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ambiguous-avery · 7 days ago

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Stealth Means STFU

Soldier Boy x fem!Raccoon!Reader | WC: 4786

Summary: You’re Vought’s dirty little secret. A Supe they couldn’t market. Too sneaky, too scrappy, too unpredictable to slap on a billboard. And he used to be Vought’s poster boy, embodying everything you weren’t. Something, something opposites attract, right?

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, PWP (Plot? What Plot?), reader is AFAB, hate-sex (or at least antagonistic fucking), vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V sex (make safe decisions, friends), Soldier Boy being himself, femme nicknames (sweetheart, good girl), forced proximity, enemies to lovers, no use of Y/N

A/N: I gotta be up front about this. I have never watched The Boys. Everything I know about the show and Soldier Boy is what I’ve read in fanfic and bothered @jollyhunter and @maddie0101 about. I just wanted to write some smut and practice dirty talk, and I accidentally fell in love with this reader character. Huge shoutout to @jollyhunter, @my-stories-vault, and @bettystonewell for beta reading this for me and making sure I didn’t mess up SB too much 💜💜💜

Your plan had been perfect right up until he showed up.

The USB was warm in your pocket, full of blackmail. Dirty money trails. Recorded conversations. And one very incriminating signature on an illegal Supe enhancement contract. Three dead guards were cooling behind you, and one was left unconscious and zip-tied underneath a lab table. No alarms. No witnesses. Clean.

Just the way Vought liked it when they pretended you didn’t exist.

You had hoisted yourself halfway into the vent when none other than America’s Asshole stomped into the room looking like a goddamn war crime in spandex. There were no less than two undignified thuds of bodies hitting the ground before the entire office was bathed in red lights and alarms. You scowled, dropping down from the vent into the chaos.

And there he was, grinning from ear to ear like he hadn’t just set off every alert in the building.

“I had it handled, you fossilized fuckstick!” you hissed, glaring at him through the strobing red lights. The alarms were deafening, echoing off the walls like a death knell for your perfectly clean job. Why the fuck had Butcher saddled you with him? Tactical pairing, your ass.

“Keep it clean. Get in, get out. Minimal noise,” Butcher had said. So, clearly, the best decision was to drop the most volatile asshole in the country right on top of your exit strategy.

“What happened to my twenty minutes?”

“Had to speed things up,” Soldier Boy replied with an insufferable smirk. “Got bored waiting around while you played spy games.” You were pretty sure your eye twitched. Actually twitched at the sheer audacity of him.

“Speed things up? You set off the fucking lockdown protocol! The goal of this entire mission was to be subtle!”

“Being subtle’s for pussies. Could’ve had this mission done an hour ago if I’d been running point.”

“Yeah, well, congrats on turning a perfectly clean, covert operation into a goddamn light show,” you snapped before cursing under your breath and yanking a dead guard’s keycard from his belt. The sound of thundering boots drew closer. “Now we’re both fucked.” He scowled.

“Speak for yourself, sweetheart.” He adjusted his shield like it weighed nothing. “I don’t get fucked. I do the fucking.”

“Jesus Christ, can you not go five seconds without talking about your dick?” The footsteps were getting closer, and you could hear the radio chatter now, security coordinating a sweep. “Extraction’s burned now. We’re boxed in.”

“Then we fight our way out.”

“There are more options than just fighting and fucking. You might be bulletproof, but not all of us are made of Kevlar and bad decisions, dumbass.”

The vents were a no-go with the lockdown active, and standing here trading barbs with bargain-bin-Captain-America wasn’t exactly helping the situation. You ran through your mental map of the building. The windows were reinforced, so breaking through them wasn’t a great option. And even if you used the patriotic pain in your ass as a human wrecking ball, you were up on the twelfth floor, and you weren’t about to count on him to catch you on the way down. With a roll of your eyes and a half growl, you grabbed the front of his uniform with one hand and yanked him around the corner and into the nearest door with you.

He was a mountain of a man, and if he really didn’t want to go somewhere, there wasn’t anything you could’ve done to move him. But he let you shove him through the doorway without protest. The door slammed shut behind you both, and you immediately realized that you had made a mistake. This wasn’t an office or another lab like you had expected. On the floor above or below your current one, it would’ve been. But on this one, it was a supply closet. The kind that wasn’t meant for two people to be crammed into.

“Real fuckin’ tactical,” Soldier Boy muttered, his chest brushing against your shoulders as he shifted in the small space. “Your big escape plan is to hide behind some mops?”

“My big escape plan was to be gone before anyone knew I was here,” you hissed, pressing your ear against the door and listening. “But someone had to come in acting like he’s got the biggest dick to swing around.”

“I do have the biggest dick.” You rolled your eyes so hard that it almost hurt.

“Your ego really that fragile?”

“Nothin’ fragile about me, sweetheart,” he replied, his breath hot against your neck as he shifted closer in the confined space. The closet was barely big enough for a janitor and his supplies, let alone you and six feet of American propaganda.

The heavy footfalls of security personnel thundered past the door. You held your breath, pressing yourself against the door to try and put as much distance between your bodies as possible. Granted, it wasn’t much. His shield dug uncomfortably into your hip.

“Can you move that thing?” you whispered, gesturing to the shield before you remembered that you were in the dark. And while you had no problems seeing in low-light or dark environments, not everyone had that luxury.

“Which thing?” he asked, and you could hear the smirk in the darkness.

“Your shield, you narcissistic jackass.”

In an uncharacteristically kind gesture, he adjusted it as you asked but somehow ended up even closer to you, his chest now flush against your back. The heat of him seeped through your tactical gear, and you tried to ignore how solid he felt behind you. You strained to listen for any footsteps that weren’t drowned out by the wailing alarm.

“Hear that?” Soldier Boy murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear it. “That’s the sound of your perfect little mission going to shit.”

“Because of you,” you whispered back harshly. “I was doing just fine before you came along.” You tried to shift away from him, but there was nowhere to go in the cramped space. The shelves dug into your side, and his body heat was becoming increasingly distracting.

“Sure you were, sweetheart.” His voice had dropped to a low rumble that you could feel vibrate through your back where he was pressed against you, and his tone was just condescending enough to raise your hackles. If you had to spend much longer in this closet with him, something was going to break. And you had the disconcerting feeling that it was going to be you. You tensed as another set of footsteps passed by the door, these ones slower and more methodical. A team leader, probably. You held your breath until they moved on.

“How long are we gonna play hide and seek in this closet?” he whispered against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Feel free to leave anytime,” you said, unable to keep your irritation out of your voice. His responding laugh was barely audible, and you felt it as a soft exhale against your neck rather than hearing it. It sent an involuntary shiver through you. Soldier Boy noticed.

“And miss seeing you squirm? Not a chance.” You frowned and dug your elbow into a spot between his ribs. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even budge. All it earned you was a sore elbow and an infuriating smirk.

“I’m not squirming.”

“Yeah you are.” His hand came to rest on your hip, and you froze. “You’re doing it right now.”

The touch was casual. Almost dismissive. But it sent electricity up your spine regardless. You told yourself that it was just irritation. That every nerve ending was keyed up on adrenaline, and that’s why your breath caught. It definitely wasn’t the warm press of his palm through your tactical gear. Or how his fingers seemed to fit perfectly into the curve of your waist.

“Get your hand off me,” you growled, but there wasn’t as much bite in your voice that you had intended.

“Make me.” The challenge hung in the air between you, his breath hot against your ear. You swallowed hard and turned to face him in the dark, a mistake that only brought you chest to chest with him. His face was inches from yours. Close enough that you could make out the sharp line of his jaw even in the darkness. Close enough to see the way his eyes had adjusted to find yours.

“Careful what you wish for,” you grumbled, your hand instinctively moving to the knife at your thigh. Soldier Boy’s free hand caught your wrist before the blade cleared its sheath.

“Tsk, tsk. And here I thought we were just starting to get along.” His grip was firm but not painful, his thumb brushing over your pulse point in a way that made your heart skip. You hated that he could probably feel it racing.

“I’m not here to get along.”

“No shit. You’re here to dig through trash and steal secrets.”

“And you’re here to fuck up my job and wave your dick around like it’s a goddamn flag.”

“Funny. Thought you liked the view,” he retorted. You yanked your wrist, but his grip was firm.

“I like my jobs clean. You’re a walking disaster.”

“Then stop looking at me like you want to crawl into the wreckage.”

You lifted your chin to lock glares with him. Something shifted in the air between you. The tension morphed from hostility to something equally as dangerous but far more primal. You were acutely aware of every point of contact between the two of you. His hand on your waist. His chest against yours. His thigh pressed between your legs. You had eyes and a morbid curiosity about whether a century’s worth of conquests had translated into anything useful between the sheets. Sure, he was a certified clusterfuck, but he looked like sin and talked like he’d invented it.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” you said, voice low and challenging. Soldier Boy’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, and his smile flashed white in the dark.

“‘Cause I’ll ruin you for any other motherfucker out there. And you’ll say thank you after.”

“Try me,” you breathed, the words slipping out against your better judgement.

The air between you crackled with electricity, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, he released your wrist only to slide his hand up your arm and over your shoulder before finally coming to rest at the nape of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair at the base of your neck, his grip firm but not painful.

“Last chance to back out,” he warned, surprising you with just how soft his voice had gone.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve scowled and pushed him away without a second thought and laughed at the chance to turn him down. You should’ve reminded him that you were professionals on a mission, not a pair of teenagers playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. But instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your hands resting flat against his chest,

“I don’t back down,” you murmured haughtily.

That was all the invitation he needed. His mouth crashed against yours, hard and demanding. All teeth and tongue and barely restrained hunger. You kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring all your frustration and anger into the press of your lips against his. It wasn’t gentle or romantic. It was a battle. It was about dominance. It was about proving a point.

You bit his lower lip hard enough that, if he were any regular person, you would’ve drawn blood. He growled against your mouth, pressing you harder against the door. His hands were everywhere – tangling in your hair, gripping your waist, and sliding beneath your tactical vest to find skin.

You fought back just as fiercely, yanking at his uniform and raking your nails over his shoulders. While you were by no means strong enough to even hope to leave marks on him, you were still going to try your damndest. He groaned against you, and the sound sent heat pooling low in your belly.

“Thought you had places to be,” you panted against his mouth as his hands found the zipper of your tactical vest.

“Changed my mind.” His voice was all gravel as he dragged the zipper down. “This seems more interesting.” You bit back a moan as his mouth moved to your now-exposed neck, his beard scraping roughly against your pulse point. The rational voice in your head made one last desperate attempt to remind you that this was insane, but it was silenced when his thigh pressed harder between your legs, creating a friction that made your head fall back against the door.

“I still hate you,” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling hard enough that he had to feel it. He chuckled darkly against your skin.

“Good. Hate me harder.”

His lips were hot against yours again, rough and domineering in a way that sent electricity sparking down your spine. Your hands found the buckle of his belt and fumbled with it in the darkness while he worked at the fastenings of your pants. You gasped as he found bare skin, calloused fingers tracing patterns that made you arch against him. You could feel him, hard and heavy beneath his own uniform, the promise of what he could do to you making your pulse race faster beneath your skin.

“This is a terrible idea,” you breathed against his mouth, even as you pushed your hips into his touch. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, teasing along the edge before finally dipping lower to find you already wet for him.

“Fuck,” he growled, his forehead pressed against yours as he slipped one thick finger into you. “For someone who hates me, your body seems pretty fuckin’ happy to see me.”

“You’re too fucking full of yourself.”

“I think you’d rather be full of me.” He added a second finger and curled them in just the right way that had your eyes fluttering shut. “Look at you. Two fingers in this needy pussy and you’re a fuckin’ kitten.”

“You’re prettier when you shut the fuck up,” you hissed, though the words lost their bite as they slipped into a moan as his thumb circled your clit.

His knowing smile was wolfish in the dark as he curled his fingers in a way that would’ve had you whimpering if you weren’t trying to stay quiet. His fingers worked inside you with practiced precision, like he’d been studying your body for years instead of minutes. Each stroke, each curl of his fingers had you biting your lip to keep quiet. The closet was impossibly hot, the air thick with tension and desire. His breath was warm against your neck, and you could feel his hardness pressing against your thigh through his uniform.

“Fuck, you’re tight. Wonder if you can take all of me.”

“Fuck you,” you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper as his thumb continued drawing torturous circles around your clit.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart. But not until you come around my fingers first.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, and his fingers pulsed against that sensitive spot inside you. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and you gripped his shoulders harder, digging into the fabric of his uniform as you fought to keep your knees from buckling beneath you. “That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, his voice a low rumble as he steadied you with his free hand. “Stop fighting and just fuckin’ take it.”

You wanted to snap back at him. To tell him exactly where he could shove his condescending tone, but all that came out was a breathy whimper as he shoved his fingers deeper. The rough fabric of his fingerless gloves scraped against your sensitive skin in a way that made your back arch involuntarily against the door. He hadn’t bothered to pull those off, and you were probably making a mess of them. Shit, why was that hot?

You dug your nails into his shoulder and barely kept yourself from crying out as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear. The last thing you needed was to alert security of your hiding spot because you couldn’t keep quiet while America’s biggest asshole finger-fucked you in a supply closet. The tension coiling in your belly was becoming unbearable, every nerve ending on fire as he worked you closer to the edge.

“Fuckin’ knew it,” he growled, his free hand sliding from your waist to your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. “Acting all high and mighty, but you want this just as bad as I do.”

“Shut up,” you hissed back. “Don’t ruin this by talking.” He chuckled, low and dark.

“Make me.”

You grabbed his face with both hands and crashed your lips against his. His fingers curled inside you in response, and you felt your knees give out beneath you. But he kept you upright without missing a beat. You moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss as the pressure built within you. The world narrowed down to just this – his fingers inside you, his mouth against yours, and the feeling of the solid door at your back.

When you came, it was with a shudder that ran through your entire body. Your walls clenched around his fingers, and you sank your teeth into his lower lip again to muffle your cry. He groaned against you, fingers still working you through your orgasm until you were left trembling.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good girl.”

“Don’t call me that,” you panted, even as a shiver ran through you at the words. His fingers slipped out of you, and you immediately missed the fullness of them.

“Why not? Sure sounded like one with my fingers stuffed in your cunt.” His voice was a low rumble as he brought his fingers to his mouth. You watched, transfixed, as he licked them clean with a groan that stoked the fire in you even higher. The alarm still blared outside the door, a distant reminder that you were still in danger. Still in the middle of a mission gone wrong. But all you could focus on was the way Soldier Boy was looking at you in the dim light. Like he wanted to devour you whole. Though, the satisfied smirk on his face still made you want to slap him.

“Are you done?” you asked, trying to sound bored even as anticipation raced through your veins. He gave you a predatory look.

“Not even close, sweetheart.”

Before you could muster up a response, he was turning you around, pressing your chest against the door. His hands were at your hips, yanking your pants down just enough to expose you to him. You heard the rustle of fabric behind you before you felt the solid heat of him against you, the head of his cock pressed to your entrance. He was thick and demanding, and you had to bite back a whimper at the feel of him.

