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inosukijiro · 2 days ago

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✮⋆˙ sammy

𝘀𝘆𝗻. ━ the first time you call him sammy.

𖤐 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 .ᐟ i had this idea bc ik he hates it when ppl call him that — except dean sometimes. but the other day i was real sad, and i just want a sam to treat me soft yk. anyways hopefully u all like it 🤧 sammy is such a cutie name tho

𖤐 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 .ᐟ fluff. crying reader, reasons not specified. hurt/comfort, emphasis on the comfort. sam-centric. gender-neutral reader. can be read as modern reader in spn, or not. isn’t season specific, but written with earlier seasons in mind. probably ooc. 2.1k words.

─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ─── ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───

The first time you call him Sammy, he hates it. He hates it because he hates the way it sounds. It's ringing in his ears. The way it comes off your tongue is putrid and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth. It’s unexpected and it has him gapping. He hates it the most, though, because you’re crying.

There’s a laundry list of reasons why he hates it. But none of those reasons have anything to do with you. Even then, you’ve never slipped up, never even come close to saying it. Maybe you’ve thought about it, maybe you haven’t — Sam isn’t a mind reader. But he’s pretty sure you know he doesn’t like it. You’ve heard him shut others down before, made it clear it was off-limits. Whether or not you ever wondered why never really crossed his mind. It could be that you’re just understanding. You’re always patient with him, always respectful. It wouldn’t surprise him, though, if you already knew.

It’s in the way you glance at him whenever someone else says it, some stranger who doesn’t know better. The way your eyes flick to his, gauging his reaction, but you never ask. Never push. Never assume you have the right. It’s like you already get it — that to him, Sammy is a chubby twelve year old with too big eyes and an even bigger heart, a kid who still believed in things before the world beat it out of him. Sammy is powerless. Sammy is soft. And Sam has spent his whole damn life trying to be anything but.

Dean gets away with it — most of the time. Some days, it doesn’t sting as much. Other days, it makes his skin crawl. But you? You never try. Never tested the boundaries of what he’ll allow, like it’s some kind of game. You call him Sam. Just Sam. Nothing more, nothing less.

However, that doesn’t matter right now because you’re crying. Because you’re hurting so much that it’s spilling out of you, raw and unfiltered, past your lips in desperation. And Sam knows — knows you’d never call him that on purpose, never say it just to get under his skin. You know how much it bothers him. But right now? He can’t bring himself to care. Because how could he, when your voice is shaking, when your hands are trembling, when whatever pain you’re carrying is heavy enough to make you forget something so simple? He wouldn’t be mad at you — not really. He actually doesn’t think he could ever be mad at you. Especially not when you’re looking at him like that, like you need him to be steady, to be something solid when everything else feels like it’s slipping away. So he swallows whatever flicker of irritation tries to rise in his chest and focuses on what actually matters. You.

You, who’s crying. You're crying and you won’t stop. It’s the kind of crying that shakes your whole body, that makes your breaths come out in sharp, broken gasps. And Sam doesn’t know what to do. He hasn’t ever seen you cry like this before. Maybe a quiet sniffle, or a small tear you’d quickly wipe away when you thought no one was looking — but never this.

He hadn’t expected this when he came back to the motel room. Dean had dropped him off before heading out to the bar down the street. It's the usual thing he does to celebrate another successful case. While Sam would’ve loved to join, he really didn’t. You were here and Sam could never stay away from you for too long. All Sam wanted to do was be with you and go to bed.

But he hears it the minute he walks up to the door. It's muffled through the walls and the wood, but he can hear it clear enough. The sounds of heartbreaking cries and Sam grows frantic. He’s quick to get the key in the door to unlock it. And no sooner does he do so, as he pushes it open, he finds you. He finds you sitting on one of the beds — at this point he isn’t sure which one it is and he doesn’t think you do either. Neither of you actually care, because that isn’t the concern.

The sight before him is, and it breaks his heart. But he rushes in; fast and swift. The door shuts behind him with a clunk, and he sees you jolt. And all Sam can think to do is gather you up in his arms. Because Sam isn’t some heartless freak that would close the door and walk away. His brain is too frazzled to think about anything else. He needs to hold you. He needs to calm you down. The tears streaming down your face tell him that you've been crying for hours. And just a little, it makes him sick, thinking that you’ve been upset for that long.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, your face buried in his shoulder like you’re trying to disappear into him. And all Sam can do is hold you. His arms wrapping around you so carefully, so gently, as if he’s afraid you’ll break apart completely if he isn’t careful — like you're fragile.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispers softly. “I'm here.” He soothes as he holds you. “Just breathe f’me, okay?” His voice is steady, even if everything else isn’t. You’re wrapped up in him, as your body trembles. It's not just from your crying. No, it’s one of those involuntary shudders. He cradles the back of your head with his hand, helping you press yourself further into him. It’s almost as if he's shielding you as you hide away from everything. And while Sam might not know what that everything is, he’ll find it and make sure it never bothers you again.

And that’s when he hears it. It’s muffled against the fabric of his flannel, and just low enough that he would’ve missed it. But he can’t. Because you’ve kept repeating his name through your broken sobs. It’s rapid before it slows. You say his name like you're trying to convince him of some urgency without having to say anything else. And then he realizes that you aren’t just saying his name by the time you start teetering on the edge of calming down. You hiccup and sniffle, and he can feel the heat of your tears against his neck.

The world around him seemed to fade and the sound of the highway outside dulled to nothing. He freezes for a brief moment, his breath hitched as those syllables hit his ears. So soft but shattered — fragile and so, so heavy. It was gut wrenching, and the way you had said it was different. It was different then he’d ever heard it before. Dean said it with familiarity, obviously — sometimes teasing, sometimes sharp, sometimes warm, sometimes just to mess with him. But you? It wasn’t just his name anymore. It was everything you had been feeling. All the hurt and exhaustion and desperation bundled into those two syllables — and he feels that flicker of irritation in his chest shift.

That irritation changes into something intense and unhinged. It burns in his lungs and coils around his heart. He felt cheated, robbed of something precious — because he had always wondered how it would have sounded had it ever left your mouth. Because he trusts you so much that he’d imagine it plenty of times. He imagined it sultry and light, full of love and care. The way you’d look at him like he hung the moon and stars. He pictured the way your lips would curve around the syllables, how the name would dance from your tongue and into his ears. And even if Sam thinks he doesn’t deserve it, amongst all the things that haunt and plague his mind; he thinks that maybe, just maybe, if he had ever heard it like that, it would’ve healed something in him.

But now, in contrast to everything else, the name began to taste like salt and sorrow.

You don’t really say anything else after that and it's clear that you don’t really know what to do next either. All you do is try and sink deeper into him, and Sam lets you. He’s patient as your breathing slowly begins to even out as he lets his warmth encase you. Your head lays so lazily against his shoulder, as does your body against his — so defeated, so worn out. And Sam feels just a bit guilty the moment he pulls away and your face is forced to emerge.

He watches as your lip trembles as you take deep breaths. And a soft, small whimper nearly escapes your throat before he's pressing sweet kisses into your skin. It doesn’t matter where they land, whether it’s your cheek or your nose, he’s peppering you with enough kisses before you could even think about working yourself up again.

“Hey hey hey,” he coos and frowns slightly at your tear stricken face. “It’s okay, honey. I got you.”

He studies your face as you look at him, your cheek squishing and settling into his cupped hand. You just look so tired. He moves to smooth the hair away from your face and comes to the decision that he can’t just leave you like this. To leave you with dry tear tracks along your face and to wake up feeling miserable. No, he can’t have that. As gentle and loving as Sam can, he presses a kiss to your forehead and gingerly uses his thumbs to wipe the remaining tears from your cheeks.

He’ll suggest ever so lightly to get you cleaned up. He murmurs it ever so tender, afraid of uttering any words too loud. And you don’t argue. You don’t wave him off — you don’t have the strength to. Instead you nod weakly and follow his lead as he sits you up. He moves fast, grabbing a washcloth that isn’t too far away in the bathroom and dampens it before dabbing at your cheeks. In fact, he wipes down your whole face so that there isn’t even a trace of your cries left. He moves more of your hair out of your face, the small strands of hair that were either dampened from your tears or the cloth, he isn’t sure.

But his hands are steady. Sam is pretty sure that his hands have never been this steady in all his life. They’re precise and patient, soft in a way that is only reserved for you. And when you look up at him — with a small sad thankful smile and red rimmed eyes — he’ll just smile back reassuringly, pressing yet another kiss to your temple.

He’ll ask if it's all better, and you’ll nod. You do seem much better now — calmer, more still — which Sam is glad for. And soon enough, the two of you are tucked tight beneath his covers, the warmth settling over you like a heavy, quiet comfort. You latch onto him immediately, burying your face as deep as you can into his chest, like you’re trying to disappear into the space between his ribs. Your grip on him, however, is no longer desperate but something softer, something lingering. His arms settle around you instinctively, holding you close. The slow, steady rise and fall of his breathing seems to lull you, your body finally relaxing against his. It’s peaceful. Almost perfect.

Though, a small ‘..ank you, ..ammy’ is murmured. The words drowsy, barely forming — melting into the warmth of him as sleep drags you under.

Sam tenses for half a second and his chest tightens briefly. But in the next moment, he isn’t paying it any mind. He doesn’t need to dwell on it. Instead, he just holds you tighter; pressing his lips to the crown of your head, lets himself sink into the warmth of you beside him, and exhales.

He wonders if you’ll remember in the morning — if you’ll realize what you said, if you’ll apologize for it, or if you won’t even think twice. He thinks about if you’ll say it again. Because, yeah, he feels extremely robbed. The thought gnaws at him. It's like it's been tainted with something new and he’s almost eager for it to not be. And maybe it won’t be tomorrow, maybe not even next week, but eventually. Because somewhere, deep in that big, smart, dummy brain he has, he knows that you will say it again. And when you do, it’ll be soft, bright, and full of something that only he could wish for.

He can already hear it. He can already imagine the way his nickname will sound when it’s spoken by you not through exhaustion or desperation, but through delight. And it’s already music to his ears. Because maybe — just maybe — being called Sammy wouldn’t be so bad. Especially if it’s coming from you.

𖤐 .ᐟ i feel like i rushed the end, but its literally 2 am and im tiredd. anyways,, tysm for the likes, reblogs, and support i love writing these little stories for u all ( • ̀ω•́ )✧

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #supernatural sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #spn x reader #spn x you #spn x y/n #spn #no use of y/n #no y/n #reader insert #modern!reader #supernatural x y/n #sam winchester fic

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bettystonewell · 2 days ago

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Sam Winchester x Reader - PERFECT

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

A chance encounter, followed by another in the most unlikely of places, leads to a one-night stand for Sam, and maybe something more?

18+ only MDNI 7.5k words (SAM POV)

Tags: smut, oral - male and female recieving, language, Sam’s POV, pining, dirty talk, an unconventional meet-cute

A/N: Guys! It’s my very first Sam centric fic, and it turned smutty! This is all thanks to a prompt exchange with the lovely @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth. You can find her Donna x reader fic HERE. I was given the prompt: Third Wheeling, and the phrase, “You do not want to go in there, believe me,” which is in bold. - Beth ❤️

“Being on the road can be so lonely sometimes, you know?” Dean says, taking Kristy’s hand and gliding his thumb over her smooth skin. She’s hot and way out of his league, and Sam just knows he’s already forgotten her name.

He rolls his eyes. Again. Another town, another bar. Another conquest that will keep him out of a nice warm bed.

He gets it, he does, but he was looking forward to stretching his legs out tonight. They’re stiff and his back still aches from the salt and burn they did the night before and the driving they’ve been doing all day.

Milroy to Muncie. Dean isn’t travelling the world like he just told her. What would a seasoned pilot even be doing in a place like this?

There’s a tidal pool of liquor right in front of him, lapping at the elbows of his jacket with every fresh drink poured. But hey, there are peanuts. The shells are swimming in the swill, and that suits him fine. The smell of smoke and tobacco, cheap cologne mixed with sweat and… urinal cakes… it’s nothing to bitch about. They could use a load off.

It’s just having to hear Dean swindle his way into her panties. Only took two beers and a double bacon cheeseburger.

Sam takes another swig of his beer. Lets the bitterness cool his throat and his hands. It settles in his stomach that’s twisted itself into knots. Kristy was perfect until she started talking to Dean.

He’s got a shoulder blocking his peripheral now, but raising his chin and leaning further into the wave of booze on the counter gives Sam the right angle. He sees the rise of her chest as it dips into her tank top. Makes his lip curl over the lip of his bottle and his cheeks flush. A little.

