#sam Winchester imagine

[southernimpala]

backseat

sam winchester x fem!reader (ft. dean :)

summary ↬ you're in the backseat of the impala 'asleep', but really, you're just eavesdropping on sam & dean

notice ↬ pure fluff (i promise the angst is coming ya'll (and the smut ;)), dean is a shit as always but not really he's actually a good brother in this one, who else wants to fall asleep in the back of the impala like pleeaaaseee, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.4k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ read part two ↬ frontseat

the rough leather backseat of the impala itches at your legs as they lay curled atop it, your head leaning on the window, foggy and freezing against your cheek as the chilly temperature of north dakota bleeds through. you try to catch up on some much needed shut-eye on the way to the motel. 

 which, unsurprisingly, is very hard to do when sam and dean winchester are in the front seat, fighting over the stereo.

“if i hear one more led zeppelin song, dean—” 

“woah, woah.” you peek your eyes open slightly to see dean’s finger pointed at sam, his face scrunched in a scowl, “there is no room for zep slander in this vehicle, sammy.” 

sam laughs sarcastically, shaking his head, his growing, soft wisps swaying in front of the headrest, “fine, then, i suggest you play something produced past 95’.” 

dean clicks his tongue in distaste and turns to look past the steering wheel again, “kids don’t know good music.” suddenly, just as you close your eyes, dean calls your name, looking at you through the rearview mirror, “what do you think we should play?” 

 “silence,” you grumble, trying to shield your vision from the bright street lamps as they flash orange light rhythmically past your closed eyelids. 

“alright, ac/dc it is then,” he says, sliding in a new tape—the one you recognize instantly from memory, marked with ‘ac/deanc’ scrawled in messy handwriting on a strip of tape slapped across the front.

as angus young’s guitar starts to echo from the stereo, you slowly melt back into the seat, adjusting until you’ve found a comfortable spot. 

you begin to drift off again, fading in and out of consciousness as the tapes change ever so often: metallica, black sabbath, and, when led zeppelin starts to play again, you can just envision sam’s beautiful eyes rolling.

eventually, you rouse awake to the low hum of some billy idol track, the volume way lower now that the car clock signals 3:31am. 

you can hear the crinkle of a bag of chips sam is snacking on, dean’s fingers tapping to the beat of the music, and the rumble of baby underneath you. 

you’re about to force yourself into more sleep, moving to cover your forearms with your hands to keep them warm, when sam’s soft voice lulls in the silence. 

“do you think she’s cold?” he mumbles quietly, and you see, from your low hooded eyes, his head moves just slightly behind the headrest to examine your figure.

he’s right to question it. the temperature is becoming more frigid as the night blooms darker, and you’re sure the goosebumps on your arms are visible if he looks hard enough. 

“it’s warm in the car,” dean responds, turning onto a backroad. the car is swallowed in darkness as the streetlamps fade into haunting trees stretching into miles of forest surrounding you. 

sam’s tongue pokes his cheek in thought, and without prompt, he’s shrugging the brown carhartt off his body, turning in his seat—you’ve told him to start wearing a seatbelt—and delicately draping the warm material across your shivering shoulders. 

a blanket of musk, campfire smoke, and something only described as sam winchester envelops you.

you shut your eyes quickly so he won't suspect you’re awake, but that means trying your damnedest to bite back the smile fighting its way onto your lips at the gesture. you snuggle deeper into the jacket to hide the bottom of your face while pretending to be asleep. 

peeking through your eyelashes, you see sam not bothering to hide his own smile at the sight of you nestled under his jacket. your heart picks up.  

he re-rights himself in his seat, clearing his throat as he focuses on the road ahead again. 

“real smooth, there, romeo.” dean smirks, giving him a knowing nod.  

“shut up,” sam shakes his head, picking nervously at a loose thread in his jeans, “she looked cold.” 