“Still think you can handle me?” he asked, voice rough with restraint. You could feel the tension in his body behind you, the way he held himself back. You spared the briefest thought that he was being surprisingly considerate. Soldier Boy would’ve been the last person you expected to make sure he had active consent.

“Less talking, more–” Your words cut short in a sharp gasp as he pushed forward, sinking into you inch by inch in one smooth motion. He was bigger than you had expected, – you were never going to tell him that – and your jaw went slack at the stretch. Your fingers scrabbled against the smooth surface of the door as you adjusted to him, every nerve ending singing with the overwhelming sensation of being completely filled.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his grip on your hips tightening. “So fuckin’ tight.”

You bit your lip as he pulled back and thrust forward again, setting a rhythm that had your knees threatening to give out on you again. Each stroke filled you completely, the drag of him against your walls sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. A strangled sound escaped your throat before you could stop it, and one of his hands left your hip to cover your mouth, the two fingers that had been inside you pressing between your lips.

“Keep quiet,” he growled. “Unless you want them to find us like this? Want them to see you split open on my cock?” You could taste yourself on him, salty and musky, and it sent heat through you as you swirled your tongue around his fingers. He groaned at the sensation, his hips snapping forward harder. The rhythm he set was punishing, each thrust driving you against the door with enough force that you were sure anyone on the other side of it could hear it rattling.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “Knew you’d feel this good. Knew you’d clench around me like a desperate little slut.” You glared at the door in front of you and bit down on his fingers, silently promising retribution even as your body betrayed you by arching into his thrusts. His responding chuckle was dark as he pulled his fingers from your mouth and slid his hand down to grab your throat. Not enough to restrict your breathing, but firm enough to make his control clear. You hated how much you liked the possessive weight of his palm against your pulse.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice somewhere near your ear. “Keep biting me, and I might have to bite back.”

Before you could form a retort, his teeth found the junction of your neck and shoulder, scraping hard enough to drag a gasp from you. The hand at your throat tightened slightly, a wordless warning, as he sucked a mark into your skin that would definitely be sore long after this encounter was over. And with the location of it, you’d likely have to wear a high collar for days. The bastard probably knew it. You tried to squirm away from the mark he was leaving, but his grip was bruising. His relentless pace never faltered as he branded you.

“Asshole,” you managed to gasp out as he finally released your throat, his hand sliding down to cup your breast through your tactical gear. “You did that on purpose.”

“No shit,” he growled, squeezing your breast and pinching your nipple through the fabric. “Something to look at in the mirror and remember how I fucked you senseless.”

A sharp thrust made you gasp, your body trembling as you felt yourself building towards another climax. You wanted to hate how good it felt, but you still met each one of his thrusts with eager movements of your own. You shifted, breaking his rhythm just long enough to turn around to face him. His eyes met yours.

“Still giving me that look,” he chuckled darkly, finding his pace again. He gripped your thighs and lifted you against the door, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. “Like you’re not soaking my cock right now. Like you’re not about to come all over it.”

The position gave you better leverage, and you used it to your advantage, rolling your hips in a way that made his jaw clench. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his rhythm faltering for just a moment. You smirked at the crack in his composure.

“What’s wrong?” you breathed against his ear, deliberately clenching around him. “Thought you were supposed to be fucking me.”

His response was to slam you harder against the door, the sound echoing in the small space despite the wailing alarms. Soldier Boy clearly didn’t give a fuck about the guards outside, and at that exact moment, neither did you. One of his hands moved to brace himself, and he adjusted his other arm to support your weight better.

“Keep talking,” he rumbled. “See where it gets you.”

“I can’t wait to find out,” you replied with a challenging smirk, tightening your legs around his waist. His response was a particularly hard thrust that had your head falling against the door with a thud.

His rhythm grew more erratic, more desperate as he chased his own release. You could feel yourself tightening around him, the familiar tension building low in your belly. The closet was filled with the sounds of harsh breathing and the slick slide of skin against skin, barely masked by the noise outside.

“Touch yourself,” he commanded, voice rough with desire. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it in just the way you liked. The dual sensation of his cock filling you and your fingers working your sensitive bud had you spiraling towards release faster than you had expected. The moment hit you like a truck, your orgasm crashing over you in waves that left you gasping against his shoulder. Your walls clenched around him rhythmically as pleasure coursed through every nerve ending, and you had to bite down on the fabric of his uniform to keep from crying out.

“That’s it,” he growled, his pace growing erratic as your body milked him. “Fuck, you feel good when you come.”

His own release followed moments later, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he buried himself deep inside you. You felt the warmth of him spilling in you, his grip on your thighs almost painful as he rode out his climax. For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing.

Then, reality came crashing back as the alarms continued to blare outside of the room. You pushed against Soldier Boy’s chest, and he slowly let you down, your legs wobbly beneath you.

“That was…” you started but then stopped, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

“Fuckin’ incredible,” he finished for you, that insufferable smirk back on his face as he tucked himself back into his pants. You immediately wanted to punch him.

“I was going to say ‘stupid,’” you muttered, pulling your pants back up and trying to ignore the way your legs still trembled. The tactical vest came next, zipped up to hide the mark he’d left on your neck, and you could feel his eyes on you as you straightened your gear.

“Same thing.” He picked up his shield, the casual way he slung it over his arm making it clear that this was just another Tuesday for him. “You always this fun on missions?”

“Only when some geriatric asshole ruins my perfectly good plan.” You checked for the knife at your hip, grateful to have something to do with your hands that didn’t involve strangling him. The USB was still warm in your pocket, a reminder of the job that still needed to be finished.

The alarms had stopped, but you could still hear security teams moving through the building. You pressed your ear to the door again, listening for footsteps. The hallway sounded clear, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way. You held up a hand, signaling for Soldier Boy to stay quiet as you reached for the doorknob.

“We need to move,” you whispered, adjusting your gear. “Extraction point’s blown. There should be a service elevator at the end of the east corridor.”

“Got a better idea,” he said, reaching around you to open the door himself. “We go out the way I came in.”

“Which is?”

“The fuckin’ front door.”

And before you could protest, he was already stepping back out into the hallway, shield at the ready. You cursed under your breath and followed, knife drawn. He moved ahead with the swagger that you hated – all cockiness and broad shoulders. Like he hadn’t just fucked you in a janitor’s closet.

You readjusted your gear and forced your steps to be steadier than you felt. Tried not to think of the way his fingers had left bruises on your thighs. Tried not to think about the filthy little growl he’d made when he came. Tried not to think of the way your body clenched like it missed him already.

He glanced back at you once like he could feel you thinking too loud. Then, he smirked like he already knew every one of your thoughts.

You tightened your grip on your knife.

And you kept walking.

---

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

I don't have an SB taglist, so I'm just tagging some of my moots I think would enjoy this. Who knows, might write him some more in the future. Lemme know if you don't wanna be tagged. No hard feelings :)

Soldier Boy Tags: @jollyhunter @bettystonewell @my-stories-vault @zepskies @sbwifey @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @middleearthislife @maddie0101

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

#the boys x you #the boys smut #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy smut #soldier boy fic #jensen fucking ackles #soldier boy the boys #soldier boy x female reader #raccoon!reader #soldier boy #the boys fanfic #no use of y/n #the boys fanfiction #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fluff #the boys fic #jensen ackles #jensen ackles characters

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ambiguous-avery · 7 days ago

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This is what happens when I have a hyperfixation and adult money. Nobody send help. I’m right where I want to be 😍

This thing is so detailed, I have to put the whole ass engine block together. I’m gonna know Baby just as well as Dean by the time I’ve got her put together.

#avery yaps #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #model building #Baby #chevy impala #jensen ackles #jared padalecki

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ambiguous-avery · 9 days ago

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i just want to say, SAM IS A MONSTERFUCKER and you can't convince me otherwise.

PREACH!! I 1000% agree!

I love the trust here. Sam being willing to be vulnerable with someone? *Chef’s kiss* a million times over. I will never NOT love that. I know they abandoned the whole demon blood thing in later seasons, but I wonder if his blood tastes different? Certainly an interesting idea you could totally play with!

Red Means I Love You - Sam Winchester

The beach was strangely eery and creepy at night. Or is it romantic? A/N - this is for the summer snapshot challenge by @ambiguous-avery . i just want to say, SAM IS A MONSTERFUCKER and you can't convince me otherwise. anyways, vampire girlfriend and the beach. enjoy! Snapshot Word Count - 731

The beach was strangely eery and creepy at night.

You grinned up at Sam, sharp teeth glinting under the moonlight as you dragged him further down the beach. You don’t get to do this often, the sun making you too weak, too sleepy to get to enjoy day activities like the beach with your human boyfriend.

“Put those away, what if someone sees?” Sam hissed, and you grinned, spinning to look around the beach.

“Who?” Sam looked around at the empty beach and sighed.

“Fine. But please be careful. I don’t want anyone to catch us.”

You smirk, sharp teeth disappearing, a long, slender finger trailing down your boyfriend’s chest. “Catch us doing what?”

His breath catches, and he pulls you into a kiss, his teeth clashing against yours. The love you share, it’s passionate, it’s strange, it’s forbidden, but most of all, it’s real. It’s seen in the way Sam hides you from Dean, meets up with you in secret. He keeps you safe, even from his own hunter brother who would kill you in a heart beat.

All because you’re a vampire. A monster.

The only human blood you drink is Sam’s. Does that make you a monster?

It had happened a long time ago now, right when you first started dating. You’d kissed too close to his pulse, your teeth coming out. Sam had gasped, arching closer to the teeth. You’d paused, pulling back.

“Does the idea of me drinking your blood turn you on?” You’d asked. He’d nodded furiously, blushing and moaning and whimpering as you’d scraped your teeth over his neck where he was most vulnerable, and that had been that.

You pulled back from the kiss, smiling widely. “Let’s go in the water!”

Sam’s smile mirrored your own as you pulled him down the beach towards the water. “How long has it been since you’ve been in the ocean?”

You pondered for a moment. “I don’t know. Longer than a century. A few years before I was turned, at least. I never really liked it. The fashion at the time was to wear full skirts so heavy that you had to hold onto a rope so you wouldn’t drown.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “I think I read about that. You did that?”

“Yeah. It was the law at the time. No such thing as bikinis.” You paused, pulling your shirt over your head and your skirt down your legs, leaving you in just your undergarments. “Come on, strip. I don’t want your clothes to get wet, you’ll get sick.”

Sam pulled off his jacket, his flannel, his undershirt, and his pants until he was in only his boxers. You laughed as he stripped each layer, the absurdity of the amount of layers funny to you.

Sam grinned, pulling you into the water with him. You shrieked, the water freezing against your already dead cold skin. You flinched into him, and he pulled you deeper into the water with him, your legs wrapped around him until you couldn’t touch the floor anymore.

You stayed like that for a while, legs just wrapped around him as the waves lapped softly against you, both of you shivering and trying to warm each other up. You pressed soft kisses to Sam’s neck, leaving small red lipmarks there, your lipstick transferring. He leaned into the kisses, kissing the side of your head and baring his neck for your access.

That was your favourite thing about Sam. You were a vampire. Other vampires he’d met had gone for the kill right at his neck. But Sam trusted you so much that he would bare his neck to you freely, let you kiss there softly. You never bit there, never breaking that trust, never becoming other to him.

Eventually, Sam walked you both back into the shore. Your feet touched back down in the sand, and you put back on your discarded clothes, Sam’s jacket ending up around your shoulders.

“I love you.” You whispered. “Thank you for taking me to the beach.”

He kissed your forehead, wrapping an arm around you. “Of course. I love you too.”

You pressed another red kiss to the hand around your shoulder. He pulled the kiss up to his lips softly, before putting it back around your shoulder. You grinned up at Sam, sharp teeth glinting under the moonlight.

The beach was strangely romantic at night.

TAGSLISTS ALL WORKS @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @ambiguous-avery SUPERNATURAL @bettystonewell

Find the rest of the fics in this snapshot here!

#avery’s recs #summersnapshotchallenge2025 #supernatural #fanfic #spn #sam winchester #writing #fanfiction #supernatural spn #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #writer appreciation

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ambiguous-avery · 9 days ago

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Oh my god I fell in love with this from start to finish!

I wouldn’t mind being turned into a dog if I meant I got to be their good girl lol I feel like they totally could’ve used a dog on some hunts. But I also know the writers of Spn probably would’ve killed off the dog in some horrific way just for the sake of angst. Maybe the brothers would’ve done all John Wick on people over it, though. Now you’ve got me thinking lol

When Dean named her Zep, my brain immediately went to @zepskies, not the band 🤣🤣

I would absolutely LOVE to see more of this!! 💜💜💜

The Day You Got Spontaneously Adopted

Main Masterlist ❀ Dean Winchester Masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆ PAIRING Sam + Dean Winchester x fem!Reader / dog!Reader [non romantic]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY You’re not a dog. Not really. You’re just a poor girl who’s been cursed into the body of one… and then gets kidnapped by two brothers.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 999

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES I did not think I'd also hand in a crack piece as an entry for @ambiguous-avery's Summer Snapshot Challenge, but today I missed my train stop and got an unplanned extra hour to write something, so here we are. Enjoy! 😂

You stare back at your face on the missing poster.

Edges torn. Black ink scribbles across your pair of tits. Emphasis on pair of.

Now you're pretty positive that you've got enough to feed a whole damn litter of puppies. Not that you counted them - you don't really want to know what's going on down there under all of that shaggy fur.

This is certainly not how you imagined your beach vacation would go.

Who would, really? One moment you were in your flip-flops, clad swimsuit stuck to your skin, wishing for this summer day to never end - the next you're stuck here; paws in the sand and snout in the trash, because apparently dogs can't take a bus home or explain to the same policemen who've been patrolling the beaches for the past two weeks that you are the missing girl they're looking for.

Your nose suddenly twitches. The scent of dusty parchment and salad sauce ping-pong up your nostrils.

"What do you think?" The books guy asks a few feet next to you, eyeing your missing poster.

"Close to a 10/10, if I could see her rack-" he gets smacked against the shoulder. Earns himself a pointed look. He smells like greasy regret and worn-in musky leather.

"Dude."

"What? I gotta know what we're looking for," Burger chap chuckles, wiggles his eyebrows once with a smirk, then continues, "So, runaway or more of our department?"

"Hm," the taller one ponders, "Could be both, really."

The fast-food-smelling one suddenly glances down. Smirks boyishly and elbows his partner.

"Hey there, buddy. What do you think, hm?" he quips. Rhetorical, of course. Not like he’d expect you to answer or you’d expect him to magically hear your pleas for help.

So, instead, you tilt your head. Then huff.

"That so?" He mimics your head tilt, amused.

The other suddenly crouches down next to you and ruffles the sand out of your fur. Scratches you behind the ear and watches how your eyes flutter when he reaches a spot that you've been trying to reach for days.