“Omae wa mou shindeiru,” Dean says with a husk to his voice.

Kristy giggles. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Japanese for you’re so beautiful. I learnt that on my last visit.”

It’s not. Sam might not speak the language, but he knows enough to know that line is from Fist of the North Star and Dean butchered it. Pretty sure he told her she was going to die, actually, but whatever. He shakes his head. None of his business if she falls for it - she does - and he can either stay here and further torment himself, or do something about it.

He chugs down the rest of his beer and drops it in the potent ocean. His elbows just miss the riptide. “Bathroom.” He shoots the word Dean’s way, but he gets no response.

“Yeah, I climbed Fuji last time I was there. It’s beautiful in the winter. The snow up there makes the whole mountain look like you’re walking in the clouds.”

Right. Though Sam would love to see him try. He might not have his brother in full afterwards, but he could live on if Dean became subjected to Darwinism.

He stands and searches the place for the John. Of course it’s in the back.

His eyes sweep over Kristy as he passes her, keeping them well away from Dean’s. His hand is covering the dip of her lower spine now, and that’s enough.

Between the pool tables and over more spilled booze that catches the soles of his sneakers as he crosses the room; he makes it to the little darkened crook behind the jukebox where some guy is marking a trail over the neck of a woman twice his age. He has to tap him on the shoulder or squeeze past and bump uglies with them, but no problem, sweet urinal cakes are within his grasp.

He reaches for the handle, tugs, and is about to step inside when a face plants into his chest.

“Sorry,” you say, and look up. Your eyes would be apologetic if it weren’t for the grin that’s stretching your cheeks. “You do not wanna go in there, believe me.”

He doesn’t want to — “What?”

He checks the plaque on the door to make sure that he is indeed trying to enter the men’s room, and he is. “Ahhh,” he chuckles. His voice is higher, and he’s blinking like there’s no tomorrow. “Why?”

“Oh. No.” Your hand is at your mouth and it’s grown even wider.

Your giggling is much more pleasant than Kristy’s, but he doesn’t see what’s so funny. A band of warmth spreads across his nose, but his stomach is doing flips now and not the good kind.

This place is gross enough. What could someone like you possibly do in there? You’re so…little. Well, anyone compared to him is, but you seem sober and put together.

Your makeup has no smudges. No smell of puke or anything else. Your hair is neat, and while those jeans are rather snug, you’ve got some nice tits. They’re not falling out and you’re not stumbling all over the place. You are looking more sheepish by the second, though.

“No, no. I, ah.” You shake your head. Your legs are crossing together. “Uh-uh. Someone’s dropped a load off in there and the ladies aren’t much better. Can I—” Your hands clasp and fingers intertwine; your arms are now slithering like two snakes between his side and the doorframe. “I really gotta go. Excuse me!”

And with that, you take off through the gap made by the couple and the booze puddles on the floor. You’re scooting between the pool tables, then past Dean and Kristy, honing in on a door at the end of the bar he never noticed before. A gust of air pulls it shut behind you.

Okay. Weird.

Sam shakes his head. He’s about to walk on through to the sink he spots on the wall when his nose picks up on whatever it was you were talking about and, yeah, he doesn’t want to know. Whomever did that needs their insides checked, if they haven’t died already?

He turns on his heels and considers his options. He’s seen and smelled worse, but he’s not desperate yet. The beer is still sitting atop the knots that had unraveled, and though the stench has tightened them back into place, they won’t hold forever.

Maybe if he walks home to the motel they checked into earlier, he can make it before things get dire? He should beat Dean before he drops a sock on the door that way.

So, with a glance towards his older brother, whose fingers have slipped under Kristy’s waistband, his decision made, and Sam beelines for the main entrance, stepping out into the night air.

The chill cuts the back of his hands and he shoves them straight into his pockets, bringing his elbows in tight on account of the wind. It dares to tackle him over, but he leans forward and braces himself down the path and past the alley that tucks into the side of the bar.

For the second time that night, you barrel into him. The coincidence, the irony, the annoyance tightens his stance until he realises it’s you and his brow quirks. “You gotta watch where you’re going.”

Your face planted into his arm, above the junction his elbow makes. It fits nicely. A strand of your hair catches on the stitching of his jacket. Probably got some beer on your chin. Serves you right.

“Excuse me,” you snap, but that grin still spreads over when you look up and your eyes recognise you’ve bumped into him. “Oh.” Your eyelashes bat against your cheek. “Well, you gotta stop getting in my way.”

And as you had done only a minute ago, you turn to take off again. Only Sam is quicker. More alert. His hand grabs your wrist before you get too far and holds on tight. “Where are you going?” he says, considering how your hips and legs squirm. The motel is only two blocks and he’ll be the gentleman if he has to be. He isn’t Dean.

“Look dude, I gotta pee, and that alley ain’t going to cut it, so unless you want me to—”

“Yeah.” He scoffs. “I’m staying down the road, so before you threaten to piss yourself, you’re welcome to use the one in my room.”

You bite your lip and shrug as you stare him up and down. He’s not a serial killer, but he can understand the skepticism after all he’s seen.

You nod your head. “I was gonna aim for your shoes,” you say. “But okay.”

And there’s Sam, blinking once more. His eyes are getting quite the workout tonight. His scoff teed with a snicker this time. The dimples in his cheeks are pulling his chin to new heights and his other hand is leaving its pocket, outstretching in front of him to lead the way.

“Okay then,” he says, and now you’re both walking.

The room isn’t much. The usual twin beds, table and chairs, a couch Sam refuses to sit on. You’ve only been here a second and you’ll only be here a minute or two more, but it’s imperative he cleans up any evidence of their less-than-normal lives while you’re occupied.

The second the door clicks and the light filters through the threads of carpet caught on the frayed timber, he’s zipping up duffles and tucking the nose of Dean’s shotgun out of sight.

There’s a salt round by the fridge, an empty bottle of Jim next to it, and Dean’s underwear draped over the chair. He picks that up with the machete, thanks his lucky stars you didn’t see that or the rest of it, then sits on the end of his bed.

No, he stands.

No, he sits and leans on his legs. His thumbs twiddle, his eyes scan the doors. And now he’s standing up again as the handle jostles and you appear with a smile that’s oozing relief. He relaxes just a little.

“All good?” he asks. What the hell was he thinking? Not like you battled a vamp in there. But then you’re tilting your head and your palms are smoothing your sides as you consider his question, and ‘Please don’t think I’m a creep,’ he prays.

“Yeah. Thanks,” you say. You’re less animated now. You’re chill, calm, collected. Even more put together than before, but just as Sam feared you might, you take in your surroundings, checking out the details of the room.

He’s luckier still.

“Can I, ah, take you back to the bar?”

It’s not suss, right? He’s just being friendly, not kicking you out or hiding something, but it’s not the way you take it.

“You want me gone?” Your chin recedes into your neck.

Shit. “No, I—”

“Relax.” You chuckle and step over to pat him on the shoulder. The same side you ran into on the street. “I’m just messing with you. Thanks for helping a stranger in need,” you add as you move to the door. “I’ll see you around, unless walking me back to the bar includes buying me a drink?”

“There’s beer in the fridge.” Sam didn’t even think. Well. He did, just not with his head.

It’s Dean’s stash in case he doesn’t pickup, but you’re here, and he’s there. Even if nothing comes from this, he doesn’t need to know it’s all a fallacy. Sam’ll take it as a win, and he waits for your response.

He’s down to beg. He throws that look that always works and your lips spread into a smile.

“Alright.” You nod. Don’t even question why there’s beer when you just met at a bar, and the next thing he knows, you’re pulling up a chair, and so is he. His back, leaning against Dean’s former underwear drawer, clinking his and your cold one together.

“So, passing through, huh?” you ask between swigs.

There’s a spark of interest in your eyes, but all he can do is say, “Yeah.” He’d much rather talk about you. Your life is normal. You seem normal. If accepting to use a stranger’s motel bathroom and then staying for a drink makes you so.

You did threaten to pee on him.

“Staying long?”

“Depends on my brother.”

You’d taken another mouthful and the lip of the bottle catches on yours as you say, “Your brother?”

There’s a drop of beer dripping down your chin, and he’s drawn to it. Tongue darts out before hiding it behind his own drink. “Yeah,” he repeats and you’re nodding more. Only it’s slow. It’s understanding.

Your gaze travels the room again as you think what to say, passing the two beds and the duffles he threw on the floor. “So, road trip? Heading to or from college?”

“College?” He chuckles.

“Yeah. You seem young enough. You got that head in a book kind of look.” Your fingers trace the bottleneck and swipe at the condensation. “I dunno? I’m making shit up while I try to work out who you are besides Sam, the guy who saved me from peeing my pants. You’re not exactly giving me much.”

And you’re not giving him a chance. “What about you? What’re you twenty-four?”

“Three. You?”

He nods. He’s twenty-five, but you don’t need to know that. It’s been over two years since he got dragged back into hunting. Since he lost Jess. Maddison, too, not that it’s the same.

“So what’s your story?” he says.

“Besides trying to use the men’s room and the alley?”

It’s not just a chuckle this time, he’s wholeheartedly laughing. It bellows round the room, ricocheting off the walls and doors. That smile of yours is wicked, and the straight-laced tone that delivered it was just right. His stomach has unwound, and his head is feeling light thanks to your shoe brushing his leg below the table.

Maybe there’s no need for lies. Sometimes all it takes is a gentleman’s kindness. A tall stature and an air of mystery.

“Besides that,” he says, and you’re considering him again. Your stare has him staring back.

You’re pretty. More than you are put together. Your hair sits just right, your hands delicate. They’d look good in his, and even better wrapped around any part of him.

Which means he’s got to up his game. You’re already here and the way you look at him clues him in that you might be interested. He just has to reel you in. So, “You gotta boyfriend, or living with your folks?” he adds. He shouldn’t have started with your relationship status, but your smile’s just growing bigger and bigger.

“Boyfriend, huh? At least I asked what you did first.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Do you wanna know if there is one?” you tease, then you’re laughing along with him.

There’s no guy. Your shoe is off and your socked foot is now stretched across the table; resting close to his crotch.

You’re not shy. You’re not dumb, either. “Why do you think I stayed?”

You lean forward. Your toes shift, too, creeping closer and closer to not so little Sam, who twitches with interest. “Cute stranger, staying at the local motel. We don’t get a lot of those ‘round here, and I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow. If you’re interested.”

It’s like he’s channeling his inner-Dean or something. You may as well be in his lap. Sure, your foot is, but women his age never fawn over him, at least he never notices until it’s too late. It took days for Jess flirting after Brady introduced her for him to make his move.

He was in Maddison’s living room and that took Dean’s interference. The weird, and albeit extremely obvious kind, but here with you, what you’re suggesting is plain as day.

“I, ah.” You’re looking at him still. Your big toe is scraping right up against the seam of his pants now. If it weren’t for the fabric covering the family jewels, your nail would be right up in theirs.

Shit.

His knee hits the table. His beer travels down the wrong pipe. He chokes when the cool liquid slides further and the bubbles lick the walls. Meanwhile, your foot just gets in there more. Big toe, seeking the form of his growing boner.

Your smile is infectious. You think making a grown man squirm is hilarious, apparently. He’d let you do it again and again. “You wanna?” he says between splutters.

Idiot. Does he really have to ask?

It’s hard to breathe when your lungs are constricting, let alone think. But you’re there, and he’s there, and he’s so fucking down, it’s no longer funny.

He stands. Crunches his chair across the crunchier carpet as your chin shoots up. Eyes following to what would be the perfect angle if you were closer and below his feet.

“I do,” you say, and your lips are plump, glistening. They’re wide and they pillow under your front teeth, daring him to capture them.

He does.

His arm sneaks around your waist, and he pulls you to stand. His hand plants firm on your side. Fingers scrunch up your shirt, but no matter, yours are riding up under his, and fuck, no, no, he doesn’t fucking care.

His gut is doing flips. Those knots are loose, but his chest is tight. Blood rushes to both heads and both heads ground against different parts of you.

“Sam.” Your kiss stops mid nip. Your hands have since moved to his buckle, but your eyes are on him when he looks past his nose and mouth. He’d kiss you more. Only his attention has turned to what your fingers are doing with his belt and how your arms glide it out in one flick, then go straight back to the fly. “You packing?”

Packing? He stands there, stunned. His pants clearly are. Your fingers just brushed the tip.

