam fit into the nest of blankets and pillows. (Hint: extremely well).

Sam uses his candle to light a few others on the bedside table, keeping a free hand stretched toward you to reserve his spot as your only hand-holder. You drop your candle on the dresser and consider the only thing next to it while you wait for him. The Winchesters had three vinyls total for their ancient record player, and seeing it unused and wasted in front of you, you have a stroke of romantic genius.

The second you drop the needle on the first jazz record and turn back toward the cozy, honey-lit room, Sam’s there, sliding into your open arms to plant a kiss on you. And another. And another. And another, coaxing little happy sighs from you. They’re such deep kisses that you dip back with each one, until the curve of Sam’s towering body is diagonal over you and you have to clutch his shoulders to stay standing. Both of his rough-sawn hands cup the scoop of your back to support you. All your daydreaming about him had convinced you that he’d be a head-to-toe brick wall, but Sam’s teddy-bear soft instead, the gleaming skin you have access to yielding and plush. His lips most of all, puffy pink and shining.

Sam persists, pressing closer, kissing you deeper, panting under his breath. Whatever it is about the happy sounds you make wake up something dark in him. There’s a tight, delicate rhythm he likes to follow, and the more of Sam you get the less of it you see. That straight-arrow persona is there, and then—poof! Sam’s tongue is laving wet and hot and perfect across your parted lips, ruining your underwear in one fell swoop.

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

The situation in your panties graduates to unbearable levels. If you have to makeout with Sam fully clothed for even a second longer, you think your core will enter a full reactor meltdown. You try to get the words across, grabbing helplessly at his sweater and whining, but Sam interprets it as something else.

“Everything okay?” He worries.

Dazed, you nod more than you need to. With your eyes open and his face in full view, you’re hit with a spark of self-consciousness. Sam fills the bedroom with easy conviction, owning his desire in a way you’ve never really been capable of. You don’t exactly have the experience to blow his mind or anything. Why would he want this if there was so little in it for him? Sam wasn’t a selfish guy, but… To you, your eagerness starts to feel more like greediness.

You shift from foot to anxious foot, shrinking in place. “...Could you, um? Walk me through it? How we’re gonna…?” You swallowed the frog in your throat. “Sorry, that must seem stupid.”

Leave it to him to make something stupid into something ridiculously, fatally sexy.

“S’okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’d…” Sam wets his lips, looking for the words. A quiet, dirty-minded smile plays across his face. He decides, “It’d be my pleasure.”

His touch moves away from your back, and you’re about to mourn the loss of it until Sam’s hands start to play with yours, twisting them around in his own like a schoolboy. He closes the space you’ve timidly left open between you by pressing your chests together. It’s a small gesture. But this is Sam, so your face is in smolders on that alone. (…And you’d just been french kissed, to be fair).

“Okay. Uhh,” Sam fumbles. He stops to consider his approach. As in, the approach he’ll take to seducing you, as if you aren’t seduced on a level incomprehensible to humankind.

You can’t help but laugh at how much Sam-math must be happening in his head, and Sam laughs too. Sam keeps laughing, until it warms into a handsome, knowing hum, and suddenly he’s laying your hands on his belt and tickling your ear with the hot fan of his breath. You squeak, sensitive, which tempts him into breaking character.

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

“When you’re ready… m’ gonna get you out of these clothes.”

The deliciously big set of hands on your waist sidle up under the open strip of skin below your shirt. Just one of his fingers is brave enough to sneak up to draw circles against your tummy. It’s the slightest taste of what it’ll be like to have those hands all over you, sweat-slick skin-to-naked skin, which is just enough to make your appetite for him boil in your gut.

“And I know you’re gonna be freezin’, we both are, but I promise you’ll get real hot real soon. Cause’...”

The bulb of his nose (and the ghost of his smile) brushed your cheek, then down, and the explosive fluttery feeling already lighting up your belly pitches into a whole fireworks show.

“...The minute I see you lying all pretty on your back for me…”

Sam tips in to lay a kiss on your throat. A slow, open-mouthed kiss, suckling soft on your skin.

“...In our bed…”

Our bed, he says. That choice of words alone implies so much. If the two of you sharing it before didn’t count, then Sam was about to make it your bed.

“I’m not stopping til’ you get every single thing you want,” Sam purrs. His kisses become blatant licks, the whole of his capable tongue drawing wet lines on your throat. “Til’ you’re damn spoiled.”

What. The fuck. The universe could dissolve into mist and you would be too turned on to care, tethered to the last atoms of the earth by your hands on Sam’s belt. You gape up at him. Sam, the evil genius, smirks right back. When you’d said you wished your first time could feel special, you hadn’t exactly been planning for Sam to follow that direction to the damn letter. He makes it sound like he’s going to bend to your every whim, and knowing Sam...

You swipe at your face to check that you’re not drooling. “I’m—I-I—you’re—” while you’re sputtering, he swipes a dab of spit off the other corner of your lip. “—Suh-Sam.”

Screw it. You drop both hands on Sam’s chest and twist your fingers in his shirt, forcing the words out in choppy pieces. “I’m not as experienced as you. But I really, really… want this. To be—to be good for us. Wanna give you everything you want, too.”

Sam makes a flattered, yet sympathetic face. “Oh, baby, don’t think about me—”

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Now, it’s Sam’s turn to forget how to speak. Finally.

You wind your fingers into the tuft at the back of his neck, enunciating, “How… do I make this good for you?”

“You’re already here. That’s all I need,” Sam gushes, falling back on his tender chivalrous boyfriend routine. It’s really sexy. Almost sexy enough to work. He tucks back his signature lock of unruly hair, blushing from his ears to his neck.

Well, stream-of-consciousness hasn’t failed you yet.

“Uh-uh. We’ve been alone together in this teeny cabin for a whole week. There’s no way I’m the virgin, but you’re the one without the dirty fantasies.” You take a long squinting look at him to divulge any loose secrets. Thumbing Sam’s hip through his shirt, you press, “Tell me. C’mon. You want me to blow you? Pull your hair? Or do you, I dunno—wanna bite me? Pin me down?”

You can track the second Sam starts breathing harder, but somewhere between then and now his eyes have glazed over with dangerous desire.

Sam clutched fast at his shrinking sliver of self-control. “Okay,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. So… if it feels right, and it’s not embarrassing, it would be… I’d, I’d love it if you…”

“Got super noisy?”

After an intensely bashful pause filled with quiet music, Sam nods, hiding behind his bangs. Knew it. He always got so squirrely when you did your oh-I’m-so-cozy moan snuggling into bed at night.

Teasing him any more would definitely be poking the bull. But is it fun to poke that bull? Absolutely. Especially when Sam starts to unbuckle his belt, his whole body crawling with the urge to throw himself at you.

“Alright, I can do that. But how noisy are we talking? Like, normal enjoying myself kind of noisy, or best-sex-of-my-life noisy?”

He gets this nasty, disbelieving smile on his face, and it’s your last warning before—

Snap. Sam’s restraint splits in two. In an instant you’re captured by the underarms and Sam, who’s honest-to-god grinning/snarling about how you need ta’ be taught a lesson on leavin’ well enough alone, flings you onto the end of the bed. You land with a shriek. Then a second, louder squeal, as Sam takes your pantlegs in his fists and whips them clean off.

The next precious moments are filled with all sorts of lessons. For one thing, it takes a lot of force to tear pants off a person. By happenstance, you’re dragged a whole foot further down the bed and right against Sam’s lap. You also learn that pants are connected to underwear, so following that math, it makes sense why your panties are now royally rearranged on your hips. These two factors are too convenient to not be planned on Sam’s part. You’re reminded, again, that Sam is a genius.

You also remember that you’ve never been pantsed before. With and without the sexy context. Keeping that in mind, you, like any other person in your delicate situation, snap your legs closed on instinct. Not because you don’t want Sam there—holy shit, do you want him there—but because he happened to tickle you in the transfer from floor to bed, and you’re not about to let him pounce on you and tickle you to death.

This really works out for you in the long run, since having your legs closed means that it’s inevitable Sam will have to open them.

You’re laughing so hard that your sides have locked up with stitches. Sam pretends he’s not just as amused by kneeling up on the bed as grouchily as possible, ripping his shirt off, and… and, uhm… scooping his huge palms under your knees, and… yeah. He doesn’t have to do any pushing past that. Your legs just fall right open for him, and Sam wiggles in between them where he belongs.

Nothing in this entire world could prepare you to have Sam this close, so the idea that you could even cope with being absolutely towered over by the indecent amount of ab he possesses is fuckin’ laughable. Who the fuck let him have abs? For the health of all people attracted to men on this planet, who taught Sam to work out?

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

“How noisy?” Sam scoffs, chuckling mean and deep in his chest. “How noisy? I’ll give you a hint how noisy you’re gonna be—”

He falls forward onto his hands, effectively blanketing you in a swath of flushed-smooth, freckly skin. There’s not a thought in your mind about how cold this room is in comparison to the last. Your hands smooth over the planes of his cheeks on instinct, and Sam follows the touch into a soul-shattering, full-body, toe-curling kiss that melts both your bodies into the homey center of the quilts and comforters. His nose squishes into your cheek and a long, satisfied groan bubbles out of him. He barely pulls his lips from yours when he hisses—

“...I’m gonna fuck you til’ you’re hoarse.”

What in the ever-loving fuck.

I cannot put into words how much I want you to do that, you want to say, and it’s true, since you end up making the world’s neediest gasp of glee instead. You’re not pleading up into his face for a full second before Sam gets your message. One can only guess what he’ll do next. (Hint: Sam cannot take in a full breath without kissing you first).

All week you’ve been toiling away to earn tiny pieces of the Sam puzzle. The picture you’ve built so far is, frankly, a touch-starved animal, who will wait at the heels of the first trusted person willing to provide. You kiss Sam once and he’s so damn grateful that he’ll multiply it by five. You get adventurous with your hands, squeezing and appreciating Sam’s flushed-smooth back. Because he’s Sam, returning the favor takes precedence over his beloved activity, and your kiss is forced to break so he can sit up and touch you proper.

Well. If any of this can be considered proper, that is. And if there’s one word to describe what Sam does to you with his hands, it’s improper.

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

You bite back your inner worries and taunt him, “Been ready.”

He splays his fingers on your belly and is so transfixed by its softness that he stoops to smudge a kiss above your belly button. You do your best to pretend it doesn’t tickle, which is the opposite of what Sam wants. He gives your sides two quick pinches that have you squirming and squeaking under him, too shy to keep your eyes open. You’re embarrassed about the girly sounds he gets out of you until you risk a look at his face—plum red, dizzy, and glazed with fond desire.

Sam wasn’t kidding. He does want you at your noisiest.

This brings your horniness to a whole new level, turning the airy fluttery feeling expanding in your belly into the opposite: an emptiness, a vacuum, and one that desperately needs to be filled. Sam seems to do nothing but fill things. The doorways he stands in, the beds he kneels on, the snuggly center of your embrace. Naturally, this makes you insane. His hands fill up the most—big swaths of your belly, your shirt—your bra.

They push the band of the hunting sportsbra you’re wearing clear over your tits and out of his way. Sam rumbles in approval.

You stop your hands from twitching up around your naked chest, now hyper-aware of how much your breasts rise with your breath. Sam breathes you in. His gaze is soft beyond imagination, which makes the whittled-down shards of fear inside you seem even sillier than before. Either he reads your mind or he’d predicted you’d be mousy (and christ do you hope it’s the latter, since that means he thought about this already), because Sam plucks up your closest hand and presses it flat to his happy trail.

“Don’t be nervous,” he soothes. “Touch me too.”

The thought alone explodes you into steam. But you’re no quitter, so you roll with the invitation, stroking the soft pads of your fingers along the line from Sam’s naval to his ill-fitting jeans. He’s not flexing for you, so you get to feel him as Sam really is: butter-smooth and blanket-soft. Without his belt there’s a precious gap hanging between his hips and his waistband. It’s just big enough for your hand to fit inside.

You’re not brave enough to take that final plunge until Sam twists down to kiss your chest. His mouth burns scorching hot on your breastbone, and as he curls over your body, his hands on your belly slide up to take two needy handfuls of your tits. In the same motion you fit your hand into Sam’s jeans and squeeze and—ohhh fuck, you wind in as one, sharing a perfect bow-taut moment of hissing pleasure.

Sam pressed his face where he was kissing, deflating on top of you with a long, seeping, “Shittt.”

Okay. On top of feeling good, sex could be a fun little puzzle to put together. Sam urging his hips into your hand was one piece, and if you put it in the right place (i.e: touched him like that again), he’d be all yours. You do. You cup him through his boxers and follow what you feel, and what you feel is. Fucking. It’s. I-is it supposed to be that big? And, and holy shit, is he hard.

Sam. Sam’s big, thick dick in your hand. You’re gonna be wet for damn weeks.

Stupified, you blurt out, “Do you always get this hard?”

Sam cracks a wry grin, his eyes lidded. “Mm. It’s definitely you. Bein’ stuck out here with you.”

He drops a kiss on the seam of your ribcage. Then lower. And lower, leaving shiny wet circles along your tummy. “Makin’ me crazy… sticking by me every second, pressing yourself into me in your sleep. Lookin’ at me like—like that.” Just thinking about it made Sam shiver. “You turn me on like nothing else. Just last night, even, right here in this bed—I must’a stopped myself from rolling you over and tasting you a hundred times.”

The urge was so vivid for him that Sam’s mouth must’ve been watering, since he sucks the spit back through his teeth before he starts to kiss your belly in earnest. Just that sound burns with lust. Sam wants it, wants you so bad he’s shaking, his hands trembling under your thighs as he slithers down to lay between them. His kisses grow fiercer, open-mouthed and sucking the closer he gets to your panties. Kitten-soft moans start to sneak into the cycle of your panting.

“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself this time,” Sam husks.

You let him know just how comfortable you are with that by curling your legs around his back. Then his shoulders. Then Sam’s ears, and at that point he’s singeing spit-damp kisses inside your thighs like the world’s most faithful servant.

Nobody but him had ever touched you there. You choke out his name on short, needy breaths. It’s like you’re filling a meter. With enough please, Sams, you hit his limit, and he stops rubbing his face into your soft under-thighs long enough to hook his fingers around your waistband.

You’re treated to the Sam Winchester specialty. He bats long lashes at you over dark, sensitive eyes, and rasps, “Am I okay to…?”

You’re so horny that you start spurring Sam closer with your heels. “Fucking yes.”

This is the A+ answer. Sam doesn’t even wait to get your underwear all the way down your legs, yanking them out from under you and ducking straight below the bridge they make. Just seeing your pussy makes him swear. You’re so swollen and slick and his mouth is so close, so close, but Sam decides to taunt you, blowing across the spit cooling on your belly instead. Heat oozes in hazy lines from his body. From his hands. By comparison, the night has leeched the warmth from the room and you’re cold enough to get goosebumps.

“Please please please, Sam,” you hiccup, “need it. Need you. Need you t’ warm me up.”

“My poor girl,” Sam coos, brows drawn with playful sympathy. He starts to rub some heat back into your freezing legs, tilting closer, closer. “I know just how to help.”

You let your head flop back as you take his cheesiness in, laughing. That’s not exactly a line you’d expect from him. Before, though, you would’ve never pinned Sam as the kind of guy to clamp your knees against your chest, drop his head between your legs and fit his mouth on you, slurping noisily on your slick like he’s eating the juiciest fruit of his life—

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

Indescribable pleasure pops and sizzles along your weeping core. It’s so fucking—fucking yes all at once that you clap down both hands to white-knuckle the top quilt and howl. Sam sets to work. He covers your entire pussy with his mouth, swallowing you fucking whole, apparently, since you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted. You have to be, with Sam groaning and cursing all fierce and hot between licks.

“Fuck. That’s it, pretty girl,” Sam coaches. He slurps loud and obscenely on your clit, swallowing down the results with a shiver of ecstasy. “Shit, just like that. You’re so good at this already. So good at taking it, ______. Never should’a made you wait.”

But all that must not count as getting a full taste of you, since Sam deviates, splaying his tongue flat and wide to rake it against you top to bottom. His tongue almost drools with liquid heat. At first you’d been disappointed you couldn’t see him over your legs, and now, you’re grateful for the mercy. Seeing Sam like that…

Sam licks you open until there’s no breath left in him. He goes until his jaw is sore and your slick is rolling off his chin in sticky rivulets, wetting the bedspread. He goes and he keeps going, worshipping your slippery-wet cunt between huffy moans.

You make a pathetic attempt at giving as good as you’re getting, but what should be a sexy zinger actually comes out as, “Sam, I-I—oh, god—Sam—!”

After that, your ability to form words joins your other higher brain functions in the endless sparkling expanse of white in your mind. Sam stirs a single long finger through your sopping folds. The stimulation alone has your hips twisting helplessly up to his face, on top of the rapid flicks of his talented tongue, but it’s the easy pressure of Sam’s thick finger filling you to the knuckle that actually earns a scream.

Not your average horror movie scream—an honest, enthusiastic, belly-deep cry that jerks in your chest like a sob.

You can pinpoint the precise moment that Sam realizes you’re a screamer; he hum-laughs to himself where he thinks you can’t hear.

“Next time,” (oh my fucking god there’s a next time), “‘won’t make you wait a minute, baby. Gonna give you everythin’ you want. I’m real sorry, darlin’, do you forgive me? Forgive me for not fucking you the second we were alone?”

You’re too busy having actual, real tears of desire cake your cheeks to string together a better answer than a moan. Holy shit.

Sam gives your pussy two deep, loving licks, each hot enough to send you into a coma. “Say it,” he utters, teasing, “say you forgive me.”

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

“That’s my girl,” Sam husks the promise between kisses to your clit, “So good to me. So sweet.”

Somehow, this is just as life-altering for him as it is for you. Long, flowing crests of pleasure seep hot through your system, winding tighter, tighter, tighter, twitching in the muscles of your stomach and almost cramping in your curled toes. The taste of you is so rich that Sam’s back quakes with euphoric shudders, trembling deep under the skin where he’s too far gone to rein back in. Sweaty locks of his bangs flutter as he breathes. It’s the only sign he’s breathing at all, really, what with him eating you out like he’s fuckin’ starved.