“oh, did she tell you that, huh?” dean teases again, shoving his shoulder playfully. 

sam moves away from his brother’s provoking hand, “eyes on the road, jerk.” 

“bitch,” dean scoffs, but you know the grin is there: real and genuine, “just tell her you love her so i can stop watching these mixed signals.” 

your stomach twists. 

“dean, i don’t—” sam trips over his words, bringing a hand down his blushing face, “i just gave her a jacket in under 30-degree weather—”

“—and patched her up for over an hour after that werewolf got its claws in her, and walked her back to the room when she drank too much, and freaked out when that guy tried picking her up at that bar in minna—” 

“that’s called being a gentleman,” sam narrows his eyes, growing more defensive, “and we both freaked out, so don’t try to—” 

“i freaked out because the guy looked like a creep, you freaked out because somebody—anybody’s—hands were on her,” dean moves to take a sip of his melted slurpee from dinner, “there’s a difference, sammy.” 

the things dean mentions start flooding back into your memory, the gestures at the time seeming so innocent, no possible way for there to be any underlying connotation if you hadn’t thought about it hard enough.

until now, when you’re thinking about it hard enough. 

the way sam’s hands shook just slightly as they expertly stitched the gash on your leg, and how his eyes held something else under the concentrated look; a glimmer of worry, fear, even, at the idea that you were hurt. 

then, how those hands, no longer shaky, gripped your waist tight to keep you on your feet as you stumbled back to the motel room from the bar one night. you were trashed, the hunt a particularly hard one, yet, he didn’t let you fall. tucked you in and everything. 

you had no idea about the last one, of the gross drifter trying to get lucky with you. no clue that it’d bothered him—both of them—but, especially sam in that way. not until now. 

and suddenly, they all make sense. 

“whatever, dean,” sam says, his words lower than a whisper, like a child who's just been scolded, “it’s never been that way with us.” 

“it can be,” dean argues, “‘think i don’t notice the way she acts toward you, too?” 

 sam laughs mirthlessly, like a light breath escaping past his lips, “drop it, already.” 

“i’m being serious!” dean’s voice picks up just slightly, eliciting a “shhh!” from sam as he nods his head toward your ‘sleeping’ figure. 

he quiets, “i’m being serious, you’re both idiots.” 

well, he isn’t wrong about that. 

maybe you had been looking at sam a certain way. with a twinkle in your eye you can’t control. a giddiness you only show when he’s around. the laugh that bursts through your chest at his jokes.

the gentle hand you placed on his, shaky and tactful, as it took care of you that night. 

and the expression that met yours when you did so. 

you see it flash the back of your eyelids as they flutter against the moon’s glow through the window. you melt further into the smell of him at the memory, wishing it was his arms around you instead. that he wasn’t so far away in the front seat. 

“she’s good for you,” dean adds in the moment of silence, “and damn, is she beautiful.” 

sam lets the corner of his lips curl into a gentle smile, the thought of you filling his head, of every moment where maybe he didn’t think hard enough either, “yeah,” he whispers softly, “yeah, she is, isn’t she?”

he looks back to you, lets himself take in the image of you underneath something of his keeping you warm, safe. 

something in him bursts. 

fuck, he loves you. 

and, you think you love him, too.

dean’s music fades as you nod off for the last time till you make it to the motel. the impala shifts into park, and the engine growl is sharply cut. you groan as you’re awoken, stretching out your limbs as you yawn loudly. 

sam opens the door on your side, peeking his head under the hood, “good morning, sleepyhead.” 

you yawn a response, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. instantly, once your vision un-blurs, your chest clenches at the conversation overheard a mere few hours before. you can’t help the deer in headlights stare as you look up at sam’s gentle features, smiling softly at you. 

and he has no idea what you heard.

he sticks his large hand out for you to take as you step out on wobbly legs. you refuse to let go of his jacket as it stays hanging on your shoulders. 

yeah, you think, i love him.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sam winchester masterlist !