“Condom,” you say, and the colour in your irises flicker.

“Ah—Yeah. Yes. Mm—You—You don’t waste time, huh?”

“Haven’t had enough, not too.” You double over in a manner he’d say otherwise. “And you mentioned something ‘bout a brother?”

“Dean?” His cheeks are rising again. But they’re doing so because his eyes are squinting with disgust. You’re still grinning up at him though, and your palm is teasing his dick through its confines.

You grip and press into him, moulding out the shape under his jeans and he shakes that thought away.

You want him. Your lashes are fluttering and your lips are twitching into a sultry smirk because he’s under your ministration and you’re ready to go with him, just as much as he is with you.

“Hold that thought,” he says, and he takes a step back, hand still on your waist to toe a shoe off.

He’s not that coordinated with the sock, however, and he soon bends over to retrieve the house-elf’s bounty. He flashes it in triumph in front of your quirked brow, but you’re soon grinning with him.

There’s a fit of laughter that hits his ears again and footsteps stalking him as he glides to the door and covers the outside handle, just as Dean would do.

He shuts it, turns around and your hands grab and pull him back to you. Your right is back at the button and your left is sliding on in, tickling skin teasing through the copse of tiny curls before any kiss picks back up.

You swallow his moan. Taste the trepidation on his tongue as your skin touches his velvety head.

Nope. Not shy. You know what you want, and Sam is more than happy to let you take it if you keep touching him like that, but he’s not dumb. He also knows what he wants, and it’s only fair he gets his turn, too. You’re here. He’s here. He wants to last. No, needs to. Being on the road with Dean so often means he gets little time to, well, take his time.

He’s pent up. Motel showers aren’t the best when he has to keep quiet and slow his hands so the faps don’t reach his brother’s waiting jaunts. He could blow his load right now with not much more effort from you, but he’s not going to. Not until after he savours you first.

It’s been way too long since he felt sweet curves or tasted the sweat of another’s skin. The bitter beer mixed with a fruity gloss is doing wonders already, but he craves more.

Just like the footpath, his hand grabs your wrist and its twin, and he leads you backward until your knees hit Dean’s bed and you flail. Your arms pull from him and push down into the bedding, then you drag yourself up to the pillows where you rest your head against the wooden board.

Your finger tells him to come hither, your hand pats the space at your side. Sam takes off his shirt.

His gut is doing flips again. More so when your eyes trail up over every inch of his chiseled chest. Behind it, his heartbeat is fast. It could jump right out of there. Only the lump in his throat is huge.

You’ve slipped off your shirt, too. Your fingers unclasp the hooks of your bra. You slide the straps down and hold it in the air before you fling it at his feet and giggle again.

“What’re you waiting for?” you say and it goes straight to his pants. The outline of his dick throbs against the denim.

He swallows. “Just, ah, admiring the show.”

You grin. A little sigh escapes your lips as you look down at yourself. Your fingers swirl over your heaving skin. They dip into the valley between your breasts, but never move further than the tan line that divides the top half from the fuller one. “It’s more fun if you’re touching me, too.”

Ho-kay. This is really happening. And Sam’s now diving for Dean’s duffle. He’s careful not to reveal the contents, but it’s hard not to when he’s just as and everything’s dumped on top. The little box of Trojans is right under the weight of the sawn-off and the sharp blade of a machete almost cuts him.

Man, it’s lucky you’re occupied.

Sam turns around, and that’s an understatement. You’re inching down your jeans. They’re flung off, and he’s doing the same. Hopping, skipping, and jumping, he yanks the string of plastic foils out and trails them along behind him.

They splay out over the covers while you splay under him; and he’s dipping down to taste. There’s salt and a light scent of citrus teed with something sweeter flooding his nostrils as your fingers curl into his hair. His occupied with the way your left tit fits below them. He squeezes and draws his mouth over the other. Pops your nipple in and sucks.

“Took you long enough,” you coo, and he just chuckles, haughty, deep.

“And I’m gonna take longer,” he says between nips and swipes of a thick, flat tongue. One that glides perfectly ‘round the round, hardening bud. “Gonna fuck you so good.”

He presses firm, draws your taut skin into his teeth. He’s determined to leave marks because something’s snapped within. Where the hell that last line came from, he’s got no idea, but it’s as if he’s an animal turned feral.

A wolf in its den? A lion devouring its prey? Does it matter when his hips are gyrating against your lace?

Your panties are staining his boxers, and his boxers strain against them, staining them right back.

“Fuck,” you moan.

He groans, and then your hands are pressing against his head.

He can take a hint. He’s smart. He won’t tell you your upper thighs were his mouth’s goal all along. Too busy concentrating as he scoots down, ‘cause he can’t fuck this up. “You want me to fuck you, baby?” he says on the outside. God. Who the hell is he? “Want me to taste you?”

“Sam,” you moan again. “Gonna get me off with that tongue of yours, baby?”

And damn. His name is so much better when you say it, when your legs are spreading further open for him. His fingers are slipping under the edge of the lace, feeling the first slither of just how wet you really are.

His lips press against your clothed entrance and the damp fabric gives way. He’s certain his nose has just tapped into your clit and you smell divine. Sour, earthy. On the verge of something sweet.

He darts his tongue back out to taste, and your fingers are tugging this time. Your nails scrape his scalp and your back arches off the bed, pushing your hot, hot heat against him.

“You gonna tease me all day, Samuel?” you say, and he’s not mad. That scolding tone is working wonders. His amusement bursts through his nose.

Down below though, a bead of pre-cum dribbles from little Sam, flexing with a life of its own. He can’t deny his balls are tight, stomach hotter than you are. It’s still flipping, and his toes stretch and recoil in extension.

“No, ma’m.” The sooner he can get you to cum, the sooner he’ll be comfortable sinking into you. What he lacks in confidence he makes up for in size, and it’s something he’s proud of.

He unfurls your panties. Glides them down with your eager help. Without warning, his lips return to their former position, parting yours around him. He presses hard, spreads his mouth open wide and licks while his fingers dip where he’s too afraid to reach.

You’re still a stranger he knows nothing about besides no boyfriend and you’re willing to have this one-night stand with him. But he’s smart, remember? He doesn’t want to catch anything. Even if you’re well put together and squirming into his palm, he just met you, urinal adjacent.

“Oh, shit.” Your back arches again. Your pants reach his ear. His fingers curl and stroke your constricting walls, wet catching in his nail-beds. Your body trembles, bringing a new meaning to thundering thighs.

They quiver, they shake. He gets a calve to his chin as you raise it up and stretch it out. There’s a risk his head will get a good clamping, but he continues to strike with the pebbled tip of his tongue.

His lips pull together and he pulls away with a smack, putting on a show for you with a swipe over the bow. His eyes find yours, lust blown, heavy lidded. Your mouth parts and begs a, “Please.”

And Sam’s diving right back in with a smirk. Kisses with force against your clit. Thrums his fingers inside, hard and fast. His wrist is getting a workout. His thumb aches as it’s pushed to the side. But he slips in a third finger, flicks the shelf of your pubic bone. Holds your stomach down as you buck and shake.

“Oh, god,” you cry. His name comes out in a hoarse scream. You yank at his hair as you gush over his hand and chin. Your legs do everything in their power to crush him, but he doesn’t let up.

His fingers continue to make you writhe and your arms wriggle and bend. Only now, his kisses move and spread your juices over you.

The crease in your thighs and the soft flesh covering your hips. Over your stomach, delving into your navel, he trails up your body, back to your breasts, and soon you’re wet inside and out, and he grins big and toothy. Cheeks up high again as he waits for you to come down from yours.

He drops to his side. Props himself on his elbow. Hand runs through his hair, already laced with sweat. “That good, huh?” he asks.

And if he’s honest, he needs to know. He’s still working you, only now his fingers tap at your opening. Slipping through your folds with a sound so slick, Dean would say it’s music. A newfound confidence comes from the belief you’re outta breath because of him.

Your laugh fills with air, like how a cartoon dog might snicker, chest rising against his own. Your nipple scrapes over his skin as he leans down and kisses you proper. Answer, stolen, before it can even form.

Salt and fruity gloss - cherry? No, strawberry. Why the hell does he care? The flavours swirl together. Bodies press together when you hitch your leg over his and pull him closer. Your sweet heat now flush against him, hammers his heart and forces his grip on you to tighten.

He squeezes your ass. It’s plump. It’s firm. Your jeans hid just how perfect and round it was. Just the right size for him to hold.

But you’ve got your sights set on your own grip, hand diving into his boxers to take him and give him a slow pump. Pulling back, your eyes open wide in surprise; you twist your wrist and palm his weeping head.

“You’re the one packing, huh, big boy?” You then bite your lip. Lick it. Drag your thumb over his slit and pull a grunt from deep within the pit of his stomach.

Somewhere below the knotting, there’s a fire burning, raging, and it needs to be sheathed, covered, surrounded. It’s gross, and it’s oh so Dean, but he needs it put out and a wet pussy will do.

Sam thrusts into your touch. He can’t help it. Fuck, he wants to move.

“You think you can handle me, baby?” he rasps into your parted mouth, stretching his arm over and behind, fumbling for the string of foils and tears one off.

“I’m gonna fucking try,” you say, and the wordplay, whether on purpose, is not lost.

He rolls to his back, and you’re already pouncing, pulling his underwear further down and off. You straddle his legs, take the little packet in your hand, and stroke him some more, up close, eye to eye.

You kiss the tip, watching as it flexes. His fingers do the same ‘round the ends of your hair. They curl then grip. Yours is firm around his base. And the sight?

The sight.

He’s died and gone to heaven. Too long since he’s seen a woman between his legs, those eyes still half lidded, still full of lust. You’re greedy. You’re needy. The way you hold your gaze as he feels the heat of your mouth nip at his skin, breath warm and wet, floods through him.

The way you sink further down.

Sam rolls his head back, his crown pushes into the pillow bunched up below. He wants to look, wants to pull at the strands of hair that still lace through his fingers and yank you down so you take all of him in.

Your tongue glides down the underside, flattened and rough, encasing, but with a light graze from two front teeth up top. The suction is so tight. The stretch around him burns his own skin. The way you drag back, then spit, swirl the saliva, and do it again, coating him all sloppy that it’s gleaming, all slippery and dripping like you were. Like you will be again. His gut curls in on itself now.

He’s tingling. He’s buzzing. He’d be high as a kite, if it weren’t for your thighs keeping him down. Their weight, your weight, making him go numb with need.

You pump your fist down low, swiping your smallest finger over the velvety skin covering his balls. A drop of him or you pools there, then drips further down. “Fuck.” He then calls your name.

“You ready for me, big boy?” you ask again, and he’s snickering at the way you say it.

“Yeah.” His arm releases you and flops over his forehead, but the sound of that little wrapper in your grasp rectifies that. He’s peeping out from under himself as you roll the rubber down.

He’s so sensitive, it stings like the bite of some bug. Balls more so as you drag yourself up and over him. Cockhead catches where you split down the middle, rubbing across your puckered hole.

You bite your lip. How many times now he’s lost count? You raise yourself, grabbing him where he’s thickest. Those eyes of yours stare at him again. They continue to hold that gaze as you lower back down, grin only curling further up, as your lower lips stretch around him.

“So big,” you say this time, and he can’t tell if you’re yanking his chain or really mean it. Your cheeks puffed and your mouth all white from shining teeth, just like the rest of you.

Like your perky ass, kissing his pelvis. Like your thighs squeezing him, much like the vice between them. Tight, wet and hot.

“Can you handle it? Can you move, baby? Gonna ride me? Gonna cum all over me?” God. Where the hell is this coming from? Who is this guy, all confident and cocky?

The guy with the big cock in your cunt. That’s who.

Sam chuckles to himself. Still can’t believe his luck. But you’re raising again, and sliding back down, and all he can do is hold on.

His fingers dig into your thighs. He presses his nails into your soft body. He helps you rise and fall over him.

He’s making the ride smooth and savouring the feel of your walls closing around him. Feels the fluttering, and the beginnings of new tremors. Marvels at how much more wet you’ve become.

The sounds. It really is music. The way you, your tits, and your skin slap with each thrust and bounce. The louder claps of his pelvis hitting yours and the sheen of perspiration between has his head swirling with images he needs.

“Come ‘ere.” Sam lifts you just slight. Raises his legs; bends his knees; jostles you so his neck doesn’t need to strain as far so his mouth can reach.