"You like that?" he chuckles, soft and warm, "Huh, you look just like Bones."

"There you are!" All three of you lean back to spot two guys in grey jumpsuits.

Oh no. The goons of Cruella De Vil.

For the past two weeks you’ve been living off scraps and bountiful tourists, ducking under angry seagulls and getting chased off the shores by dog catchers, searching every corner for him.

But that son of a witch was nowhere to be found.

Offered you an ice cream you should’ve never tasted from. Shaggy Dog’d you with the flick of a finger, then just poofed into thin air.

You're about to make a break for it – when suddenly a calm hand cups your head.

The two goons stop in their tracks, bark over at them. "That your dog?"

"Yeah," books guy calls back and his partner adds all chipper, "Why? You got a problem with Zep?"

"Are you serious? Zep?"

"What?"

"You can't name a dog after a band, Dean. And who even says she shares your crappy music taste?"

"Oh excuse me, Dr. Dolittle." He rolls his eyes and goes to cover your ears. "She loves Zep. Don’t offend 'er."

What in the world is going on?

You wiggle yourself free, frustration finally bubbling over.

I'm not 'Zep', nor 'Jimmy Page' - I'm not a dog for Pete's sake! You bark at them like you're cussing them out. Then continue to tug one of them by the leather jacket, off the curb, and onto the beach where you begin to paw the sand, planning to write your name in it.

Hah! Watch this!

"Okay, okay I get it," he teases and pats your head – completely disregarding your (failed) attempt at forming the first letter of your real name – "Beaches it is then."

...What? They once again continue their discussion above your head.

"She's not ours, you know that right?" he shakes his head with a stifled grin.

"Oh c’mon Sammy, you’ve always wanted a furry little friend!" he laughs and makes his way over to the parking lot, while you look between the two bantering. Dumbstruck. Looking as utterly lost as you feel right now.

Um, do I get a saying in this?

Apparently not.

Because moments later you find yourself packed into a black muscle car, one of them on each side of you.

How the hell did I end up here? You lament internally.

The one you figured is called Sam, has a leather notebook on his lap, a pen at his lips. He glances up and over at you with a hint of concern flickering behind his hazel eyes.

"You doing okay, Beaches?" You tilt your head in surprise. Did he…? - but you don't get to finish your thought as you practically get flipped to the side by the other guy – Dean.

"'Course she is!" he grins down at you and tugs your head against his thigh. Sam scoffs but can't help a chuckle at the image of a large Golden Retriever jammed in between them.

Mom. Dad. I don’t know whether I will ever make it home again... It looks like I'm being kidnapped. (At least they're kinda cute.)

You finally flop down sideways. Resigned sigh following.

"See? She likes it." Dean nods above you at Sam. A calloused hand curls around your jaw and scratches you there.

Flap flap flap. Great. Now my tail’s doing the thing again.

"Ooh? You like bein’ our good girl? Hm?" You sigh.

He laughs and turns back to the steering wheel. The engine roars to life and loud rock music jumps on, your tail now slapping the leather in time with the drums.

"You know dad is gonna kill you," Sam mumbles and you sense a sudden shift in the scent of Dean.

His green eyes flicker your way.

Pauses. Then lets out a chuckling noise.

"I've taken a hit for less."

*Dean’s pop-culture guide: Jimmy Page (guitarist) formed Led Zeppelin.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTES Oh to be Dean and Sam’s good girl and get belly scratches, smooches and all their dirty secrets. ...Now I kinda wanna write more snippets for this 😂

Dean Tag List:

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @v1v1-3 @maddie0101 @livya99 @supernotnatural2005 @youdontknowe @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @123passwort @lamentationsofalonelypotato @my-stories-vault @lillied31 @amethyst-bunny @alixxhere @royaler1999

@champagnepoets @salemslostwitch @chevroletdean @multiversefanfics @toxicfataldestiny @sunnys-struggles @kimxwinchester @carliebear23 @alexxavicry @ladykitana90 @woaheasytig3r @velvetparkerx @cupidluvzz @pressedwater @lori19

❀ꗥ Want to join my TAG LIST? Let me know or you may add yourself to this form! 🧡

#avery’s recs #summersnapshotchallenge2025 #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x you #sam winchester x fem!reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #writer appreciation

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ambiguous-avery · 9 days ago

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Oooh now I’m intrigued by the what man - god, thing I’m not really sure - was! Gotta love some beach angst. I AM pretty bummed that we never got a beach hunt. Now I wanna see more fics of beach hunts!

Man-God-Thing - Winchester!Reader

Dean had broken his promise. That’s what you were mad about. Not that he’d found a hunt. That he’d broken the promise he had made with you. A/N - this is for the summer snapshot challenge by @ambiguous-avery . fun little beach angst! enjoy! Snapshot Word Count - 890

You sprinted down the beach, unseen by the other people as you screamed for help. You don’t know how he was doing it, shielding your terror from the masses on the beach. You screamed again, hoping, praying for someone to notice you.

The man - god, thing, you weren’t really sure - was walking behind you, following you, at a leisurely pace. It was as if he didn’t have to worry about catching you. He knew he would.

He was tan, a long white beard contrasting against his neck, a Hawaiian beach shirt shrugged over his shoulders and khaki board shorts down to his knees, flip flops on his feet. The man - god, thing, you weren’t really sure - had held you captive before you’d managed to escape.

When he’d first caught you, you’d been sitting on the beach late at night. You’d just had a major fight with your brother, and had come out to the beach to cool off. See, you were all on a vacation - you, Dean, and Sam - but Dean couldn’t seem to relax. He saw monsters everywhere.

You saw them too, admittedly, it was your job to hunt them, but before you had begun your week long holiday, the three of you had promised each other not to pick up a case, and to relax for once, just for one week. Let the other hunters deal with it.

Dean couldn’t relax. He’d read in the newspaper about someone going missing off of the very beach that you were staying at and he’d gone straight into hunter mode. He’d broken his promise.

That’s what you were mad about. Not that he’d found a hunt. That he’d broken the promise he had made with you.

The man - god, thing, you weren’t really sure - had come out of the water, gasping like he’d been drowning and this was his first breath of air in a long time. You’d moved to help the man immediately, pulling him to his feet, hitting his back to get the water out of his lungs.

“Are you alright?” You’d asked as he stopped spluttering. He’d nodded, grinning in a way that had made your stomach turn sour.

“Yes.” Was the only thing he’d said, before he’d pulled you back into the water with him, kicking and screaming.

Now, you sprinted into the beach shack that you, Sam and Dean had been staying in. Even if they weren’t there - they weren’t - all of your weapons were. You picked up a gun, an angel knife, and readied yourself.

The man - god, thing, you weren’t really sure - opened the door. It didn’t bang open dramatically like most monsters liked to reveal themselves. The door opened softly, like a gentle sea breeze had pushed it open. He was grinning that awful, gut churning grin as he stood there, tanned skin and beach attire filling the doorframe.

Where were your brothers? That was your only thought as you shot the man - god, thing, you really weren’t sure. The bullet bounced from his chest, and he grinned down at it. You let out a shriek, discarding the gun and moving towards him with the angel blade.

Red bloomed around silver, staining his Hawaiian shirt. He looked down, his grin fading. You pulled back out the angel blade and shoved it back in, and he grunted. Over and over again, you stabbed your captor, this man-god-thing that had tortured you under the sea for the last week. The room seemed to brighten as you pushed him off your angel blade and to the ground.

You weren’t really sure how long you stood over his body, panting, angel blade clutched loosely in your hand as you stared down at him blankly.

It was over.

You wanted to cry, as you stood there, the man-god-thing’s body on the floor below you, but no tears flowed. There was this lump in your throat, tightness that felt like it would never go away, but no tears flowed. You weren’t sure how long you’d been underneath the sea, but with his torture it had felt like an eternity.

The sound of footsteps alerted you. You looked up as Sam and Dean walked back through the front door of the shack, laughing. Their movement stopped when they spotted you, blood splattered on your face, angel blade in hand, man-god-thing body at your feet, leaking dark liquid onto the floor.

The blade clattered to the floor as your face wobbled. Sam was at your side in a second, your hands shaking as you began to sob.

“You were right.” You’d sobbed to Dean, repeating the phrase over and over again. “You were right.”

You’d been gone for the night. 12 hours at most. Upon hearing this, your sobs had loudened, before silencing entirely as you picked up the angel blade from the floor and began stabbing the body again violently.

The smell of salt and sand still makes you gag sometimes. You hadn’t been able to shower or take a bath for a month. Fish still makes you shiver. You’ll probably never go back to the beach.

But you’ll never forget the feeling of your brothers’ arms around you as you sobbed, the cheers that Dean let out as you stabbed the corpse of your captor, the taste of the icecream that Dean had forced Sam to go and get.

TAGSLISTS ALL WORKS @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @ambiguous-avery SUPERNATURAL @bettystonewell

Find the rest of the fics in this snapshot here!

#avery’s recs #lovely mutuals #summersnapshotchallenge2025 #supernatural #fanfic #sam winchester #spn #writing #fanfiction #supernatural spn #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #writer appreciation

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ambiguous-avery · 9 days ago

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Oh man, apologies for missing this!

I'm always a slut for a good Winchester sandwich! And this? Definitely need a beach threesome now lol

Dreams - Sam and Dean Winchester

The beach seems to make you a vocal sleeper. There isn't any reason to be embarrassed, though. A/N - this is for the summer snapshot challenge by @ambiguous-avery . oops. kind of smut, not really. enjoy! Snapshot Word Count - 379

You snorted and sat upright, looking around warily.

Sam was sitting on the towel next to yours, most of the way through a book that was far too thick, Dean on the other side of you, reapplying sunscreen. You let out a heavy breath, blinking away the sleep in your eyes and scrubbing the drying drool at the corner of your mouth, an indicator that the boys had let you sleep for far too long.

“What time is it?” You mumbled sleepily.

“Just after 4. You fell asleep sometime around midday.” Sam said, his face still buried in his book. You rubbed your eyes wearily, holding out your hand in Dean’s direction for the sunscreen. You could feel the burn beginning to set in on your legs, which had been sticking out from underneath the umbrella’s shade.

After applying sunscreen to yourself, you stood, stretching. You stared down at the boys, San still reading, and Dean leaning back, looking up at you. “What?”

“Nothing. Just wondering what you were dreaming about?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t remember. Why?”

“You were making some pretty happy noises laying there.” Dean smirked. You frowned, thinking about what your dream could have-

Hands, tracing your body. Two sets, burning paths along your hot skin. A voice in your ear, another by your thighs-

Your eyes widened as the dream came back to you. “Oh. Uhm, I think I’m going to go swimming now.”

Dean grinned as you turned and sprinted off. “You can look up from your book, blush boy. She’s gone.”

Sam pulled away from his book, his cheeks red. “Did you have to bring up what she was dreaming about?” He asked, adjusting the towel on his lap. Dean’s grin widened.

“She said our names, Sammy.”

“I heard.” Sam muttered.

“I can tell.” Dean teased.

“Oh, come on, you have a towel on your lap as well.”

“How do you feel about a beach threesome, Sammy? Make that dream come true?”

Sam looked around at the empty beach. It was secluded, with you having found an alcove of beach for yourself and the brothers to share. He sighed. “If someone finds us-”

“They won’t.” Dean assured him. “Now all we have to do is wait for them to come back.” TAGSLISTS ALL WORKS @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @ambiguous-avery SUPERNATURAL @bettystonewell Find the rest of the fics in this snapshot here!

#avery’s recs #summersnapshotchallenge2025 #lovely mutuals #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #supernatural x reader #x reader #sam winchester x reader #writer appreciation

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ambiguous-avery · 9 days ago

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Thanks @mostlymarvelgirl and @castielsonlyangel for the tags!

I started my blog because I fell into the Supernatural rabbit hole and Ao3 didn’t have enough fics that I wanted to read. And when I discovered X reader fics, tumblr had the most abundance of them. I also had an idea for a story of my own sparked from @aylacavebear. I wanted to share it but also wanted to join the community. It didn’t disappoint! I’ve made some amazing friends already, and I’m always looking for more 💜💜💜

No pressure tags: @jollyhunter @bettystonewell @bejeweledinterludes @sbwifey @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @middleearthislife @losers-clvb @myceliumsunshine @my-stories-vault @maddie0101 @supernotnatural2005 @voodoochildthings @aylacavebear @zepskies @godmadeaterribleerror

❤︎ WHAT CAUSED YOU TO START A TUMBLR BLOG?

i saw so many cool tmnt fanarts from tumblr on pinterest and then decided to go straight to the source after some time!

tags .ᐟ @glowydiaries @calamaroo @mooshie-blue @hers-underwraps @your-mommy-ems @daystarpoet @sweetheartcrush @gentlehue @comehomeetomyheart @lovestruckhaze @inkstainsonmysheets @cherryribbcns @lovethornes @cowboylikemily @jjsblueberry @binibby @maybxlle @auntiejohn @haeerizm @lilywalkers

#avery yaps #lovely mutuals #tag game

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ambiguous-avery · 10 days ago

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I’m small enough I could fit right in between them, no problem.

#avery yaps #lovely mutuals

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ambiguous-avery · 22 days ago

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All greased up and broad shouldered and looking like a goddamn meal? Yes please. A million times please.

Does he need a dog? Or a maid? Or a goddamn footstool? I’m not above demeaning myself for this man.

#avery yaps #Avery’s gone feral #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #sam winchester #jared padalecki #sammy

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ambiguous-avery · 22 days ago

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Comfort movies, specifically? Because like you, I also have comfort shows. Most of the time, I’ve got some sort of police interrogation playing as background noise for myself or a streamer playing League of Legends.

But movies specifically are a little tough. I definitely have some but not quite as many as shows.

In no particular order:

How to Train Your Dragon (specifically the first one. Fell in love with it and have never stopped. Yes, I loved the live action remake. No, I will not hear otherwise about it)

君のは or Your Name in English (little egg Avery hadn’t hatched yet so cue me thinking that it was totally normal and cis to have thoughts of wanting to trade bodies with a cute Tokyo boy)

John Tucker Must Die (my first ‘chick flick’ that I actually watched with my girl friends in high school. Loved that it wasn’t your typical sort of romance. Also, I totally wanna write something based off it with Sam and Dean because I think it would be hilarious.)

Spirited Away (my very first anime movie and man did it set the standards high!)

Pokemon 3: The Movie (Entei is my absolute favorite pokemon ever, so this movie centered around him? And he’s voice by Dan Green? Uh, yes please.)

I’m super curious to see other people’s answers!! 💜💜💜

randomly asking people their comfort movies. ahem, what is your comfort movie?

Helloooo lovely, uuh I love this question! Do I have to pick just one? You're not here to tell me no, so I'll pick more than one.