Sam gives a few good twists of his finger deep in your pussy (which doesn’t even graze how deep he might be with his cock). When you’re a puddle on the mattress and used to him, Sam withdraws to studiously coach you, “Deep breaths, ______.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. Once they have, you wind down long enough to measure your crazed breathing into even strokes. The ceiling overhead swims with dancing candlelight shadows and floating cartoon stars. Sam lifts his head to see for himself that you’re following his instructions, and after he’s done falling in love with the sight of you, Sam fills you up with two digits instead of one.

“A-ah!”

Just like before, they’re thrust in to the hilt at once. The throbbing, aching, leeching core of your arousal positively explodes, the urge to be filled finally touched. Sam’s responding bassy groan vibrates all the way up your body. The length and thickness of his fingers is put to immediate use, stretching you out with long knuckling gestures. You’re so unimaginably wet that your pussy just pulls him right in.

There’s a pause where you wiggle down onto his hand and brace yourself for the next brain-melting touch, and true to form, Sam sails straight over your grandest expectations. He’s quick to find the silky heart of arousal in your core again. You only know it by reputation, not experience, so when Sam presses into it with two soft fingerpads the pitch of your wailing jumps up ten octaves. Suddenly the pleasure is hot hot hot inside-going-out.

Sam tilts his head to one side and finds the gall to ask you: “How does that feel?”

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

“So good,” you weep. “Please please please gimme more, Sam, please—”

“It’s gonna be okay, _____. I’ll make it all better…”

Only then does Sam’s tongue get back to work, and—and holy fucking shit, he swoops in to steal the gold, demolishing every other name in the pussy-eating game. Sam wins. Sam fucking wins.

If this is just how his fingers feel…

Sam’s grin takes on a confident gleam. By coincidence, it’s around then that you remember that he’s psychic.

Somewhere between licking you into the next dimension and, oh yeah, Sam licking you into the next dimension, he’s pinned your thighs to your chest with a firm hand under your knees. You squeeze that hand for all you’ve got, every feeble atom in your body scrubbed raw with perfect pulsing desire.

To think, you’d spent this whole time getting off with your hand. A fucking hand. A few fingers! Sam crooks his in a way you’d never even hoped for on your own, finding that fluttery, twitchy spot inside you and working it for all it has. You’d asked for more and he gives you more, thrusting two fingers in at a brutal, even pace—again and again and again, til’ you’re thrashing up and off the mattress, wailing, your whole body a fist cramping shut around him. You snap in so tight toward him that you shove your face into your knees and cross your ankles tight behind Sam’s neck, keening, the fire knotted in your body devouring whatever fuel he’ll give.

Sam’s skill with his hands made you feel like an amateur in your own department. But his slick velvet tongue on your slick velvet pussy, taking slow sucks on your clit that turn into big broad licks, licking you up, licking you into his mouth whole, made just the thought of masturbation fucking laughable. I mean, c’mon! What the fuck are you supposed to do after this? Pop into the bathroom to use the showerhead, when Sam and his insatiable appetite for pussy are sitting right in the next room? Why even bother fantasizing about him and dicking around with a vibrator when nothing would ever compare to the real thing, shoving his parched panting mouth between your legs in an addict’s haze?

Still lapping up your dripping core, Sam pries his free hand from your grip. You’re pretty sure you have the right to whine in protest. Without his leverage for support your weak thighs collapse straight open, and for all you know the gates of heaven had parted to reveal god’s most beautiful angel. Sam is the picture of filth. His pretty pink lips are sealed around your cunt, his nose is all cute and smushed into your pubic bone, and you watch in time with every dirty lap as his jaw rolls handsomely under his skin.

The look on his face is unfor-fucking-gettable. In fifty years, sixty years, seventy, you know this memory will still live inside you, since no man has ever looked at you that way before. You weren’t sure it was even possible. Hazy euphoria radiates in unending rays from Sam’s face. He wants you. He trusts you. He is written all over with warm, intent desire, satisfying himself on you.

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

Politely, you slap back against the bed and moan out, “Mhhmm.”

A new kind of mischief flashes across his face. You would’ve never pinned Sam as the type of guy to thrive with an audience, but now that he knows you’re watching, he falls seamlessly into a performance. His act is a three-parter.

While keeping his pace with his fingers, Sam starts by sliding slow off your pussy and spitting on it even slower. Whatever hazel leftover in his eyes has been swallowed totally by glittering, black delight. The muscles is his arm bulge and cramp fucking into you so hard. Pleased with himself, Sam dips down, dark eyes disappearing under his bangs, and makes a show of pointing his tongue to flicker across the raw nerves of your clit.

There’s more after that in the finale of Sam’s act, but the constant, brutal winding toward your release has taken its final toll. You have no fucking clue how you’ve survived this long. The overpowering squeezes of arousal inside you become full-body, wracking pangs. The sweaty trembling scraps of your soul leftover from Sam’s work throb and throb until they’re a blinding star. At the center of it, your core, tight and hot and so loved by Sam’s mouth. The searing pleasure becomes explosive. Apparently, the noisy, pitchy moans waking up the mountainside are coming from you, as you claw to get Sam even a molecule closer—closer, closer, closer—s-so close—!

So…

Close…

And you’re there. In the shimmering, divine realm Sam has made just for you; the realm your meager hands could never bring you to, and the realm you’ll be chasing still for the rest of your life. It becomes blatantly obvious in the next blissful minute that you’ve never cum before. Not for real, at least. This was a real orgasm, flashing through your spirit and flowing hot and beautiful through the numb ends of your body. You wail through it like it’s real, that’s for sure.

Your pussy clamps down around Sam’s fingers in waves of slippery pressure, and he revels in every second of it. You’re fucked through it. Kissed through it. He keeps up his pace and smushes his face in close, and that’s when you realize, oh fuck, Sam is going to drink your glass empty. The soft scooping of his tongue ramps up and up and over, til’ the edges of your vision start to spot and your muscles are too tight to unknot and it’s all too much.

“Sa—Sam—”

Just that word has him off you. You think Sam draws back and away, but that’s just a guess, since the wires between you and the outside world have been fucked stupid. Even the language has been licked and lapped out of you.

“Sam…”

You feel… like soup. Wet all over and hot hot hot. Filling the shape of the bed. You make an honest attempt at communicating this to Sam as your soupy mind’s way of telling him how satisfied you are, but. Your pussy gives a delighted, distracting throb that melts you into the top quilt all over again. Wow.

Just. Wow. You marinate in the aftershocks for what feels like ages, speechless.

Down by your legs (so that’s where he went!), Sam peels his heaving chest off the bedspread. Right. If you couldn’t breathe, he definitely couldn’t either. He gets up on all fours and crawls towards you like a guy in an RnB music video, all sexy moving arms and hips. It really shouldn’t be as appealing as it absolutely is. Starry-eyed, you open lazy arms to him and haul him down the second he’s close enough. He falls on top of you with a happy oomf. He’s long and smooth and wonderful, making you sigh when he snuggles in.

A few sparkling millennia go by laying in bed with him, toying with his hair and giggling dazedly to yourself. Sam hides his blazing face in your neck and murmurs something.

You’re buzzed by the skin-to-skin contact and cum drunk, which puts everything he says into fuzzy empty speech bubbles. The low, shy rasp of his voice tickles your neck. You try again.

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

The question floats around in your head for a while, bumping into things and spinning in zero gravity. Finally, the lights in your ship start to come on, and you pull what Sam said out from space.

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

“How’d,” you struggled to find your breath, “how the hell’d you learn t’ do that.”

And suddenly, Sam’s high school shyness is on a man’s face, and that man licks your slick off his lip and suppresses an evil grin. “I have, y’know. A thing about it.”

“A thing?” You echo, laughing with him. Maybe if you said it again it wouldn’t blow your mind as much. “A thing. Try an addiction, Sam, holy shit.”

In a few days, you’re gonna have to act normal around him in a room with his brother, while Sam uses the lips he defiled you with to talk, drink, and smile. Fuck. For the rest of your life, you’re gonna have to sit beside him at the dinner table and remember how he told you had a thing for eating pussy. A thing.

Glowing with innocent humility, Sam pawed up onto his hands, rolled onto his side, and positioned himself like a pin-up girl inviting you to bed. When he was done broadcasting with his entire body how much he wanted you, Sam shrugged. “I dunno… I just love to do it.”

(Being stunned silent by Sam tally: one million and three.)

He’s not real. There’s no way he’s real. You grab around for some part of him to pinch, and though Sam’s indignant yelp sounds authentic, you’re unconvinced. They had to have cooked him up in a lab somewhere.

This earns you a deep, fond Sam laugh. He gives your closest hip a playful pinch too, and after a brief tickle-fight that you miserably lose, Sam tilts his lips toward yours and husks, “Roll over that way and c’mere.”

With nothing else to do but submit happily to Sam’s will, you follow his hand and tilt in toward the wall. “You are something else.”

You’re joking, but you can also kind of feel it. Sam slings his arm over your ribs to pull your back flush to his chest, and already you melt into each other, settling back into the hollows you made in the blankets the night before. This close you can feel the magic in him. Sam oozes with cozy bonfire heat, his body laying sure and protective against your body, the last dregs of hunt anxiety in him gone. You feel the worn-soft denim of his open jeans as Sam’s lap wiggles down to scoop under you. A map of what’s ahead.

He teases a hand down your ribcage, thumbing sweetly at your belly. Sam tilts his head forward for a kiss, and unable to resist him, you meet him in the middle for one that turns into two, then three, then a swath of obsessed pecks. He must have a thing about kissing, too.

Sam pulls back to study you. With less confidence than you’d expect, he asks, “You wanna keep going?”

Just the teeniest motion of your head has Sam swooping for the chance to kiss you again, but you stop him short and twist to get a better look at him. In a high, maidenly voice, you play at being confused. Your poker face is still awful, so you have to hide your massive grin behind the invisible handkerchief you’re clutching.

“Keep going? My, a gentleman like you… an unmarried woman like me… what else is there to do, Samuel?”

His week being teased by you at all angles has forced him to evolve. Sam forgets altogether about indulging your bit and upgrades straight to more wonderful, ticklish manhandling, wiggling an arm between your vulnerable side and the bed to practically throw you back where you belong. You squeak and sputter between laughs, pretending your skin doesn’t explode with goosebumps at his touch.

When his massive palm is spread over your breastbone, Sam hoists you back against him, rolls in to threaten squishing you with more plush muscle and manly weight, and snarls in a way that ruins your metaphorical panties all over again.

“Uh-uh. Don’t play. You know exactly what m’ gonna do to you. Do y—?”

Sam stirs up his hips as he talks. All the snooty teasing left in your tank evaporates in one fell swoop, feeling the delicious outline of his dick swelling against you. Okay. You’re woman enough to admit that does it for you, and you really, really don’t want to wait anymore. Sam is an unbearable tease who will drag this out forever. You take matters into your own hands. Or, really, you put them into his.

…You prop open your closest leg for him, bent at the knee.

“Aw,” Sam rumbles, “didn’t even have’ta ask.”

You don’t hide your mean little grin. Sam, of course, kisses you into oblivion just seeing it, sliding a coarse hand under the silky, sensitive flesh behind your knee to keep you open for him. The ashes of your last climax are still simmering with heat, but it’s Sam’s kiss and his touch that reignites you totally.

It’s a bit of a twist to lean back and kiss him, but Sam’s height is made for this: his bulge swells right under your pussy, and he has the room to lean in close to your ear and purr—

“Take it out.”

Sam is asking you to take out his dick. You know that, yet you imagine yourself a month from now, unsure of which weapon the boys are comfortable letting you borrow from the Impala’s trunk. Dean’ll tell you, oh, the machete’s fine. Then Sam, with glittering eyes and full knowledge of how he’s torturing you, will nudge his chin toward the trunk and utter that phrase. Go on. Take it out. Knowing exactly what you’re thinking, and when, and how. And how deep and how hard.

It takes some shuffling and some curling, but you manage to work Sam’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. Just the sound of his zipper makes your mouth water. He hisses soft by your ear at the chill of the room, but in your hand Sam’s dick is body-hot by comparison. And. And so… s-so…

You scoop your palm around the shaft, squeezing him, feeling him. Through your back you feel Sam curl in and shiver, rumbling in approval. Your cheeks feel like they’re cooking by the candlelight just going for it, but your curiosity wins out—or, more accurately, your fucking awe. Because. What the fuck. You’ve never exactly seen a dick in person before, but you’re not naive. Sam is big enough to split you in half, and—and it just kind of pisses you off, because not only is he big, his dick is pretty, too. He has a pretty dick. Just cause’ being smart and empathetic and all that other bullshit didn’t make him sexy enough. God.

You nuzzle your cheek into Sam’s and he drops his lazy temple against yours. The two of you lounge there, heaving like peeping toms, as you both take in how sexy his cock looks leaking against your belly. Laying between your legs. It’s goddamn photo-worthy. Then, the angle your hand is taking slow, experimental pumps of him… accidentally… grinds Sam’s shaft between your abuse-swollen folds. He’s already twisting to moan into your mouth when you start to rock along him in earnest. You take a fistful of Sam’s hair and ride him for all he’s worth, dragging your sopping wet cunt across his dick until he glistens.

For three blissful seconds Sam locks you against his chest and grinds with you, making it instantly clear why people always use the word friction with sex. The push and pull of it has you whimpering loud and high against Sam’s mouth. And, thank god for him, because when your head starts to fog with visions of being filled raw, Sam pulls away from your kiss and recollects his control.

“Condom,” he gasps for breath, “we should. Probably. Yeah.”

“...Right,” you cursed. Your high school sex-ed teachers would not be proud of your lack of forethought, but it’s impossible to have any kind of thought in this situation, period.

For example: Sam tilts away to fish around in his duffle bag beside the bed, and, unfiltered, your mind taps its fingertips together and cheerily hopes, maybe Sam will be so rough the condom breaks.

Woah there, girlfriend, your reason butts in. But it doesn’t have anything else to say, since you start picturing how Sam’s cum would look oozing out of you, and. Um.

“You almost sound disappointed,” Sam jokes, digging for his wallet.

You snuggle down into the blankets and pretend you’re not hiding your face. “A little bit,” you confess, chanting the word responsible over and over in your head for good measure. “How much am I gonna feel you?”

Sam finds the condom and rolls back into your bubble. He turns in to kiss your shoulder, and you can feel his smile when he tells you, “You’re gonna feel every bit of me. Every inch… every stroke… I promise.”

He is so determined to assuage your worries that he holds the condom where you can see it, turning it over (between those long, long fingers) to make sure it’s punctureless and new. The little foil packet has XL printed on one side, which both adds to your sexy thoughts and pulls you out of them. Sam really is that big. He knows it, too, which is probably how he reads your nervousness.

“We’ll take it slow,” Sam promises, voice honey-sweet and quick to reassure you. “S’ big, yeah, but I’m gonna do everything to make you comfortable, kay? And if you wanna stop—”

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

He looks into your eyes like he loves you, and utters, “Yeah?”

“Thank you for making this good for me,” you say.

Sam melts. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and you let him know it’s okay with a softer, warmer kiss than the others you’ve shared. You take in the shape of his face, the subtle freckles on his cheeks and nose, how the candlelight shadows sweeten Sam’s gaze. It slams on top of you how there’s nobody in the whole world you’d rather be doing this with, and in one puff your anxiety is in the wind.

You wrap your fingers around Sam’s wrist and flirt, “...Can I put it on you?”

Sam nods, eyes lidded. You’ve never exactly had to open a condom before, so you’re careful to pry the foil open with your fingers. For whatever reason you hadn’t figured it’d be lubed, but it makes fitting the ring of it around Sam’s tip and sliding it down his shaft a bit easier. A soft happy groan escapes him. They keep escaping him as you pump his cock in languid twists of your hand.

Sam nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades, whisper-rasping, “Would you like to…? It’ll be less scary that way.”

You really, really would. Before you make your move, Sam adds, “But, uh, before you put it in—want you to look at me.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “Wanna see the look on your face when I fill you up.”

Well, fuck. You tilt your face against Sam’s, nose to nose with him and warmed by his breath, and feel the slow ripples of heat in your belly roll into long, growing waves. Sam slides a hand back to the silky underside of your thigh and props you open for him. When you line Sam up, you start with the tip, not pressing, just stroking, feeling him against you. A satisfied purr drizzles out of your mouth to Sam’s. So far, your chosen pace has been “just go for it,” and since it hasn’t failed you yet—

—you go for it.

Sam’s bulbous cockhead dips between your folds to find your hole. A desperate, keening yes squeals out of you. You’re spit-wet and absolutely caked in slick, so there’s no hitch when you pull Sam in, just a hot, sudden fullness that seems to go endlessly deeper and deeper. The fit is so fucking snug. Snug like he’s made for you. Snug and perfect and stinging, made easier by Sam’s soft huffing coos. Look at you go. Makin’ this look easy. You looked so pretty when I ate you out, baby, but I knew you’d look even prettier taking my dick. So eager, Sam says, and he’s right. Your wetness is just begging to swallow him whole. Just being stuffed with half of Sam’s cock has you sucking down air, so the final surge to bring him to the hilt pries a genuine, hoarse cry from your belly. Sam shoves his face in your hair and groans, the sound catching on the snarl between his teeth.

Together, you orbit around the throbbing core of pleasure between you, suspended in the moment.

Sam is a wind-up toy, springs tightening with every vicious squeeze of your pussy. His mouth has made you soft, slippery, and swollen, so the firmness of his cock is different but stellar. This close, in such an intimate position, you can feel his heartbeat in more ways than one, and it surrounds you and fills you so effortlessly that you can only assume it’s your own. He touches your body like it’s one he just stepped into, feeling you from a new perspective for the first time. Sam fixates on your tummy, too, and you find out why when he presses down under your belly button—feeling the thick swell of him under your skin, deeper than anyone else could ever go. He gives you a turn too, pressing your hand down in the same place. It sends electric blackouts of lust through your system that demand to be fucked brainless.