He pistons his hips, hears the slaps, tastes the sweat, feels the pants against his chin and cheek. Memories blend, and ghosts of his past weave in and out around you. You could be Jess, you could be Sarah, but it’s you who’s mouthing him. Not exactly kissing, too focused on making your bodies move.

“Fuck, Sam,” you squeal.

His hands spread you wider. He grunts your name into his ear.

He can’t keep up the pace as much as he’d like to. Can’t keep up the facade. It’s better if he sees your face to remind him who he’s there with. He can’t do that with a curtain of hair.

So he taps, twice on the fine edge of a curve, has your eyes firm on his.

“Wanna switch, baby?” he asks, and thinks quick for a reason. “Need to see that pretty face when you come.” He’d try to roll over with you in his arms, but he can just see that being disastrous. Losing his balance or getting an elbow somewhere where it shouldn’t.

He doesn’t have to worry because you’re lifting off. You fling yourself to his side and wriggle your back against the bedcovers. Open your legs wide, hands draped where your panty line would be.

“You gonna make me come again, big boy? Gonna fill me up with that thing?” you say, and he’s over you in one swift movement.

Sam grabs his cock and runs the covered tip over your entrance to tease you back. Watches the twinkle in your eye as it runs over your clit and you moan, just for show.

Man, he’s lucky. Who the hell meets someone by a urinal and then gets to fuck them? Wait, no. He doesn’t wanna answer that. He’ll just keep marvelling at his luck at the gorgeous woman below him. The one who was busting to spring a leak, now waiting for him to bust his nut and hers.

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Still, he glides back in with ease. How wet you are for him makes it so.

He wishes he could feel it, he’s just not that stupid, but he can imagine if he remembers your mouth and how it felt ‘round him, taking him deep.

You still do.

Your legs hook over him, and he hitches the left up higher with his elbow. His cock sinks deeper, base flush against your seam.

“Fuck me, Sam.” You’re squirming. It’s right out of a movie or a book. He’s John Snow or Jamie, and you’re - god no. You’re you and he’s him, and he’s, fuck, yeah, he’s fucking you.

He snaps his hips. Feels that burn again as his balls collide with your ass. His thumb is drawing little circles over where you join and he goes for it.

He leans over, bending you with him, stretching you open, dreams of splitting you in two. You moan. Your walls flutter again. You tremble and your thighs contract.

They’re powerful, much more than before. The back of your knee pulls on his arm and he only grips tighter. Hand on your shin. The other palm pushes you down.

It’s the perfect angle. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Perfect to dive in deeper. Feel you flex and accommodate his size.

Your mouth produces a hiss. It’s like a whine at the same time. Forming an O with your lips that then spreads wide into an “Ah.” Elongated. A laugh. A giggle. Whatever it is, he’s doing something right because your thighs are trembling again and your leg is trying to pull away.

His hand presses firmer, but he’s pulling you and shifting back, raising you up so you’re his handle on the ride. His tip is dragging out through you now and spearing you when he goes back in.

Thrusts are quick. Sweat falls from his brow. He feels the way your body pushes back against him. He’s an intruder, but he’s not backing down.

His stomach is tight. His legs ache and tremor, just as yours does. But that pull? The way his dick swells? It’s magnetised, pushes as deep as it can go. It’s determined to bury itself to the hilt.

And when you say, “Fuck,” again, but there’s another, and an added, “God. I’m gonna come,” Sam snaps his hips and watches your face closely.

A huge grin. The biggest yet; stretches into your eyes, twitches your lip and raises your jaw high. Your neck, exposed like a bloodsucker’s prey, and Sam is doubling over to claim it.

His tongue glides up your neck, teeth nip at your skin. He’s sucking like you’re his last meal. His pace wanes as your walls try to push him out, but he’s rocking his hips with purchase, pushing back in deep.

Another, “Fuck,” leaves you, but he’s seeing white. His balls throb and he’s spilling into what little space is left in the Trojan. He’s so far high on cloud fucking nine, he forgets where he is and who’s under him.

He’s spent. That was way better than any quickie in the shower. The warmth beneath him. Perfect round tits pressed against his hardened chest tremble and shake.

“Fuck.” It’s his turn now, but it comes out more like a groan. He pants. Body heavy, yet light as air. He tries to move, but everything is jello and shaking.

Your arms have been clinging to his back, your slick pussy would if it could, but it’s still fluttering, and he chuckles deep.

You giggle on reflex, and somehow it gives him the strength to look up and search for a kiss. The sweat is intense. Fruit, now barely there, but the after-sex-glow kissing your cheeks is better than anything else.

“Wow, big boy,” you say between your own pants. “Fuck.” He could hear that again and again. “That was quite a ride.”

“Yeah?” he says, though he really doesn’t have to ask.

“Yeah,” you say, and it’s breathless, it’s hearty, it’s reminiscent of a time he should forget when you’re there with him, so he does. He tries.

He rolls over to the side and removes the rubber. His muscles remember to roll back and drape his arm over your middle. Fingers flex at your side and he breathes in the citrus remnants in your hair as he closes his eyes and breathes in deep.

For a moment, he’s not in the dingy motel, but in his room. Yours too, maybe? He’s still at college ‘cause he is young, and he still has his whole life ahead of him.

There are no monsters. No salt, no burns, knives or guns, and Dean? Well, Dean can be there too, he supposes. Just separate, the other side of town. Further in Milroy.

Yeah. Pennsylvania. That’s perfect, too.

The weight of you draws him in further to dreaming. The warmth of you finally lolls him off, but neither is there when he stirs the next morning. The space in the bed beside him is cold and the thumps on the door rattle the chill he’s left with. His body, no longer jello, but stone-like, and cold.

No feathers in sight, unless the pillow bunched up beneath him again is made of them. He is dumb if he thinks it’s true.

The newfound churning in his gut tells him he’s foolish, though, and when he opens his eyes and scans the room, he’s a bigger fool than Dean. What was he hoping for? That you’d be there with bacon and eggs? A morning coffee? Waking him up for another round?

No. Of course not. The bathroom door is wide open, and no feminine clothes, litter the floor. Of course you’d be long gone. You’d told him something of the sort last night.

“I’m counting on you leaving tomorrow.” Yes, that was it. That’s exactly what you said. He just didn’t realise you’d be the first.

Sam rubs his face. Pushes his hair back out of it and stands. The bangs are getting old, and the district “Sammy” that comes with them grates his eardrums. He’s not so big anymore.

No, he’s little brother Winchester.

Bitch.

“Sammy.” Dean bellows again. “Sock time’s over!” Another thump. “You’re abusing the privilege. ‘S only supposed to be two hours, max. Three if you’re ménaging.” A lecherous laugh follows.

Who’s older and who’s younger? Well, it’s only four years.

Sam rolls his eyes and picks his boxers up as he walks around the bed. He grabs his t-shirt at the midway point, and strolls over to the door.

Dean’s fist is held up in greeting when he opens, but Sam’s turning before the stupid grin gets any bigger.

“Oh c’mon man. On my bed?”

“It’s not like you were using it,” Sam says, back still towards him as he grabs what he needs and heads for the shower.

“Where’s the girl?” follows him there.

There’s a twinge of a smile as he closes the door, but a sigh replaces it. He runs his hand through his hair again, holding it there as he looks around.

Nothing’s out of place. No signs of anyone else occupying the space unless you count the seat on the John being down. “You’re getting sentimental over a toilet?” he whispers, and shakes his head. Grabs his toothbrush; squeezes the paste.

Pearly whites and hands on him flash before his eyes. He goes through the motions after that.

There’s a perfectly rounded tit in his hand, heaving as he squeezes, then lets go. A, “Fuck,” moaned into his ear when he turns on the faucet, plump lips and lust-blown eyes spitting on his tip when he spits into the sink. The lingering drop on the porcelain drips down nice and slow. He’s got a small mark on his shoulder. When he twists, he sees a couple of tiny dints in his back. His cock is stirring as his eyes travel his waist, imagines perfect hands gripping him firm.

“Hey, big boy,” Dean says through the crack, and it makes him startle.

Big boy chokes and yanks on the handle. How the hell does he know?

“You sly dog. So you did get your dingle wet.”

“What?” Sam’s voice is rather high. His cheeks are pushing the limits again and he’s hiding the smirk that’s trying to rise.

“You know.” Dean chuckles. “Widdle Sammy got waid.” He even goes as far as to slap his side as he holds up a note with ten beautiful digits scrawled between a heart and a ‘call me.’

“Give me that.” Sam snatches the note; grabs his phone, refusing to look Dean in the eye when he slams the door. They’re too busy scanning the digits, each curve, each bubble, each dot as he punches the numbers into his contacts, his thumb hovers over pressing call.

Is he desperate? Yes, but his ego holds him back. It will at least, until they hit the road.

From Muncie to god knows where next, he’s got no idea. Another town, another case? Maybe. But there’ll be nowhere as special there and no-one as perfect as the girl who almost…made him ditch his shoe.

For those who don’t recognise the Japanese reference, “Omae wa mou shindeiru,” (お前はもう死んでいる) translates to “you are also going to die.”

Tagging those who showed interest from the WIP folder game, and those who asked to be tagged in everything SPN ✌️

@losers-clvb @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @roseblue373 @middleearthislife

Do you want to see more Sam stuff? LMK

#sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester #spn x reader #spn reader insert #reader insert #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #jared padalecki

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pieandflannel · 1 day ago

Note

can I request a fic/drabble where the reader accidentally bites dean/sam when she gives him a blow job for the first time?

₊˚⊹♡ first time fumbles 🤦‍♀️

₊⊹ ʚ ₊⊹｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡˚ ₊⊹｡ ₊⊹ ୨♡୧ ⊹₊ ｡⊹₊ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡⊹₊ ɞ ⊹₊

pairing: teen!sam winchester x teen!reader

summary: accidentally biting down while giving him your first blow job.

cw: 18+ smut with plot, oral (m receiving), inexperienced reader, first time oral sex, set in the early 2000s. fluff ending.

word count: 1034

julia yaps: i think i got a bit carried away with the idea…hope you like it! <3

────────── ୨ৎ ──────────

you never done this before. sam knew that, and thankfully he wasn’t exactly experienced either which brought some type of comfort to you.

but when things escalated from simply doing your homework to making out on his bed to something more, neither of you had stopped it.

now, here you were, nerves rattling inside you as you tried to remember all the vague tips you’d read in some teen magazine.

‘step one – don’t go straight into it, built the tension, make them want it’

you shared a heated kiss with sam, straddling his lap, feeling him getting harder beneath you with every passing second. his hands resting on your hips, gently pulling you closer to him, wanting to really feel you.

your hips grinding softly against him, earning a soft moan from him which sent a chill down your spine. assuming you’re doing a good job so far, you move on to the next step.

‘step two – get in a comfortable position’

as you slowly pulled away from his lips to take a breath, you look into his hazel eyes searching for confirmation that he still wants to proceed, he gives you a slight nod before fixing a strand of hair behind your ear.

and with that you started to slowly kiss your way down his jaw and neck, softly and teasingly. your fingertips leaving a burning trail behind them.

you slide down his lap and in between his legs, your eyes on him as your fingers play with his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his jeans. both of you breathing heavier at the realisation of the moment.

he lifts his hips enough for you to slide his jeans and boxers down, his throbbing cock springing free right in front of your face.

your eyes widening slightly at his size, your cheeks turning a pale shade of pink. after all this was your first time seeing your boyfriend’s cock, and it’s big.

sam can’t help but smirk a little, your reaction boosting his ego.

‘step three – use lube’

“d-do you have lube..?” you asked, your tone shy as nerves start catching up to you.

“yeah” he nodded, of course a teenage boy will have lube what a silly question, he opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out the bottle of lube, classic cherry flavour.

“a cherry kind of guy, huh?” you tease him despite your nerves eating you up. you take the bottle from him and squeeze a good amount on your hand before gently gripping his shaft and lathering it up with the sweet cherry flavour.

“that was the only one in the s-store” he tried to explain himself but the feeling of your hand wrapping around his cock worked like a reboot button.

‘step four – get them hot and ready, the art of teasing’

your hand started slowly, very slowly moving up and down, spreading the lube all over his shaft, earning a shaky breath from him, his eyes on you, observing you taking your sweet time with his cock.

“is this okay?” you ask him with doe eyes, making sure you’re doing it right. sam’s lips slightly parted, his chest rising and falling heavier, just the sight alone is getting him incredibly turn on.