Usually I have comfort shows (that you might have seen me yap about), and I find comfort in strange things, so I will order this from least unhinged to most unhinged:

Little Miss Sunshine

Lord of the Rings (but only Fellowship, love the others too but they are not as comforting to me)

Serenity (the Firefly movie, which is kinda cheating, cause Firefly is one of my comfort shows)

Die Hard 3

Nope (which I watched at the cinema three times. yep.)

Deep Blue Sea (I CANNOT EXPLAIN THIS)

Sunshine (because I find the idea of going space crazy appealing)

28 days later

I will not be answering any questions at this time.

Tagging some moots cause I wanna hear their answers. @voodoochildthings @bettystonewell @ambiguous-avery @losers-clvb @mellowyellowdaydream @my-stories-vault @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @aniresrene

Also, @conindiundrum, what are yours? Unless you've already said somewhere?

#avery answers #lovely mutuals

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ambiguous-avery · 22 days ago

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Aww thank you so much! 💜💜 I’m so glad you enjoyed it!

Sam Winchester x fem!Reader/You

Summary: Hunters – the people who lived fast and lawless – had one rule they all abided by. No attachments. And in a world where your first touch with your soulmate would leave a brand behind, No Touching was an unspoken second rule. Not everyone followed that, but you did. Or you tried to. The last thing you needed was for fate to be cruel and bind you to someone. Least of all someone like Sam Winchester.

Tags/Warnings: Soulmate AU, sad Sam (that’s a warning all of its own), hurt/comfort, idiots fighting fate, strangers to enemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, angst, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

Read it on Ao3

Part 1 (Read Sam's POV)

Part 2

Part 3

Interlude; Those 46 Days

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Epilogue

---

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

#avery yaps #reader appreciation

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ambiguous-avery · 23 days ago

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Thank you so much for reading and recommending!! I had such a blast writing it, and it’s something I still come back to. Definitely my proudest work 💜💜💜

Tangled Sheets

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You x Sam Winchester | WC: 8464

Summary: Sam and Dean would give up anything for the other. Even if that includes the girl they’re head over heels for. But did anyone ever think to ask her thoughts on the matter?

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, threesome (no wincest), femme nicknames (pretty girl, good girl), g/n nicknames (baby, sweetheart), reader is AFAB, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected P in V/A sex (make safe decisions, friends), double penetration, consent checks via traffic light system, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Let’s let these three finally have their moment. So here, a story about a girl and her dogs boys idiots. This picks up immediately following Untamed Soul.

Three Hearts, One Flame Masterlist

The motel room was colder than your cocoon in the bathroom and only contributed to your deepening scowl as you crossed your arms over your chest. You had slipped into your pajamas for the night because you were sure that the rough fabric of your jeans would be too much against your still-tingling skin. Decency be damned. It wasn’t like they were anything scandalous. An old-oversized shirt you had stolen from Dean forever ago and sleep-shorts you usually reserved for hot summer nights. Nothing you hadn’t worn around them before.

Dean had pulled the horribly outdated recliner chair over to the table in the room and was lounging in it, beer in hand. Sam sat opposite of him in a wooden chair that creaked with every little movement. Dean twisted in his chair, turning to look at you and flashed you a grin.

“And you get on my case for long showers. You been in there since we left?” Dean teased. You shifted your weight between your feet, making a very conscious effort to ignore the way his voice rolled over you. Behind Dean, you could see Sam’s gaze drop to your bare legs, and you tried your best not to read into that too much. You had nice legs. You would’ve been offended if he didn’t look.

“It’s a different story when we all draw from the same hot water tank,” you finally said.

“Oh I know all about sharing, sweetheart.” Dean’s gaze caught yours, and you could almost feel the heat from his stare searing into your skin. Why had he said it like that? “Hell, ask anyone, and they’ll tell you I’m a giver.” You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on the peeling wallpaper that decorated the room instead of the images of Dean’s head between your legs that flashed through your mind. Sam cleared his throat.

“Do I need to sleep in the car tonight?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, finishing off his beer and setting the now-empty bottle down.

“Nah, Sammy, we’re just getting started. Come on, take a seat. Got a cold one for you.” Dean said your name as he stood and grabbed three bottles from the mini fridge in the room, setting them down in front of each of you. You sat down in the third chair between them with a sigh. You’d survive the loss of your personal time, but you were definitely locking yourself in your room when you got back to the bunker. You didn’t care what kind of excuse you had to give them to get them to leave you be. Hell, you’d tell them exactly what you planned to get up to if it meant they gave you your precious few hours alone.

“What, you strike out at the bar tonight?” you asked as Dean cracked open his beer.

“Wouldn’t be the same without you there, sweetheart. Figured we’d bring the drinks to you.”

“I think you guys would survive one night without me. We only live together.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re sick of us. Stick around. Play a game. Celebrate an easy hunt.”

You glanced at Sam who shot you a look that said Yeah I don’t know what he’s up to either.

“I couldn’t be sick of you guys even if I tried,” you said softly, a small smile playing on your lips. You really couldn’t imagine hunting without Dean and Sam by your side. “Alright, what are we playing?” Dean smirked like you had just stepped into his perfectly laid trap.

“I was thinking truth or dare.” He reached for the empty bottle and tipped it onto its side. The glass clinked softly against the tabletop. “Whoever the bottle lands on has to do a dare. Or… spill a secret or whatever the truth is.” To your left, Sam scoffed.

“Really, Dean? How old are we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Interesting choice of game, but I’ll bite,” you said, opening your beer. The hiss of escaping carbonation filled the air, and you took a swig, the cold bitterness a refreshing reprieve from the fire that roiled within. Meanwhile, Sam shook his head, a wry smile curving his lips as he resigned himself to Dean’s antics.

Dean grinned and gave the bottle a spin. You watched with amusement as it twirled on the table, the neck slowing down until it pointed directly at you. Dean’s green eyes gleamed mischievously as he leaned forward.

“Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

With Dean, it was a genuine toss up on whether he’d ask a potentially embarrassing question or give you a harmless dare. The devilish glint in his eye suggested that neither option was going to be wholly safe, and there was a non-zero chance that a dare from him was going to be to flash him or Sam your tits. You would’ve done it. And that was the problem.

“Truth.”

“Alright…” Dean drummed his fingers on the table, clearly having expected that you would pick dare. “What’s your favorite position during sex?”

You heard Sam choke on his beer beside you, and you were thankful when Dean turned his attention to him. It gave you a moment’s reprieve to tamp down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Dean!” Sam spluttered. You leaned over and clasped Sam’s shoulder, only to immediately regret it because your eyes inadvertently went to his hands that held the beer bottle. Hands that you had imagined doing other things to you mere minutes ago. You pulled your arm back and instead chose to focus on your own drink.

“What? The questions have to be dirty otherwise it’s no fun! And besides, I could’ve asked far worse,” Dean said. You cleared your throat and took another sip of beer, buying yourself a moment to school your features into a neutral expression before replying.

“Cowgirl,” you said simply, and you had to fight every urge to grin as both Winchesters turned to look at you, eyes wide. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth, feigning innocence. And then, because you were still frustrated at Dean for his interruption, you dug your heel in and added, “I like watching people squirm beneath me.”

Pride swelled in your chest as your words hit the mark dead on. You watched as Dean swallowed thickly before taking a long pull from his beer, and Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed silently, the pulse in his neck pounding. You could’ve cackled at how perfect their responses were. If this was how the game was going to go, you were all too eager to play it. Dean coughed awkwardly, his typical bravado momentarily faltering as he tried to regain his composure. Sam opened his mouth like he might’ve had something to say then closed it wordlessly.

“My turn, right?” you asked, pretending not to notice their reactions. They each nodded silently. You leaned forward and gave the bottle a spin. It rotated slowly before coming to a stop, pointing at Dean. You smiled sweetly at him. “Truth or dare?”

Maybe it was because he was still recovering from the revelation you had dropped on him, but Dean’s response of, “Truth. I ain’t got nothing to hide, sweetheart,” in a strangled voice was a little surprising. You had fully expected him to pick dare. Nonetheless, you took a moment to think, letting your gaze linger on the way his jaw clenched slightly, the stubble on his chin catching the dim light in the room.

“Alright… where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to maintain his usual cocky demeanor despite the flush creeping up his neck. You could see the brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he masked it with a casual shrug.

“Probably the back of a food delivery truck,” he finally admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he was daring you to ask about details. You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up at the unexpected answer and the mental image of Dean with his pants around his ankles, ass bared for anyone who might walk. You laughed harder.

“Seriously?” you chucked, raising an eyebrow. Sam snorted beside you.

“Dude, pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” Sam said while shaking his head.

“Cut me some slack. We could all use some fun every now and again. If you got your nose out of your books every once in a while, maybe you’d experience it.” Dean’s voice carried a hint of challenge to it.

“I have fun, Dean,” Sam said defensively. “It just doesn’t include public sex.”

“Hey, we closed the door. And I’m skeptical that your fun includes any sex.”

“Whatever, Dean.”

The bottle clinked as Dean spun it. Sam glowered at his brother across the table as the bottle pointed at him, and Dean grinned. You watched as Sam’s expression shifted to mild apprehension, but Dean’s heckling must’ve got to him because the apprehension gave way to determination. Sam leaned forward in his seat.

“Truth or dare, bitch?”

“Dare, jerk. Do your worst.”

“Gladly. I dare you to… kiss her.” Dean’s gaze flicked over to you.

Sam’s eyes went wide in surprise, clearly having expected Dean to put him through something ridiculous or demeaning. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of what the least suspicious reaction would be. Were you supposed to be offended? Shocked? Horrified? Into it? You wouldn’t even have to pretend for that last one.

You shot a quick glance at Sam, but he was already looking away, his cheeks tinged with a light pink hue. Dean watched the exchange with a smug grin, clearly relishing the discomfort he had caused. However, when you looked at him, you were sure there was something more in those green eyes of his. If you weren’t mistaken, it was something akin to longing. A twinge of disappointment and more. You would’ve tried to dig deeper into it, but Sam’s movement in your peripheral vision drew your attention back to him.

“Are you okay with this? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.” He was looking at you, eyebrows drawn up in concern and something unnamable in his eyes. While there had been no physical change, something about the way Sam was looking at you felt different. More charged. Like the prospect of kissing you had opened some sort of floodgate and there was no way to close it again.

“I’m sure you could make her plenty comfortable, Sammy.”

“Dean...” Sam gave Dean a look for the briefest of moments, and you made the executive decision that the best way to navigate the situation was to be as cool about it as possible. It was just a kiss. A kiss with one of the men you had just imagined fucking you into next week, but a kiss nonetheless.

“You’re not afraid of little ol’ me, are you, Sammy?” you asked, laying the charm on thick. Actually, maybe if you leaned way into it, the boys would be none-the-wiser. Hide your attraction in plain sight, so to speak.

You hadn’t ever called him ‘Sammy’ before. That was a privilege only Dean had, but in the moment, it felt right. Like it fit right in with the teasing tone you took. But when Sam let out a long, audible exhale through his nose and something dangerous flickered in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you had crossed a line. He had never outright said that you were allowed to call him that, and you had seen how defensive he could get about the nickname. The word ‘sorry’ was on the tip of your tongue, but Sam spoke before you could say it.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t what he said that caused your stomach to flip. It was how he said it. Like he was a predator stalking his prey. Like he was on the verge of pouncing. Like he was a wolf calling a lamb to him. You had it backwards. Maybe you were supposed to be afraid of him. And before you knew it, you were out of your chair and standing between his legs after he had scooted away from the table. Even sitting down, he was so damn tall. “You okay with this?” he asked again, the usual, gentle Sam you knew bleeding through whatever personality had taken him over. You nodded numbly.

“Yeah… It’s just a kiss,” you said, more for your sake than his. It didn’t do anything for your heart pounding in your chest.

His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. The air between you crackled with tension as you held your breath, the heat of his hand sinking into you like a balm. He closed the distance between you.

All your fantasies and previous ideas of what kissing Sam Winchester would be like flew out the window in an instant, every one of them a mockery of the real thing. His lips were soft against yours, and you could taste the lingering bitterness of beer. But the kiss was nothing like the playful teasing you had expected from a simple dare. There was something deeper to it, something raw. A silent confession of things left unsaid for far too long. You were sure Sam could hear your heart hammering in your chest as you melted into the kiss, unable to resist the pull of his lips on yours. Your eyes had fluttered shut, and the world around you faded away until all that was left was Sam.

Sam’s hand on your cheek. Sam’s lips against yours. Sam’s comforting, woodsy scent enveloping you like a hug. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap. Your hands settled against his chest, firm and steady beneath your touch.

Dean’s low whistle shattered the spell between you.

“Alright, I think that’s my cue to make myself scarce,” Dean said with a chuckle, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t sit right with you. You pulled away, breathless and cheeks flushed. Sam’s gaze found yours, his expression entirely unreadable. You took an unsteady step away from him and turned to look at Dean. You hadn’t been imagining it before. There definitely was something gnawing at him that he wasn’t letting on.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he moved to stand from his seat. He let out a humorless laugh.

“Look, as fun as it is to watch you two dry hump, I’m starting to feel like a third wheel on a bicycle.”

Your stomach lurched. You could feel the balance between the three of you tipping. Everything was going to come crashing down around you. Pandora’s box had been opened, and there was no going back. The phrase “the person who chases two rabbits will catch none,” came to mind, but whoever had said it clearly had never met you. You couldn’t lose them. That might actually kill you.

“Dean,” you said at the same time Sam said your name. You looked back at Sam. He had the same indiscernible thing in his eyes that Dean had, and it was really starting to bug you. Normally you could read these two like books, but right now, it was like someone had taken all the words out and scrambled them. Sam tipped his head in Dean’s direction.

“If he’s feeling left out… then why not give him a kiss too?”

Your jaw went slack, and every thought racing through your head came to an abrupt halt.

Were you dreaming? Did you hear him correctly? Or had that kiss with Sam actually short-circuited your brain?

Dean must’ve been going through a similar thought process because all he could muster was a dumb,

“Huh?”

“Are you joking?” you asked and immediately regretted it. It made it sound like you didn’t want to kiss Dean. Dean looked genuinely hurt.

“No,” Sam said. “Do it. I dare you.” And he purposefully grabbed the bottle on the table and turned it to point at you. You were tempted to point out that that’s not how the game was supposed to work, but Dean spoke first.

“It’s fine. Look, I know you guys got this… thing between you. I’m not gonna get in the way of it.”

“You and her obviously have something more, and I don’t want you guys to not do anything about it because of me,” Sam countered.

“Guys,” you cut in, hoping you didn’t sound as panicked as you felt. They both looked at you, and the weight of their gazes slammed into you with all the force of a semi truck. You stood your ground. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing!” Dean snapped. “You and Sammy have been making heart-eyes at each other for long enough. I figured you needed a little push. Based on that kiss I saw, I was obviously right. So I’m just gonna go take a nice, long drive and maybe get a second room.”

“What are you talking about? You two have been emotionally edging each other for months now! I figured you were taking your time because you liked her and didn’t know how to deal with those feelings.”

“Hello? Guys? I’m right here.”