[samsblades]

✶ spring, honey, forest, etc. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, sappy!reader, fluff, just tooth rotting fluff and a happy sam, unedited, 1K words. for liane's 500 followers event ! inspired by this moodboard <333 @chevroletdean congrats !!

summary : you can't help but compare sam to sweet and beautiful things like spring, honey, and forests.

"sam?" his name leaves your lips like a spring breeze, soft and warm and most definitely in love.

"yeah, honey?"

sweet like honey, thick like honey, golden like honey. his lips don't really taste like honey, but sometimes you think that they do. there's honey in his eyes too, when the sun hits them right. and from this close, you can see all the details. that honey gold, sunflower yellow, woody hazel, and greens that can’t decide whether they're mossy or blue-ish like the sea. right now, as your own eyes soak his up in a morning so blissful that it's almost ridiculous, you decide for them. mossy green it is.

you honestly just said his name because you like the way it feels when it rolls over your tongue and slips out between barely parted lips. but now you actually have something to say to him, voice hushed to match the quiet of the early morning.

"your eyes are like springtime," you tell him, lips curled up into a smile that makes him grin back without even noticing. then you hum and shake your head, cotton pillow case rubbing against your cheek, "mm… wait, no. no, they're like a forest. like trees and moss and pretty rocks."

his eyebrows raise but his smile stays bright. "pretty rocks?" he parrots, trying to tease but only sounding like he could properly swoon.

"yeah. or crystals, i guess. green crystals. sunny yellow ones too," you amend. then you ramble on. "but i like when your eyes look more brown, too. or blue. or anything at all, cuz they're yours and that means i'll always love them." he looks like he has no idea at all what to say to that. your voice quiets, "am i being too sappy?"

"no," he murmurs, his response immediate and sure. "no, i just… just have never had anyone that talks to me the way you do. but i love you. love the way you talk, too."

"good," you settle easily, wondering if your eyes resemble honey in any way just for how sweetly they look at him.

"i love your eyes too," he says, almost surprising you when you think silence is falling back over you like another silky sheet atop the first.

"yeah?" you ask, voice whispery and alight with a sweet hope that's a little silly because there's no need for it. of course he loves your eyes. he loves your all.

"of course," he affirms, "they're so pretty. and… and i feel better when i see them. safer."

and then it feels like nothing bad could ever happen, or at least like nothing in the world would ever dare interrupt something so tender. safer. if something as simple as the sight of your eyes makes him feel safer, you're sure that you've achieved the best thing in life that you ever could. you've done your job, made it to where you want to be, just knowing that. it's like he's telling you that no one could claim that you don't love him without being a complete liar.

it's like he's saying 'i know you love me. i don't doubt it, not anymore. your eyes are my safe place. your love is my safe place.' and that's all you could ever ask for.

"that makes me really happy," you tell him.

"you make me really happy," he says, no need to search for the right words to say. he knows that one without having to think for a moment. and you're blessed to know it too. there's evidence in the curve of his lips and glimpse of his teeth and pretty wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. even in those swirling irises, brighter with the gift of joy that you've given him. you see yourself in them, reflected in those deep pupils and shining just as bright.

[5sospenguinqueen]

(Y/N and Dean stare out of the motel window)

Sam: What’re you guys doing?

Dean: TV doesn’t work.

Y/N: So, we’re watching the couple in the car park break up.

[lokischickadee]

Dean's face🤣🤣

[sleepyangelkami]

COSTUME s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.4K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 A/N - this is my first ever time writing about sucking dick, please be nice to me, i'll cry.