“mhm..” he breathes out before biting his lip, “k-keep going” he whimpered.

you give him a soft smile, relaxing a bit as you see him enjoying himself. without thinking about it for too long you give his tip a slow lick, your eyes on him as you do so. you can feel his abdomen tighten and relax at your action.

you take your time with his tip, giving him short licks and kisses, remembering that the magazine said something about it being the most sensitive part of the cock.

you can tell that at that point sam was very much anticipating your pretty lips around his cock, and you weren’t going to deny him that pleasure.

you brought your mouth down to the head of his cock and slowly put him in your mouth, your plump lips wrapping round him. you weren’t going to lie, he does have a big dick for a first timer like you, but it’s the efforts that count right?

you started to bob your head slowly, your hand pumping him at a steady pace. his hand moving into your hair, but he knew better than to push you down on your first time.

his mouth flies agape as you start to speed up, “oh god-“ sam let out a shaky whimper, his fingers tightening in your hair. encouraging you to go faster, deeper. but maybe you were a bit too ambitious for your first time.

then it happened.

sam’s hips jerked, a sharp exhale leaving his mouth, “woah—hey—ow!” his voice was shaky, slightly panicky.

your stomach dropped at his reaction, you quickly pulled away, your eyes wide. “oh my god. did i—did i hurt you?”

he cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “a little.”

heat flooded your face. “oh my god.” you buried your face in your hands. “i’m so sorry, i-”

“hey, hey,” sam said in a calm and soft voice, sitting up and cupping your face in his big hands, his lips twitching into a comforting smile, he knew you didn’t mean to bite him so he sure as hell won’t let you blame yourself for a mistake a lot of people do on their first try. “it’s okay. just, uh… maybe less teeth next time?”

you looked him in the eyes, you could tell he wasn’t angry at you or anything like that. his thumbs caressed your cheeks in a soothing way.

“next time?” you echoed, slightly worried, definitely discouraged after what just happened.

he chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “yeah, you don’t get to quit after one fumble.”

you pouted still somewhat embarrassed, “this is the worst first time in the history of first times”

sam lightheartedly laughed, finding your little huffy demeanour adorable, he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“babe it’s okay, stuff like this happens all the time.” he tried to comfort you.

“besides… now I got a new thing to tease you about” sam smirked.

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @figisonline @figthoughts @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @rositaslabyrinth @deanspookiebear @heartrendercastiel

♡ comment to be added/removed!

#sam winchester #pieandflannel #sam winchester x you #spn #supernatural #fanfic #sam x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester drabble #samwinchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut

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supernaturallyedsheeran · 3 days ago

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Last Drink, Last Bite

Summary: After a long week of interviewing and getting no where with any witnesses, you and boys head to the bar, only to find your most suspicious witness there, being rowdy. You take your chances and take one for the team, flirting your way into information....only to be caught up with a vamp, where the boys are no where to be found.

cw : fem!reader, no use of y/n, mentions of alcohol, typical spn violence, blood characters: Sam Winchester, F!reader, Dean Winchester wc: 2677 fandom: Supernatural

✧∘* ✧･ﾟ✨Masterlist ✨✧∘* ✧･ﾟ

You, Sam and Dean sit at a booth at the back of some lively dive bar.

The table is sticky with past customers spills, the leather too soft on the seats, that you sink a little further than you want. None of you complain as you sip your respective drinks, ordering another round when the waitress comes by.

"What a day." Dean starts, taking another swig of his beer, shaking his head. "No one in this town seems to know jack, but the way they all act...their hiding something." Sam nods in agreement, twisting his beer glass in his hands, watching the bubbles surface and dance.

"Hey, isn't that the last guy we interviewed?" Sam sits up straighter, nodding his head towards the bar, where a man has walked in, clearly already drunk, ordering rounds at the bar and chatting loudly with anyone who will listen. "Uhg, yes." You cringe, shoulders dropping as your body sinks further into the seat. "He gave me the creeps." "He definitely knows something. He acted strange the entire time I talked to him." Sam confirmed, watching the man with intense eyes.

"Well, here's to hoping he doesn't see us cause I am not in the mood." Dean raised his beer, cheers'ing the air and drained the rest of his beer, making eye contact with the waitress again, shaking his empty bottle for another.

The guy had been a creep when you and Sam were interviewing him. Fidgeting, making no eye contact, and then all too much eye contat. Overall trying to avoid any question you had about the victims earlier in the day. You and Sam had left, Sam visibly frustrated - and rightfully so. The three of you had spent almost the whole week just doing interviews to no avail. Like this would be another dead end hunt.

Sam bit his bottom lip as he stared daggers into the man loudly laughing at the bar, taking deep sips from his glass. "Alright that's it." You decide. Both brothers look up at you, raised brows. "We've been talking to witnesses all week and have got nothing to show for it. Time to change tactics." You wave the waitress down yet again and order three shots and another rum and coke. She brings them to the table, and when Dean and Sam go to grab a shot each, you shoo them away. "Not for you." You down your rum and coke and follow it quickly with the shots. Dean can't believe what he is seeing, his eyes light up, mouth agape - he's intrigued, turned on, and worried all at the same time. Sam stares, brows furrowed, very lost in what is happening, but enjoying the show you're putting on, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "I'm dropping the fed charm, and I'm going to risk my womanhood." You state sarcastically getting up from the table, throwing off your business jacket to reveal a a spaghetti strap tank, just tight enough to draw attention and low enough to get a peak. You undo your hair from your fed-bun, and shake it loose. Sam licks his lip at the sight and lets out a sharp exhale. Dean raises his brows. "Wish me luck." You state. "Be careful." Sam yells after you, chuckling, but an edge to his voice.

You wander over slowly to the bar, feigning drunk, hoping the shots will kick in sooner than later.

The boys watch from the booth, Sam slumped back in his seat, wide smile shaking his head. Dean on the other hand, stares daggers into the guy you're approaching and watches you with every caution, prepared to get up at any moment.

You lean over the bar, grabbing the attention of the bar back as he heads over to you to grab your order. "Rum and coke please." you smile. "I've got a tab at that booth back there." You add, pointing over your shoulder where the brothers sit, watching. He nods and goes off to get your order.

"What's a pretty little thin' like you doin' in a place like this?" It was more immediate than you had hoped, but you already had the guys attention just from bending over a bar. Gross. You think to yourself. Feigning a smile and biting your lip, you turn around and lean against the bar and get a good look at him. Drunk. Sloppy. And probably in need of a shower. He very clearly does not remember who you are.

"Just trying to let loose you know - been working so hard all day, and just really going through it with all those murders lately. I'm just scared...." You lay it on thick, doe eyes, twirling your hair, pushing your chest out...and he's eating it all up.

"Oh honey, those murders aint nothing but bad luck happens everywhere you go!" He stumbles a little toward you, bumping you into the bar. You hiss, trying to keep a smile on. Your drink arrives and you take it graciously, downing it.

Over the mans shoulder, you can see Dean twitching in his seat, Sam now more cautiously aware of your situation too, leaning onto the table but knowing better to stay at a distance until you call for help.

The shots are starting to kick in, you feel warmer, and more abrasive, and more gutsy. "What did you say your name was?" You push your thigh into the mans thigh, he hiccups, caught off guard. "Darrel" he struggles out "Darrel," you hiss to him, tossing your hair over your shoulder. "How bout you tell me about the murders? To set my mind at ease." You know its a little obvious what you are doing but he cannot tell up from down right now. Your eyes flicker over to the boys, both of them aren't smiling anymore, they're both gripping their drinks staring through the Darrel to you.

"Only if I can take you out of here darlin'," his voice drops, suddenly he acts more sober than he was. "Bit too crowded yenno." He slams his drink down on the bar, pushing his body against yours a little more, the weight of him crushing you. He runs his hands through your hair - you grimace, tilting your head away as his lips hover inches around your neck "C'mon" he presses, his hot alcoholic breath trailing down your neck to your collar bone.

"After you" You force yourself to smile through gritted teeth only knowing where this is going to lead.

He grabs your wrist and starts directing you out of the bar. Over your shoulder you watch as Dean throws money down on the table and Sam slides out of the booth, both in tow.

The air is crisp, biting at your skin as you regret leaving your jacket behind. Darrel totes you along, his grasp on your wrist a little tighter than you'd like, and he's moving at a speed you struggle to keep up with.

"Where are we going?" You ask The shots had warmed you up and started to blur your thinking, but as soon as the panic set in and the air gripped your bones you almost sobered immediately.

"To talk. You wanted to talk right?" He seemed stone cold sober. Not a lick of alcohol trailing in his blood, or unsteady gait remained. He dragged you forward and threw you up against a car, slamming you hard into the side. "I love to talk." He whispered, pressing his body against yours again.

You moved to push him off but he pinned your arm, your other arm trying to sneak down to your waist to grab your knife, but he was too attentive - he saw what you were doing. "What's down here?" He smiled viciously, licking his lips and sliding his hand down your torso to your waistband, untucking your tank top and revealing the knife, grabbing it and twirling it in his fingers. Where the hell are Sam and Dean? You can't help but think, and watch the bar door from a distance, hoping they'd burst out soon.

Little to your knowledge, they had been in a fight of their own. As soon as Dean had gotten up and started making his way to the door, he had been cut off by a vamp, hidden in the shadows amongst the bar goers. Sam had been held at knife point, as his brother bargained their way out - ultimately turning into a full on vamp bar brawl. Glasses shattered, tables turned, and chairs thrown, Sam and Dean came out mostly unscathed, while innocent bar dwellers escaped through the back doors, unseen by you.

Back at your situation, the vamp showed its fangs "God damn, I thought you'd have some nice pearly whites for me not fangs." you breathe out, getting ever more uncomfortable with your circumstance. "Askin' around about murders girl, only gets you in trouble. You think I didn't know who you are? Feds? As if. You got the hunter smell all over you."

He grabbed your neck in one hand and began to squeeze, your hands flew up to his, clawing and trying to release yourself from him. You started kicking, but to no avail as his body was heavy against yours, pinned between him and the car.

It was harder to catch a breath, tears welling in your eyes as he stared into you, watching the life drain from you before his head dipped from your sight, and you felt a sharp pinch at the side of your neck. No no no no You couldn't help but try to cry out, but your cries came gurgled as his hands crushed harder and his teeth sank deeper. He wasn't aiming to turn you - he was aiming to drain you

Out of nowhere, a burst of movement cuts through the fog of pain and panic. You barely register it before you feel the pressure on your neck release, and the weight on top of you is gone.

You gasp, clutching your throat, slick with blood, the air burning in your lungs, too late to save you from the pain, but not too late to save your life.

The vamp is thrown back with a grunt, landing hard on the pavement. You blink, vision still blurry, and try to make sense of what's happening. You barely see the outline of a figure towering over you, blocking the streetlight as they move toward the vamp.

"Get the hell off her," Dean's voice is low, lethal. You feel his presence before you even see him, his shadow covering yours as he pulls you to your feet.

Sam's right behind him, his face hard with fury, eyes locked on the you. Sam grabs your arm gently but firmly, pulling you closer to him. He presses his hand to your neck, the warmth of it both grounding and reassuring, as he attempts to stop the bleeding.

"You're alright," he says, his voice rough with emotion, but there's a sharpness to it that you don't miss. His eyes flicker over you, checking for any visible injuries, but when he finds nothing other than the obvious, the anger in his gaze shifts to something more protective, more desperate.

"I thought I'd lost you," Sam adds, the words trembling on the edge of a curse.

The vamp groans from the ground, trying to pull itself up, but Dean's already on him in an instant, dragging him back to his feet and slamming him against the nearest lamppost.

You blink, clearing your vision as your head spins, the adrenaline of the moment starting to surge through your bloodstream. But even with that, the sharp edge of fear still lingers in your chest. You’re alive, but only by the grace of the brothers.

"You okay?" Sam's voice is softer, but there's a deep well of concern in it. His other hands raises to your cheek, turning your face, urging you to look at him.

You meet his gaze, still reeling from the rush of what just happened. "I... I will be," you say, your voice shaky. Then, taking a breath, you glance back at the vamp, trying to regain composure. "Thank you... I didn't—"

Before you can finish, Sam gently turns you toward him, his hand cupping your face, his thumb brushing across your cheek. The intensity in his gaze catches you off guard, making your heart skip in your chest.

"Don't ever do that again," Sam says, his voice low but full of something deeper, something urgent. "Don't risk yourself like that... for a damn case or anything else. You scared the hell out of me."

Your mouth goes dry at the weight of his words, and your heart stutters. You’re not sure if it's the shock of the situation or the rawness in Sam's tone, but you’re struck by the intensity in his eyes, the unspoken emotion there.