The realization of what was happening began to sink in, and your mind raced to catch up with your heart. No one spoke. The room suddenly felt too small. Suffocating you with the tension. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong move could send everything spiraling out of control.

You looked from Sam to Dean, their expressions mirroring a strange blend of determination and vulnerability. As if they had thrown each others’ cards on the table and now were waiting for you to make a move. You had hit a point of no return, and all that was left was to keep going forward. You took a steadying breath.

“You both like me.” It was a statement, not a question. You knew. “And I like both of you.” The two of them glanced at each other, silently communicating in the way that – despite having been with them for several years at this point – still made you feel like an outsider. “Don’t make me pick. Please. It’d be like telling me to pick my favorite leg and cut the other off.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

Sam was the first to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

“We should’ve talked about this before it got to this point,” he said, his eyes flickering between you and Dean. Dean nodded in agreement, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that was so unlike him.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I think we have two options,” you said solemnly. “The first is that I follow through on Sam’s dare. You and I,” you motioned between yourself and Dean “kiss, we call everything even, and we shove this all back in the box that it came out of and never talk about it ever again.” Dean wet his lips.

“And the second option?”

“The second…” Oh God, were you really about to say this? Out loud? To them? “The second option is… we consider that the concept of sharing can extend to people, too.”

Dean let out a slow breath, eyeing you carefully like you were going to say, “Just kidding!” a second later. You didn’t.

“Sharing,” he repeated, the word hanging heavy in the air. “That’s… unconventional.”

“Unconventional, but not impossible,” Sam added quietly, his gaze intense as it bore into you. “We’ve always been good at defying the odds.”

He had a point. The three of you had faced countless challenges together, overcoming obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable. You were confident that there was nothing in the world that could stop the three of you together. But this? This was different. This wasn’t a hunt to complete or a monster to behead. This was potentially a messy knot of emotions with the very real possibility of a disastrous outcome.

“Has it ever even crossed either of your minds?” you asked slowly. They shared a guilty look. Your eyes went wide. “Oh my God, it has!”

“It might’ve been a... passing consideration,” Dean admitted quietly. “But it’s not exactly something that comes up in a normal conversation.” It was Sam’s turn to agree with Dean with a nod. He said,

“But now it’s here, right in front of us.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I understand that this isn’t something that just happens and everyone is okay with everything. But you two are more than worth the fight. What do you guys think? Sam?” You looked at him, sincere determination burning in your eyes. He met you with the calm assurance that you had come to associate with Sam. As though any doubts that he might’ve had were already laid to rest.

“I think that I care about the both of you enough to give this a serious try,” Sam replied, his voice steady and earnest.

“Dean?” You turned your attention to the other Winchester, the one who you felt would be the most resistant to the whole idea. There was a beat before he answered.

“I think Sam gave you a dare that you haven’t followed through with, sweetheart.” And then, Dean flashed you that brilliant smile of his, all teeth and dimples. And fuck if that didn’t go straight to your core.

The tension between the three of you shifted rather than dissipated, remaining charged and heavy.

You took a tentative step towards Dean, keeping a careful eye on each of them as you approached. Sam’s eyes were a challenge, and when you finally were in front of Dean, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your gaze met Dean’s, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You leaned in slowly, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he changed his mind last minute. Instead, he met you halfway, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It was everything you had hoped for and more. It was nothing you had imagined – it was better. Way better. Couldn’t even begin to describe how much more perfect it was than you had ever pictured in your mind. Kissing Dean was like being wrapped in warmth and safety. He was all passion and confidence and fire, and all you wanted was to let it consume you. And it went deeper than that. There was a hunger shared between you that couldn’t be denied. A desire that was more profound than you could find the words for. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer and sweeping you up in a whirlwind of Dean. He was a storm. Wild. Intense. Powerful.

Dean’s tongue swiping against your lips. Dean’s scent of leather and whiskey curling around you. Dean’s hand sliding up your back and holding the back of your neck. Your lips parted, and your hands settled on his broad shoulders, all corded muscle and strength beneath your fingers.

You broke the kiss, only because you might have forgotten that breathing was a thing while you lost yourself in the one and only Dean Winchester. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you in awe, as though he couldn’t believe that the two of you had just kissed. His eyes flicked down to your tongue that darted out to wet your lips.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into, sweetheart?”

Oh, you knew.

After all the years spent by their sides, how could you not? How could you not know that Sam would treat you so kindly and gently? He was the type who liked to savor his women like a fine wine. You had always imagined that Sam would take his time with you. Pleasure you and fuck you until you couldn’t see straight anymore. And Dean? Dean played rough. He’d tease you. Edge you. Claim you. He was the kind of guy who was always in control, and you would gladly give that to him if he asked. You’d heard enough of his encounters through the paper-thin motel room walls to know that Dean made women sob and whimper.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Sam’s voice cut in, and when your eyes found him, he was your anchor. A grounding point. Ever-steady. Unwavering. You swore you fell for him just a little more every time you looked at him. “We should probably establish a safeword. Or we could use the traffic light system.” You nodded along with him, glancing at Dean out of the corner of your eye. He was doing his best to hide it, but you recognized his expression as the same one he wore when he was trying to piece together something in a case.

“Green for all good. Yellow for take it slow, and red to stop immediately, right?” you asked just so that everyone was for sure on the same page. Recognition flashed in Dean’s eyes, and he quickly agreed.

With the indulgence of a heated kiss with each of them and the friendship crisis averted – at least for now, – your arousal from your interrupted shower was thrumming through you, singing through your veins like a siren’s song. Tempting you to lose yourself in the two men in front of you. You had tamped down that temptation for far too long. Thankfully, it seemed like Dean was already there with you.

“So, how do you want to do this?” he asked carefully.

“Any way I can get the both of you.” You might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you responded if they both weren’t looking at you with darkened eyes that suggested that they were already thinking the same thing. You were pretty sure you were going to be the first official case of spontaneous human combustion. Nothing supernatural about it. It was them, your honor. They set you ablaze, and you were absolutely helpless to do anything to stop it.

“Like... at the same time?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and a smirk tugged at your lips as his breath caught in his throat. “That okay?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course, totally fine,” he stammered.

“Green?” you prompted. He nodded and repeated,

“Green. Dark green. Fucking emerald, sweetheart.”

“Sam?” You shifted your attention to him and picked out all the ways you could see his self control unraveling at the seams. The way he watched every little movement. The way his arms were loosely crossed over his chest as though that were the last bastion of composure keeping him in check.

“As a forest, pretty girl.”

And that was all it took.

Dean was on you in a heartbeat, lips crashing against yours like a wave that had spent too long away from the shore. His tongue slid against yours as he slowly backed you towards the bed, only giving you a reprieve when you stumbled backwards onto the mattress with a yelp. He chuckled, following you down and peppering kisses across your cheek before settling himself on your right, propped up on his elbow.

A gentle hand touched your arm, and you pulled away from Dean slightly, turning to see Sam’s warm gaze meeting yours. You hadn’t heard him move and only barely felt the dip of the mattress as he took up the spot on the other side of you.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t forget about me.”

“Never,” you replied, reaching for his hand. “Come here.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, his kiss softer, more tender than Dean’s, but no less intense. It was a kiss that spoke of quiet longing and deep affection, and it made your heart ache in the best way possible. He slid his hand across your stomach before slipping down over your hip and settling on your thigh. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers dragged over your clothed center. At the same time, Dean pressed kisses against your shoulder, his own hand toying with the hem of your shirt before dipping beneath it, his fingers dancing across your skin. He pushed your bra up and cupped your breast, his fingers finding your nipple and teasing it.

No fantasy of yours could’ve ever prepared you for this. They all paled in comparison. Having Sam and Dean’s hands and lips on you simultaneously was something your brain never could’ve conjured up properly compared to the real thing. And when Sam’s hand found its way beneath the elastic band of your shorts and underwear and found you wet and waiting for him, you felt him smile against your lips.

“Hardly even touched you, pretty girl,” he teased, his voice low.

“I might have gotten a bit of a head start in the shower earlier,” you admitted cheekily. Dean chuckled.

“Oh shit, I interrupted that?”

A witty response died on your tongue as Sam chose that moment to find your clit and roll it between his fingers. You moaned and your eyes fluttered shut as he teased you, fingers sliding through your wetness but never quite dipping into you. And just when you were ready to tell him that you needed more otherwise you might actually die, Sam gave you a quick peck on the lips before he slid down off the end of the bed and kneeled between your legs. He helped you out of your shorts and panties in a smooth motion before you felt his warm breath brushing against your core. He propped one of your legs up and over his shoulder, holding it tight while his other hand splayed over your thigh, holding you open as he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against you.

His tongue. His lips. His fingers digging into your thighs. Your responding cry was high and thready as Sam held you and pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and you would’ve carded your fingers into his hair if Dean hadn’t caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. We’re the ones touching you right now,” Dean murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. Your head fell back against the comforter. You had always imagined Sam would be good with his tongue. He was so eloquent, so well spoken. But God, you had no idea just how good. He licked a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before focusing solely on it.

“Fuck, Sam,” you gasped, using the leverage you had on his shoulder to rock your hips against his face. Sam’s grip on you tightened as he worked you over.

Dean grabbed your chin with the hand that wasn’t holding your wrists and turned your face to him. His lips crashed into yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as Sam continued. The dual sensation was overwhelming – Sam between your legs and Dean’s possessive kiss stealing your breath away. You were drowning in pleasure, caught between them in the only way you ever wanted to be.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you,” Sam muttered against your thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive skin before he dove back in, sliding two fingers inside you while his tongue circled your clit. Your back arched off the bed, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Pretty noises from such a pretty girl,” Dean said, his lips trailing down your neck. “Bet you can be louder, though.” His free hand slipped under your shirt again, palming your breast. The rough drag of his calloused hands against your sensitive skin had you gasping for air. His fingers pinched your nipple, and the sharp pain-pleasure turned your next moan into a whimper halfway through. “There you go, sweetheart.”

Your hips bucked as Sam curled his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made stars dance in your vision. You were so hopelessly trapped between them, caught in the perfect storm that only they were capable of creating. The coil of pleasure within you wound tighter and tighter with every swipe of Sam’s tongue, every twist of Dean’s fingers, every breath hot against your skin.

“F-fuck. Sam, Dean, I–” You couldn’t find the words as Sam’s long fingers pressed deeper, and you felt your thighs begin to tremble around his head.

“You gonna come for us, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice was low and gravelly in your ear, and all you could offer in response was a low whine. “Come then, baby girl.” And dear God, if that wasn’t the hottest command you’d ever received in your life. Your body went rigid as you came apart in their hands, tensing and shuddering as pleasure flooded through your system. Sam worked you through it, his movements slowing as your trembling subsided, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thigh as you came down from your high.

Dean released your wrists, and you immediately reached for Sam, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you from between your legs. His lips were slick with you, hazel eyes dark with desire.

“You taste better than I ever imagined,” he said, voice thick with want. Dean chuckled beside you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before backing off as Sam crawled back up your body, leaving kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and finally capturing your lips. Meanwhile, Dean’s hands stroked along your sides, pushing your shirt up as they went. You and Sam maneuvered just enough for Dean to help pull your shirt above your head, and your bra didn’t stand a chance against Sam’s deft fingers.

“Isn’t it a little unfair that I’m the only one naked here?” you asked, your voice still breathy from your orgasm. Dean’s signature smirk returned as he sat back on his heels on the bed, his eyes roaming over your body and taking in every inch of exposed skin with undisguised hunger.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” You huffed your disagreement and grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Too many clothes,” you whispered against his mouth. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his flannel, and he chuckled, helping you push it off over his shoulder before pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the anti-possession tattoo that matched yours and Sam’s. You turned to Sam next, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You too.”

Sam complied immediately, ridding himself of his shirt to expose the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth went dry at the sight of both men half-naked before you, something you had only ever dreamed of. The difference between them was stark but no less appealing – Dean’s broader build with more defined muscle versus Sam’s leaner, taller frame.

“How do you want us?” Sam asked, his voice husky with need. You bit your lip, considering the options that lay before you. The endless possibilities. All the ways you could have them both at once.

“I want… both of you. Inside me. At the same time.” Your voice was surprisingly steady considering the request that had just left your lips. You watched as both men’s eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating even further with lust.

“You sure, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice strained as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. “That’s… intense.”

“I’m sure.” You nodded, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Sam’s hand found your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin.

“We’ll go slow,” he promised. “Tell us if it’s too much.”

Dean was the first to move, the metallic clink of his belt buckle sending a shiver down your spine as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him fully naked, his cock hard and leaking. Sam followed suit, standing to remove his remaining clothes. When he straightened up, it was your turn for your eyes to go wide. Sam was… proportional to his height, to say the least.

“Everything you imagined?” Dean asked, noticing your expression.

“So much more,” you managed to reply, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him. Dean hissed through his teeth at the contact, his head falling back as you stroked up his length. There was something intoxicating about having him at your mercy. You didn’t mean to be a tease, but your touch was light and your movements slow as you marveled at the weight of him in your hand.

Sam moved behind you, pressing his chest against your back as his hands slid around to cup your breasts. His cock pressed against the small of your back, hot and heavy.

“You call the shots, baby. Who do you want where?” Sam murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. You mind raced with possibilities, each one more enticing than the last.

“You underneath, Dean behind,” you decided. Both men groaned at your words, and you felt Sam’s cock twitch against you.

“Fuck, I like the way you think,” Dean said. “Probably need lube, though.”

“My bag. Under the bed,” you said. Dean shot you a surprised glance, as though the thought of it genuinely shocked him. “Oh sure. A guy keeps condoms with him and it’s fine, but a girl has lube in her bag, and you’re clutching your pearls?” You gave him a gentle squeeze, and he let out a low exhale.

“Smart girl, always prepared,” Dean smirked, moving off the bed to retrieve it. You watched as he bent down, presenting you with a perfect view of his backside. You couldn’t help the appreciative hum that escaped your lips. Sam chuckled against your neck, and you turned your head to catch his lips in a heated kiss. Sam’s tongue slid against yours as Dean returned, bottle in hand. You felt the mattress dip as Dean settled in front of you, his lips finding the spot just above your collarbone.

Sam settled himself on the bed, reclining against the headboard as he beckoned you to him.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he said, his voice like gravel. You crawled over to him, straddling his thighs as his hands settled on your hips. His cock stood proud between you, and you couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke him, relishing the way his breath hitched when you did. Pre-cum beaded at his tip, and you swiped your thumb over it, spreading the moisture down his length. Sam’s hips bucked involuntarily. His hands squeezed your hips as you positioned yourself over him.

Dean’s hand slid up your back, his chest pressing against you as his lips found the nape of your neck. The feeling of being sandwiched between them was indescribable – all heat and muscle and desperate want. You heard the cap of the lube bottle click open and moments later, you felt Dean’s cool, slick fingers pressing at your ass.

“Anyone ever play with you back here, sweetheart?” he asked, fingers lightly pressing against your hole. You shook your head.