You start to wiggle in his grasp for more, stirring your hips down onto him and choking out his name. Sam is already responding: your open leg is scooped into the crook of his arm and drawn tight to his chest, spreading you open as wide as you’ll go. His hold cants up your hips in a way that lets his cock hit just that much deeper, and that’s all you need to dash your head against the pillows and mewl for your life. Two rough fingerpads slip back into the sopping wet home of your clit and stir against it at a pace brutal enough to cramp. Between Sam’s fingers and the thick drag of his cock against your soft walls, you’re desperate for something to hold onto. You latch onto Sam’s wrist for dear life. Then starts Sam’s pulling and pushing in brief, filling strokes, rocking, driving you fucking crazy, making you need him to fuck you like you need air. He was deep to a point that you swear you could feel him in the back of your throat.

“You want more?” Sam asks, and if it weren’t for the breathy rattle in his voice he could’ve sounded innocent.

You nod until your head is close to rolling off. “Yes, yes Sammy please.”

Sam grins. You feel it for an instant, then his cheek pulls away from your back and all you have left to read him by is the needy, carnal noises he’s making. All at once he’s drawing out further than he had before. You’re almost empty for a whole sob-worthy breath, which Sam makes up for with every ounce of his being.

For what has to be three glorious hours, Sam leans back to fuck you in powerful, even strokes, filling you to the brim every time, and filling the room with the thick, wet sound of his cock pounding into you. You repay him the only way you can, and—get—noisy.

You moan. You wail. You mewl, pretty much every time Sam’s hips snap up into your ass. You pant hard through it all, begging him in soft whines to f-fuck me, fuck me, p-please, Sam and to go deeper, baby—uhnn, more more more…! From there you’re on autopilot, letting loose even the most primal noises that Sam gets out of you. He is very, very good at his task, so you color the room with every erotic syllable under the sun. A porn studio would hire the two of you without even entering the room. Sam especially, but you might be biased since every time you sigh his name he drives in a little harder.

Indescribable pleasure follows even his tiniest movements. You absorb every pump with nothing but desperate enthusiasm, spreading your legs further, curling your back, and digging your fingers into the cushions for any sort of leverage at all. Just a few minutes pass until your limit is a trembling boulder of knots in your gut, but still Sam’s nowhere near finished yet. Slick coats your thighs and Sam's cock, you cry at every thrust, your body twitches and shudders all over, but he's still not there.

He slows. The brush of his lips against your ear and the wisp of his breath set your nerves on fire. “You’re gonna finish first, but tha’—that’s okay, baby,” Sam reassures, and works your poor swollen clit even harder, choking a string of thready moans from you. “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum all over my dick.”

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

(Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and wonder where the hell he got that dirty mouth from. Somebody needs to clean it out with soap.)

It’s as Sam’s laying sloppy kisses on your throat that his prediction comes true. The tissue in your body pulls taut, winding tight, tighter, curling around the epicenter of pleasure, toward him. You expect Sam’s thrusts to take a fierce turn. Instead, you’re treated to the same thorough, determined pace that got you here in the first place—the same pace that is currently jellifying your insides and reducing you to tears on this teeny bed. If the percussive slapping of skin on skin wasn’t enough to wake up the entire planet, then the vicious slam of the bedframe putting a new dent in the wall would certainly do the job. Somehow you hear it all past your pulse thundering in your ears. The arm hooked behind you to rake a hand through Sam’s hair bobs with each thrust, and your leg trapped in Sam’s hold bounces on beat. All you can do is scrape out broken gasps, until the tossing waves of heat and lust and power twisted in your belly have built too high—and all things that go up must inevitably come crashing down.

“That’s my girl,” Sam slurs, squeezing your tits in both hands. He rolls his hips into you and coos, “Just like that… take what you need, baby, it’s okay…”

Like last time, Sam fucks you through it. You’re scooped up in his arms and squeezed tight, tight enough to be drawn into Sam’s body and absorbed. The hot, gorgeous drags of friction against the sensitive walls of your cunt slow, but Sam never draws out, burying himself deep and soaking up every wild clamp of your pussy. There’s something fucking spectacular about having something to clench down on. Sam is that perfect something, vieny and thick and still fucking hard.

You cum on him in long rippling rushes of wet heat that feel downright unrealistic, otherworldly—exaggerated, maybe, by the fact that you fucking—black—out!

It must only be a few beats later that you come out of it, but the fact remains that Sam Winchester made you cum so hard you passed out, and you’re going to have to live with that for the rest of your life. You’re already starting to realize that Sam is the best lay you’re ever going to have, period, and the dull happy throb of your orgasm hasn’t even left your body yet. Sam hasn’t even left your body yet.

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

Fueled by hormones, sweat, and adrenaline, you pull off him and roll the rest of the way onto your belly. During all the crazed fucking, you and Sam had migrated halfway down the bed. You crawl to the top as sexily as you’re able, stuff your cheek against the closest pillow, and wiggle your cum-soaked ass in the air just for him, open for his taking. Your face could start the whole bed on fire, but you feel more alluring than embarrassed.

“C’mon, Sammy,” you taunt, and throw him a mean grin, “gimme the big finish.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath from his nose, probably preying for strength. A dirty smile touched his face. “You’re… you’re amazing, _____.”

Feeling like it, you turned your face over onto the other side of the pillow and tempted him with another mesmerizing ass wiggle. Sam was up on his knees in an instant. You should’ve known that Sam, the addict, would instantly take the chance to shove his face between your legs. The only warning you get is his massive hands clamping down on your calves to hold you still, then a hot, silky tongue swipes once through your folds for a taste. You haven’t finished squealing when Sam’s weight saddles up behind you, and the heavy shape of his cock starts to rut between your legs.

“Sorry,” Sam hums, not sorry at all, “Needed a taste of you.”

Stars above, he doesn’t hesitate to get handsy with you, too, taking two broad handfuls of your ass-cheeks. Your ass sits so nicely against his hips that you start to wonder if soulmates are real. Because Sam must be yours, fitting into you like a key and teasing you open like a master lockpicker. Once you’re where Sam wants you, he bobs your ass back until his tip has room to part your folds, and after that you’re both brought home into sparkling, slippery, blinding pleasure. He digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you right on him, filling your pussy to the hilt, like always. Key. Lock. Click click click.

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

“Fuck,” Sam adds. “You should see yourself like this. You look so stuffed, baby, squeezing down on me.”

“Feel so stuffed,” you flirt back, wiggling into him.

This angle is different than the last, exaggerating, as Sam immediately starts in on his pace from before, how thick his cock is. He curls his fingers around your waist and beats in hard, pulling on your still-sparking overstimulated wires from last time. Every joint in your body locks ramrod straight, overwhelmed with brief flashes of too much too much. Your pussy clenches helplessly around him, but Sam brings you over it with a few well-placed stirs of his hips. In no time you’re mewling for him like you were before, emboldened by your first round.

You get your nails into Sam’s sculpted ass and drag him deeper, faster, urging him on the end of a moan, “Fuckin’ take it, Sammy—mhhnn, take what—what you need, Sam, yes, so good—”

This is exactly what Sam needs to hear. You’re scooped up around the middle, just like before, and Sam crushes his face into your back, spooning you close as he brings himself closer and closer to where he needs to be. Your hands can’t get enough of him, smoothing down his vieny arms and squeezing his hand against your belly. The picture the two of you must make is obscene on unimaginable levels. Sam, latched onto you like a parasite and reaming you for his release. You, smushed under him and loving it, digging your ass up into him for more. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his palms, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls.

Finally, Sam’s hoarse choked panting cuts off with a sharp breath. His hips putter into you for the last time, then still. Sam spills into the condom, shuddering against you from head to toe, and slowly… the two of you collapse into each other… panting and panting until your breathing syncs up. Sam’s chest goes up. You suck in a breath. His chest goes out, and you deflate right with him.

He doesn’t get up and you don’t ask him to. As the haze of sex starts to clear from the room (as much as it can, anyway), the chill of the mountainside creeps in behind it, and the hottest thing around for miles is easily the giant, naked Sam Winchester in your bed. Wrapped up in him and as warm as can be, you wonder if he’s as close to passing out (again) as you are.

But no. Suddenly, Sam’s up on his hands, and there’s only two possible reasons why.

“Didn’t get to kiss you as I finished,” he complained.

Smushed into your pillow, you tell him, “I think you have two addictions.”

Regardless, you roll onto your back so Sam can lay one on you. Since your soul is officially back in your body, you’re more aware than ever of the aches and bruises you’ve earned, not to mention a few sets of pomegranate-purple fingerprints. After a few stunning kisses from Sam, you’re still not sure that all of that actually happened. You touch his face and pinch his cheeks plenty of times, but all he does is look at you extra dreamily. Still doesn’t seem real.

Of course, being a gentleman, he decides to prove it to you.

“Speaking of my other addiction…” Sam lays a playful hand on your belly, “I know I wound you up a bit back there. Can I take care of you one more time? Please?”

“Hmm…” You pretend to think, grinning to yourself. “Man. I just can’t say no to you, Sammy…”

_

Two weeks later, you’re crammed in a teeny car instead of a teeny cabin, riding down a back road in rural Texas the Dean way—blowing by road signs at sixty miles an hour, windows down and music up. Sam’s shotgun. You’re content to sit behind him, catching his eye in the side-mirror as he pretends to hunt around newspapers for a new case. His hair flutters in the wind, outlining his face in the most enchanting way.

“I don’t know how the hell the two of you stayed up there the whole week!” Dean hollers over his Lynyrd Skynyrd tape, which he could turn down whenever he wants to. He throws you an unenvious look from the driver’s seat, “You must’a been bored out of your fuckin’ gourds!”

You’re honestly surprised that Dean didn’t automatically assume sexy shenanigans occurred at the cabin. Sam doesn’t move to answer, deeply engrossed in his reading. Where Dean can’t see, you curl your fingers into the hair at the back of Sam’s neck and caress his scalp, which earns you a look that promises that sexy shenanigans can happen anywhere. They can happen in motel rooms. Click. Even Impalas, when Dean’s gone. Click click click.

You shrug at Sam’s brother, shouting over the music with an unsubtle grin. “We entertained ourselves!”

_

Tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration

READ PART TWO.

#sam winchester #spn #supernatural #uncouthspn #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader headcanons #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester smut #user uncouth

[apocalypseornaw]

Fantasies

Dean Winchester x Reader

You start having dreams about the eldest Winchester which puts a strain on your friendship

You groaned lightly from the tightness in your side, it was decorated vibrant shades of purple from the last hunt. All of you were currently sticking to the bunker and licking your physical or mental wounds until the next case called.

You walked out of your room trying to decide if you wanted to go in search of coffee or just wander through the stacks in the library. Sleep wouldn't find you and your mind wouldn't allow you to simply lay in bed.

You ended up deciding on a bottle of water before going in search of a book to busy your mind until maybe exhaustion would win out. You walked quietly into the library and was surprised to find you weren't the only occupant of the bunker still up.

Dean sat at the table, an open lore book in front of him but you could tell from the look in his eyes his mind was on anything but the book. "Dean?" You called and he startled slightly which honestly shocked you. No one snuck up on Dean.

He smiled when his eyes landed on you "What are you doing up sweetheart? You got pretty banged up" you rolled your eyes despite the smile slipping onto your face. Of course he was worried about your side when Sam had to put his left shoulder back into place. "I'm fine Dean. Are you ok?"

He nodded then stopped "No, I'm not. Can we talk?" You laughed lightly "We're talking now Winchester" he narrowed his eyes at you so you grinned "Sorry" then walked over to sit next to him but instead he grabbed your hand at the last moment and directed you to the table in front of him.

It wasn't unusual for any of you to end up sitting on the table during a rundown of a hunt but that was when it was all three of you and you were fully dressed. Now you were wearing the long tshirt you'd worn to bed and a pair of boys boyshorts that barely covered everything. You sat down in front of Dean and pressed your legs together, pulling the shirt down "What's wrong Dean?"

He leaned forward, tentatively putting one hand on your bare leg "You" "Me?" You asked and he nodded "Jody may have let somethings slip to me" you felt your face warm, why would she do that? You'd told her in confidence. "I know you don't feel the same about me Dean" you barely whispered, keeping your eyes down on your lap.

He leaned forward to catch your face in one of his hands, forcing your eyes to meet his "How do you know I don't? How do you know if you're not the only thing ever on my mind? How I hate you wearing this damn outfit to bed because if I ever catch Sam looking I'm gonna knock his head off. How I'd give anything to bend you over this table and show you just how much I feel the same about you"

By that time he'd moved from his chair to be standing between your legs, one hand holding your face while the other was still on your leg. You could feel your heart in your throat when you saw the hunger in those gorgeous green eyes that was watching your every move. "Show me" you whispered and a grin worked its way onto his face. He caught your lips in a bruising kiss as you felt his hand slid up your leg to your inner thigh. When his fingers brushed over your clothed core you moaned lightly and he smirked against your lips "Damn that's a beautiful sound"

He slipped one finger under the shorts and groaned when he realized you weren't wearing any panties. He plunged two fingers into you and your hips bucked up towards him. His eyes went from your face down to watch as he fucked you with his fingers "So damn pretty,coming apart on my fingers. Can't wait to feel that little pussy stretched around me"

He caught your lips again, slowly exploring your mouth with his own as he worked you closer to that edge. The moment his fingers grazed that spot inside of you, you clenched hard around his fingers and he moaned "Fuck, baby I'm trying to take this slow but you're making it hard"

You pulled back from the kiss just long enough to slip your shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare from the waist up "Take it slow later Dean but for now please just fuck me like you want me" He closed his eyes just for a second but you could see his jaw clench tightly. When he opened his eyes they were a darker shade of green and fuck his voice sounded deeper than usual when he said "Yes ma'am"

"WAKE UP SLEEPING BEAUTY. WE GOT A CASE" Dean's voice booming through your bedroom door jolted you awake. Your heart was pounding wildly and you were fairly certain your panties were soaked. Fuck. These dreams about Dean had started months ago, they had been sporadic at best but now it was beginning to be a reoccurring thing. How the hell could you keep living in close quarters, hunting side by side when the one thing you wanted from him you knew you couldn't have?

Reality

#Dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester x reader

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Love Language

masterlist

summary: you’ve never said it, neither has he…is that weird?

paring: dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 0.6k

warnings: language, not being able to say “i love you”, talk of sex

author’s note: i always found it interesting dean never told lisa he loved her…like ever. which is strange to me, considering how long they were together?

gif source

Three whole years you’d been with Dean, and neither of you saw an end anywhere in sight. You had grown up a hunter and you’d hit it off with Dean almost instantly when you had met him about five years ago. What started off as a wholesome friendship became deeper and more passionate after a night of drinking.

He cared about you so fucking much, you cared about him too. You were deeply in love. But neither of you had ever actually said love.

It was beginning to really bother you. Why hadn’t he said it? Every other relationship you had up until now had imploded long before the three-year-mark because of your inability to say the three big words.

Did Dean not love you? Maybe that’s why he hadn’t said it yet. You knew you felt that way about him, that you L-worded him, but maybe he didn’t feel the same way.

“You okay?” Dean asked when he looked up from the lore book he was reading and was met with your blank stare.

“Yeah…just thinking.”

“About?”

“Do you think it’s weird we haven’t said you-know-what to each other yet?” you asked. He furrowed his brows before he realized what you meant.

“Oh…no? No, definitely not.”

“Dean,” you sighed, closing the book in front of you. “I care about you so much it’s fucking insane but-”

“Right back at ‘cha! Let’s just leave it at that,” he cut you off.

“But, isn’t it strange we can’t say you-know-what? I mean I’d fucking die for you and I can’t say the three words? That’s fuckin’ weird!”

“To be fair, you have died for me. Like twice now,” he replied, trying to lighten the mood. You smiled a little. “And maybe we haven’t said the words but we’ve done other things.”

“If you’re talking about sex right now I swear to god-”

“No!” he chuckled. “I’m talking about that time you jumped in front of a bullet for me. I’m talking about when you were dying in my arms and I made a deal with Crowley to save you. I’m talking about how you bring me chicken noodle soup when I’m sick and force me to stay in bed till I’m feeling better. I’m talking about how many times I’ve bought you tampons and pads and chocolates so you didn’t have to leave the bunker when you were on your period.

“I’m talking about letting you drive Baby, I’m talking about you letting me use your precious espresso machine. I’m talking about the way I look at you when you aren’t looking, and the way you laugh at my clearly un-funny jokes. I’m talking about holding you when you cry and bringing you breakfast in bed. I’m talking about you letting me sleep on your boobs because they’re more comfortable than our pillows even though I know you’re sore in the morning.”

You let out a laugh and slightly rolled your eyes, though you were swelling inside. Dean smiled as he continued.

“I’m talking about those three words that we don’t even have to say because we prove to eachother we feel it every fucking day.”

“God damn it Dean Winchester!” You shook your head, still smiling. You got off the chair, walked around the table, and sat down in his lap. You put your hands on his face and kissed him sweetly. “You mean everything to me, you know that?”

“I do,” he whispered as you rested your forehead on his. “Do you know how much you mean to me?” You nodded. “See, then I think that’s enough.”

“Me too,” you replied before you kissed him again.

#spn #dean x reader #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester #dean winchester comfort #dean winchester x you #supernatural fluff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #by mind empty just fictional people #by ​mind empty just fictional people #by jean

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Stupid Reasons

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: the brothers make you get a haircut, but you’re not so happy about it.

Dean couldn’t stop replaying the moment in his mind. Over and over he watched the vamp snatch a fistful of your hair as you tried to run away, and he yanked you towards him. He saw the look of shock on your face, quickly replaced by pain when the vampire bit down on your neck.

Sam had the vamp’s head detached from its body before you could lose much blood, but still the scene replayed over and over in Dean’s head.

Which led to the conversation he was currently having.

“It’s not a big deal, it’s just a haircut, kid,” Dean said for what felt like the thousandth time. His words had the same affect on you as the last time he’d asked.

“I’d it’s not a big deal, then don’t make me do it,” you responded.

“You just got your neck chomped on by a vamp because of your hair, and you don’t want it cut?” Dean challenged.

“I’ll tie it back next time,” you said.

Dean shook his head.

“I’m not putting your life in danger for something as stupid as your hair.”