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you had to dress up as an FBI agent with the winchester brothers. you felt stupid in a costume but luckily for you, sam really liked seeing you in a skirt.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, oral(s!rec), no p!v sex, size kink, praise kink, fingering, slight manipulation, reader lowk flexible, cum eating, messy sex, squirting, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

"come on, y/n, we gotta go!" you heard dean's not so gentle knock against the bathroom door as you slipped on your last mary jane shoe.

you weren't usually chosen for tasks like this.

usually, it was the winchester boys that did all this kind of thing, you know, fraud? you were usually just the researcher, sitting in the motel room as back up, with a laptop perched on your lap or sitting in baby, the key inside and waiting to be their getaway car.

you weren't really hands on when it came to being a hunter.

you never really had to go out into the real world for much. but this particular demon was snatching girls, twenty something year old girls about your age and appearance. the brothers thought it would be best if another girl accompanied them when investigating the missing girls' roomates and not two six-foot men dressed in suits.

dean's head turned as the creaky bathroom door opened. "I feel stupid."

his eyebrows raised to the tips of his forehead, a look of shock passing over him as he cleared his throat with a breathy laugh. "wait 'til sammy sees you." you just gave him a confused look before grabbing the pretty pink purse that sat on the bed. "aah-ah." you look up at dean confused. "kind of ruins the whole FBI vibe, don't you think?"

you eyed the purse in your hands.

it was a little bag, hardly able to hold anything other than your phone and your lipgloss, not that you ever had to worry about holding your wallet when you had the boys around but nonetheless, a card was wedged in there too.

it was pink with darker pink flowers on it and a ribbon attached to the strap. sam had gotten it for you after a case that you worked particularly hard on.

but dean was right, it didn't fit the whole 'FBI vibe' so you sighed and placed it back on the bed, passing the man an unhappy glance.

sam was outside, sitting in the passenger seat of the infamous impala named 'baby' by dean. he'd packed and started the car, waiting for the two of you when you caught his eye.

or should he say, your outfit.

you often wore pretty little sundresses or blouses and skirts paired together with a pretty cardigan drawn over you. but this? This seemed awfully different to your usual attire.

the white blouse was a little too low for comfort and he could tell by the way you were pulling it up over your cleavage that you agreed. your black pencil skirt was high, too high with a pair of long black stockings that stopped just above your knees paired with the infamous mary janes that you wore with almost everything.

sam was staring.

"what are you wearing?" was the first thing he asked when you and dean got into the car. "what is she wearing?" he turned back to dean.

you owned the stockings and the mary janes before hand but the rest of the outfit? it'd been dean's job to pick it out (which was no wonder you looked like... that.) "dude, she has to play the part."

"yeah of an FBI agent not some sexy stripper cop." sam spoke, exasperated.

"thank you!" you beamed from the back seat before your eyes furrowed. perhaps your boyfriend hadn't been complimenting you at all.

sam passed you a glance through the mirror but was more focused on blaming his brother. how could he let you go out looking like that for everyone to see? how could he make sam watch you while his pants tightened and his bulge was on show?

you thought the interviews went smoothly. you sat down with most of the women. the college women who's roomates had gone missing. dean was too busy fraternizing with the college girls to care about the case anymore and sam... well sam had seemed a little distracted from the beginning.

he couldn't rip his eyes away from you. you sat so perfectly, pieces of hair falling into your face as you nodded and sympathised with the women, asking them questions and jotting down notes onto a little notepad you had found in the backseat of baby.

sam was staring at you, at the way he could see the outline of your boobs down your shirt or the way your plush thighs protruded from the fabric of your stockings.

he was in awe.

it was hard to focus on anything other than you, which is why he had to excuse himself to talk to the headmaster instead of being stuck in a room with you, too close.

he was your boyfriend, it wasn't as if you hadn't done things with him before. on the contrary, you did... many things with sam before. but this was borderline unprofessional, the way he let his thoughts run.

he could imagine sliding his hands beneath your skirt or listening to your little gasps when he touched your skin, barely grazing it. you were so easily led like that, so audible and obedient. he could imagine unbuttoning your shirt slowly, with you sat on his lap while whines fell from your lips, whimpers following shortly after.

he needed to stop thinking.

or better yet, he needed to fuck you until the thoughts stopped.