“No, you’re the first.” He let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck, okay. Gonna take good care of you, sweetheart. Promise.”

His finger circled teasingly before pressing inside. You braced your hands on Sam’s shoulders, and Sam leaned forward to kiss your brow as he gently guided you down onto his cock. You each let out simultaneous moans as you sank down, clenching around Sam’s cock and Dean’s finger.

“Such a good girl for us,” Dean said, resting his forehead against your shoulder blade as he worked you open with careful precision. Us. Dean had said ‘us,’ and you’re pretty sure your heart skipped a beat at it. “What’s your color, baby?”

“Green,” you said breathlessly when Sam was fully seated in you. “What’d you say before? Fucking emerald,” you echoed Dean’s sentiment from earlier.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to relax as Dean pressed a second finger into you, the dull burn quickly dissipating. The dual sensation of Sam inside you and Dean' working you open was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Sam’s hands stroked up and down your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort.

“You’re doing so well,” Sam murmured, leaning forward to capture your lips in a tender kiss. “So fucking perfect for us.” There was that word again. Us. This time from Sam. These two were going to be the death of you. Sam’s hips shifted beneath you, and you gasped against his mouth as he hit a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. His cock throbbed inside you, and you had the very distinct feeling that it was taking all his willpower not to thrust up into you. “Feel okay?”

“So good,” you breathed, rolling your hips experimentally. The movement caused Dean’s fingers to press deeper, and you moaned at the fullness. You whimpered.

“God, you feel incredible,” Dean groaned, carefully pressing a third finger into you. His free hand gripped your hip, steadying you as Sam made shallow thrusts beneath you.

“Dean,” you gasped, pushing back against Dean’s fingers. “Need your cock so bad.” And, really, Dean stood no chance when you said something straight out of his fantasies to him.

“Need me to fuck this pretty ass of yours?” Dean asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sure you’re ready for that, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you begged, your body trembling with anticipation. Dean withdrew his fingers slowly, and you only had a brief moment to lament the loss before you felt the blunt head of his cock press against you. Both of their grips on you tightened, holding you completely still as Dean smeared the lube over himself.

“Easy now,” Dean murmured, pressing forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “Breathe for me. Just like that. Good girl.”

You leaned forward, burying your face in Sam’s neck and breathing deeply as Dean sank into you. It was a stretch. Intense and just shy of painful. But Dean’s patience and careful movements kept it from tipping into being too much. He paused as the head of his cock disappeared into you.

“Color?” you heard Sam ask.

“Y-yellow,” you panted, “give me a second.” Every muscle in you was pulled taut, adjusting to the new sensation.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart. No rush,” Dean’s voice was strained but gentle, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “We’ve got all night, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Sam’s fingers trailed up to cup your face, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes.

“You’re doing amazing,” he muttered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “So beautiful taking both of us. We’ve got you.”

You focused on your breathing, on the feeling of being completely surrounded by them. You were safe. Safer than you had ever been in your life. Safely nestled between them. Right where you belonged. You could’ve cried from the sheer joy you felt. Sam and Dean and you. That’s all you needed.

The initial discomfort gradually faded, giving way to a fullness that bordered on overwhelming in the best way possible. You shifted experimentally, drawing a grown from both men.

“Green,” you whispered with a small nod. Dean took that as his cue, pressing forward inch by agonizing inch until he was fully seated inside you. The sensations were beyond anything you’d ever imagined. Pleasure. Pressure. Fullness. Your breaths came in short gasps as you adjusted to them both, your body stretched to its limits.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Dean groaned, his fingers digging into your skin. “So tight around my cock.”

“Doing okay, pretty girl?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sam’s first thrust in while Dean pulled back knocked the air from your lungs. The second one fried whatever circuits were left in your brain. And the third? Well, you never fully recovered from there.

They quickly found a rhythm, one moving in as the other withdrew, never leaving you empty for a single moment. You were helplessly caught in a tide of pleasure, rising and crashing with each thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed. The sound of their labored breathing. The drag of their cocks against your walls. The delicious friction. Sam’s hands on your breasts. Dean’s lips on your neck. The taste of Sam’s skin as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck. The sight of his face contorted in pleasure. The praise from both of them. They each sounded so reverent. In awe.

“Look at you,” Dean panted behind you, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. His hands were on your shoulders, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. “Like you were made for this. Made for us.”

Sam’s hands were everywhere – in your hair, on your hips, on your thighs – leaving trails of fire in their wake. His thrusts became more erratic as he chased his release. You felt your own orgasm building, the same coil from before winding tighter with each perfectly timed thrust.

“D-Dean– Sam–” you gasped, your nails digging into Sam’s chest as they pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, you got another one for us?” Sam encouraged. “Come on. Let us feel you.”

Sam’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with practiced precision. That was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge. You cried out their names as you came, your body clenching rhythmically around both of them. The sensation of your walls pulsing around them was too much for Sam, who followed you over the edge with a deep groan, grinding his hips up into you as he filled you with his release. Dean thrust one, twice more before burying himself to the hilt with a strangled moan of your name, his cock twitching as he spilled deep within you.

For a long moment, none of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of heavy breathing as you all came down from your shared high.

“Holy fuck,” Dean muttered, his voice rough, wrecked. His forehead pressed against your shoulder blade. “That was… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah,” you agreed breathlessly, unable to form more coherent thoughts. Dean carefully withdrew from you with a hiss, and you whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty as he moved away. Sam rubbed a soothing hand along your thigh as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. You heard water running, and moments later, he returned with a warm washcloth.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Dean said softly, helping lift you off Sam. Your legs were boneless as you collapsed onto the bed between them. Dean’s touch was gentle as he cleaned you up, the warm cloth soothing against your sensitive skin. Sam shifted beside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple before getting up to clean himself. “You okay?” Dean asked, his voice soft with concern as he stretched out beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. He tossed the washcloth somewhere towards the bathroom. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your stomach.

“Better than okay,” you murmured, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “That was… wow.” Sam returned, sliding into the bed on your other side. The mattress dipped under his weight, and you turned your head to look at him. He brushed stray hair from your face.

“You sure we didn’t hurt you?” Sam asked.

“Just sore in the best way possible,” you assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek. The warmth in Sam’s eyes made your heart flutter. “Worth every ache I’ll feel tomorrow.”

Dean chuckled and draped his arm across your waist.

“Good, ‘cause I’m planning on giving you plenty more reasons to be sore.” His voice held that cocky edge you knew and loved, but there was something softer underneath it now.

“Insatiable,” you teased, turning to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Both of you.”

“Only for you,” Sam said with a soft laugh, his large hand splaying across your stomach, fingers brushing against Dean’s arm. The possessiveness in his touch sent a pleasant shiver through you despite your exhaustion.

“Pretty sure you two have ruined me for anyone else.” You nestled into the pillows, your body deliciously sore in places you’d never felt before.

“That was the plan,” Dean said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. There was something different in his eyes now. A softness that hadn’t been there before. Something unguarded and vulnerable, and it made your heart squeeze in your chest.

There was a long silence as the tension from before crept back in. You didn’t want to, but there was a conversation that needed to happen. Sooner rather than later. So you mustered up the courage to voice it.

“So… what happens now?”

Dean’s arm tightened around you almost imperceptible, and Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean before returning to you.

“What do you want to happen?” Sam asked, his voice gentle but serious. The questions hung in the air, heavy with implications and possibilities.

“I want this,” you said simply, looking from one brother to the other. “Not just tonight. Not just sex. I want us.” The admission made you feel vulnerable. Exposed in a way that had nothing to do with your nudity. “I know it’s complicated and messy and probably insane, but–”

“Sweetheart, our whole lives are complicated and messy and insane,” Dean interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips. “What’s one more thing?”

Sam’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing gentle along your knuckles.

“I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for too long to let it go now,” he admitted.

“Same here,” Dean added, propping himself up higher to look at you properly. “This wasn’t just scratching an itch for me. Not with you.” Relief flooded through you, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Good,” you whispered.

It wasn’t always going to be easy. You knew that. You were a hunter for God’s sake. You knew that life was never simple. But this? This strange, beautiful arrangement between the three of you? It was worth fighting tooth and nail for. Worth the inevitable complications and challenges that would come with it.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Sam said, as if he could read your thoughts.

“Together,” Dean added, the word carrying more weight behind it. You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest as the realization that these two men – these incredible, frustrating, brave, stubborn men – were yours.

And you were theirs.

---

I just want to say that this is the longest piece I have ever written, and I am seriously so proud of this for once. I was able to set all of my self-doubt aside for this and just write, and I genuinely feel like this is the best piece of work I have ever written in my entire life. I thank you so very much for reading it all the way through. 💜

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @maddie0101

Both: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

#avery yaps #reader appreciation

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ambiguous-avery · 25 days ago

Text

I haven’t even had a chance to finish reading all of this yet! There’s so much detail to it and I AM HERE FOR IT!! Oh my god… I need this man so badly 💜💜💜

NSFW ALPHABET.

sam winchester x fem! reader

ꕤ summary: my take on the infamous NSFW alphabet where each letter represents a different aspect of sam's freaky, loving, and sometimes unexpected side in bed!!

♯ warnings: mdni!! extremely explicit content, mature themes, adult language, graphic sex details, explicit descriptions of intimacy, kinky stuff, too much masturbation going on, hair pulling, choking, body worship, switch! sam, light voyeurism, unhinged, highly detailed cock description.

♯ notes: thank you for the anon that brought you this post!!! this has been on my mind for way too long. if you missed it, here’s the dean version of this post. i’m officially registering as a whore.

A = AFTERCARE..

Sam is top-tier, elite, gold-star certified in aftercare. Like, let’s be real. Sam Winchester has a guilt complex the size of Kansas, deep emotional intelligence (even when he tries to bottle it), and a lover boy heart under all that trauma. So after sex? He’s gentle as hell.

It doesn’t matter if it was rough, slow, quick, emotional, or downright feral; he’s checking in. He’s the type to brush your hair out of your face while your chest is still heaving. He cups your jaw and whispers, “You okay, baby?” with that raspy, post-orgasm voice. He won’t stop touching you, but not in a sexy way. Like, soft touches. His palm on your thigh. His fingers lacing with yours. That kinda thing.

Sam’s also super intuitive. If you’re the talky type after sex? He’s gonna lie there and listen to you ramble and giggle with you like you’re both drunk off each other. If you go quiet? He’ll pull you to his chest and just breathe with you. Run his fingers down your spine. Let the silence feel safe.

Lowkey, he’s a clean-up king too. Grabs a towel, helps you wipe down, maybe even carries you to the bathroom if you’re too wobbly. You just know he’s the kind to whisper “I’ll be right back, don’t move” before slipping out of bed to get you water or a snack.

And let’s not forget: he’s always gonna be overthinking. Like even if everything went perfectly, Sam’s still gonna be laying there like, was I too rough? did I make them feel good? do they still like me? So if you curl into him, praise him a little, you can feel his body relax like you just unclenched every knot in his soul.

B = BODY PART..

Sam’s favorite part of himself? His hips.

This man is so unaware of how lethal he is until you’re under him, and suddenly that slow, deep roll of his hips becomes his favorite weapon. Sam doesn’t walk around thinking he’s sexy, but the second he sees the way you react to the way he fucks? The way you grab his waist, beg for more, whimper when he grinds deep and doesn’t let up?

That’s when it clicks.

And it turns into obsession. Not in a cocky way, but a hungry one. He’ll hold your legs open and grind slow, steady, deep— not just to get himself off, but to feel you fall apart. It makes him feel powerful. Grounded. Needed. Like you were made for him and he was made to fit into you just right.

However, when it comes to you… your stomach.

Soft or toned, flat or plush, he’s obsessed. The gentle curve of it. The way it twitches when he runs his fingers low. The way it stretches when you arch. He’ll pull your shirt up just to kiss it. Slide his palm over it slowly while you’re laying together, like he’s memorizing you. During sex, he’ll rest his hand there, right under your ribs like he’s holding all of you together while he fucks you open.

And if you’re insecure about it? Sam’s the guy who will not shut up about how beautiful you are. “Don’t hide from me, baby,” he’ll whisper, lips hot against your skin. “You know how crazy you make me?” And then he’ll show you. With his mouth, with his hands, with every inch of himself.

C = CUM..

Sam Winchester is not some careless, casual spur-of-the-moment guy when it comes to this, nah. When Sam finishes, it’s a whole experience. He’s in his feelings about it. His soul is involved.

Where he likes to finish? Sam’s a deep finish kinda man. He wants to come inside. Always. That doesn’t mean he does every time (he respects boundaries 1000%) but he’s obsessed with the idea of being inside you while he fills you up. Like it does something to his brain. You’d feel his hips shudder and he’d bury himself all the way in, holding you still, letting out this low, broken groan like he’s losing his entire mind.

And if you let him? That whole “dripping out of you” thing after? He stares at it. Literally lays there between your legs and just watches it slowly spill out while you whine and try to close your thighs. He’ll spread you open again and mutter something like, “God, look at that… made you take all of it.”

How he cums? LOUD. Like, Sam does not cum quietly. All that control, all that restraint— gone. He’s whimpering, panting, moaning into your neck or your shoulder or your fucking mouth if you’re kissing when it happens. It’s deep, it’s needy, and it’s so goddamn personal.

His hands will be locked on your body like he’s afraid you’ll float away if he lets go. Thumbs bruising into your hips. Forehead pressed to yours. All that tension? It explodes.

Kinks around it? Breeding kink. Sorry. Sorry but NOT sorry. That man does not casually cum in someone, he breeds. He fucks like he’s trying to own you. Doesn’t even mean he wants babies, necessarily (though that fantasy might linger in his brain on bad days when he wants a soft life he thinks he doesn’t deserve) but it’s the claiming. The act. The feeling of “I gave you everything I had.” That gets to him. Hard.

He also loves watching it drip down your thighs if he pulls out. He’ll tease you about it. Drag a finger through it. Maybe push it back in just to see you squirm. All slow and lazy and smug with that post-nut, hair-sticking-to-his-forehead kinda look.

D = DIRTY SECRET..

Sam Winchester’s dirty secret? He fantasizes about being corrupted.

Yeah, I said it. It’s not even about you being some evil little seductress or whatever, it’s about him not having to be good for once. He grew up being the “responsible one,” the “good son,” the guy who overthinks every moral choice. But in the dark, behind closed doors? He dreams of letting go. Of someone dragging the sin out of him, teasing it out, making him beg for things he’d never say out loud.

In his head? It’s always messy. Shameful. Hot.

He pictures you tugging his hair while he’s on his knees. Telling him he like being used. He does. He fucking does. He likes the idea of you riding him until he’s whimpering. Scratching your nails down his chest while he stutters apologies for how fast he came. Of you pulling him in by his dog tag or his belt loop and saying, “C’mon, Sammy. Be bad for me.”