For some reason, this comment shut you down completely. The resolved dropped from your face, and you were utterly silent the rest of the way to Supercuts. Dean was starting to feel bad about what he’d said, if only because of your visceral reaction.

When the salon worker asked how short you wanted your hair, you merely shrugged defeatedly and waved in your brothers’ general direction.

“About here,” Sam put his pointer finger against your hair right about shoulder-length. It was already several inches, but he didn’t want to go any higher because he knew how upset you were about it already.

Your silence stayed throughout the haircut, but so did your brothers. Sam was pretty sure that their hovering was annoying the woman cutting your hair, but he didn’t care.

He didn’t get why you were so upset about this, but he wasn’t about to let you be upset alone, and neither was Dean.

“Alright, you’re done!” The woman said finally. “Do you wanna see?”

You just shook your head, hopping off of the chair and turning to leave.

“Thank you,” Sam directed at the woman with a sigh, before following you out the door.

“You know, I think you should take a look,” Dean said. “I think you look great.”

You didn’t respond.

“Honey, c’mon,” Sam began. “Talk to us, what was so bad about this?”

“It’s stupid,” you mumbled, and Dean recognized his own words with a grimace.

“No it’s not, not if it’s got you this upset,�� Dean said firmly. “Talk to me, come on.”

“I just wanted to look like her.” You were still mumbling, and your eyes hadn’t risen from the concrete at your feet.

“Look like w—“ Sam cut off his own question with a sigh. “Oh.”

Dean noticed your hands starting to shake as you rubbed at your eyes.

“Dad’s always pulling out that picture of her that he loves. He-he always talks about how pretty she was. I-I just wanted to look like her.” You sniffled.

“Hey.” Dean beat Sam to pulling you into his arms. He felt your shaking hands grip onto his jacket as you let your tears fall against his shoulder. “Shh, it’s ok sweetheart.”

“I told you it was stupid.” Your voice was muffled against his shirt, and he pulled away to look into your eyes.

“No, no it’s not,” Dean insisted.

“C’mere.” Sam pulled you away from Dean and into his own arms. “There’s nothing stupid about wanting to look like your mom, ok? But listen up.” he knelt down to look at you better. “You’re beautiful, ok? No matter what your hair looks like, you’re just as pretty as mom, ok?”

You didn’t seem convinced, but you nodded just the same.

“There we go.” Sam smiled.

“You wanna see?” Dean asked, as you reached Baby. He gestured towards the rearview mirror, and you hesitantly leaned forwards to look. At your slight smile, Dean grinned and rubbed your hair. “See, told you!”

You giggled and shoved his hand away, still smiling.

That smile stayed for the rest of the day.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade

#dean winchester #dean and sam #the winchesters #dean winchester x reader #supernatural dean #dean winchester x you #winchesters x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #winchesters x sister #sam and dean x child!reader #sam winchester x sister!reader #sam x sister!reader #dean #dean x sister #dean winchester x little sister!reader

[jaidens]

so if it'd make you stay i wouldn't act so angry all the time

pairing [s] : dean winchester x reader

warning [s] : mentions of : stitching, knives, cuts + blood | kissing

a/n [s] : requests r open!

The hunt had gone wrong. What was supposed to be an easy, short hunt turned into a violent rage of angry werewolves on the hunt for people. You had managed to get away with a few cuts and bruises, the same was done for Sam, but Dean got the bad part of the fight in an attempt to protect you two.

He sits on the full bed, holding a towel over the cut that bleeds from his shoulder. You're patching up some small cuts with bandages and gauze and tape. Sam was gathering his stuff in the other part of the room to get ready for the early leave tomorrow.

You gather the first-aid supplies and tools and carry them over to where Dean sits. “Hey,” You say as you pull up a chair next to him and put on a pair of gloves. “How are you doing? How's that shoulder treating you?” You ask him.

“Just peachy.” Dean responds sarcastically, giving you a small smirk.

You roll your eyes at him and pull the towel off of the cut and try not to stare at the blood that pools around the cut and that's on the towel. You toss it to the side, and pour antiseptic onto the gauze pad, and warn Dean. “This is gonna sting.” He nods and hisses, his knuckles going white against his jeans. You frown and press it as soft as you can against the cut.

You wipe softly to get the dried blood away, and take out your stitching supplies. You begin the first stitches and Dean has his eyes closed, eyelashes against his cheek, and he lets out breaths to distract himself from the pain. It was something he had always done, in the way to cover up how he felt after John told him it was completely childish and stupid to show people how you truly felt.

You finish with the tie of the thread, a cut, and start packing away the supplies. You grab your bag, the first-aid kit, and a set of files. You thank Dean and Sam for letting you join on the hunt, and they respond in their favors. Once you walk out of the motel door: you take a long, deep breath and shut your eyes.

You and Dean were a very bundle of confusion. You were never with him long enough to have a connection without eruption. You were in love with the green-eyed man; that was obvious, and he was in love with you. You had some moments in Baby where you and Dean had some long, significant touches that burned on your skin. The picture of him shirtless, eyes shut, and laying against you was permanently engraved on the back of your eyelid.

You walk into your motel room, shutting the door, and immediately walking to your bed and falling on it. You place your hand over your face and close your eyes. You turn on the television and let it go to the first movie channel it could. You let it play in the background while you read through another file for a new case that you found.

The sound of knocks fills your ears. Not hard, but not soft at the same time. You set the file down on the green bedsheets and go to the door and answer it. Dean is there in his pajamas, a Kansas sweatshirt and plaid pants, with a small smile on his face. “What are you doing here? You should be sleeping.” You open the door further and he walks in to your room.

“I just wanted to say thank you. I don't do it often, but you did a lot for me.” Dean admits as he jumps on the balls of his feet. You sit down on your bed and Dean follows and sits next to you. “It meant a lot to me.” He says.

Dean stares into your eyes, his hand snaking onto yours where it sits on your thigh. You're trying to cover your embarrassment as his eyes flicker to your lips occasionally. “Well— well It's my job to make sure my friends are safe.” You respond to his compliments. Within a second, Dean’s hand goes to your face and smashes his lips against yours. With a slide and a push, you're against the bed and Dean’s hands are on you.

You pull away from him and attempt to catch your breath. “Get hurt more, yeah?” Dean laughs and kisses you once again. You laugh again and he places one of his arms around your shoulders.

Whatever you and Dean were, you were hoping it would stay like this. With hugs, kisses, and longing touches.

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural x y/n #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x female!reader #jensen ackles x y/n

[bratzforchris]

Billionaire Baby

❃

Summary: In which Luke pays off your tuition in full and only asks for one thing in return

Pairing: Sugar daddy and investment banker!Luke x sub!reader

Warnings: Smut, dom/sub dynamics, nonsexual submission, overstimulation, jacuzzi fucking, doggy style, mentions of free use, unprotected p in v, fingering, underage drinking given to reader by Luke, sugar daddy mentions, student (university/18+) x older male relationship, bondage, Luke has an obedience kink, overall really fucking filthy and a bit fluffy ;)

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Luke leans more towards boyfriend instead of sugar daddy than I originally planned, but I still adore this work anyway. I put my heart and soul into this piece, so reblogs are much appreciated :)!

DNI under 18

❃

“What the fuck…” You mumbled, scrolling through your email. 

You were sitting in the library, trying to study for your upcoming biochem exam, but failing a bit. You were getting distracted by everything, hence why you were scrolling through your email on your laptop instead of studying. The email was from two hours ago and it was asking you to come to the dean’s office today at three for a meeting. 

You began to panic a bit, wondering why on earth the dean wanted to have a meeting with you. You had never, ever been in trouble academically or ever, for that matter. You were a bit behind on your loan payments, but not so much they were rescinding your admission, right? You cursed when you realized that it was currently two-thirty, and the dean’s office was on the other side of campus. 

Quickly shoving your laptop, books, and stationery into your bookbag, you hurried out of the library that you loved oh-so-dearly. Going to Columbia University had been your dream since second grade, and that day that you saw the main library on your tour in tenth grade just confirmed that this was the school for you. 

You slowed your pace a bit when you got closer to the building, taking a moment to soak in the crisp, fall air and the splotches of autumn that decorated the New York City sidewalks. You pulled your cardigan tighter around yourself and hurried up the steps of the School of Professional Studies. 

“Hi,” You whispered quietly to the lady at the front desk as you signed in. 

“Oh, it’s you,” she said, eyeing you up and down. “You’re a very lucky girl.” she winked. 

You furrowed your brow, wanting to ask what she meant, but not wanting to be rude. You eventually just shook your head and sat down in the lobby while you waited to be called back. This was a huge school, full of children of the rich and famous. She must’ve had you confused with someone else. 

“Y/N Y/L/N?” the dean asked, walking out into the lobby. “Follow me.”

You quickly picked up your backpack and followed him, deep into the building where his office was sat. You struggled a bit to keep up with his long strides, being a bit out of breath when you finally reached his office. 

“Take a seat,” he said not unkindly, opening the door for you. “This will be quick.”

You took a tentative seat on one of the down chairs on the opposite side of the desk, trying to control your breathing. You were afraid your features would show your fear, so you tried to keep your face even. 

“Ms. Y/L/N, you are extremely lucky…” he started. “Your tuition has been paid in full by an anonymous donor, to include everything you will need to complete your undergraduate degree.” he smiled. 

“I’m sorry, what?” You asked, trying to stay polite, but also wanting to know what the fuck was going on. 

“Someone has paid your tuition in full. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

“I…no…” You said, hoping the blush wouldn’t creep onto your cheeks. 

You knew exactly who it was. There was only one person in your life that had that much money. Ivy League schooling wasn’t cheap, after all. You wouldn’t tell the dean who it was, though. That wouldn’t be good for a number of reasons. 

“Enjoy your time here at Columbia, Y/N. You’re free to go.” the dean smiled, nodding towards the door. 

You stood on shaky legs and walked out of the room, trying to process what you had just heard. No more student loan payments, no more living paycheck-to-paycheck, no more working at your shitty fast food job until 2 am. You pulled your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans and typed out a message as you walked out of the building and stood on the steps. 

You: was it you???

Luke: Was what me, darling?

You: you know exactly what i’m talking about

You sighed, deciding to walk the half a block to your favorite cafe while you waited for Luke’s response. Your relationship with the blond was complicated. He wasn’t quite your sugar daddy, but he also wasn’t fully your boyfriend. It was never meant to spiral into a relationship, but Luke made you want more. Being a Columbia graduate himself, you had met him at a philanthropy event last spring. You had shared drinks and dancing, before he took you back to his large penthouse for a hook-up. 

Ever since then, Luke had made it clear that he enjoyed your company. He spoiled you beyond belief, both with material things and with a very active sex life. Being a Wall Street investment banker had given him the attitude that he would take what he wanted, and you were no exception. As much as you were an independent woman in your studies, having Luke in your life took some of the stress away. Going over to his place after a long day of classes, only to receive a mountain of physical affection and usually a gift or two, was just what you needed. 

Just as you finished ordering your chai latte, your phone pinged with a new message. You sat down at a cozy table in the corner and pulled out your laptop while you waited for your coffee, looking over the text. 

Luke: Come over. You’re done with classes for today, right?

Luke: I’ll order dinner. 

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair that had fallen loose from your braid behind your ear. You quickly typed out a message, thumbs flying across the screen. Even as frustrated as you were at the possibility of Luke paying off all of your tuition, you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat at the thought of seeing him. 

You: getting coffee, then i will<3

You smiled when Luke typed back three red hearts. He was never one for emojis, mostly because of how professional he was. Every now and then though, you were the lucky one to see that softer, less-professional side of him. As soon as your coffee was placed in your hand, you dashed out the cafe door, walking towards the nearest subway station to catch the train to Luke’s apartment at the southern end of Central Park. 

Your heart was absolutely racing as you got closer and closer to the blond. Luke was unlike anyone you had ever met. He had an almost electric pull on you. Luke bore a striking resemblance to a prince, or maybe a king. The way he commanded his office and then carried that dominance home to you was probably the hottest thing you had ever experienced in your twenty years of life. 

As soon as the subway pulled up to your stop, you were leaping off the train and up the stairs to the sidewalk. As soon as you got out of the tunnel, you couldn’t help but to crane your neck. No matter how many times you came to Luke’s apartment, you couldn’t help but to be in utter awe when you came upon Billionaire’s Row. The sky-high buildings made of glass and steel were highlighted so beautifully by the rest of the city lights. 

You hurried your pace a bit, eager to see Luke inside of one of those penthouse suites. Eventually, you came upon the building that you knew all too well. Walking inside the lobby, the man at the front desk smiled at you, his name tag reading Randy. 

“He’s home,” he smiled. “Right over here.”

“Thanks,” You smiled. “I don’t mind taking the regular elevator, y’know.”

“Oh, please. Take this one.” he unlocked the private elevator that would take you directly to Luke’s apartment. 

“Thank you,” You smiled as the doors began to close when you stepped in. “I’ll see you later?”

“If you leave tonight.” Randy chuckled. 

As soon as you were on your way up, your heart began to flutter faster. You hadn’t seen Luke in a few days because the stock market had been picking up and so had your classes, which made you so beyond eager to be around him once again. The elevator dinged and the doors to Luke’s apartment opened. 

You stepped out onto the plushy, white carpet, looking around for the blond. “Luke?”

“Hey baby,” he hummed, coming out of the kitchen and wrapping you in a hug. “Miss me?”

You giggled when he buried his face in your neck, his stubble scratching your neck. “I did.” You said sweetly. 

As soon as Luke pulled back, you looked up into his deep blue eyes before speaking again. “Luke, were you the ‘anonymous donor’ that paid my tuition?”

“I was. What? I can’t spoil my girl?” he led you into the kitchen, rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down. 

“Luke,” You insisted. “I never said that, but that’s hundreds of thousands of dollars. You don’t need to do that.”

“Watch your mouth, princess.” Luke gave you a stern look as he poured you a glass of Merlot. 

You blushed, shrinking under his gaze. Even when it wasn’t sexual, Luke had a dominant aire about him. Maybe it was because he worked in such a high power industry, or maybe it was just the way he was, but the blond made you want to submit to him, clinging onto his every word. 

“I just want to make sure we’re, y’know, equal. I want to make sure you feel loved, too.”

Luke slid the wine glass across the island to you, where you had taken a seat at the bar. “I don’t need that.”

You snorted. “Contrary to popular belief, you like feeling loved too.” You craned your neck and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

Luke rolled his eyes, walking around the island and wrapping his arms around your midsection. “So you wanna know how you can make me feel appreciated?”

“If you wanna call it that, sure.” You shrugged. 

“You can be my little toy for the next week. You’re free use for me,” he smirked, growling softly in your ear. “You think that’s equal?”

You nodded quickly, knowing Luke was going to take free advantage of the week, but not caring. “I think so.” You giggled. 

“You know I love you, right?” Luke asked. “I don’t want you worrying about your tuition anymore. It’s done, it’s taken care of. You’re going to relax and let me make you feel good, darling.” he hummed, massaging your shoulders. 

You blushed under the subtle dominance of Luke’s words, relaxing into his touch. You nudged your head into Luke’s chest and he chuckled softly, knowing exactly what you wanted. 

“You’re so cute when you need me, baby girl.” he picked you, holding you under the ass and abandoning your wine glass on the counter so he could carry you to his large master bedroom. 

You laid your head on his shoulder, speaking out a soft ‘I love you’. It had been a long day between classes and the stress of the news you’d received and now you just needed Luke to take care of you so you could relax for a little while. 

Luke placed you down on his soft, silken sheets when you reached his bedroom, humming softly. “On your knees, honey.”

You did as he asked, kneeling softly and looking up at your dom with soft doe eyes.  You were practically reeling with relaxation and happiness over Luke’s validation. You watched him softly while he bustled around the room, taking off his watch and getting things ready for the night. 

“Good girl, baby,” Luke praised you. “You’re doing perfect, honey.”

“Thank you.” You said sweetly, knowing Luke enjoyed it when you responded verbally. 

“Go wait in the bathroom for me, honey. I’ll be there soon.” Luke told you, looking at you sternly but speaking softly. 

You scampered off to Luke’s luxurious bathroom, wondering what he had in mind. Usually, he would dom you in bed. You wasted no time on kneeling on the bath mat beside the jacuzzi tub, still fully clothed. If there was one thing you loved to do, it was be Luke’s sub. Something about letting someone else take the reins and guide you, sexually or not, helped you relieve your stress from attending such a demanding university. 

Luke didn’t make you wait long. He came into the bathroom and saw you kneeling, giving you immediate praise. “Look at you, honey. Waiting like a good girl.” he cooed, flashing that million-dollar smile that had been on the cover of Forbes magazine last month. 

You blushed, giggling softly. You could feel yourself slipping into subspace, that floaty feeling taking over your head as Luke fussed over you and took care of you. You leaned into his touch as he ran a hand through your hair, before moving to start the bath water. 

“Nothing like a nice bath to help you relax, right love?” he smirked. “Arms up.”

You did as the blond asked and Luke pulled off your sweater. He left your glasses on, but reached for the button on your jeans. Luke slowly helped you stand up and then pulled your pants and your panties off, trailing little kisses from your collarbone down to your pubic bone. You could feel the way your body had completely relaxed into your subspace, molding like jelly at whatever Luke told you to do. 

The blond fiddled with the settings on the tub, turning on the jets and adding the red lights, which were his absolute favorite. Luke put your favorite, rose-scented bath bomb into the tub before speaking. “Get in the bath, honey.”

You stepped into the large jacuzzi tub, holding Luke’s hand and sinking into the warm, fizzy water. “Thank you.”

Luke smirked, enjoying the way your face was tulip-pink at all the attention being showered on you by him. He wasn’t going to push you today; he had seen the stress lines that had burrowed their way deep onto your face. Besides, you two still needed to have the tuition conversation and he didn’t want you to be totally fucked out for that. Just enough to help you relax. 

“I think you need some entertainment while you’re in the bath, hmm? Wouldn’t want you getting distracted…” he smirked, running his ring-clad pointer finger under your chin. 