dean decided he was going to check out the last spot that the college girl had been taken, assuring you both that he wouldn't be back before dinner. but the wink he shot his younger brother told him that he was merely giving you both alone time because he was no stranger to the look in sam's eyes.

and this was when sam got selfish.

honestly, the motel wasn't that far from the college so you and sam opted to walk back. the air turned brisk and for a split second, sam was about to offer you his jacket, the way he always would.

he thought it was rather adorable, watching the way you nuzzled into the jacket that was far too big for your frame. he was six foot five after all, you drowned in anything he let you wear.

but he found himself feeling selfish. he selfishly liked the way your perky breasts looked in that pretty blouse and the way your plush thighs could be seen peeking out from between the skirt and the stockings. he couldn't stop looking, couldn't tear his eyes away and stop his imagination from roaming.

so he let you walk back to the hotel, keeping a slight distance behind you so he could watch your body as he pleased, the only sound between you two being the click-clop of your mary jane heels as you walked home.

when you finally got inside, you felt yourself sigh in thought.

sam had been acting awfully quiet since you'd left and you'd begun to worry that you'd done something to upset him.

perhaps the outfit was too revealing, perhaps he wasn't okay with it.

you turned, an apology already on the tip of your lips. "sam―"

before you could utter the words, sam had grabbed you. his lips pushed into your own, a kiss filled with no passion or love, you could taste nothing aside from thick hunger, half a growl from inside his throat.

you whimpered into the kiss, taken by surprise. you felt him grab at you, one hand slid up your back, the other grabbing the back of your head and a fistful of hair along with it. again, a noise escaped you while sam was mindlessly kicking off his shoes, guiding you towards the bed.

to say you were surprised was saying the least, you hadn't expected this.

when he sat you gently against the bed, he finally broke the kiss. you looked up at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips while he tugged his suit jacket off, not bothering to take off his tie completely but only loosen it so it didn't hang so close to his neck. perhaps now he could finally breathe.

your eyes followed him curiously as he bent down, eyes never leaving yours while you stayed sitting on the mattress. you felt his hands pawing at your legs, slipping your mary janes from your feet. his hands gently rubbed at your sock-covered feet, a little reminder of his gentleness, despite the roughness he was suddenly using on you.

his fingers trailed upwards, following the little sewing thread between the fabric of your stockings. when his hands reached the top, he snapped the fabric back, leaving it snap against your thighs. "you're keeping these on." he uttered, he didn't sound like he normally did. he sounded as if he were pent up, desperate for relief. and he was.

you just couldn't seem to understand why.

"sam, why are you―"

you were cut off. "you're jus' so pretty all dressed up, honey." sam was towering over you as he stood, his large hand falling on your face, practically taking up a whole cheek as he cupped it. "'n i was hard all day thinkin' about this. you do wanna make me feel good, don't you, sweetheart?"

he watched as your eyes seemingly got rounder. "i wanna make you feel good, sammy." you caught your bottom lip between your top teeth and he could tell you were being honest, so honest.

willing to do anything to make him feel good, his sweet sweet girl. he would have cooed at you had he not been busy using his thumb to pull your bottom lip from beneath your top teeth. "don't do that, baby." he watched as you nodded silently. "good girl, i'll give you something to wrap those pretty lips around, don't worry."

he could see your face slowly building a flush, that kind of blush that had him reeling. he liked when he got you like this, all flustered and squirming. which you were, squirming in your seat with your thighs pushing together.

sam was well aware that if he were to reach up your skirt now, he would find a little wet circle sitting on your satin panties.

but instead, he used his hands to pull his own trousers from him. they were sitting tightly on his hips and when he finally pulled them down, you could see his bulge sticking out from his black boxers.

you gulped, hands playing together in your lap. you wanted to look back up at sam but you couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from him, too engrossed by his dick to think of anything else.