Dean doesn't seem to notice the way Sam’s looking at you, his attention focused on the vamp. "I swear to God," Dean mutters, kicking the vamp’s legs out from under him, "some people never learn." He doesn't seem phased by the danger you’d been in, too used to it by now, but there's still something in his expression—a certain edge—as he glares at the now-disoriented vampire.

Sam, though, is a different story. His brow furrows, the concern deepening, and when he looks back at you, his voice drops even lower, almost a whisper, like he’s letting go of something he’s been holding in for a long time.

"I... I can’t lose you," Sam admits, his words catching you off guard. "Not like that. Not ever."

His hand lingers on your cheek, the heat of his touch burning into your skin as he leans forward, his forehead touching yours.

The air between you two crackles, thick with unsaid words, unspoken feelings.

"Sam…" You don’t know what to say, still overwhelmed by the mixture of everything—the relief, the adrenaline, the terror, and now, the admission. You swallow, trying to collect yourself, but Sam’s eyes are like anchors, pulling you deeper into something you’re not sure you’re ready for but don’t want to turn away from either.

Dean is busy with the vamp, finishing him off, but you know that even he can’t ignore the shift in the air between you and Sam.

Sam takes a deep breath, his eyes softening as he pulls you closer, the intensity fading into something warmer, more tender.

"You mean something to me," Sam says quietly, a barely-there smile tugging at his lips. "More than you know."

You stare up at him, feeling a lump form in your throat. Everything suddenly makes sense—the way he always took that extra moment to look after you, the protective edge in his voice when he warned you earlier, the subtle ways he’s always been there when you needed him.

And now, in the aftermath of it all, you can feel it, too—the bond you share, stronger than anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s not just the hunt, not just surviving the monsters.

It’s more than that.

"Sam..." You breathe his name, not knowing what else to say, not needing to. You reach up, your fingers brushing over his hand still resting on your cheek, your gaze softening.

He gives a small nod, as if confirming what you already know. "I won’t let you bait yourself like that again," Sam vows, his voice full of sincerity. "Not for anything."

Dean finally finishes with the vamp, wiping his blade on his jeans as he stands up straight, giving you both a half-grin, though you can see the concern still lingering in his eyes. He claps Sam on the back, a silent acknowledgment of what just happened.

You’re alive. You’re safe. And for the first time, in this crazy, dangerous world you live in, you realize that maybe it’s not just about saving people. Maybe, just maybe, it’s about living—and living with the people who truly matter.

And in that moment, you know that Sam is one of those people.

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 2 days ago

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Reset (Sam Winchester x female reader x Dean Winchester)

It’s free use day at the bunker. Dean’s as excited as if it’s Christmas morning, because he knows he gets to make you feel good (which he’s way better at than Sam).

Read it on AO3

My 2024 Kinktober series

Rated E. 1.2k words. Free use (kinda fluffy). Sam being a smartass. Dean being a dork.

Dean walks into the library and Sam already has you over one of the tables.

On your front, the fingers of one big hand of his pushed into your hair, the other like a vice on your hip as he thrusts into you. Your eyes are closed and your eyebrows raised, your mouth hanging open while Sam’s hips slap against you ass cheeks. Your sleeping shorts are bunched around your ankles, haphazardly shoved down, while your shirt is shoved up from when you found Sam in the library this morning and you both remembered what day it is.

“Hey, it’s free use d—!" Dean announces excitedly and then stops when he sees that you two already are very much aware. This is the only day he regrets not being a morning person. One of these days, he’s gonna get to you first. Not that he minds the wind-up, or the wait. Not that he minds seeing you like this.

It seems to take you everything to open your eyes, to look at Dean, as you’re being shoved forwards and backwards by Sam driving into you. When you see Dean, a smile plays on your lips, but Sam must have you close to the edge already, because you don’t manage to keep your eyes open for long.

Dean steps closer, smiles to himself. He has a cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hand, your ass is in full view and he gets to fuck you however he wants today. Life is good.

His free hand goes out to your face, cups it and he sucks his lower lip into his mouth in thought. His thumb goes to your mouth, and you kiss the pad of it.

“Lick it,” he says, and you do, once, twice. When it’s sufficiently wet, he moves his hand down between your legs, even though there’s barely room between you and the table, pinches your clit. You gasp at the feeling and you must be clenching, because Sam grunts, his rhythm stuttering.

When Dean removes his hand, Sam drags you up by your arms, wraps one of his around you and uses his other hand to pull one of your legs up, balance it on the table, and then that arm goes around you as well and he fucks you at a quick pace, his front pressed against your back and only his hips moving. All that working out really pays off.

You gasp, try to concentrate on the feeling Sam ignites in you, which is why you squeal in surprise when Dean touches your clit again. His coffee’s been abandoned on the table and he watches you with wondrous fascination.

“You always ignore her clit on free use day,” Dean comments as he gently takes it between two fingers, massages it and your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head.

“Don’t—fuck—don’t need it,” Sam pants between thrusts. “Can make her come like this.”

It’s true. With his girth and stamina, Sam can usually make you climax without touching you anywhere else. It takes a while, but that’s where the stamina comes in.

“You’re a goddamn amateur, man,” Dean says and Sam answer almost immediately.

“Trying to concentrate here, dude,” Sam grunts while you whine.

On any other day, you’d be sassing it up with the best of them, telling Dean what’s what. But not today. Today you don’t say anything.

Dean just chuckles, takes his coffee and sits in one of the chairs while his little brother pounds away at you. Sam might be the smart one, but he has no tactic. No vision. He’s not an artist like Dean.

He does make you come though, so there’s that. You shake and twitch and Sam groans in relief, because he must have been holding back for a good long while. The snapping of his hips becomes slower but harsher for a few seconds, and then he holds himself steady, pumps into you with a moan as deep as the earth.

You slump forward on the table, all sensitive gasps and little moans as the aftershocks go through you, a relaxed grin on your face. That’s all Dean wants to see.

He can always tell when you’re getting wound up, when you’re getting anxious. It’s like these days reset you, clean out your metaphysical pores. Afterwards, you’re happy and positive again. You once said it felt like those faked images in ads for drain cleaners, where everything just gets washed away by the clean, blue liquid. Dean made a face at that that made you laugh. His cup’s half empty by the time you’re finished and he saunters over to you.

“Turn over,” he says and on shaking legs you do, lie down on the table on your back. Sam’s pulling up his sweatpants, still breathing kind of hard. Go drink another smoothie, Dean thinks as he runs his fingers from your throat down your body to between your legs.

You flinch when he touches you, but then you seem to get used to it as he starts rubbing you slowly and gently. You throw him a look that’s half you big softie and half I love you.

Because the game of having the two brothers make you come as often as they do on these days wasn’t part of the initial set-up. Originally, it was about using you, total disregard for your pleasure, at least in theory. But neither Sam nor Dean could ever get into that.

One of the first tries for free use day, they made a bet of how often each one could make you come. It was hot and silly and you laughed and then cried when the overstimulation got too much, when the stress and anxiety flowed out of you, and then laughed again. Turns out, you liked this version even more. And so does Dean. And so does Sam, even though the whole clit thing is still majorly weird to Dean. Who’s he trying to impress?

Dean smiles down at you now as you roll your shoulders, a distant smile on your lips while you focus on what he is giving your body. Already the stress that knotted your brow and glassed-up your eyes yesterday seems to be melting from you.

Dean looks up, briefly, at the clock on the wall. It’s 9:30. Fourteen and a half hours left to love you, to treat you, to shower you with orgasms. You won’t be able to stand on your own legs by the end of it, but that won’t matter, because eventually Sam, big show-off that he is, will carry you to the bath Dean has run for you. They’ll make sure you drink lots of water, feed you. Then it’s off to bed.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow you will be back. You will be easy smiles and witty jokes and life won’t seem quite so hard, quite so grey anymore. Dean can’t wait to see you like that again.

But for now, there’s work to be done.

#supernatural #spn #fanfic #fanfiction #dean winchester #spn fanfic #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x you x dean winchester #sam winchester x reader x dean winchester

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 3 days ago

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soulless sam… yes please. he ties you up and teases you (with ur consent obviously he’s just a little meaner when he’s soulless)

“oh i know baby” sam cooed down at you as you came around his fingers, coating his forearm with your slick. you were so sensitive it hurt, he had tied your hands above your head so you couldn’t push him off- though he thought it was adorable when you try to squirm when you got overstimulated. he had been relentless all night- with the teasing. tears began to slip down your cheeks and you moaned. “please, please sam i need your cock. please s’too much-“ you cried as he smiled, planting gentle kisses down your neck. it was insane how sweet and gentle his words could be when he was being this cruel and dominate. “you’re so cute when you beg n squirm- like you can escape this. you want my cock that bad?” he tsked, spreading your legs further. “wow you really did make quite a mess. and i haven’t even given you my cock yet- you pathetic lil baby.” he cooed softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek before adjusting himself so he slipped right inside. you gasped, the sudden fullness stretching you in half as he cockily smirked at your reaction- your wide doe eyes and silent screams. “atta girl sweetheart”

#i’m going crazy foaming at the mouth #he makes me crazy #i need him so bad #even soulless #especially soulless #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester #soulless sam #supernatural drabble #supernatural headcanon #supernatural fandom #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #jared padalecki

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hobiespick · 2 days ago

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dog person [a sam drabble]

Stanford Sam with a puppy. Numerous torn leashes. Stumbling from Sam as the energetic little beast keeps running between his steps. Sam enjoying the privilege of owning his own apartment and adopting a dog like he always wanted. Early mornings spent pouring kibble into a small metal bowl and nights with him calling his dog for bed, basking in the soft pitter-patter of paws making their way to his bedroom. Taking walks around campus. Instant 'aww's from girls walking by him. This huge responsability helping Sam's habit of staying inside too much. He goes outside more since he has to walk the dog and buy dog food and such. The dog nibbling on Sam's socks while he is trying to study. He takes the beastie with him everywhere.

Being at the park one day when something jumps on you. You turn around and it's a puppy who is mostly big paws and pointed ears that resemble antennas in some way. A few dopamine induced seconds go by with you petting and cooing at 'Bones', as the collar reads; before a guy comes up. Shaggy hair and the most hazel eyes you have ever seen, Chili Peppers band tee peeking from his half-zipped hoodie. His face is pulled in a worried frown. You think he and Bones look alike in some form. The guy apologizes something in regard to how his dog got off the leash and how 'he's never been this crazy' but you don't catch most of it. Actually you don't catch a word. Your heart feels like Its thrumming up your throat. This guy is beautiful. The baggy clothes do nothing to make him seem lanky, he is too..wide for lanky. Under that hoodie is Michelangelo's David. His unspoken presence alone has an air of 'safe'. You cut him off when he starts nervously babbling due to your (struck) silence. Saying something along the lines of Oh I don't mind! Also your dog is very cute! It takes some serious self control to not bat your eyelashes while looking up at him. And oh my God you have to crane your neck a little bit to actually look at him properly.

You get to talking and you find out he goes to Stanford too and you have friends in common. Sam combs through his memory, how could he have not noticed you before? He has been busy with his classes and Bones but you immediately grab his attention and he doubts he is the only one who feels that way. You exchange numbers and plan a date. Bones is brought too by your request<3

#I don't know what this is #I just think this concept is particularly delicious #it wasn't planned or anything It just came to me #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester drabble #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #supernatural #stanford sam #sam x reader #spn

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lacethighs · 21 hours ago

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gloss & pouts

your sudden interest in lip care has sam winchesters mind working overtime to figure out why you care so much about your lips.

sam winchester is an observant person—almost annoyingly so. he catches details others miss, like how dean ties one shoe twice and the other only once. or how jo avoids eye contact with ellen whenever they argue and later make up.

so when sam starts noticing your newfound obsession with your lips, it sticks with him.

it starts small—watching you through the rearview mirror as you apply and reapply lip balm, layering it like armor. then, in the quiet of motel rooms, he catches you twisting the bottom of a comically oversized vaseline stick, the product so far down it barely peeks out.

he asks about it once, offhandedly.

“didn’t know chapped lips were this big of a crisis,” he teases, leaning against the motel dresser.

you barely glance up. “i just like taking care of myself. one of the more normal things i can do, considering our job.”

it’s a reasonable answer. logical. but it sticks in his mind anyway.

because soon, he starts noticing other things.

like how you ask dean for the impala to make quick pharmacy runs—requests that, unsurprisingly, get shot down. (“not happening,” dean scoffs. “you’d crash her into a walgreens.”) but rather than let it go, you huff and turn to sam instead, and because sam has a habit of giving in where you’re concerned, he takes you himself.

when you return, it’s with a plastic bag full of makeup.

it’s so out of character that dean calls you out on it immediately.