You immediately rested your chin on the ledge of the large tub, watching Luke with expectant eyes. He pulled back for a moment, just enough to make sure you were fully paying attention, but not enough to make you panic. Luke began to undo the buttons of his white shirt, smirking at you as he teased you so fucking slowly, ringed fingers pulsing as he worked. 

Letting out a few soft, sensual moans didn’t seem to phase the blond. He simply continued to slowly undress, making sure you were watching the whole time. He wasn’t not not acknowledging you, but he also wasn’t giving you the attention you were oh-so-craving. Finally, Luke came to his gray, Calvin Klein boxers. He slid them off slowly, smirking at you as he did so. 

“Mmmm, want you to dom me, Luke. Please. It’s so big.” You whined. 

“Ahh ahh, we don’t whine, honey. I think you forgot to ask nicely, hmm?” Luke stood towering over you, completely naked, but in all his godlike authority. 

Even in your fuzzy subspace, you could see why all of Luke’s female assistants fawned over him. He looked like something sent straight from Mount Olympus with his blond curls, perfect nose, and regal body type. He had a commanding aura about him, no matter what he was doing, and despite his multiple (yes, multiple) PhDs from different Ivy League universities, it was easy to understand how he did so well in the New York Stock Exchange. 

“Sorry sir,” You whispered out. “Can you please dom me?” You asked in a sultry tone. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” Luke planted a kiss on your head as he stepped into the tub with you. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You giggled and blushed, still kneeling even in the bath. You kept your eyes trained on Luke, which proved a difficult task from here. Luke’s master bathroom was made up of crystal clear glass windows that allowed for a view of practically the whole city since he lived on the 69th floor.  With the sun starting to fade into a hazy dusk and the lights of the skyscrapers popping on one-by-one, it was hard not to get distracted, but you wanted Luke’s pleasure much more than you wanted to enjoy the view. 

You and Luke sat face-to-face, and he watched your eyes intently, wondering what joys he would unlock tonight. He began to rub your thigh up and down with his hand under the soapy water, keeping his eyes trained on you. 

“Relax, pretty girl,” he whispered. “Just let me take care of you.”

You began to relax under Luke’s touch and gaze, that is, until he began to sneak his fingers closer and closer to your opening. You unconsciously clenched your thighs around Luke’s hand, your nerves sensitive. You began to whimper, wiggling your hips closer to meet his fingers. 

“Oh god.” You whined. 

Luke smirked, running his fingers along your wet slit and trailing it over your clit. He smirked as he did so, scooting closer to you. “I want you to cum all over my fingers, princess. Get all that stressed properly fucked out.”

You moaned, thrusting your hips against Luke’s pulsating fingers. The blond began to make small, raindrop-like pulses on your electric spot, enjoying the view as you squirmed under him, practically riding his fingers. 

“Good girl, honey. Takin’ it like the slutty little school girl that you are.” he coached you. 

Your climax was beginning to build up, and you couldn’t help the moans and whimpers that escaped from your mouth as Luke finger-fucked you. As he tapped near your clit, he used three fingers on the other hand to slowly slide them in and out of your pussy. 

“That’s it, baby. That feel good? Yeah?” he smiled, knowing you were entirely too close to say anything other than small ‘yes’’s and ‘uh huh’’s. 

You were nearly crying as you tried to hold yourself back from clenching and cumming all over Luke’s fingers until he told you to do so. Your sex was absolutely throbbing with the way Luke was touching you, and the warm water from the tub was not making it any easier. 

“Luke,” You nearly screamed out. “Making me need to cum.”

The blond gave one last time of really working up your rhythm, before kissing your chest. “Go ahead and cum for me, baby. Cum all over my fingers.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You quickly released, and your walls began to clench around Luke’s fingers, coating them in your cum. The blond coached you through your climax, offering lots of praise and compliments. 

“You are so pretty when you cum, princess,” he cooed when you had finished, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Takin’ my fingers like a good girl.”

You blushed under Luke’s words, leaning your head against his shoulder when he pulled you into his bare chest, hand running up and down your side. Luke had an almost intoxicating way of making your orgasms one of the most exhausting, but best, things you did. 

“I think you need one more for good measure. Make sure all that stress is properly fucked out, yeah?” he asked you. 

You quickly nodded, never saying no to Luke pleasuring you. The blond ran his fingers through your hair and down your face and upper body, making sure to keep you fully relaxed in subspace. Because you were essentially sitting on his lap, you could feel Luke’s cock hardening under you and you couldn’t help the blush that spread across your cheeks. 

“Turn around on your knees, honey,” Luke coached, moving you off his lap. “Right over the jet.” 

Doing as Luke asked, you had to bite your lip at the sensation of the rushing water tingling your clit. “Oh.” You moaned. 

The blue-eyed man chuckled, caressing your upper back. “Feels so good, doesn’t it, princess?” he whispered in your ear. 

You nodded, gripping the edge of the tub to keep yourself steady. Luke grabbed his white button-down that he had oh-so-conveniently placed on the tub ledge. He quickly used it to wrap your hands around the faucet. 

“I want to make sure you enjoy this in the right way.”

You moaned at Luke’s erotic words, angling your hips back so that your ass would meet Luke’s boner. He pulled you back by the hips slowly, offering you lots of praise as your body melted like butter in his hands, allowing him to touch where and however. The blond told you to stay on your knees and lean forward into your bond, angling your back, and you whined as you felt the pressure placed on your already sensitive pussy, even without Luke’s dick. 

Luke was practically a sex expert, and he knew your anatomy almost better than you did. That being said, he knew he needed to take you from behind in order to hit your G-spot. Your second orgasm was always faster than the first, and he wanted to make sure that he would get the pleasure of you cumming not only on his fingers, but on his dick as well. 

He slowly straddled you from behind, his hips pushing into your ass, before inserting only his tip into you. The pleasure on the blond’s face was evident as he heard you release tiny moans and pants, already nearly overstimulated, just from an inch of him inside you. 

“Someone’s eager,” he chuckled. “Did studying all day wear you out? Made you nice and needy for my dick, baby?” 

You moaned, nodding your head and straddling against your restraints. “Yes…” You breathed out. “Yes sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Good girl.” Luke slid more of his dick inside of you, painstakingly teasing you. 

You pushed your ass further against him, trying to take as much of him into you as possible. Luke was a big fan of doggy style and you had gone through this many times before; Luke didn’t give in to what you wanted right away, but nevertheless, you always tried. You tried desperately to distract yourself by looking out at the scenic cityspace in front of you, but the view was no match for the magic that was Luke. 

“You are so fucking hot when you listen to me, Y/N,” Luke growled, tugging on the ends of your hair slightly. “Obeying just the way you’re supposed to like a good sugar baby.”

You moaned, craning your neck back and arching your back as the jets overstimulated your clit and electric spot and Luke’s dick teased your hole. “Uh huh…oh god, Luke.” You whined. 

Finally, after what felt like forever to you, Luke slammed all eight inches of himself inside of you, bucking his hips so that you could feel his shaft pulsating. He began to ride you at an almost frenzy rhythm, slamming his hips into yours so that the sound of skin hitting skin and jacuzzi water splashing echoed around the room. The blond knew that if people in other high-rises looked hard enough, they could see him riding you doggy-style within an inch of your life. He didn’t care, though. You wanted to act like a good sub that was practically begging with your eyes for a slutty fuck, that’s what you would get. Besides, billionaires were too scandalous themselves to speak about their colleagues’ sex lives. 

“Luke,” You nearly sobbed out, overstimulated by the jets rocking your clit and Luke railing you from behind. “Need to cum.”

Your second orgasm was always faster than your first and you could feel the tight ball building up in your lower stomach, begging to be released. The overstimulation from pressure on your clit and penetration from Luke was having tears running down your cheeks. Luke wasn’t letting up though. He wanted you to be so worn out that you could just relax and let him take care of you. 

“You can cum, honey,” he hummed, fucking into you one last time before slapping your ass. “Cum all over my dick.”

You immediately did as told, crying out and straining against your bond as you released your climax. “Uh uh…feels so good.” You panted out, walls clenching around his cock. 

Luke rubbed your back as you did so, gently guiding you through it. “That’s it. Good girl. Cumming all over my dick.”

You moaned loudly, thoroughly exhausted. “Thank you.”

“Ah ah,” he tutted. “You’re not done yet, baby girl,” Luke slowly untied the shirt that had bonded you. “Turn around.” he huffed coldly. 

You did as he asked, looking up at him through your lashes. He had a smirk on his face, body radiating dominance and power as he lifted your heads above your head and tied them once again to the faucet with the shirt, only this time, you were facing him.

“You really thought you were gonna be done without me getting my pleasure off you?” the blond asked. 

You blushed under his gaze, unconsciously bucking your hips to meet his. “Use me. I love you, so use me.” You panted. 

“Think you need a nice facial to help you relax, hmm sweetie?”

You nodded quickly, knowing what Luke was getting at. “Please.” You said, eyeing his massively-hard boner. 

Luke began to pump himself with his right hand, rings still on. It was probably the hottest thing you’d ever seen, with his head thrown back, blond curls wet and plastered to his forehead, and his muscles bulging as he worked himself. You wiggled in the grasp of his white shirt, moaning loudly. You were beginning to get cold in the water without his body on you and you were making it very clear that you wanted him again. 

“Gonna cum, baby.” he huffed out. 

“Do it. Cum all over me, sir.” You whined in a sultry voice. 

Luke didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately came all over your face, coating your eyes and cheeks in white ropes of cum. 

“God, baby. So pretty.” he said, watching you blink the cum out of your eyelashes as he rode out his high. 

You blushed. “It’s because of you.”

Luke reached for a washcloth in the fine basket beside the large tub and dipped it into the water, slowly wiping your face off with the warm, wet rag. “I love seeing you when you know you belong to me, princess.” he crooned. 

You giggled softly, loving the floaty feeling that was coming from being in your subspace. “Thank you.”

The blue-eyed man continued to wash you off with the cloth, removing the stickiness from your face and body. Luke looked over and realized he had left a crystal champagne flute by the tub the night before. 

“Do you need your hair washed, princess?” he asked. 

You immediately nodded, absolutely loving it when Luke washed your hair. “Please.”

Luke smiled, placing a kiss on your forehead before using the flute as a sort of cup to wet your hair and using his own shampoo (which was vanilla scented, but no one else needed to know) to wash your hair. You melted under his touch, allowing Luke to take full control, directing you to close your eyes and lean your head back so he could wash your hair. 

“All done, honey. Sit in the bath while I dry off.”

His words hardly registered in your brain. The wonderful feeling of being totally fucked out and having someone wash your hair had made you so sleepy. Luke quickly stepped out of the jacuzzi, wrapping a plush, white towel around himself and grabbing his phone from the vanity. The view of you naked, fucked out, in his huge jacuzzi and against the background of crystal-clear glass and the lights of Billionaire’s Row in Manhattan was too pretty for him not to snap a photo of. 

The blond quickly dried himself off and dressed in a pair of cozy gray sweats with no shirt. No matter how much money he made off of Wall Street, that outfit would always be his pajamas. Luke pulled the plug in the tub, lifting you out of the tub easily and wrapping you in a pink towel with your initials monogrammed that you left at his apartment for hookups like tonight. 

“Kneel, honey, so I can dry you off,” he told you. “Good girl.”

You melted under Luke’s touch as he dried you off and lathered you with sweet-smelling lotion. He slipped your red, silken nightie with lace details over your head before picking you up. Being your sugar daddy, he figured it was only fair to spoil you after you had pleasured him so well and that was exactly what he planned on doing. Luke carried you to bed, tucking you in softly. “What are you feeling for dinner, baby?” 

You shrugged, feeling so sleepy and out of it. “You pick.”

“Nope, it’s your night, princess.” he chuckled softly. 

“You already did, well, what you did today with the money and all. Let me order it.” You said, reaching for your phone. 

“No ma’am,” Luke jerked it back. “You’re going to let me spoil you. You have two choices, baby. Seafood or steak.”

“..steak. Thank you.” You blushed. 

Even though you had known Luke since the spring, you were still getting used to the whole “sugar daddy” thing. It was still rather unfamiliar to you to let someone else care for you, especially someone as rich as Luke. The blond easily ordered the food from both his and your favorite Michelin Star restaurant, easily curling up in bed with you after. 

“Thank you for today. For everything. Are you sure it’s okay?” You asked quietly. 

“Princess, I told you. The only thing you owe me is free use of that slutty little body for the next week.” he told you, burying his face into your neck as he spooned you. 

You blushed and giggled softly, pushing yourself further into him. “That sounds good to me. But seriously, thank you. Helping me with my education means more to me than you know.”

“I know. That’s why I did it. Besides, smart girls are hot girls.” he smirked. 

You happily cuddled into Luke’s side, sighing happily. And if Luke spent the rest of the night being beyond soft and caring for you, no one else had to know. 

#luke hemmings #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings imagines #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings fanfiction #luke hemmings imagine #luke 5sos #luke hemmings x reader #luke hemming imagines #5sos gifs #ashton irwin #calum hood #fanfic #5sos fic #michael clifford #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos blurb #5sos imagine #5sos smut #5sos hq #5sos moodboard #5sos x reader #5sosfam #calum 5sos #michael 5sos #ashton 5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos fanfiction #the 5sos show

[lanadelnegan]

Ooh girl! Loving your work! I had an idea of a smutty fic with JDM himself. Maybe something with him being scared of showing his jealous side because the reader is his younger girlfriend but can’t help it when a man flirts with her

THANK U THANK U. A jealous JDM? I can do that hehe.

Jealousy, Jealousy

Jeffrey Dean Morgan x Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, NSFW, semi-public sex, car sex (riding), a jealous, possessive jdm, age-gap relationship

A/n: I didn’t even mean for this to turn into such daddy-kink, but it did towards the end. So I hope you’re into that. 🥵

"Can I buy you a drink?" A younger, blonde man smirks next to me.

"Oh, no. I'm good. Thanks though."

"Come on. I insist." Before I can reject him, he plants himself in the stool next to me before motioning to the bartender.

"Um, I -"

"Excuse me, you mind grabbing this pretty lady here another.. On me." He asks the bartender before smiling at me again.

"Names Drew." He tilts his head back swallowing his drink.

"Drew, I'm.. here with someone."

"Nice to meet you, here with someone." He says jokingly as if that's my name but I ignore his lame attempt.

"Look baby, if you are here with someone, where is he?" His head tilts to the side at me and I raise my eyebrows, clearing my throat as I look past him at the much taller man standing behind him.

The bartender places the drink in front of me as soon as Drew turns and notices Jeffrey standing behind him.

"Wow, thanks for the drink man." Jeffrey's large hand grabs Drew's shoulder roughly and I watch his fingers squeeze until the veins on his hands become even more visible.

Drew visibly cringes in pain at the touch and watches Jeffrey finish the drink he ordered me in two gulps.

"I'm more of a whiskey guy, though." Jeffrey smiles at him arrogantly, wiping the corner of his mouth before slamming the glass down on the bar. Drew tries his best to put on the tough guy act but I can see the fear behind his eyes.

"Sorry man, she didn't say she was here with her dad." He glares at Jeffrey.

I make a "yikes" face, showing my teeth and shaking my head. Poor Drew, this isn't gonna end well for him.

Jeffrey chuckles in his face, keeping eye contact with him, and my legs clench a little watching his "Negan" side come out.

We've only been dating for a couple months now, and while I'm sure our age-gap is strange to other people, Jeffrey and I couldn't be happier. I've always dated men my age, but men in their young 20's don't know how to treat a woman. Jeffrey is so good to me.. in every way imaginable.

I've never seen this protective, jealous side of him.. but I think I like it.

"Daddy.." I interrupt. "why won't this weirdo leave us alone?" I talk in a baby voice to Jeffrey, mocking Drew for calling him my dad.

"Wait.. I.. I know you. You play that asshole in the walking dead... Can't fucking stand him." Drew huffs at him.

"Y/n, baby, go wait for me in the car." Jeffrey demands.

Before I go to leave, I stand on my tippy toes and kiss Jeffrey's cheek slowly, glancing at Drew who looks like smoke could come out of his ears any second. Freak.

"That's fucking gross, you know that right?" Drew calls after me as I walk away. "He could be your grandpa! Bet he can't even get it up."

Before I can open the door to leave, I hear a loud bang from behind me. I turn to see Jeffrey's hand bring Drew's blonde head up from the bar top he just slammed it against. "Dude you just broke my fucking nose! Drew wipes the blood from his face.

"Babe, stop!" I call out.

Jeffrey glances at me, still firmly gripping the back of Drew's hair.

"You're lucky my girls watching, or I'd break more than that." He grits out next to his ear.

I've never seen him make that face.. and it does something to me. He looks so hot and.. unhinged.

"Car. NOW." Jeffrey says in my direction as he tosses the blonde man on the ground. He grabs his leather jacket and follows me to the car. We both get in, staying silent for a moment as I try to register what happened.

He sighs, dropping his head and gripping his knuckles around the steering wheel. "Baby, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have act-"

Before he can finish, I'm climbing on top of him like a dog in heat, slamming my lips against his while lifting my black dress until it's bunched around my waist., revealing my red thong. The seat is pushed far enough back to allow me room to comfortably sit in his lip. His mouth parts open and my tongue swipes across his. Fuck, his mouth tastes so good.

I bite his bottom lip when I pull away, letting my fingers tangle through his salt and pepper hair. His hands firmly grab my ass as I grind myself desperately against him. I'm so wet I'm pretty sure he'll have a spot on his jeans. I take his semi-hard cock out of his black jeans and stroke it twice before he's solid in my hand.

The best thing about being with an older man? The size of his cock and the way he knows how to use it. It's big enough to where the tip reaches just above his belly button as it stands against him and my mouth waters at the sight. I lift myself up, wasting no time due to my throbbing pussy needing him so badly, and gently slide down his length. His head drops back slightly as he watches me through lust-filled eyes.

"Fuck, baby. That's it." He talks me through it as I struggle to sit completely with him in me.

I bounce on him while he guides me up and down, squeezing my ass. He looks up at me as I start to slow down, grinding against his cock repeatedly as it hits the right spot.

“You look so fucking good riding me, baby.”

His window is cracked open a few inches and we’re parked right outside the front of the bar. The thought of getting caught makes me hotter as I moan and bite at his ear.