"'s how i felt all day, sweetheart." his voice was a whisper now. "you were teasin' me 'n i couldn't do anything about it. do you know how mean that is?"

your eyes snapped up to his, filling with this red glassiness. "w-what?" you didn't want to be mean to sam. he was so good to you, always making you feel good, you wanted nothing more than to be good to him. "'m sorry sammy, 'm really sorry."

"awh, i know, baby." his thumb swiped against your cheek, playing around with your face as if you were dough, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "you just wanna be my good girl, yeah?"

you nodded quickly. "mmhm, wanna be your good girl, sammy, 'm sorry. 'm really sorry."

"i don't know, you were very bad today." his constant teasing as only making your panties wetter, that tone he was using on you, the one that he knew got you all flustered. "if i give you a second chance, are you gonna be good?"

"uh-huh, 'be so good, sammy, i promise. please, ill be good." you were begging now, eyes as big as saucers and lips wet.

he didn't bother pretending to think about it, he just leaned down, so far that his face was in line with yours, lips against your ear as he softly whispered the words, "then get onto your knee's 'n show me."

when sam winchester told you to do something, you did it, no questions asked.

you'd touched him like this many times before, you on your hands and knees on the mattress while he stood on the ground. he thought it was the most comfortable spot for the both of you, seeing as he was so big.

you did as you were told, moving so you were on your hands and knees against the mattress. your hands moved up to his waist, eyes snapping to his. he watched you intently as you brought your lips to his clothed cock, pressing a pretty kiss against it before using your fingers to pull down his underwear.

you did it without fail every single time.

every time he had you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, you started off with that pretty kiss to his boxers. there was something sickly sweet about it that had his eyes already rolling backwards. it was almost an innocent and naive act of love towards him, laced with lust.

you were on just your knees now, pushing his boxers down with no help from him. his dick sprung free and you could see an idle line of precum dripping down his shaft. instinctively, your hand moved up, thumb swiping the precum and smoothing it over the head of his dick. the act alone caused a grunt to leave his lips.

as pretty as you looked, all curious and ready to take your time, sam simply wasn't having it tonight.

he was too pent up from your silly outfit and his own mindless thoughts that he couldn't help it.

his hand fell to the side of your head, cupping it as he guided it forward. you knew what he was asking and you wasted no time in sticking out your tongue and licking a kitten lick up his shaft.

"fuck," fell from his lips. "good girl." mumbling as your tongue swirled over his head and your mouth wrapped around his dick. sam was a huge man and his dick was no exception to that. he was huge, too big to fit in your mouth but you pushed him in anyway, only covering a little more than half.

sam knew he was big too, he couldn't help the quirk of his lips as he looked down at you, struggling to fit his size into your mouth. his hand slowly guided your head further onto his cock, letting your lips wrap around him completely, your saliva coating him. it wasn't until you gagged that he knew this was as far as you could go.

so he pushed you a little further, anyway.

you brought your head back out then in again, bobbing it as you tongue swirled against him. you were no stranger to sucking sam off but every time you did it, you found yourself getting nervous. you wanted to be good for him and you were doing your upmost best.

his pretty thing.

"fuck, baby, you're doin' so good f'me." and sam knew exactly what effect his words would have on you. "mmph, look so pretty with your lips around my dick, sweetheart."

you couldn't help but moan on his dick.

and his lips quirked into that sickly sweet smile.

he knew how easily you got wet, how all it took was just a few words and you were a moaning, whining mess. sam thought you deserved a little more for all you were giving him than just a little praise.

and like said before, sam was huge so he reached over, his torso towering a little above your head and his arm reached out, soothing down your lower back.

this wasn't the first time sam had pulled something like this. you knew what to do, stomach sinking onto the bed as you rolled your ass into nothingness, wanting to create some kind of friction while your mouth continued to slowly melt around him, licking and sucking, eyes closed as one hand pumped the part of his dick that your mouth couldn't reach.