He’ll never admit this to you. Ever. He plays it cool. Maybe a little dominant, a little protective. But behind his eyes? He’s imagining what it’d feel like to lose it. To fall apart under you. To be the one who’s teased, overstimmed, punished a little, not cruelly, but like he’s yours. Like he doesn’t have to hold it together anymore.

And the dirtiest part of all? He touches himself to the thought of you ruining him. Not hurting. Not degrading. Just… undoing. He’ll come fast. Embarrassingly fast. And then hate himself a little for how bad he wants it.

E = EXPERIENCE..

This is not a “yes or no” question with Sam.

Here’s the truth,

Sam hasn’t slept with as many people as Dean, not even close. His number isn’t low-low, but it’s definitely selective. He’s never been the one-night stand guy unless he’s in a full-on emotional spiral (see: post-Ruby, soulless Sam era, or when he’s trying to shut his feelings down). He doesn’t fuck just to fuck. That’s never been his vibe. But when he does fuck?

He means it.

Sam’s got emotional experience. He’s got intensity. He listens to your body. He feels everything, and that makes him dangerous in bed, not ‘cause he’s reckless, but because he’s so focused. He’s a fast learner, a people pleaser, and painfully observant. You gasp a little louder when he sucks there? That’s now in the rotation. Your legs twitch when he angles his hips just right? He will not stop until you’re begging.

So does he know what he’s doing? Too fucking well. And he doesn’t brag about it. Doesn’t have to. He’s got the kind of confidence that makes you nervous when he starts kissing your neck like he’s got all night.

He’s experimental, but only if you are too. He’s not scared to try new things. Wants to explore. Communicates really well. That whole Stanford brain? It’s in the bedroom too. He analyzes what makes you tick.

And don’t even get me started on his stamina. That man can go multiple rounds and still have the audacity to ask, “You okay to go again?” while your legs are shaking. Long fingers, long tongue, long everything. And he uses all of it.

But what makes it even hotter? That little rookie edge that never fully goes away. He’s not cocky like Dean. He gets flustered sometimes when you praise him. Looks down at you with those big brown eyes like he can’t believe you’re moaning his name like that. He blushes if you say something filthy. That mix of power and softness?? Deadly.

F = FAVORITE POSITION(S)..

1. MISSIONARY. BUT.. I’m talking feral missionary. Let’s get this straight: Sam loves eye contact. He wants to watch you fall apart. Wants to see every flutter of your lashes, every little twitch of your mouth when you moan his name. He’s a romantic. A bit of a control freak. So missionary? When he’s deep inside you, his hands pinning your wrists into the mattress, sweat dripping down his neck, his forehead against yours while pounding into you? Yeah. That’s peak Sam Winchester.

And if you wrap your legs around his waist? Or hook your ankles behind his back and pull him in deeper? He’ll literally lose his mind. That skin-on-skin closeness is everything to him. He loves the intimacy. Loves the grip he’s got on you. Loves that he can thrust slow or hard or hold you still and grind into you while you gasp like he’s in your lungs. He lives for your reactions.

2. YOU ON TOP, FACING HIM (COWGIRL). Not reverse. Face-to-face. Sam likes seeing your body, your expressions, your hands on his chest. But what kills him is the power. You’re in control. You set the pace. And he LOVES that. He’ll put his hands on your waist, let you ride him until he’s groaning through gritted teeth, whispering things like, “God, just like that… keep going, baby…”

But the moment he sees your thighs start shaking? He flips the script. Grabs your hips, starts thrusting up into you while you whimper, overwhelmed. He lives for that whiny, fucked-out look you give him when he takes control back just enough.

3. FROM BEHIND, BUT… Make it emotional. This is like, on the bed, both of you half-naked, bodies tangled. He’s kneeling behind you, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist or rubbing slow circles over your clit. Deep, controlled strokes while he leans in to kiss your shoulder, whisper in your ear, “You feel so fucking good… you take me so well, sweetheart.”

If he’s feeling unhinged? He’ll hold you by the throat and fuck into you like he needs it. But afterward? He’ll press kisses down your spine like he’s sorry for ever letting go like that. Because that’s Sam. Gentle and a freak.

G = GOOFY..

Sam is serious in the sheets… Most of the time.

He’s intense. Focused. Like he’s got a fucking mission; to worship you, ruin you, and make you feel so good you forget your own name. Especially if he’s in a soft or angsty headspace? He takes sex seriously. Like it matters. Every moan, every stroke, every look? Feels like a fucking prayer.

BUT…

He has a very chaotic goofy side that only comes out when he’s really comfortable with you. Like you’ve been fucking for a while, there’s trust, there’s closeness, there’s banter… THEN it starts.

To give out a few examples: He’ll chuckle when your stomach growls mid-foreplay and be like, “We should’ve eaten first…” while still pulling your panties down, Or he’ll groan dramatically when he realizes he forgot a condom again like, “Okay this is the fourth time this week, I swear I’m not doing it on purpose..” If you make a stupid joke while you’re on top of him? He’ll laugh, but then thrust up suddenly and say, “Still funny?” with that smug fucking face.

And if you’re shy or embarrassed about something mid-sex? He instantly makes you feel better. Might joke gently. Kiss your forehead. Murmur, “You’re perfect, baby. I promise.” He keeps things light without making it unserious. He’s the king of making you feel safe enough to laugh and moan in the same breath.

And oh the post-nut giggles? Oh he gets them. Not every time, but if it was extra messy or especially intense? He’ll bury his face in your neck and laugh like, “Jesus Christ, what the hell did we just do.” It’s soft. It’s sweet. It’s sexy as fuck.

H = HAIR..

Let’s start with the obvious: Yes, the carpet matches the damn drapes. Brown. Thick. Yeah. He’s not fully shaved, he’s neatly groomed down there. Enough that it’s never in the way, never too wild, but still super Sam. Like, you pull his pants down and you’re greeted with trimmed hair, a big cock, and the scent of his skin and it’s just so real. So raw. You’re instantly feral.

Chest hair? OH MY GOD. YES. It’s there. It’s fine but it’s still enough to feel when you’re laying on him after sex. A little patch between his pecs, trailing down his stomach in that V-line of sin. That happy trail™. It leads straight down and you follow it with your lips every time like it’s ritual.

Facial hair? Depends on the era. Sometimes he shaves. Sometimes he’s stubbly. But when he’s got that little beard scruff going on? Oh yeah. You feel it burn your thighs when he’s going down on you. You feel it drag along your neck when he kisses your collarbone. You tell him not to shave and he listens. Every time.

I = INTIMACY..

Like i already said, sex with Sam is emotionally based. And that’s what makes it so intense. Sam’s the kind of lover where even if it starts rough, needy, desperate, somewhere in the middle of it always turns into something deeper on a personal level.

He looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

When he’s inside you, it’s like the whole world disappears. Like nothing else matters except the way you’re holding onto him, moaning into his mouth, whispering his name like it’s the only word you remember. He’s so focused. So connected. He makes you feel like you’re the only person who has ever touched him.

Kissing? Always. He has to kiss you during sex. Even if it’s messy, even if you’re turned away or on top, he’ll find your lips. He’ll guide your face to his with shaking fingers, panting against your mouth like he needs it more than air. That closeness? That skin-to-skin, soul-to-soul type of thing? That’s what he lives for.

He says the softest things, too. Especially when you’re not expecting it. It hits harder because he means every single fucking word.

And the thing is? Sex doesn’t always have to be soft to be intimate with Sam. He can rail you into the mattress and still make you feel like you’re the center of his universe. That’s the duality. That’s what fucks you up. He holds your heart while he ruins your body. Because for him? Intimacy is everything. Not a bonus. Not some accidental side effect. It’s the whole reason he’s there.

J = JACK OFF..

First of all, how often? Sam pretends he doesn’t do it much. Like he’ll act all focused, always reading lore, training, being the world’s biggest buzzkill, but behind closed doors? He’s so fucking down bad it’s unreal.

If he’s around you and can’t have you? It’s a problem. Like, he’ll lock himself in the bunker’s bathroom after seeing you walk around in one of his hoodies with no pants on, cheeks red, muttering to himself like, “Fucking hell, get it together, Sam.”

And then… yeah. The pants come off. Fast.

When? At night. In the shower. When he’s on a hunt and misses you so bad he can’t sleep. When you send him a voice message that wasn’t even hot or something, but your voice alone has him rock fucking hard. And sometimes? Middle of the day, unexpectedly. You laugh a certain way. Bite your lip. Call him “Sammy” with that soft little look in your eyes? Yeah. He’ll be hard for hours and finally give in when he’s alone.

How? He starts slow. He tries to keep it clean. Like, he’ll palm himself through his sweats and sigh like, “Just a quick one, get it out of your system” but that is never what ends up happening. Because the second he wraps that big hand around his cock and thinks about you moaning? Whining his name? Riding him? Begging him to come inside you? He’s done for.

Sometimes he leans back against the wall and imagines you straddling him, fingers digging into his shoulders while you whisper in his ear. Other times he gets on his knees in the shower and pictures you standing over him, telling him what to do. Either way? He finishes hard. With a groan he tries to muffle.

And afterward? He’s so ashamed. Like full hands-over-his-face, “God, what’s wrong with me” energy. But it never stops him from doing it again the next night.

What does he think about?

You. Always you. Not even just the sex. Sometimes it’s your laugh. The way you pout. The little sigh you make when he kisses your neck. He builds entire fantasies in his head, like you sneaking into his bed in the middle of the night and grinding on him under the sheets… or dropping to your knees while he’s trying to study lore and saying, “You’ve been so good, baby. Let me help.” It’s the emotional + the physical. He goes feral for both.

K = KINK(S)..

1. PRAISE KINK. Sam needs to hear how good he’s making you feel. Not in a cocky way, but like, he craves that validation.“You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” He’ll literally start panting harder, fucking deeper, the second you whimper that shit. He never grew up being told he was good enough. So in bed? When you make him feel like a god with your voice? It wrecks him. He’ll mutter little broken replies too, all breathless, “Yeah? I got you, baby… s’only me, right?” (YES IT’S ONLY YOU SAMUEL.)

2. OVERSTIMULATION KINK. Sam is lowkey addicted to watching you come over and over again. The first orgasm isn’t even the goal; it’s just the beginning. He’ll use his fingers, his tongue, his cock… and he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, pulling at him, whimpering that it’s “too much.” But he’s so sweet about it. He whispers, “You can do it, baby… gimme one more. Just one more.” And when you cry for him? That’s when he praises you even more, calls you his good girl, pretty thing, perfect angel while he works you through it with those perfect fucking fingers.

3. LIGHT DARCYPHILIA. Hear me out, if you ever cry during sex, (From the pleasure of it or from being so emotionally overwhelmed?) Sam loses it. He goes into full soft-mode. Whispers your name over and over. Kisses your tears. Tells you how beautiful you are, how you feel so good, how he has you. It’s never power thing with him. It’s connection. He’s never felt anything like that before, and it makes the orgasm hit harder. For both of you.

4. HAIR PULLING (ESPECIALLY HIS). If you tug his hair when you’re on top or while he’s between your legs? He literally moans. Like chokes on it. His hips will stutter. He’ll let out this rough, low, “fuck— do that again.” And he loves to gently pull your hair too. Mostly to make you look up at him while he fucks you. To get that eye contact he’s obsessed with. To see your face while he ruins you.

L = LOCATION..

1. HIS BED. This is his main HQ for sex. Why? Because it’s safe. Private. Cozy. He can take his time, strip you slowly, light a candle or two if he’s feeling soft. The sheets are always warm. His pillow smells like him. There’s usually a lore book or journal half-open on the nightstand that he shoves aside to pull you underneath him. He’ll fuck you into the mattress like it’s the last time every single time.

2. THE IMPALA. He tries to not do this often because Dean would literally murder him if he found out, but when you’re both desperate on a hunt, there’s only one room available at a shitty motel and you don’t wanna traumatize Dean? Yeah. That backseat becomes your whole universe. You straddle him, bouncing in his lap with your panties shoved to the side, and he’s gripping your hips like his life depends on it. One hand braced on the ceiling, the other shoved up your shirt, and he’s groaning your name like a prayer. Everything’s cramped and sweaty and messy and ughhh. Yeah.

3. MOTEL ROOMS. You step into a cheap, flickering-light motel room and the second the door locks? Sam turns into a different man. He doesn’t care about taking it slow, he wants you. Against the wall. On the desk. On that creaky-ass bed with the ugly blanket bunched up under your knees. He loves fucking you in front of the mirror there, too. One hand in your hair, the other on your waist while he watches you both move. And God forbid the shower’s working. That’s where he gets especially filthy, pressing you to the wall, sucking water off your skin, fucking you under the spray until it runs cold.

4. LIBRARY TABLES IN THE BUNKER. You’re sitting in his lap. Trying to “study.” His laptop’s open. His eyes are locked on your neck. And before you can even flip a page, his hand is sliding under your skirt. He eats you out on top of lore, bends you over old books, moans your name into the crook of your shoulder while he fills you from behind. You’re panting. He’s groaning. Pages are fluttering off the desk. And when it’s over? He marks the page and says, “We’ll come back to that later.”

M = MOTIVATION..

Sam is not the type to just randomly get horny and go jerk off like Dean does. Nah. He builds up. Here’s what gets him going:

1. YOUR VOICE. Soft. Whiny. Teasing. Anything. You could just be reading off a menu, and he’ll suddenly be thinking about your lips around his cock. You whimper his name when you’re sleepy? His brain short-circuits. You moan a little too loud during a stretch? “Goddamn it…” He’s hard. Fully. And now he has to figure out how to not fuck you into the kitchen counter.

2. YOUR BRATTY BEHAVIOR. Sam doesn’t know how to handle it when you talk back. You roll your eyes? Get a little snarky? Say ‘make me’? He gives you that look. That “Are you sure you wanna start this?” look. And the second you smirk or sass him again? You’re pinned to the mattress in 0.4 seconds with his hand on your throat and his voice in your ear, “You’ve got a mouth on you tonight, huh?”

3. NEEDING HIM. You curl into his lap and whimper “Sammy, please”? You grab at him mid-kiss like you’re gonna break without him inside you? He gets this overwhelmed, aching urgency to take care of you. To fuck you slow. To kiss every part of you like he’s trying to fix something inside you. Because what turns him on most isn’t just sex. It’s that you trust him. That you want him. That you’re so fucking soft with him and no one else gets that.

4. FEAR OF LOSING CONTROL. Oh yeah. Sam’s biggest turn-on? Is that moment where he realizes he can’t not have you. It’s psychological. A little dark. That feeling like, if he doesn’t touch you, fuck you, hear you fall apart for him, he might lose his mind. It’s what makes the sex rougher. It’s what makes him whisper “Mine.” It’s what makes him finish so deep and so desperate that he can’t even open his eyes for a second afterward.

N = NO..

Anything non-consensual, degrading, or humiliating. Even in roleplay, even in dirty talk, no means no. Period. Sam’s not into anything that makes you feel small. He’s obsessed with you, babe. He’d never be able to look you in the eye after calling you names or slapping you across the face. He doesn’t even like it when you say you’re not good enough.