Just as I’m about to come, I hear the bells of the bar doors ring and look to the side, seeing Drew walk out. His nose is bandaged, so someone must have helped him out.

“We’ve got company, doll. You wanna tell him who you belong to?” Jeffrey slams me down onto his cock so hard that my vision clouds and I feel my orgasm rush through me. My mouth falls open just as I look to the side and see Drew walking past the car.

“Daddyyy!” I moan loudly, getting Drew’s attention. He looks at me disgustedly and shakes his head. I watch him angrily get in his car and drive away and smile to myself.

“Fuck. Daddy.. I’m gonna cum.” I cry out.

“Soak my fucking cock baby. Give it to me.”

I cry out louder as my walls contract around him. He kisses me hard and looks into my eyes.

“Fuck, doll. I love you.”

I stare at him wide eyed and can’t believe he just said it. I’ve known I love him since the first week we met, but I wanted him to say it first.

“I love you too, Jeffrey... I.. I want you to cum in me.” I kiss him lips softly this time and I slowly slide myself up and down on him.

He smiles up at me. “Yea? You want daddy’s cum in you, baby?”

I nod and bounce on him faster.

“Cum in my pussy, daddy. Please!”

“Baby, fuck. Fuck. Ahhh.” He moans and his dick pulses, shooting strings of hot cum deep inside me.

I stay on top of him, kissing him as he comes down from his high. His seed leaks out while his cock is still in me and I feel it run down my legs.

“I need strange men to hit on me more often.” I breathe heavily, teasing him.

“Funny, doll.” A loud smack lands on my ass. “I promise they won’t fuck like you like daddy does.”

#jeffrey dean morgan #negan #jdmorgan #jdm x reader #jdmfanfiction #negan fanfiction #twd negan #jdm fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan smut #jdm x you #jdm oneshot #negan oneshot #jeffrey dean morgan x you #jeffrey dean morgan fanfiction #jeffrey dean morgan x reader #jdm imagine #fanfic request

[webslingingslasher]

you did reader having a bad day and going to see frat!peter but can we get him having a bad day and going to see trouble?

*cleaning out my inbox.*

three loud knocks at your door had you jump from your seat, you were so in the zone that the sharp sound had you frozen for a second.

making the short walk and pulling it open, peter forced his way in and ripped his backpack off before slamming it down. there was no reason to ask if he was mad because he was pissed.

'hi.' you try being gentle, even softly closing the door before peter points at you. 'i was sick, wasn't i?' you blink fast, 'wha-'

'i was sick! last week, i was sick!'

you have no idea where he's taking this, but you're in for the ride. it's not you he's mad at and that's very clear, he's just trying to share his frustration. 'you were sick. you were throwing up.'

'thank you! i was! it was awful!'

you nod with him. 'yeah, throwing up sucks.'

'it does! and guess the fuck what, i missed a quiz and this stupid fucking prick of a professor won't let me retake it. he tried blaming me and said i needed to be more serious, trying to insinuate i was hungover when he knows for a fact i've shown up on my fucking deathbed before!'

you feel anger build for him, peter takes his academics very seriously. so if saying he doesn't take it seriously feels like a slap in the face to you, you can't imagine how it feels for him.

'oh, that's fucked, petey. if you want i'll draft a letter to the dean and we can-'

peter laughs and shakes a finger in the air. 'already did it. and guess what, i got to retake it. but he couldn't handle the fact i went over his head and he called me immature and unequipped to handle the real world.'

you gasp, peter nods with exaggeration. 'yup! so fuck that class, fuck that prick, fuck the guy that got cheese on my shoes-' your eyes look at his nikes, true to his words there's splatters of orange on the tops. "- fuck ethan for getting me sick, fuck everything and everyone!'

a gulp of air, he calms himself down. 'except you. i still like you.' the room goes quiet when he sits on the edge of your bed. it's just one of those days where nothing you say will fix it and he just needs to feel sorry for himself and have someone do it with him.

you stand in front of him and hold his head to your torso. peter buries his face in your shirt and breathes deep, you're worried he might be suffocating himself. you take his snapback off and lightly scratch his scalp.

'i'm sorry everything and everyone sucks, petey.' you can feel a rumble when peter talks but you can't hear him at all. 'what's that, mumbles?' he has a slight blush when he pulls back, 'except you.' he hides his face again, holding you even closer.

'wanna look at me?' a thrash into your stomach, he's anchored around your waist. 'please?' another silent no. 'i wanna tell you something.'

a squeeze, he's listening. 'no, c'mon, look at me.' peter shouts into your shirt, it still comes out muffled. 'no. you just wanna see me all blushy and shy.'

you tickle behind the collar of his shirt, he jolts into your touch. 'just look at me, please?' a few deep breaths, he's not so pink cheeked anymore. you try to mimic peter when you're upset and cup his face, you get why he does it, he's so delicate under your touch.

'you are insanely smart, peter. i've seen the effort you've put into your work. remember one time i tried to see if i could help you finish but your math questions are like three miles long?' a small smile, your heart picks up. you're helping!

'and you're way more equipped than anyone i know, and you have the cleanest room in the house. oh, and you're a really good nephew.' there it is, that's what you were searching for. peter warmed under your touch, watching him transform into bashful had you soaring.

'not to mention how handsome you are. i mean, i totally get it, petey. cause you're my baby.' red, red, red. he turned red. peter dove for your chest, he can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

'you're being mean when i'm sad.' you pat his head before tangling your fingers in, 'i just wanted you to know that your professor sucks and is the dumbest person to ever talk to you. he's wrong and today sucked and that's all it should be.'

you bend to press a kiss to the crown of his head. 'wanna lay down for cuddles,' you wait until he shuffles away, 'my beautiful, handsome baby boy?'

another flush, you never noticed how good peter looked in red. 

#frat!peter blurbs

[topofmythighs]

demon dean smut 👀👀👀

speaking in tongue

demon!dean winchester x she/her reader

rundown: it's gettin' hawt in here!!! demon!dean fucks his gf and that's basically it

word count: 3k

warnings: where do we start? corruption!kink, sub x dom themes, oral, p in v pen., master!kink, cnc???, pain!kink, breeding!kink,

navigating the depths of her relationship with dean has always been difficult; he is the definition of closed off. working through typical relationship issues is easy for the two of them, but it’s the most profound secrets that dean keeps locked away even from sam that drive them apart. still, even with the disagreements and frequent pleas for dean to let her into his mind, she stays, because she promised she would.

it’s difficult, though, to not poke and prod at the mind of her lover as he shifts from mortal to demon.

dean’s more violent — hedonistic, even — but he’s almost more open than her true lover is. as the two of them sit across from each other at the bunker’s table, drinks in hand, she can’t help but purse her lips at the thought of asking more.

“go ahead, sweetheart,” dean smirks. 

she sighs as she stares into her drink, nervous to look up and see the green eyes of her lover replaced with depthless, soulless black ones. she wishes sam was here — she knows he would want to ask questions, too — but he had to flea the bunker with castiel. (he begrudgingly left her there, but with dean’s lack of plans to harm her, sam trusted that she would call him if something went wrong.) 

“it’s hard to not pick your brain,” she finally says, looking up slowly at dean.

he smirks, taking a swig of his drink. “i’m an open book.”

“yeah, but, he’s not.” she sighs, also taking a drink of her whiskey. “i just - i want to know what he thinks of me. i need to know. i know he loves me — we’ve been together for what feels like forever — but he’s just so shut-out and--“

“and don’t you think it’s time you know what he thinks of you, sweetheart?” dean asks, looking at her with a quizzed look so human that she almost believes she’s talking to dean. within an instant, he’s at her side, leaning against the table. his warm, calloused hand, the same as dean's, cups her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. she swallows thickly as her blood freezes up in her body. “you know he loves you, sweetheart. i’ve always been here — watching, waiting to come out and talk to you. to tell you what he thinks of you, how he feels about you.”

“do i want to know?” she whispers, feeling the grip on her jaw tighten. 

she’s scared and flustered. her mind is swirling, trying to wrap around itself that this is not dean in any other way than physically. he lets her jaw go with a quick jerk, crouching down in front of her. 

“he thinks about you all the time. touching you, fucking you,” he purrs. he watches the blush rise on her face, and just to be an asshole, he tacks on, “it’s gross, to be honest.”

“keep it in your pants,” she mutters, glaring at him and drinking down her whiskey. 

he spins her chair to face him. sitting down on his knees, he places his hands on hers, gripping hard. 

“ow,” she winces. “please,” she says, “please take your hands off of me.”

“ah, ah, ah. what you aren’t getting, sweetheart,” he says coldly, “is that even if you hate me, you love him.” he pushes himself up off of the ground and leans in close to her. “and right now, we are one.”

she stares into his eyes and shakily puts her hands on his cheeks as his hands grip tight on the arms of the chair. “baby,” she whispers, pleading. “if you can hear me, please know i’m here.”

“he knows, sweetheart,” dean whispers. “he can hear you. we can hear you.” dean looks into her eyes, smiling pridefully at her. 

she takes a deep breath in, looking one last time into his green eyes, before guiding his lips to hers. she kisses him deeply, trying to feel dean amidst the demon.

“not so fast,” dean says. his ultimate speed has their positions flipped within seconds. she sits on his lap, hands still on his cheeks. “if we’re doing this, and trust me, we want this,” he purrs, “you need to understand that you don’t control me.” she nods quickly, frightened to do anything he doesn’t want her to. “but just because i’m some cold-blooded killer that has it out for every mortal around him,” he chuckles, “doesn’t mean i’m gonna hurt you, sweetheart. i don't want no angels or hunters after me. i don’t have a death wish.”

“they couldn’t stop you anyway,” she whispers, feeling herself relax into his hands that are tight on her hips.

he smiles at her. “that’s my girl.” 

his hands find her hair quickly, pulling her down into a deep kiss. her arms wrap around his neck as her body slowly sinks down onto his. she’s still unsure if her heart has stopped beating, but she feels his hand find her lower back and gently press her body down more.

“you’re okay, sweetheart,” dean murmers, and she swears that was really him. her legs finally relax and settle themselves on either side of his thigh, feeling the denim-to-denim contact. her arms tighten around him, and her lips find his neck where she places small kisses up and down it. 

testing the waters, she grabs a fistful of dean’s hair at the back of his neck as she kisses it, and she feels his hips buck up to hers.

“god,” dean whispers. “don’t make me feel like some desperate teenager here, baby girl.”

she smiles as she continues to kiss. she gently grinds her hips down against his thigh, staying very close to his body and keeping her movements slow. “don’t mean to,” she whispers back. “just trying to enjoy all of you.”

"we've got time, baby," he purrs, his hands roaming her thighs. he tilts his head back, savouring the wet, open-mouthed kisses that she continues to leave all over his throat.

the grip his hands have on her thighs leaves a searing pain behind, so she pushes herself away from his delicious skin to peek and see if the denim of her jeans has been burned away. she grabs his shoulders to steady herself, wincing as he squeezes harder.

she stares at her thighs, expecting burning flesh to be escaping the denim, but there's nothing there.

"ow," she whines, eyes meeting the demon's soulless black ones.

he smirks at her, peeling his hands off her thighs. "feel that?"

"yeah, it hurts like hell," she mumbles.

her jaw is grabbed once again by the familiar calloused hand, and her mouth hangs open slightly.

"i didn't ask for the attitude, sweetheart," dean snarls. "all that pain? means your little boyfriend is here, feeling all of this and watching us like a pervert in a movie theatre."

his eyes melt green again, and the combination of a mention of a mortal dean mixed with his luscious green eyes allows her body to fall slack. she drops back down onto dean's thighs and drools, coating his hand in spit. he smiles slyly at her, pulling his hand off her face before leaving a hard, aggressive slap to her cheek. he places his thumb in her still-open mouth and forces her face back to his. her mouth instinctively closes around his thumb.

"my good girl," he says, a hand finding her waist.

she smiles around his thumb, her cheek wet from her own spit being slapped onto it. she very slowly leans forward until her head rests on dean's shoulder and gently grabs hold of dean's wrist. she rests against him for a moment, feeling the pulse of his cock against her core every time she sucks on his thumb (she swears her heartbeat matches the rhythm of his dick.). her body goes slack, recovering from the pain in her thighs and on her face.

if she was in any other state of mind, she would be the utmost apprehensive woman in the world. if dean truly is watching, she has no doubt in her mind that he will condemn her for feeling safe in the arms of a demon. but as she lays here with her head on his shoulder and his protective arm around her, she wonders if there's some form of loneliness that drives a demon's anarchy.

she sits up, tired of thinking. she gently pulls his thumb out of her mouth, then presses a kiss to his lips. her shakey fingers unbutton his red shirt, and she feels a surge of wetness overtake her when she feels how incredibly hot dean's skin is.

dean can't help but admire her. he watches her as she licks her lips, and he feels his shirt coming undone. her eyes are huge and innocent, glistening like she's experiencing this for the first time. he knows she's focusing too much on the heat of his skin, overthinking about how close dean of the subconscious is watching, so he guides her hands to the tent in his jeans.

"we want you, sweetheart," he purrs, his hand looming over hers.

"take me," she whispers, so quiet that even with exaggerated senses, dean can barely hear her.

his inhumane speed brings her up onto the table with her jeans pulled off her legs. he smirks at her soaked thong - once a baby pink turned a deep rose from the amount of wetness her body has made. he pulls her to the edge of the table, kneeling down on the floor to press kisses to her thighs.

her hands try to push his head away. "no, please! he hasn't - it's been too long! i don't want you there, i want him."

dean smiles up at her from in between her thighs. "he's always here, babygirl."

he pulls her underwear to the side, immediately licking up all of the slick that her warm pussy made. she releases a loud, pornstar moan, her hands finding dean's hair quickly. he kisses her pussy, and she swears she can hear him growling from in between her thighs. she moans louder, hoping his dick throbs harder.

it must have, because his mouth finds her clit and sucks hard, eliciting a long, loud whine from her spit-covered lips. her hands are tight in his hair, the tension in her body having nowhere to escape but her hands. dean continues to lick and suck at her clit, making her whine and moan like she's never been touched before.

"need, need you," she groans, feeling dean's fingers dig deep into her thighs.

he comes up for air, pressing kisses anywhere he can. she swears she feels her dean here with her.

"need me?" dean whispers, his eyes staring into hers. she moans at his deep voice, swearing it rumbles through her. her head tilts back, and, within mere seconds, her body bounces off of dean's soft, memory foam mattress. she hears her breath catch in her throat, to which he smirks. "too fast for you, sweetheart?"

she shakes her head quickly as her hands find his belt and button. "like it," she mutters, her thoughts flowing too quickly to focus on anything but touching dean's cock.

when it sits in the palm of her hand, hard and hot, she whines and feels a gush of wetness fall over the tops of her thighs. she immediately tries to position his cock against her entrance, but he grabs her wrist.

"one thing about us, sweetheart," dean says, "is nothing turns us on more than watching those angel eyes suck cock." he smirks at her as she nods feverishly.

he flips their positions, allowing himself to sit against the headboard while she lays in between his thighs. her ass is high in the air as she wraps her hand around his cock again, licking up his long, veiny cock. he grabs her hair immediately, allowing her brain to turn off and her mouth to be used.

"pretty girl," dean mumbles, moaning as he face fucks her. her eyes are glazed over when she looks up at him, and she moans around his cock as those beautiful, green eyes watch her suck his cock. he holds her head down, her nose just an inch away from his pelvis. she gags, and usually dean would let up, but this time, he holds her head still.

she moves her hands up his thighs, digging her nails into them, letting him know it's too much. he doesn't let up until she draws blood just one gag later.

"bitch," he mutters, as he pulls her up by her hair. he watches his doll catch her breath, a long line of spit keeping her mouth connected to his cock. her eyes are watery, and a few tears have slipped down her face. small traces of makeup are smeared over her face.

their eyes meet, and his black, soulless ones switch back to his crystal clear, serpentine green eyes. he immediately pulls her onto him, his large protective hands rubbing her back. "i'm sorry, angel," he mutters.

she pulls herself up, and her legs straddle his hips. she keeps herself close to him as he kisses her head. his kisses lead onto her face, eliciting a small, fucked-out smile from her.

"it's okay, master," she whispers, peeling his hands from her face and pressing kisses onto his wrists, desperate to feel the human in him. as she does, he rubs his cock over her wet pussy, making her whine and hide her face in his hand.

she grabs his hand and tangles their fingers together, pushing herself up onto her knees to sink down onto his cock. she watches her boyfriend's face fall into the expression it always does when she takes it all; his mouth open, eyes closed, and his chest tight with air.

"i'll always let you do whatever you want to me, sir," she says, rocking her hips back and forth on his dick.

he smacks her ass, and a deep burning sensation flows through her veins. she knows her dean is gone again, taken over by the demon yet again.

"good girl," he says, watching her intently. he watches exactly where their bodies connect.

whether it's the demon's energy coursing through her boyfriend's body or the fact that she hasn't been fucked this hard in a few months, she finds it hard to take all of dean's cock. still, she does her best, feeling electricity course through her pussy whenever she sinks down all the way. she knows from the burning that dean is there. trapped in his mind, but he's there.

knowing he's there brings her an odd source of comfort. she wants to put on a show for him, and she wants to stay on this demon's good side. she hopes that he can feel everything the way she is. she rocks her hips again, feeling dean's fat cock hit her g-spot. she lets out a very loud moan, squeezing dean's hand harder as she rides.

dean groans, too. "fuck, babygirl," he mutters. "so fucking wet."

she caresses his face with her free hand, stilling her hips. "sir?" she asks quietly.

he smirks at her shyness, bucking his hips up into her. "yes, sweetheart?"

she squeezes his hand again, and to her surprise, he squeezes back. her hands feel like she's touching a hot stove. she blushes, knowing dean's right there. "make me squirt?"

his eyes roll back as he groans, and his lightning speed flips them into doggy quickly. he places her head into the pillows and grabs her hips, fucking her soaking wet pussy hard and fast.

"sir, sir, fuck!" she screams, feeling her hips burn where his fingertips squeeze. "i need," she moans. "need your cum."