“whoa, since when do you blow cash on this stuff?” he plucks a tube of mascara from the bag, turning it over in his fingers like it’s a cursed object.

you snatch it back with an eye roll. “since always. it’s my money, dean. i can buy whatever i want.”

dean raises a brow, glancing between you and sam. then, because dean never knows when to shut up, he smirks. “you lookin’ for some action or somethin’?”

your scoff is immediate. “jesus, dean. can’t a girl just buy makeup without an interrogation?”

“you’re not just a girl. you’re, well… you.”

sam cuts in before you can throw hands. “leave her alone, dean. makeup or not, she’s still the same.”

it seems to settle things, but when sam looks at you, really looks at you, something flickers in your expression. he just can’t quite put his finger on it.

after that, things shift.

you start spending more time with dean. talking to him more. entertaining his terrible flirting rather than rolling your eyes.

and sam doesn’t know what unsettles him more—the fact that dean notices, or the way it makes something tight coil in his chest.

because the more he thinks about it, the more it starts to click.

the makeup. the new habits. the sudden interest in how you look.

had it been for dean this whole time?

it’s a ridiculous thought. irrational, even. but it sticks like a splinter, irritating and scratching at him. he hasn’t felt this way in a long time. not since jessica.

then one night, he catches you watching him.

you’re standing by the motel mirror, holding a lipstick in your hands. he meets your gaze through the glass for just a second before he quickly ducks his head, pretending to refocus on his laptop screen.

for someone who notices everything, he sure is oblivious. because the truth is, it was never about dean.

it was about him.

you’ve been trying so hard for him—fixing your appearance, mirroring the women you’ve seen him look at in bars, even changing how you dress. if dean noticed, surely sam would too.

but he hasn’t. or maybe he has, and he’s ignoring it.

with a sigh, you step away from the mirror and approach him, leaning over his shoulder to glance at his laptop. the screen is dark, his reflection staring back at him.

“guessing research isn’t going so hot?” you tease, voice light.

sam exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. “you could say that.”

the moment stretches between you.

you’re close. too close.

and for the first time, sam notices everything. the warmth of your breath. the subtle sheen of your lips. the way your eyes study his with something like curiosity, like hesitation.

your gaze flickers lower—to his lips—before you catch yourself, stepping back with a teasing grin. “cute eyes you got, winchester.”

his throat bobs as he swallows. “uh. thanks?”

you chuckle, reaching for your jacket. “dean’s waiting at a bar. gonna see if i can scam some guys at pool.”

the mention of dean makes sam’s stomach drop, the moment shattering.

he forces a nod, glancing back at his screen. “alright. have fun.”

but he doesn’t go back to researching. not really.

instead, he watches you leave, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the keyboard.

because now, he knows. and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

sam doesn’t sleep that night.

he lies awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment in his head—every glance, every touch, every little thing he had brushed off as nothing. but it wasn’t nothing.

and now that he knows, he can’t stop seeing it.

the next morning, you’re the same as ever—teasing dean over breakfast, nursing a cup of shitty motel coffee, talking about how some guy at the bar last night “practically paid you to leave him alone” after a round of pool.

dean laughs, clearly proud. sam, on the other hand, just watches.

because now, every time you smile, every time you absentmindedly run your tongue over your lip, every time you so much as glance in his direction—he wonders.

was that for him? was it always for him? and what the hell is he supposed to do with that?

the next few days are torture.

not because anything has changed—if anything, you seem completely unaware of the effect you’re having on him. which is worse.

it means the problem isn’t you. it’s him.

like right now.

you’re perched on the edge of the motel bed, casually applying something glossy to your lips. it should be harmless. normal.

but sam can’t focus on the research in front of him to save his life.

his eyes keep flicking back to you, to the way your bottom lip shines under the cheap motel lighting, to the way you press them together with a soft little pop.

it’s infuriating.

dean, completely oblivious, doesn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary. he just throws on his jacket and stretches. “alright, i’m heading out. gonna grab some food.”

you barely look up. “get me a pie.”

dean snorts. “you’re turning into me. it’s terrifying.” the door shuts behind him, and just like that, it’s just you and sam.

alone.

you sigh, tossing your gloss aside and finally meeting his gaze. “what?”

sam blinks. he hadn’t realized he was staring. “nothing,” he lies, looking away too quickly.

you narrow your eyes. “you’re being weird.”

he exhales, running a hand through his hair. he is being weird. because now, all he can think about is how much effort you’ve been putting into this—into him.

and how much effort it’s taking for him to pretend he doesn’t care.

your brows furrow. “okay, seriously. what is going on with you?”

“nothing,” he repeats, but it’s weaker this time.

you don’t look convinced. then, before he can think better of it, the words are slipping out.

“the makeup. the lip balm. the…” he gestures vaguely at you, flustered. “it wasn’t for dean, was it?”

silence.

his heart pounds. your expression is unreadable, lips parting slightly as if caught off guard.

then, slowly, you straighten. “sam…”

the way you say his name makes his stomach flip.

he swallows hard. “just tell me if i’m wrong.”

a beat. then another.

and then—

you smile. not your usual teasing grin, not the playful smirk you throw dean’s way. no, this one is softer, a little shy. a little triumphant.

“you’re not wrong.”

and just like that, sam is spiraling.

because suddenly, every feeling he’s been trying to ignore—the way his pulse picks up when you’re close, the way he finds himself looking for you in a crowded room, the way you make him feel lighter even on the worst days—comes crashing in all at once.

you were never trying to get dean’s attention. you were trying to get his. and now that he knows?

he’s not sure he can pretend anymore.

for a long moment, neither of you speak.

sam is still trying to process it—the fact that all of this, everything, had been for him. that you’d spent weeks, maybe months, trying to catch his attention, waiting for him to notice.

and now that he has?

he can’t look away.

your lips are glossy, soft-looking, like you’ve just reapplied whatever magic you’ve been obsessively using for weeks. it’s almost distracting.

no, it is distracting. because he keeps wondering what they’d feel like.

and he shouldn’t be thinking about that right now, but damn it, it’s all he can think about.

you tilt your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. “you look like you’re thinking way too hard about this.”

sam huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, well… guess i’m just realizing how much of an idiot i’ve been.”

that makes you grin. “took you long enough.”

his chest tightens. you’re standing so close now, close enough that he can smell whatever faint, sweet scent lingers on your skin. close enough that if he just leaned in a little—

he stops that thought before it can go any further.

clearing his throat, he shifts awkwardly, trying to will away the heat creeping up his neck. “so, uh… all that lip balm. all the vaseline. that was all just…” he trails off, unsure how to phrase it.

you smirk. “for you? yeah.”

his brain short-circuits.

you don’t give him time to recover. instead, you step forward, so close now that your bodies nearly brush. his breath catches.

and then, with zero hesitation, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

it’s brief, teasing—just enough for him to feel the soft, slick glide of your lips against his skin before you pull back.

but it’s enough to ruin him.

because holy shit—he feels it.

the weeks of lip balm. the endless layers of gloss and moisturizer. your lips are impossibly soft, smooth, warm. it’s like every kiss he’s ever had before this has been a lie.

his thoughts must be all over his face because you laugh, eyes dancing with mischief. “well?” you murmur.

sam exhales sharply. “jesus.”

you raise a brow. “that bad?”

“not even close,” he admits, dazed.

you hum, tilting your head. “wanna see for yourself?”

his heart stutters. and then—you’re kissing him. really kissing him.

and this time, he doesn’t just feel the effects of all your lip care—he tastes them. something faintly sweet, like vanilla or honey, mixed with something that’s just you.

it’s slow at first, warm and gentle, but then your fingers slide up to his jaw, tilting his face just right, and sam’s resolve shatters.

his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepens the kiss, drinking you in like he’s been starving for this.

because maybe he has.

by the time you finally pull away, his lips are tingling, and he’s left staring at you like you just flipped his entire world upside down.

which, to be fair, you kind of did. you lick your lips, clearly pleased with yourself. “so?”

sam exhales a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “you win.”

your grin is pure satisfaction. “i usually do.”

and sam doesn’t even bother arguing. because if this is what losing to you feels like?

he’ll take it every damn time.

#supernatural #spn #sam winchester #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #x reader #fanfic

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wendichester · 2 days ago

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Hello! I'd like to make a request

Periods suck, we all know that, and id really like some Sam x reader rn where he just holds her and comforts her (while she's on the brink of crying bc fuck, I really was last night) bc she's just had a really bad day and it's also the worst day of the cycle and she just feels like dogshit

₊ ° ⊹ ♡ the only medicine that works,

summary. sam's the best remedy when life feels like shit

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 446

notes. wish i was a boy so i didn't have period pain (¬_¬")

The bunker is quiet when Sam finds you curled up on the couch, buried under a blanket that barely looks thick enough to fight off the chill. You’re clutching your stomach, your face half-hidden in the fabric, and the moment he sees you like that, his heart twists.

"Sweetheart?" His voice is gentle, careful, like he already knows something is wrong.

You sniff, barely lifting your head. "M'fine."

Sam doesn’t believe you for a second. He crouches beside the couch, resting a warm hand on your arm. "Bad day?"

You let out a breathy laugh, but it lacks any real humor. "More like a bad everything. Got my period. I feel like absolute shit, Sam." Your voice cracks at the end, and you shut your eyes tight, willing yourself not to cry.

But Sam sees it—the way your fingers clutch at the blanket, the tension in your shoulders, the way your body is curled in on itself like you’re trying to disappear.

"Come here," he murmurs.

You barely have time to process before he’s shifting, sitting back against the couch and pulling you right into his lap. His arms wrap around you, warm and grounding, like he’s trying to hold you together with just his touch.

And God, it works.

You exhale shakily, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. His scent—something clean, familiar, safe—fills your nose, and the second you feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, the tightness in your own starts to unravel.

Sam's hand moves in slow, soothing circles against your back. "You don’t have to talk," he says softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Just let me take care of you, okay?"

You nod against him, and he tightens his hold, his hands slipping beneath the blanket to warm your freezing skin.

"You warm enough?" he asks, his voice nothing but pure concern.

"Not really," you mumble.

Sam shifts just slightly, tugging the blanket tighter around you, his arms never once letting go. "Better?"

You hum in response, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

"Did you eat anything?" he asks after a few moments, his voice low, soothing.

"Wasn’t hungry."

Sam sighs softly, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he just keeps holding you, rubbing slow, gentle patterns into your back, like he’s trying to will the pain away himself.

"You wanna stay like this for a while?"

You nod, and this time, a few stubborn tears slip out, soaking into his shirt. Sam feels it, doesn’t say a word, just presses another kiss to your temple.

"You’re okay," he murmurs. "I’ve got you."

And for the first time today, you actually feel better.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

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#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #supernatural #.docx #.req

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tusk-rumours · 2 days ago

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the way i lit up seeing this omg. not only do i need a jellycat so bad but sam BUYING ME ONE omg ☹️

this is so cute and the bunnies with the floral pattern on the ears are SO CUTE i just want every single one please and thank you

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `jellycat, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: sam buys you a jellycat. word count: 612 pairing: sam x fem!reader

Sam’s known to spend fortunes on you.

He’s always wished to have a girlfriend who lets him spoil her. Whether it’s treating her to a date a couple times a week, lending her money so she can go shopping. You name it, it’s yours.

You’re very thankful to be in the hands of the Sam Winchester. The guy would do anything for you, and that includes the one thing you’ve been asking for.

A Jellycat.

In this universe, it’s hard to come by jellycats. You live bang in the middle of nowhere, no real home address and the Wi-Fi? It’s horrendous.

Sam has spent most of the day away from the bunker. He left around noon, lugging his huge suede jacket over his broad shoulders, kissing you goodbye. Sam never told you where he’s headed, or what he’s doing. Just that he’s out. It never worried you that he would leave without telling you why. You trusted him with your whole being; Sam is loyal to you as you are to him.

You have noticed the hype around these little teddies, and you needed just one to fill the void. Sam has bought you many teddies before, and they all lay in a hanging basket in the corner of your room in the bunker. But a jellycat? Your life would be complete.