Also, public sex where you could actually get caught. He’ll bend you over in a secluded spot, sure. He’ll pull you into the backseat on a lonely road. But the second there’s even a chance of someone seeing you? Absolutely not. Not even a little exhibitionism. Not his thing. It makes him tense. He’s so protective, and the thought of you being exposed, humiliated, or seen like that by some random asshole makes his stomach twist. He wants your body to be just for him. Not a show. Not a joke.

Pet play, daddy kink, or calling you baby girl is a big no for him, too. It’s just not his language. It makes him feel weird. He’s not into calling himself “Daddy.” Or calling you “Baby girl.” He’ll call you baby, sweetheart, angel, his girl, but nothing that gives off weird power dynamic vibes. Especially not the kind that messes with your innocence or infantilizes you. That shit makes him uncomfortable. And pet names like kitten, princess, puppy? No.

And Meaningless sex. Maybe he could’ve in his soulless era. Maybe during some fucked-up grief spiral post-Jess or post-Ruby. But normally? If he doesn’t care about you, he’s not hard. He’s not in it. He’s not mentally or emotionally there. He’s an intimacy guy. That’s his fuel. He needs that trust.

O = ORAL..

Let’s start with the only thing that matters, Sam loves going down on you more than he loves himself. No exaggeration. That man lives between your thighs. You sit on his face and it’s like home sweet home. He’ll literally moan into your pussy, his big hands gripping your thighs like they’re sacred.

He’s slow at first, torturously slow. Draws lazy circles with his tongue, looks up at you through those ridiculous lashes while you twitch. And the eye contact?? He’s obsessed. Keeps his mouth on you the whole time, staring up at you with that ruined, messy face like he wants to see your soul leave your body.

And oh my god, he talks. You grind on his tongue and he’s saying shit like, “That’s it… tastes so fucking good… look at you.”

He eats pussy like he’s starving. Like he has to. And when you cum? He doesn’t back off. He locks you down and rides it out, tongue still working you while your legs shake around his shoulders and you’re whining his name like a prayer. If you push at his head, he growls, “Uh-uh. One more. Gimme one more.”

And yes, he jerks off to the memory of it later. One hand wrapped around his cock while he thinks about the way you screamed when he sucked on your clit. Degenerate. Oh my god who said that??…

Now let’s talk receiving.

He loves it. He’s just not needy about it. He’ll never ask for it, but the second your hand brushes his thigh, he spreads his legs a little wider, eyes locked on you like; Are you sure? Are you really gonna do this right now? And when you drop to your knees his head tips back. He moans like you just saved his life.

But what kills him isn’t just the sensation; it’s the look on your face while you do it. The soft glances. The way you worship him. He gets overwhelmed fast. Starts gripping your hair. Moaning through his teeth. Begging you with breathy little, “F-fuck, baby, you don’t have to—oh my God…”

There’s definitely a few times he accidentally finished faster than he wanted to and blushed for the rest of the day. But he’ll make it up to you. Oh baby. He’ll drag you onto the bed and make you cum twice with his mouth before you can even breathe.

P = PACE..

His default pace? Slow. Deep. Sensual. He moves with full strokes, hips grinding slow, keeping his forehead against yours or his mouth on your neck. Every thrust has weight. Has meaning. He needs to feel all of you, how your body grips him, how your breath catches when he rolls his hips just right, how your thighs tremble when he doesn’t pull back all the way and instead just grinds into your spot again and again and again, “That feel good, baby? Yeah? That’s it. Let me take my time.” Sam wants to witness you falling apart. He wants to be right there, eye-to-eye, panting into your mouth while you gasp and squirm under him.

But oh, when he gets desperate…

Fast. Rough. Deep. Unhinged. It happens when he’s been holding back for too long— on a hunt, or when he’s been jealous, or if you tease him all day and act innocent. Suddenly you’re bent over the desk, hands braced, and Sam’s behind you pounding into you so hard the books fall off the shelf. He’s gripping your hips, his voice tight, low, groaning things like, “This what you wanted? Huh? Couldn’t wait five minutes?” He’s not always vocal, but when the pace picks up? He’s feral. He moans. He curses. He says your name like it’s the only word he knows. You’re not walking straight tomorrow if he’s in one of those moods.

Q = QUICKIE..

He’ll pretend he doesn’t like them. Sam will act all rational like, “I’d rather wait till we’re alone… I don’t want to rush anything… it’s better when we have time…” But deep down??

That man is a fucking liar.

Because when he’s hard, when he’s needy, when you press up against him in the hallway and whisper “Five minutes. Please, Sammy.” he’s already unzipping his jeans.

It doesn’t happen super often. Sam doesn’t crave them as much, but when they do happen? It’s because he’s so overwhelmed by you he can’t think straight. Like; when you wear something provocative, grind on him and stuff like that. Suddenly he’s grabbing your hand, dragging you into the nearest room, locking the door like, “Okay. Bend over. Now.”

How he feels after? Lowkey guilty. But not for long. He wipes you down with his shirt sleeve and kisses your forehead like it was a sacred act even though your legs are still shaking. He always promises to make it up to you that night.

R = RISK..

Public stuff / getting caught? Like i said. NOPE. IMMEDIATE SHUTDOWN. Sam is not into getting caught. He will risk your back being blown out in a gas station bathroom, sure, but he needs control.

But like… fucking you with the bunker door unlocked while Dean’s asleep down the hall? Yes. That kind of “you have to stay quiet” risk?? He lives for it. He gets off on the idea that he’s the only one who knows how ruined you look under him. It’s secret. Not public. That’s the difference.

HOWEVER, THERES A FEW RISQUÉ THINGS HE WOULD DO, LIKE..

⭑ Letting you tie him up. (Nervous at first, but goes feral once he trusts you. He begs so pretty.)

⭑ Phone sex in the middle of a hunt. (Voice all low and strained while he jerks off in a motel bathroom.)

⭑ Letting you suck him off while he’s on the phone with someone.

S = STAMINA..

First round energy?? Foreplay for a solid 20 minutes minimum. Fingering you slow, teasing kisses down your body, tongue between your thighs until you’re a sobbing mess and he’s still calm as hell, like, “One more before I even touch you, yeah?”

Then when he finally slides in? It’s slow. He doesn’t like to rush. He doesn’t even care if he finishes right away, his entire goal is to make you cum at least twice before he even thinks about pulling out.

But when he gets close? He lasts. Like… too long. You’re still on round one, shaking, nails clawed into his back, and he’s still going with sweat dripping off his jaw and his voice all raspy like, “Almost there, baby… just hold on for me a little longer.” Like no. Sir. I can’t. I physically cannot take any more. And yet you do, because he holds you through every stroke and tells you how good you are the entire time.

Multiple rounds?? YES. ABSOLUTELY. CONSISTENTLY. He’ll go two rounds minimum on a regular night. If you’re both worked up or he’s been gone for a while? Three. Four.

Recovery time? Quick. Man’s metabolism is on crack. Give him 10-15 minutes and a sip of water and he’s ready again, hard against your thigh while he kisses your shoulder and whispers “Can I?” He doesn’t even need sleep after, just a cuddle. A praise session. A little pillow talk about how fucking perfect you are. And he’s back in action.

T = TOYS..

First of all, YES. Sam owns toys. He just keeps them very private. Hidden in a locked drawer in his bunker room, tucked under layers of boring-ass lore books, so Dean never even thinks about touching it. He doesn’t have a million flashy things. No neon-colored silicone junk. His collection is intentional. A little sleek. A little intimidating. And all designed to make you scream.

On you? Oh babe. That’s his favorite. He uses toys like a study tool. Like he’s learning your body from scratch.

Vibrating bullet while he fucks you? He watches your face while he turns it higher. Moans softly when your back arches. He’ll hold it against your clit and stay buried inside you, whispering, “Come on, baby. Let it go. I’ve got you.” He does not move until you’ve cum twice. He lives for how soaked it makes you.

Wand vibrator?? That thing does not leave the nightstand. He’ll strap you down or hold your legs apart and just… watch. Tells you not to move. Keeps his hand firm on your stomach to feel you twitching. And when you beg to cum? He leans down and murmurs, “Then do it for me. Right now.” And when you do? He praises the hell out of you, while flipping it back on for another round.

On himself? He doesn’t usually need them… but for you?? He’ll do anything.

You ask him to try a cock ring? He nods, already flushed. You want to ride him while controlling the vibrator against his dick? He’s breathless, trying not to bust instantly just from how filthy it looks. And handcuffs?? Don’t even get him started. You cuff him up one time, sit on his face, and he’ll be ruined for the rest of his life.

U = UNFAIR..

First of all, He lives for it. He’ll spend hours making you squirm just because he loves seeing that pretty little tension in your jaw. You whimper? He smirks. You roll your hips toward him? He backs away. And when you pout and beg? “You’re so cute when you’re needy, baby.” AND THEN DOESN’T EVEN TOUCH YOU.

Physical teasing? He’s a literal terrorist. He’ll touch everywhere but where you need. Kiss your thighs. Suck your neck. Drag his fingers up your stomach and stop right before your clit, just to hear you whimper.

One of his favorite moves is holding the base of his cock, rubbing the tip through your folds for what feels like forever, grinning at how messy and needy you get. AUGHGGSGG.

V = VOLUME..

Sam is a moaner… Like, a real, honest-to-God moaner. The first time you go down on him? He gasps. Whimpers. Whines. His hand tangles in your hair and he’s trying so hard to hold it together, but that first swirl of your tongue? He chokes out a guttural “Fuck—baby…” and it just keeps going from there.

He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. He gets so wrapped up in the moment, so into you, that his brain just shuts off and all that’s left is raw sound.

OH AND When he goes down on you? He moans into your pussy like it’s his job. Low vibrations, messy tongue, and every single one of his desperate little grunts are just as much for your pleasure as his own. He gets off on your sounds. Groans louder the louder you get.

However, Sam is the loudest when he cums. All that control he usually has?? Gone. He’s cursing, moaning your name, whining, clutching at your hips like he might fall through the bed. If it’s intense, like one of those long, slow, emotional kind of finishes; he’ll whimper. Full-on, breathless, high-pitched whimpers. And he collapses on top of you, still murmuring, “So fucking good… Jesus… I love you so much…”

W = WILD CARD..

Sam has a very specific, deeply repressed kink for being caught jerking off. AND LISTEN. He doesn’t want to want it. It goes against everything he thinks he is. But somewhere in the deep dark crevices of that messed-up Stanford dropout brain of his?? There’s a wire that got twisted. A part of him that lives for the shame of it.

He has a whole-ass fantasy of you walking in on him. Not in a hot, “oops babe caught you” way. No. He wants it messy. He wants to be red-faced, panting, fist wrapped tight around his cock, back hunched, completely wrecked, sweaty hair sticking to his face and his mouth hanging open like a desperate animal.

And then the door creaks. And you’re standing there. Watching. “Oh my God— Sam?” He freezes. Eyes wide. Hands still. “Fuck—I thought you were asleep—shit—” He scrambles for a blanket but it’s too late. You’ve already seen everything. And instead of looking disgusted, you tilt your head and give him a look. And that’s it. That’s the fantasy. That look you give him. That sick little thrill that comes with being caught with his guard down, not in control. It makes him cum so hard he blacks out.

Realistically? He’d NEVER bring it up. Too mortified. Too wholesome on the surface. He WANTS to be humiliated, but only by you. Don’t be fooled though. He’s still your good boy. Even when he’s trembling with guilt and cum all over his hand.

X = X-RAY..

You better listen carefully because im about to get real fucking specific out here.

Let’s not even lie about it, this man is hung. Like not pornstar fake-looking veiny monster but in that “why is that shit still growing??” kind of way.

Soft? It’s still intimidating. Like you accidentally brush his thigh and think it’s a wallet or a knife but no, ma’am. It’s the holy weapon. Hard? You’re staring at it like, “Okay. That’s gonna hurt. And I want it to.”

We’re talking like 8.5 inches BUT HE FUCKS LIKE IT’S TWELVE. Because he knows how to use it. It’s not just big, it’s mean. It curves just slightly up and hits your g-spot like he’s got a goddamn degree in it. A little too wide to comfortably deepthroat without tears but you still do it like a patriot!!

When it comes to girth, this is where he’s unreasonable. Thick. Like genuinely. Your hand doesn’t close all the way around it and the first time he slides in.

⭑ Tip? Pink. A little swollen when he’s worked up.

⭑ Shaft? A couple veins, nothing too crazy, but one nasty one that runs up the underside and THROBS when he’s close.

⭑ Curve? Slight, upward, aka DESTROYER OF WORLDS.

⭑ Balls? Big. Warm. Hang low when he’s relaxed. He’ll literally grunt if you play with them too long like an old man getting up from a recliner.

Oh, and i imagine he’s got that silky skin but steel underneath kind of vibe. When you jerk him off, it’s smooth as hell but you can feel how rock hard he is. Sometimes when he’s super turned on, it jumps in your hand. Like it literally twitches just from the sight of you.

Overall vibe check? (…Yes im doing this.) That dick has the audacity to look polite and wholesome and then ruin your cervix like it’s personal. Like it didn’t ask for permission, it gave a gentle kiss and then wrecked your shit for hours. The kind of cock that ends friendships, starts wars, and has you sitting there the next morning with shaky legs and a religious awakening.

Y = YEARNING..

I feel like I may be repeating myself, (That’s what I get for caring way too much just to write one paragraph for each headcanon.) Sam’s sex drive is pretty high, but it’s rooted in emotion. When he loves you?? When he’s in it?? He wants you all. the. time. In ways that go way beyond just “I’m horny” and straight into “I need to be inside you to feel like a person again.”

It’s the longing that kills him. He could go days without touching you and still be craving you like he’s starving. Just seeing you laugh across the bunker? Feeling your hand brush his thigh under the table? He’s hard. He’s aching. He has to excuse himself to the hallway to take a few deep breaths.

He’s SO emotionally attached to sex. He jerks off just thinking about your moans. Not your tits. Not even the way you ride him. Just the sound you make when you whimper his name. I gotta drive that point home.

Z = ZZZ..

It depends on the type of sex.

If it’s a full-blown, body-shaking, filthy, 3-round, “I’m gonna wreck you” session? That man is out like a fucking light. He rolls over, panting like he just ran 15 miles, wraps one massive arm around your waist, and just… collapses.

If it’s slow and emotional? He stays awake a little longer. Just to soak it in. You’re all pressed against his chest, sticky and glowing, and he’s whispering shit like, “That was everything.” He strokes your hair while you fall asleep first. He tucks the blanket around your shoulders and passes out with his mouth slightly open against your hair. Probably drooling a little. Would lick it up ngl.

But if you’re not okay? If you seem shaky? Sensitive? Just need aftercare?? Sam will stay up all night. No matter what. He gets soft and focused, cleans you up real gentle, makes sure you’re warm, gets you water, and pulls you into his chest.

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