"fuck, sweetheart," dean says, slowing down his speed a bit. he chuckles. "your boyfriend in here does not want me to do that."

her laboured breathing makes her choke out, "since when did you care?"

he laughs again. "you're a dirty whore. i like it."

she smiles into the pillows and wiggles her ass, begging for him to fuck her harder. he finds his rhythm again, and within a moment, she's finding his wrist and squeezing hard as she cums around his cock.

"don't stop, sir, please, don't stop!" she can feel the tension in her tummy build up again, and she's excited to see how worked up her mortal body can make a demon.

he keeps his pace, slapping her ass and fucking her pussy deep.

"fuck, your pussy is so good, doll," he mutters. "you want a demon to cum in you?"

she nods her head yes. "want your babies," she whispers, instantly regretting her dirty words.

dean haults, flipping her onto her back. "gonna watch that pretty face."

she smiles, grabbing his face for a kiss. his hands fist the pillow around her head, and he fucks her wet, warm pussy until his cum spills into her. the feeling of his thick load inside her makes that rope in her tummy snap, and she's begging him to fuck her hard again. he does, and she squirts as he fucks his cum deeper into her.

she cries out loudly as her body winds down from its high. dean switches them so she can lay on his chest. he rubs her body all over, and if her mind wasn't gone, she would easily overthink why he's showing her any sort of care.

her leg loosely wraps around his hips, and her arms wrap around his chest. he presses kisses to her head, petting her hair.

"y'know," he starts. "takes a real strong man to fight off total possession." she nods dumbly against his chest, just happy to feel the vibrations of his voice from his chest in her ear. "your man's got a lot of willpower to get back to you, sweetheart."

she nods again, pulling herself onto him more. "thank you for not hurting me, dean."

he smiles at her, and his hands continue to rub all over her body. "i still don't have a death wish, babygirl."

#dean winchester #deanmon #demon dean smut #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural smut #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #dean winchester fanfiction

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Fertility

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey can i request a Dean Winchester x immortal demigoddess wife reader that is the daughter of whatever god or goddess and she is not a hunter just a normal girl that make Dean and Sam immortal with her magic and everyone in the hunting community know her as Dean innocent wife and she don’t cared about that, she is pregnant with Dean baby and know she is walking to the kitchen with Dean shirt and boxer because is comfortable and perfect for her pregnancy belly and him just loved. happy ending with a lot of fluff, kisses, and possible smut. 

Summary: You want Dean to meet your mother, the Goddess of fertility, love, beauty, and pleasure. Only problem? She lives in Egypt and Dean hates flying.

Square Filled: Delphinium for @spnonewordbingo (deleted bingo)

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Man, this Bunker really does have everything about everything. This small library has vast knowledge about virtually every single monster there is and has ever been. Some of them are extinct but it’s still good to know about them just in case. You’ve come to learn that anything can happen in the hunting life.

You flip through the pages of a lore book about Egyptian Gods and Goddesses when you come across one that makes your heart soar and a smile spreads across your face. You run your finger delicately down the page and stare at the Goddess trapped inside the book.

“Hi, mom,” you whisper.

Your mother is Hathor, the Egyptian Goddess of fertility, love, beauty, and pleasure. She is the protector of women, and she does a helluva job of it. You’re a demigoddess with only half of her powers, but you’re still like her in so many ways. Not only are you immortal, but you have the power to fight well in any hand-to-hand combat, mental manipulation, and mental torture. Your mother does it a lot better than you can, but you’ve done a good job at practicing over the centuries.

She offered you a place by her side in Egypt where she currently resides but you wanted to see the world and explore it on your own. You wanted to make your own adventures instead of being the shadow in hers. It’s a damn good thing you listened to your gut because you wouldn’t have met Sam and Winchester otherwise.

The first thing you did when you came to the United States was save a woman from being attacked by a man. This man wasn’t to exert his power over her by forcing her into doing things she didn’t want to do, and you put an end to it immediately. She got her revenge just like the thousands of other women you’ve saved from having the same fate. Saving women and torturing men has gotten you this far in life and you don’t plan on stopping, not within the next few centuries, at least.

The biggest thing you gained from your Mother is the power of fertility. You can’t count how many women you’ve come across who want to have children but can’t. They don’t know how it happens, but they wake up one day and realize they’re pregnant. Your powers have only been used for good and you don’t plan on stopping any time soon.

You just love bringing life into the world just like your mom.

The bar was in full swing, and you’re at the bar sipping your drink and watching everyone. You never know when someone is going to need you. There was a couple at the dart boards who were arguing over the point system. You kept an eye on them just in case you might need to jump in.

The bell above the front door rang as two people walked in. The shorter of the two made eye contact with you and it was as if time stopped. Because your mother is the Goddess of Beauty, you’re naturally flawless. Even if you’re not someone’s type, you’re beautiful to them.

“Drinking alone?” he asked when he approached you.

“Not if you sit down and drink with me,” you flirted.

“Sammy, be somewhere else,” the man said and sat next to you. The taller one rolled his eyes and left the bar counter. “I’m Dean.”

“Y/N. Sammy your brother?”

“Yeah.”

“Younger or older?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re older. You have that energy about you, which means you’re just my type. I like them older.”

You were not about to tell him that you were centuries older than him.

You and Dean hit it off that night and not because he took you back to his room. That night also was the night you learned they are hunters. You saw the weapons in their bags and made a deduction paired with the fact that he had an Anti-Posession Tattoo on his chest. There was no time beating around the bush so you told both of them who you were, who your mother is, and the fact that you’re immortal. Dean didn’t care so that’s how you started seeing the eldest Winchester.

You’re not a hunter. You have no desire to be a hunter. You just help people where you can but instead of monsters, it’s humans. After a few years of being with them, you made both of them immortal per their request. You don’t make anyone immortal without their consent, and the brothers had plenty of time to think if they wanted this or not. You have the ability to take it away, but the years will catch up to the person immediately. That usually means death.

Still, you’re happy with the family you’ve made and wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You close the book on Egyptian Gods and Goddesses before getting up. You place a hand on your swollen belly and pat the area where you know your child can feel it. Once he gets old enough, he’ll be able to choose if he wants to be immortal or not. After he turns eighteen, of course, and you’d do it for him.

You’re wearing one of Dean’s shirts since they are so comfortable so when he sees you enter the kitchen, he grins. He even has your favorite flowers on display on the table. Such a gentleman.

“Damn, just when I think you can’t get more beautiful, you walk in wearing that.”

“Good morning to you, too,” you greet. He kisses you quickly and bends down to kiss your stomach. “I want to take a trip with you.”

“Where?”

“I want you to meet my mother.”

“You want me to meet an Egyptian Goddess?”

“Yeah. She’s really sweet. I think you’d love her, and I know she’d love you.”

“I guess that’ll be okay.”

“We have to fly there. She’s in Egypt, naturally.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he says in a quiet voice.

“Are you sure? I know you hate flying.” He nods without saying anything, and you grab his face so he’s forced to look at you. “I can ask her to come here, but I don’t think she’ll take well to leaving Egypt. She has her own business that she won’t part from.”

“I’ll be okay.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly.

“I’d like to go before I get too pregnant to fly.”

The gears in Dean’s head turn as he thinks of a solution that will benefit you both.

“Why don’t we visit her until after the baby is born? That way she can meet him, too.”

“You just don’t want to fly. You’re pushing this as far as you can, aren’t you?” you chuckle.

“Sweetheart, I can’t help it. They’re dangerous.”

“You’re a big baby, you know that?”

You leave his side and sit down at the kitchen table so he can finish cooking in peace.

“I promise we can go after he is born. I really would love to meet the woman who made you.”

“Maybe afterward, we can meet your mom!” you gasp. “I can get us into Heaven. I know a God.”

“One parent at a time,” Dean chuckles and plates the food.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fiction #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #spn #spn fic #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #spn fluff

[cameronzluvrwp]

Car Secrets

Paring: Dean Winchester x Fem Reader (S3)

Summary: Dean and his brother, Sam were on a hunt with his girlfriend Y/N. When Sam went for a shower, a secret happened between Dean and Y/N in the car.

Contents: Smut, Swearing, Eating.

A/N: This is a scenario from a Sam/Dean fic I’m writing on Wattpad so comment if you want more snippets from it.

——————————————————————

Dean pulled up in front of their motel and turned off the car, taking the keys out the ignition and putting them in the pocket of his jacket. His younger brother looked at the sleeping girl in the back seat before turning back to him. “I’m going for a shower. Can you take care of her?” Sam spoke out.

“Yeah. Hundred percent.” The older Winchester nodded, hiding the smirk on his face as Sam left the Impala. Dean looked at Y/N who was out cold. He couldn’t blame her. She had been mentally drained for the past few weeks and it had exhausted her.

He moved into the back seat next to her and took in the sight. Then he cautiously put a hand under her head and pulled it up slightly before leaning in and placing a gentle kiss on her lips in the hopes of waking her up.

After a few seconds her starting to kiss back and smiled. Y/N pulled away and looked at him lazily “Hi.” She muttered softly. “Hi.” Dean replied before kissing her again. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went for a shower.” Dean told her in between kisses which made the girl pull away again “What kind of shower? A “freshen up” 5 minute shower or an “I’m disgusting” shower?” She questioned “The second.”

A smile crossed Y/N’s face and she kissed the boy in front of her again. “Good.” Dean smirked as he kissed her back, his hand gripping her hip. Then he pulled away and turned her so she was sat up, facing the front window.

He knelt down in front of her in the tight gap in between the seats. The smirk was engraved on his face as he gripped her shorts tightly. “Wearing those is dangerous you know?”

Y/N looked down at him and giggled. “How so?” She asked playfully. Dean leaned in, gently kissing her thigh. “Shows too much skin baby. Attracts monsters.” He muttered against her soft skin “Why does it attract monsters?” The girl asked again “Because you look so delicious. If I was a monster I’d want you all to myself.” He answered as she playfully bit her thigh.

Y/N smiled and leaned back in the seat. “You don’t have me all to yourself.” She teased. “And it makes me crazy.” Dean admitted as he unbuttoned her shorts. “Just like your legs…” He kissed her thighs again. This time it was hungry and desperate. He hadn’t had her in so long. He was craving her. Her skin, her taste, her body, everything. She wasn’t his, he knew. But her body was his. They both knew Sam couldn’t please her like he could. Sam didn’t know her body the way Dean did. Dean knew how to touch her, tease her, bring her to the edge and push her over.

Dean took his mouth away from the flesh of her leg as he pulled the denim down so it was down her ankles before he pushed it onto the floor. The sight of her red lace underwear made his mouth water and his cock harden. If they had long enough he’d take his time with her and give her the full treatment like she deserved. But they needed to hurry so this was going to do.

An audible moan left his lips as he stared at her with all of his pent up lust and desire from the weeks. “God, I missed you.” He groaned as he kissed around the hem of her panties. Y/N laughed softly and stroked his hair “Eat up.”

The words were music to his ears and he tore off her panties in one swift motion. With them gone he got to take in her beautiful pussy. His hands gripped her thighs tightly as he positioned her legs and moved in between them.

That’s when Y/N put her legs over his shoulders and he smiled. Dean buried his face into her folds and started sucking harshly. Her back arched and she moaned loudly. He could feel the desperation for him leave her body as his tongue moved over her clit.

Y/N gasped deeply when he did that. His tongue was amazing and it was all she needed. Her moans were music to Dean’s ears. He wanted to listen to them all the time. It felt too good.

Dean squeezed his girl’s thigh tightly as he slid his tongue in her hole, making her squirm in his grasp. “Baby, stay still.” He ordered during her moan. She obliged and stayed still as his tongue moved in and out of her vagina in a loop.

God it felt amazing. There actually wasn’t words to describe him. He was incredible. Talented. He wasn’t eating her. It was more. This wasn’t for pleasure. He was devouring her for survival. They needed each other or they would fall apart. He needed her. He needed to feel her climax. He needed to taste her juices. She needed him. She needed his… everything. Sam was good. But he wasn’t Dean. Dean had skills no one else could compare to. It was like they were one. They knew each other. They were the same person with the same troubles and needs.

Y/N moaned as she felt his mouth sucking at her core, his tongue brushing her walls. “Holy fuck.” She moaned. “It’s starting.” Dean said. He knew her body enough to know the way her stomach was moving as her chest heaved was a sign that she was starting to orgasm.

“God, Dean.” She gasped, backing into the seats and grabbing them. “Don’t rip the seats.” He laughed, feeling the liquid starting to form around her folds. “Now, just hold of a few seconds.”

“What do you mean “hold it”?!” Y/N exclaimed as she looked down at him “Because I want to cum at the same time as you and my dick isn’t hard enough yet!” Dean moved his head out her pussy and yelled back “How isn’t your dick hard?!”

The Winchester paused, embarrassed about admitting this… especially to her. “I… jerked off earlier.” He muttered quietly. The girl froze as well, she wasn’t surprised but she didn’t know why he felt the need. “You were really hot earlier!! You were being all demanding and sexy and I got horny!” He defended.

Dean could picture the way she was earlier and how goddamn sexy it was. He could feel the bulge growing and he was getting there. As if he never moved he went back to sucking on her clit like his life depended on it.

Y/N’s head fell back onto the seat as she let out a breathless moan. “Fuck me.” Dean groaned and sucked rougher “I can’t, right now.” He mumbled. “Okay, cum pretty girl.”

It didn’t even take much. The next suck was enough for her. She groaned as the orgasm rippled through her core and Dean moaned. The liquid splashed across his face and simultaneously he came in his pants with a deep moan.

When they both finished all that could be heard in the car was heavy breathing and the windows were clouded with condensation. Dean pulled away from her core, his face covered in her cum. He leaned up and kissed Y/N lazily but the affection was there. “Beautiful.”

“Sexy.” She smiled back as she kissed him. The way he looked when he was covered in her was so hot. And she could taste herself on him which just made it hotter. Dean pulled away and smiled at her. “Why can’t you be mine?” He asked as he stroked her hair.

“I am yours. Until you go to Hell. Literally.” Y/N answered morbidly. Dean sighed and nodded. He knew they didn’t have the time. If he wasn’t going she would be his. He knew that. She would leave Sam for him with no hesitation.

Silence fell over them ad they didn’t really know what to say. “Sam’s probably getting out the shower.” The Winchester spoke up and she nodded in agreement. “I’ll see you later baby.” She told him as she gave him another kiss.

The girl put her pants back on and then her shorts “Clean up well.” She said before leaving the car. “Yeah. See ya.” He replied. His emerald eyes scanned the parking lot, noting it was empty. Dean got out the car and closed the door before walking across to the motel and to his room.

When he went to unlock the door he saw Y/N stood at a vending machine. “Y/N!” He called out with a small smirk. Y/N turned to the voice and smiled. They made eye contact and he winked at her then blew her a kiss before entering his room.

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut #dean x reader #dean winchester

[apocalypseornaw]

Not so Awkward

Dean Winchester x Reader

Follow up to Awkward Dreams

Smut with feelings?

Your fingernails dug into Dean's back as he rolled his hips into your, enjoying the sounds he managed to pull from you. “Look at you sweetheart. You're so damn beautiful like this, all fucked out and taking me so damn well"

He brought one hand up to your neck, barely putting pressure but he wanted your eyes open “Look at me gorgeous” your eyes flew open and he smiled “There's my girl” before leaning down to capture your lips in a hungry kiss. When he broke away you gasped “Fuck I love you Dean”

“DEAN!” He jolted awake and realized he'd fallen asleep at the table. His now cold cup of coffee was still in front of him. You stood at the doorway with your arms crossed and a smirk on your face “You need a nap before we hit the road?” 

—------------------

You didn't know what was up with Dean. Months had passed since he even attempted to get a woman's attention at any of the bars the three of you had stopped in and now he was falling asleep at random places in the bunker. Was he having nightmares again?

He wouldn't talk about something like that freely and it hurt your heart to think of him suffering alone. You loved both Winchesters, in their own way of course but Dean had a piece of your heart. If you were being honest with yourself you probably were in love with him but could never admit that for fear of losing him.

He shook his head at your question then glanced behind you “Where's Sammy?” You grimaced slightly “He's not going. I think he may have caught the flu. He's running a low fever so I went on an early supply run. He's set up with meds, there's soup and Gatorade. Just me and you on this one cowboy” 

You didn't miss the weird look that crossed his face before he schooled his expression and said “Well gotta admit you are better to look at” you rolled your eyes and motioned to the hall “I'm grabbing my go bag. Meet ya at baby?” He nodded “Yeah. Meet ya at baby”

Dean was trying like hell to concentrate on the road but the dreams of you and him kept resurfacing. What was going on in his head? Yeah he'd admitted to himself some time ago that he was developing feelings for you but it was clear the only thing you felt for him was friends, same as Sam. The fact that he was having sex dreams about you and dreaming that you felt the same about him had nothing to do with anything.

He was fairly certain you'd fallen asleep until you turned in the seat to face him and smiled when he glanced your way. “Dean, you ok?” You asked and he felt his heart flip at the concern in your voice “Yeah I'm good. Just been having weird dreams” “Nightmares?” You asked so he shook his head “Not nightmares just weird”

You nodded then glanced down at your phone “We should be there in about thirty. I'm thinking motel first then medical examiner?” He nodded “Sounds good to me”

Dean watched you walk into the lobby of the hotel from where he stood at the impala. From the sounds of it this was a ghoul case. Hopefully it would be a fairly small pack so it would go by quickly. He wanted to get back home to the bunker and not be in close quarters with you where he may let something slip he didn't mean to.

A few minutes later you walked out and gave him a tight smile “Good news or bad news first?” He shrugged “Bad news?” You held up one key “There was only one room left” he groaned inwardly but nodded “Good news?” You grinned "It's got two queen size beds!” 

At least there were two beds. If it was king you and him had shared beds enough you'd know something was wrong if he refused. “Well let's get on it” 

—-----------------

You could feel Dean's eyes on your back as you walked into the medical examiners office. He'd been acting a little off still but you'd never known lack of sleep or weird dreams as he'd put it to throw either Winchester off their game so you weren't too worried about the case. 