Sam returns to the bunker, the tip of his nose is pink and his breath hot against the chilly weather outside. He has flecks of snow on his shoulders, and a few sparkly specks in his hair. You greet him by the bottom of the stairs, a white bag in his hand. He moves his hands behind his back to withhold the surprise he has for you. “Hey,” you greet, planting a gentle kiss atop his nose. “Hey, baby.” He replies, his tone soft and warm. You lay another kiss on his right cheek, and you move out of the way so he can get down the stairs.

“I’ve got something for you.” He announces, a bashful look appearing on his face. “You do?” Your face lights up, a child-like grin sticking to your face. He reveals a white bag, a shade of blue and orange marginally sticking out of the bag. You gently take the bag from him. “Thank you, Sammy. You really shouldn’t have.” You respond, and it’s true. The fact that he feels the need to spend his money on you, it doesn’t go unnoticed. You take the, what looks like, a blue drawstring bag with orange strings out of the white bag. You notice the pattern on the front of the bag, a logo that has a black and white kitty with an orange jelly sat on his head. Your heart flutters as you pull open the drawstring, revealing a jellycat inside.

It’s a muted, light navy bunny; a delicate, dainty floral pattern adorns the inside of its ears. You stare at it for a few seconds, feeling the ever so soft fur. The stitching is almost invisible. You feel the beads at the bottom of the bunny, adding a little bit of weight compared to the teddies in your room. “She’s gorgeous, Sammy,”

“Oh, so now we’re personifying teddies?” He chuckles at you, and you wipe the fur out of the bunny’s eyes. “Of course I am. Every teddy is real in my eyes. They have thoughts and feelings, you know.”

He grins at you, a dimple showing on his cheek. “You like it?” He asks, his hands resting in his pockets.

“I love it. Thank you so much Sammy. You don’t understand how much I wanted a jellycat.”

“No problem, sweetheart. Anything for you.”

#need sam to buy me a jellycat cause he would #mads’ recs #supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fluff #supernatural imagines #sam winchester x you #supernatural imagine #sam winchester imagines #spn imagines

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velvourne · 1 day ago

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Dating Sam Winchester

#supernatural #sam winchester #spn #sam winchester spn #sam winchester supernatural #sam winchester aesthetic #dating sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #supernatural aesthetic #supernatural edit #sam winchester edit #my post

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super-incorrect · 2 days ago

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Y/n: Why dont you ever reply to my texts?

Sam, scrolling through his phone: I dont have a phone

#incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes supernatural #supernatural #y/n incorrect quotes #supernatural incorrect quotes #yandere spn x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester spn #sam winchester #spn x y/n #sam winchester incorrect quotes #spn incorrect quotes #sam winchester quotes #sam winchester fic

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sunsbaby · 1 month ago

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𓍯𓂃 sam winchester x fem!reader | MDNI

your teeth sunk into sam's flesh, your walls tightening around his cock. you loved to bite, especially during sex.

"mhmm, my pretty baby..." sam murmured from below you, his eyes hooded and filled with lust. his hands gripped tightly onto your hips, large fingers trailing patterns into the skin.

"sam! s..so big–mhmm." you were able to moan out as he thrust his cock deeper into your pink pussy—which soaked his shaft more.

you bit down harder, pulling a whine from sam. you'd never heard him make that noise before, so it fueled you to keep going. you bounced up and down on him, his tip brushing against your cervix every time you'd sink back down onto his thick cock.

his grip on your hips tightened, most likely going to leave a bruise. not that you minded, for you too were marking him. teeth imprints littered his skin, deep, yet not deep enough to where he'd bleed.

"c'mon baby, cum on my dick–use me, pretty girl.." he muttered, his head falling back against the headboard. the bed was creaking from the force of your hips rolling into his—chasing your own release.

"sam!" you cried out, gushing around his cock. whines and moans left your tips as your orgasm came over you, strong.

you swear you heard sam whimper your name as he came, a warm pearly substance filling you up—your womb and velvety walls coated white. his dick now had a pretty white ring around the base. his hands still placed on your hips, looser now, as your eyes admired the marks left on his body.

sam could die a happy man just like this.

sunny yaps! VERY SHORT SAM SMUT!! i want to bite him. HERE U GUYS GOOO!!

special tags! @bluemerakis @dulcescorderitas @figthoughts @h8aaz

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

#sunnys drabble ⋆˚｡#supernatural #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester drabble #sam winchester #sam smut #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #supernatural x you #supernatural x reader #spn smut #spn

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lostalioth · 5 months ago

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𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐭

→ premise: you in those damn jeans, those stupid jeans that fit you just right. your hips, your waist, your thighs. and god your ass in those jeans nearly had sam drooling. it was shameful he knew it but he couldn’t help it, not when your ass looked so prefect.

→ pairing: sam winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, anal, caught masturbating, switch!sam? [he’s dominating but also jsut whiny and desperate?], nicknames [angel, baby], no lube or prep really for the anal part [i lowkey didn’t wanna write it lmao], not proofread

→ a/n: kinktober 17

It was pathetic, he was pathetic he knew that and yet he just couldn't care at the moment nor help himself. You looked so good he swore it was driving him clinically insane. So good that it was making his genius brain malfunction, and his downstairs ‘brain’ run on overdrive.

He couldn't focus, could barely understand a word the witnesses were saying, it was all going in one ear and out the other. His eyes were just glued on you, on your body, on those stupid perfectly fitting jeans you wore. He felt like a hormonal teenager again, getting all worked up over a dumb pair of tight jeans on a woman. It didn't help that Sam has already been nursing a small crush on you that he’s had sense him and his brother met you.

He had to bail on you and dean in the middle of the interviews, giving the both of you some excuse about not feeling the best and that maybe he needed some extra rest. Though in truth his pants were just getting tighter by the minute and his head getting foggier. He somehow managed to walk himself back to the motel, the short walk doing not a damn thing to clear his head. You in those fucking jeans, those jeans that hug your thighs and your wasit just right, those stupidly tight jeans that made your ass look so fucking bitable it was making him lose his mind.

Even though muffled by his t-shirt pulled up and tucked between his teeth all that filled the quiet dingy motel room were Sams whines they were so loud. He was a mess the second he unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants and boxers down his thighs. His large hand furiously stroking up and down his aching cock, pulling strangled whimpers and cries from his lips. His precum leaking out from his tip acting as lube for his hand to glide along his shaft faster, squeezing it hard as he goes.

He was already so close, it only added to his feeling of being pathetic, he really was a horny teenager now, he couldn't even last that long with his fist around his cock and his head filled with thoughts of you. You on top of him riding him as he whines, you under him your limbs an entangled mess as you pant and moan into his mouth. Him with his head buried between your thighs, you on your knees for him with your mouth stuffed full of his cock, any and all different kinds of images of you all over him. “Need you s’bad, s‘fuckin’ bad holy shit….” He hissed through his teeth in a hushed tone as his head fell back in pleasure, cries of your name and whines about how good you looked fall from his mouth like a waterfall the closer he gets to the edge.

“Hey Sam? Honey? you doing okay?” Your voice shattered the daydream going on in his head that was just about to make him cum. In shock and embarrassment his hand stills, inadvertently edging himself. The nickname only makes his cock twitch more as a short whine comes out of his mouth in response. He was caught and it should be embarrassing, humiliating even, you caught him jerking off in the middle of the day. He should be feeling anything else but what he was right now, It shouldn’t excite him that you caught him. But he was too far gone into a desperate type of head space to care at the moment.

“Oh shit!, i'm sorry i didn't mean to barge in i thought you’d be napping” you babble out, covering your face as heat spreads through your body as you turn around and move like you're about to leave. As you turn sam gets an even better almost 360º view of your body, how the jeans cling to your thighs, the waistband snug around your waist, the denim looks practically painted on your ass, they were so tight.

“Need it s’bad, please i need you s’bad yoou dont have to leave” he whines out, you had already caught him so any composure or decorum he had has been thrown out the window alongside reason. He could be completely ruining your friendship at this moment, you could be disgusted with him and reject him but he was taking that risk cause he was desperate.

Your body as if moving on its own accord, revealing your own hidden desires turns back around to face Sam, slowly taking your hands away from your face. Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes scan over his body, his shirt tugged up and stuffed in his mouth exposing his chest, a small trail of hair leading down to where his hand is still wrapped tightly around his cock, a pleading look in his glazed over eyes. Slowly you make your way over to him spread out on the bed, your steps careful as if you were gonna spook him by moving too fast. “What- Uh- what do you need honey?” You question, still a bit confused and extremely nervous. You’d do anything to help Sam, and getting to see him like this all pathetic and desperate was a bonus that was making slick settle in your core and your thighs clench together.

“I need you, want you s’bad” he whines out dropping his shirt from his mouth as he grabs ahold of your hand when you get close enough. Placing your hand on his stiff throbbing cock with his own, you let out a small gasp at the feeling of his warm cock under your touch. “This is what you do to me, you and ya’ fucking stupid tight jeans” he hissed out, letting go of your hand and taking note of the fact you dont move it off his cock he slaps your ass hard with his big hand resting and gropping at it after it comes down.

“These damn jeans that make your ass look so good angel, so good that I couldn't focus, baby. Wanna fuck you s’bad, wanna fuck this ass” he was rambling now looking up at you with his signature puppy eyed look that made you melt. He was so hard it was getting painful, especially since he stopped himself right when he was gonna cum.

He's already thrown caution to the wind by this point, there was no going back.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You gave in.

Willing to do whatever it took to make Sam feel better as well as the fact that all his begging had made you about just as desperate for him. He had you on his lap now, your back pressed against his bare chest. He was quick to strip you of all your clothes, eyes glued to the way he had to practically peel your jeans off your body. Your thighs were spread and laid over his legs that he had bent up, his feet planted flat on the bed.

Your head was spinning from the feeling of his rough hands exploring every inch of your body. Palming at your tits and his thumb flicking your nipples, squeezing your waist when you squirm in his grasp and grind your ass against him. His lips were mouthing and kissing along your neck, tongue poking out to lick up the side and even behind your ear, sucking patches of small hickies onto the unmarked skin. Your body relaxed more and more in his arms as Sam said; “Need you real relaxed for this angel okay? As bad as i want this i don't wanna hurt ya’” you were certainly relaxed once his thumb started rubbing circles over your bundle of nerves, sighing in a mixture of pleasure and relief. You whine softly as your pussy aches, begging for release already as your folds are dripping in slick, a trail of it sliding down your cunt to your ass even.

Lifting his hips his tip nudges at the tight ring of muscle of your ass, his precum that hasn't stopped leaking as well as his spit that coated his cock acted as your only form of lube as he bullies his thick cock inside. With a broken gasp in both pain and pleasure at the new sensation you dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm that was wrapped around your stomach holding you against him. “Sam~ Honey- Fuck!” You blabber out in a string of jumbled together moans, losing track of where you were gonna go with your sentence once his cock pushes all the way inside, your hole sucking his cock inside.

“Atta’ girl, s’good f’me angel. God your ass is so fuckin’ tight” he cries out, he was already still on edge from just his fist but this feeling was gonna send him flying over it faster than he wanted. The pleasure of his cock filing your ass as well as his thumb which hasn't stopped playing with your clit has your pussy clenching around nothing.

“Baby, m’not gonna last long, it's too much” you moan out as his hips buck up and thrust into you, settling at a fast and relentless pace not giving you any more time to get adjusted. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay, j’ cum, just cum for me angel” he nods his head frantically, moans and desperate cries fill the room and you don't know what sounds are coming from who as you clench down on him.

Your body tensing up and your eyes screwing shut as your climax washes over you, a loud wanton moan falling out of your mouth. Worry about the other residents hearing anything long since past, Sam even felt a small ego boost knowing they were hearing you scream out his name. His hips not stopping their hard thrusting, Sam too lost in pleasure with his head buried in your neck as his cock pounds your ass making you see stars as you cum.

“Feel so good angel, holy shit squeezin’ me even tighter as you cum shit~” he groans out, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine as his breath fans across your ear. Your cum leaks out of your pussy, sliding down to Sams cock giving it even more slick for him to fuck up into you harder and faster, chasing his own orgasm.

“Gonna cum angel, but dont think im done with ya’ when i do, need to fuck that pretty pussy too. Been dreamin’ about that sense we met, need to make you all mine” he cries out as he turns your face towards his and crashes his lips against yours, kissing you like a man starved. His moans are muffled into the kiss as well as more whines of your name as he cums hard.

→ a/n: AHHHH last day of kinktober is tomorrow!! Im hoping i get to post the last day on halloween but i might not so if i dont expect it nov

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