His hand brushed your lower back when he stepped in behind you so you shot a smile at him over your shoulder about the time the examiner noticed the two of you. “Can I help you?” You flashed your badge and Dean did the same “Agents Castle and Page. We're here about the grave desecrations”

Your back slamming into the side of the mausoleum knocked the breath out of you. Dean ran towards you, skidding to his knees next to you “You good?” You nodded and took his offered hand to get back to your feet “That bitch that tossed me?” He nodded and you smirked “She's mine”

—------------

Dean watched you snatch your shotgun off the ground and couldn't help the smirk that slipped onto his own face. Even dirty, bloody and cussing a ghoul you were fuckin gorgeous. He shook his head to clear those thoughts before facing the ghouls that were chomping on his ass.

You walked into the hotel room and wanted to just fall across the bed and go to sleep but knew you had to shower. Dean shut the door and you cut your eyes over at him to see the slice across his cheek was still bleeding. “I need to clean your face and put something on that” you said and he half smiled “If you let me check your back to make sure you're ok” 

You rolled your eyes but smiled “Sure. Sit down at the table” he did as you asked and walked over to the table while you grabbed the first aid kit out of your bag then walked over to him. 

You sat the kit down then stepped between his legs to get a good look at the cut. You touched the skin around it but he barely flinched, keeping his eyes on yours. “Why are you staring at me Dean?” You asked while you wet a gauze with wound cleaner.

He cleared his throat and shrugged “Those first aid classes shine through when you're patching us up. You're so focused, I just like watching you” you felt your cheeks threaten to warm at his words. Instead of saying anything you just reached into the kit for the liquid skin. “While the sting won't bother you, this crap is cold as hell” 

He grinned “If I say it hurts will you hold my hand?” His teasing made the worries you'd had about him lighten a bit. That was how he usually was with you, playfully flirting even if you knew he didn't mean it. You stepped closer before saying “You can squeeze my hip if it hurts” he raised his eyebrows and placed a hand tentatively on your hip “I'll take what I can get”

You shook your head but finished cleaning his cheek and blew on the cut gently to get the liquid skin to go ahead and dry. Once it was you stepped back and nodded “You're good Winchester” he motioned with his finger “Turn around then and let me check you”

You nodded because you had agreed. Without thinking you slipped your shirt over your head leaving you in just a sports bra. You'd seen him and Sam both in less and from injuries and they'd seen you in less as well so it wasn't anything new. You tossed your shirt on the floor next to your duffle and turned with your back to Dean. 

—-----------------

The way you focused on him when you were cleaning his cut to how close you were standing and letting him grip your hip had Dean's head spinning bad enough but when you slipped your shirt off and tossed it his mind immediately flew to every dream he'd had. 

He swallowed hard once you turned your back to him then stood. When his fingers first touched your back he noticed the trail of goosebumps that popped up but he told himself his hands were just cold and that was the reaction. You had some bruising already across your back but nothing seemed to be broken and you hadn't even flinched when he dug his fingers in a little to check your ribs. After a moment he tapped your shoulder “You're good sweetheart” you smiled back at him “Good. I'm gonna go shower first since I'm already halfway naked”  

Images of you straddling him in the impala flashed through his head and he cleared his throat again “Sounds good. I'll go after you”

—-----------------

Your skin still felt like it was on fire from Dean's touch. Christ you may need a cold shower just to keep your hormones in check. It wasn't fair the effect that man had on your body and heart without even realizing it.

You weren't sure what woke you up at first. You sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over your face. You started to reach for the gun on the nightstand but realized quickly the noise that had woke you up was Dean. 

You glanced over at his bed and saw his hands were gripping the sheets and from the looks of it a thin layer of sweat was covering his face and chest. You tossed the blanket off your legs and started to climb out of the bed to wake him but froze when you heard him say your name. Was he dreaming about you? 

You quietly walked closer to the bed and he spoke your name again, wait no he moaned your name. The noise made a rush of heat go straight through you. Was Dean having a sex dream about you?

You were torn between waking him or going back to bed. If he was in fact dreaming about you wouldn't it be weird to wake him up and acknowledge it like that? 

Before you could make up your mind he jolted up, eyes wild and chest heaving. “Dean?” You asked quietly and once his eyes focused on you he looked down towards where the blanket had pooled around his waist and you felt your face warm when your eyes followed his and realized he was hard. 

He readjusted the blanket quickly then cleared his throat “Something wrong?” You shook your head “No, you were um dreaming and I guess it woke me up” 

You'd never seen Dean blush in all the years you'd known him but in that moment he did. He didn't meet your eyes when he asked “Did you hear anything?” You started to lie, you really did but something in you pushed the truth out of your lips “I heard you say my name?”

—--------------------------

Now would be a good time for the apocalypse to kick back up in Dean's opinion. He'd rather face Lucifer a few times over than admit to you what his dream had contained. 

He slowly raised his eyes up skimming over your bare legs, the sleep shorts you wore to bed then the t-shirt you were wearing. It was tight over your chest to the point your breasts looked like they would burst out at the slightest movement. Your hair was tousled from sleep, your face was slightly flushed and he wanted nothing more than to show you just what he'd been dreaming about.

“I'm sorry sweetheart. I didn't mean to wake you” he'd hoped you'd take it at that and go back to sleep or did he?

You stepped closer to him and when you raised your hand he watched you curiously until you slid your fingers into his hair, nails lightly grazing the scalp underneath. It took every ounce of strength he had to not completely crumple under your touch. It was so damn gentle. 

“What's going on with you Dean?” You asked in all but a whisper as you let your hand slip from his hair before bringing it down to gently cup his chin, forcing his eyes up to meet yours. He wasn't used to this, you always seemed to take charge of things.Anytime anything was wrong with him or Sam you were the caretaker but this was different. This was intimate and made his heart flip having your full attention on him.

“Please tell me Dean” you begged and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard “I was dreaming about you. I've been dreaming about you” when he opened his eyes he wasn't sure what to expect to see in yours. Anger? Embarrassment? Instead your face had flushed even more and a smile had slipped onto your face “What happened in the dreams?”

—-----------------------------------

You weren't sure where this rush of confidence was coming from. Maybe it was the way he was looking at you or how he leaned into your touch or hearing him moan your name but you weren't letting him brush this off. He'd been acting off and barely sleeping if you were the cause of that you wanted to know. 

That damn smirk that always made your stomach churn slipped onto his face “a lot” “Oh yeah?” You asked before moving your hand away from his face “Like what?” 

—--------------

Dean wasn't sure how far of a line to cross but you were standing so damn close to him and his latest dream was still buzzing around his head. He wondered if you'd taste the way he dreamt, feel the way he dreamt. “I care about you a lot sweetheart, you know that” 

You nodded at his words but instead of moving you moved to sit on the bed within inches of his reach “I know but that still doesn't tell me anything about these dreams” 

He looked from your face down to his hands then back to your face. When had he ever been this shy around the subject of sex? Was it how much he cared about you? How long he'd known you? The fact that if he told you how he truly felt and what he'd been dreaming and you didn't feel the same he could lose you?

At his silence you moved closer and reached out to grab one of his hands “Talk to me Winchester” you teased and he groaned lightly. Fuck, the effect you had on him without realizing.

He had two options here, he could brush this off or take a chance of you actually feeling something for him. At the very least he knew if he could just get you in bed with him once he'd do everything in his power to make sure you'd want no other man.

---------------

You were starting to think maybe you'd imagined everything. The way Dean had been watching you since you left the bunker all the way to him moaning your name until he muttered “Please don't fucking punch me” before you could ask he dropped your hand then grabbed you by the hips pulling you towards him where you had no option but to straddle his waist, the blanket had fallen away somewhere and you could feel the strain of his hardened cock through the sweat pants he'd worn to bed.

You braced your hands on his shoulders, a gasp leaving you from a mixture of the sudden movement along with the feeling of him underneath you “You're everywhere in these damn dreams. Your scent, your taste, your touch, your voice. It's been driving me insane being so close to you and not being able to touch you. I love you, I know it's probably insane but I do. You don't have to feel the same but if you'd give me just this one night I know I can make you feel better than any other man ever has” 

—------------

You were silent and Dean was kicking himself. He'd ruined it, he'd lost even your friendship or so he thought until a smile slipped onto your face and you shifted your hips against his causing a groan to escape him. “Who says I don't love you Dean?” His eyes flew to yours and for a moment he wondered if he was still asleep. Had he dreamed all of this? As if you could read his thoughts you leaned forward and stopped with your lips just shy of touching his “It's real Dean. You're awake, I really do love you”

“Yeah?” He asked and you laughed lightly “Yeah” he closed the space between the two of you to catch your lips in a hungry kiss. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly sliding up to his neck then finally burying in the hair at the base of his head. 

When you broke away from each other, chests heaving he searched your face for any uncertainty. When he found none he nodded towards your shirt and you leaned back just far enough to pull the material over your head and toss it back in the room. 

He caught your lips again, one hand coming up to catch your left nipple between his fingertips. You arched your back into him, a heavenly moan slipping from your lips. He broke away from your lips to kiss down your neck biting lightly at a few places noting to himself that he'd dreamt of the correct places to kiss you but damn this was better than any dream. 

When his mouth finally found your chest, using his tongue to roll one of your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive bud you gripped his hair tightly moaning his name. Your hips rolled against his and fuck he could feel the heat coming off of you.

He pulled away from your breasts and smiled up at you “You sure about this? Sure about me?” You took a few breaths then grinned “I swear on everything Dean if you don't put your mouth somewhere on my body I may just fucking combust” 

—--------------

“Wouldn't want that would be baby” he teased before flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. His mouth found yours again and you felt one of his hands teasing the waistband of your shorts. Your legs fell apart to grant him access and he smiled into the kiss as his hand dipped into your shorts. 

His fingers teased your pussy, barely grazing it the first time but on the second swipe he ran his fingertips across your clit and you shivered under him. He slipped one finger into you, groaning “You're so fucking wet already” you tried to say something back but he added a second finger curling them both up until he hit that spot that had your back arching off the bed and praises of his name falling from your lips.

—------------

He worked you through the first orgasm, whispering into your ear about how sexy you looked coming around his fingers. When you finally came down from that high he held your gaze as he slipped his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. “Fuck you taste good baby” 

He left a bruising kiss on your lips before adjusting his body where he could leave a trail of kisses down yours. When he got to your shorts he raised his eyebrows and you narrowed your eyes “Don't fucking stop there!” 

A laugh was the response you got before he was slipping your shorts off your legs. He didn't give you a moment to relax because he lowered his head to you and when the first lick made your legs quiver he chuckled lightly “Better than any damn dream” 

He added two fingers in with his tongue, working that spot inside of you and your clit at the same time. It didn't take long before you were shaking under him and all but screaming his name as you came undone again underneath him.

After a moment you weakly shoved his shoulders “Too much baby. Too much” he rocked back from you and grinned as he swiped a thumb across his lips “Did you just call me baby? I like that”

You grinned “Well in that case baby will get your damn pants off and fuck me already?”  He laughed “Yes ma'am” and stood off the bed to shove his sweatpants off his hips, kicking them away from him.

Your eyes widened at just how big his cock was. He was fairly long and thick as hell. “Like what you see sweetheart?” You nodded and curled your fingers at him “Come here” he kissed his way back up your body and when he got to your mouth he crashed his lips against yours letting you taste yourself on him. 

“I love you” he whispered against your lips as you felt him slide into you. You gasped against his mouth at the feeling of him stretching you. He groaned lightly at the feeling once he was completely inside of you “Fuck you feel amazing” once the stretch faded to pleasure and you could speak you pulled him into a kiss then said “I love you too Dean now fuck me like you hate me” 

He laughed and shook his head “You're so damn perfect” he left another quick kiss on your lips before pulling almost all the way out then slamming back into you.

—--------------

Dean sat a punishing pace, snapping his hips into yours. The only sound filling the room was skin hitting skin and your moans mixing together. Your fingernails dug into his shoulders but neither of you cared as you clung to each other finally giving in. “Dean I'm so damn close” you managed and he nodded before slipping one hand between you. When his fingers found your clit he spoke with his lips against yours “Come for me sweetheart. Let me feel you”

You felt that building pressure threaten to burst right before you were shoved over that peak. Your vision went soft around the edges as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm. 

Once you came down from that high you realized his thrusts were starting to falter, getting a bit sloppy and knew he was close. You buried your fingers into the hair at the base of his neck and whispered in his ear “Let me feel you Dean. Please come for me baby”

He groaned, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts got harder and deeper. You hooked your legs around his waist, spreading them further to allow him a deeper angle and when you did the head of his cock hit that spot inside of you with every thrust.

“I love you Dean” you moaned and that seemed to spur him on even further. He snapped his hips into yours at a pace that had you seeing stars. When he finally came, slamming into you with one final hard thrust it pushed you over the edge again and you tightened around him about the same time your nails dug into his shoulders to the point you were fairly certain you drew blood but he didn't seem to care.

He caught your lips in a kiss that was a lot gentler but still passionate before saying “I love you too sweetheart” he pulled out gently then looked around and leaned over to grab his discarded shirt. He used it to clean you up the best he could then tossed it before collapsing next to you.

He pulled you over on his chest and you curled up with your head laying over on him. You looked up at him and gave a sleepy smile “That was fucking amazing” he grinned “Took the words right out of my mouth” you leaned up and placed a gentle kiss on his lips before saying “I expect you to sleep now. No more weird dreams” he grinned “Don't think I gotta worry about it. Reality is so much better”

When Dean first woke up he almost worried that he'd dreamt everything but when he opened his eyes you were curled up on his chest fast asleep. You kissed the top of your head and you nuzzled into his chest then opened one eye and looked up at him. Both eyes slowly opened and smile slipped onto your face “Oh thank God I didn't dream that” 

He laughed and said “Nope. You're stuck with me sweetheart” you grinned “I can handle being stuck with you” he pulled you over on top of him and you braced your hands on his chest, feeling his fingers trail down your bare back “I love you Dean” “I love you too” he said before pulling you down flush against him and you felt his body react to you. 

You pulled back to look up at him and he grinned “I've been dreaming about you for a while” you laughed lightly “Then we need to make up for lost time don't we?” and caught his lips in a searing kiss “Tell me about these other dreams to see what we can make come true before we go home”

@nix-rose

#dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction

[lokigonnakmsforbucky]

Dean Winchester NSFW Alphabet

We made sammy one, we gotta make dean one! This was also requested by an anonymous user! Enjoy!

Rating: MINORS DNI!! 18++

Warnings: Its NSFW thats a warning enough;)

Like my spn posts? Ask to be on the tag list!

GIF NOT MINE

Check out my masterlist

A= Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Dean is definitely a cuddler, He is always holding you and making sure you are okay. You come first in his mind.

B= Body part (Their favorite body part on themselves and their partners.)

Dean's favorite part of his own body is his smile. He knows he could get what he wants in seconds with one flash of it. On his partner he loves their thighs and mostly when they are around his face ;)

C=Cum (What does he do with it. I AM disgusting)

Dean loves when he sees his cum all over you. Your face, your stomach, but he loves it when it drips out of you.

D=Dirty talk (How much do they dirty talk?)

This Man's mouth is DIRTY, he could get you on your knees in no time.

E=Experience (how experienced are they?)

Dean is definitely experienced to say the least, so rest assured he knows what he is doing.

F=Favorite position (goes without saying)

Cowgirl- Dean is a SUCKER for this position. He loves when you take him how you want him, plus a face full of tits? Yes please.

Doggystyle- Dean loves looking at you taking him, pounding into you to show you who you belong to.

G=Goofy (how goofy or how serious they are in the moment?)

Dean can be goofy or serious. Depending how you both feel or the heat of the moment.

I=Intimacy (How are things during the moment, romantic aspect.)

Deans eyes never leave your body, his hands are on you at every moment.

J=Jack off

Dean gets off at least 4 times a week, his sex drive is high and when he isn’t around you he has to release that frustration. Maybe even calling you for some sexy phone sex ;)

K=Kinks

Dean loves to be dominant with you, but what a lot of people don’t know is that he loves to be dominated by you. He loves when you take control over him and take what you need.

He also has a knife kink… he doesn’t get why he does but just the thought of having it out against your skin or his skin… he loves it.

L=Location (where you guys would do the deed)

Dean would do it anywhere you would be game to do it at, but his favorite is in Baby the sweet 67’ Impala…. Mostly when you give him road head.

M=Motivation (what turns him on, or gets them going)

Dean loves seeing you in his flannels… plus eating pie, having whip cream all over your face? He is ready to pounce.

N=No (Something they wouldn’t do, or turns them off.)

ANYTHING that hurts your or puts you in harms way. You are his world, he won’t let that get hurt.

O=Oral (do they like giving, receiving, both?)

Dean LOVES giving you head, eating you out like a cherry pie. Your his fav flavor though.

Dean loves when you give him head, it relaxes him instantly.

P=Pace (Are they slow? Fast? Rough?)

Depends on Deans mood, he loves taking you rough and fast. But he loves being nice and slow.

Q=Quickie (Their opinion on it, how often would they have one)

Dean is always up for quickies, anytime you both need one he is up and ready.

R=Risk (Are they risky)

In deans line of work, risk is dangerous. But if your down…so is he.

S=Stamina (how long can you last? How many rounds?)

Sessions with a Dean are long, hot, and heavy. You can take 3 rounds but Dean… he can make you do as many rounds he wants.

T=Toys (Do you guys own toys? Do they use them?)

You guys explore with vibrators and sometimes restraints.

U=Unfair (How likely would they tease?)

You would be the one that would be a tease, Dean would definitely have his way with you later ;)

V=Volume (How loud are they)

Dean breathes heavy, low growls and grunts

X=X-ray (what’s going own down there)

Dean is beyond average…he is definitely bigger than most guys.

Y=Yearning (How high is their sex drive)

Deans sex drive is VERY high, you can’t deny that.

Z=ZZZ (how fast he would fall asleep)

Dean would wait till you were taking care of and asleep before even getting comfortable. You come first.

#follow #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #spn fandom #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #jensen ackles #deanwinchester #dean x you #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #dean angst #dean smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester angst #dean winchester fanfiction #jensen ackles x female!reader #supernatural headcanon #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #supernatural smut