you felt his fingers tracing the outline of your satin underwear, pulling up your skirt so he could gain access.

you made a noise of complaint, knowing that if he touched you, you wouldn't be able to focus properly on touching him. sam only used his free hand to push your head onto his dick and make you gag again.

he liked watching you fall apart, especially with his dick stuffed in your mouth.

he loved watching the way your body had to bend for him to be able to stick his fingers into your gaping whole, watching as you desperately rolled your hips, wanting him him him. you wanted to feel him. taste him. smell him. he was all consuming, you wanted him to take over your every sense.

and he always did, without complaint.

you were wet, undeniably so, he could feel it through the satin material that he pulled back, getting access to your aching pussy. "there you go, sweetheart, tha's it." while easing two fingers into your hole.

you felt like a slut.

he had you completely and utterly full.

"'s that nice, baby? y'feel so warm." both with your mouth against his dick and your soaking wet hole. "you're so pretty for me, you know that, angel?"

he knew you couldn't respond, only whining and whimpering against his throbbing cock. "you're my good girl, aren't you?" he felt you whine, vibrations spreading through him and he also felt your pussy squeeze against his fingers. he grinned at that. "you like that, honey? like thinkin' about how you're my good girl, yeah? all mine, baby, you're all mine."

and you really were. before sam, you wouldn't look at a boy sideways let alone be like this.

you groaned into him, ass rolling against his fingers while your own free hand moved down. you continued sucking his dick while using your nimble fingers to play with your clit.

and that was enough for sam to let out a moan. "oh, baby, you look so pretty playing with yourself while―shit―sucking my cock."

your eyes rolled back, feeling of pleasure coating you while your soft lips bobbed up and down, fingers tracing him and yourself.

"'m gonna cum, sweetheart." a warning, though he knew you wouldn't move anyway. "you gonna be a good girl 'n cum on my fingers while you suck my cock, huh, baby?"

he felt you absentmindedly nod, too fucked out to think straight while feeling a familiar knot deep in your stomach.

your whines got louder and he felt himself nearing the edge. the sight of you, blissed out while sucking his cock, his fingers stuffed into your hole making you feel all full... he couldn't help but let go.

at the same time, he felt your gummy walls clenching around his fingers, wet juices sliding down his hand while spurts of squirt left your pussy every time his fingers pumped in and out of you, riding out your high.

"good girl, good girl. that's it, baby. oh fuck. yeah, my good girl. there you go." he was in awe, watching you squirt around his fingers, the wet feeling as it spurted out from your pussy, decorating the bedsheets in your juices while your pretty socks got ruined in the mess.

when he finally finished, he pulled his fingers out of you, letting you lean back as you parted your lips to show him his cum all over your tongue, spread messily in your mouth.

his hand was on your face, eyes strained on your mouth as he watched you close your lips and swallow like the good girl you were, swiping his thumb against your bottom lip.

he pushed his two fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. while your eyes rolled back, all fucked out and dumb.

"think we have some time before dean gets back, yeah?" eyes already scanning your body and letting his imagination get the better of him.

he just watched your blissed out face nod, cheeks flushed. "mmhm hmph."

he wasn't done with you just yet.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

[chxrrywines]

₊˚⊹♡ crybaby | sam winchester x reader

inspired by the song crybaby by searows

a/n - soooo i know i said my first fic back would be a smut fic but i’m a big fat liar and i’m posting this instead. i don’t think it’s amazing but it’s super self indulgent and after feeling shitty all week this is the result but the main thing is this is my first fic since november so whoop whoop!!

cws - fem!reader, 1.7k, established relationship, hurt/comfort, post-argument, crying, insecurity, unedited

other fics can be found on my masterlist

The pillow was cold and wet beneath her cheek from her tears. It was oddly comforting against the flush of her cheek. She’d always had obvious tells when she cried, it was something she hated. Her face would go red and her eyes would go puffy and there was simply no hiding it. People either asked what was wrong or pretended not to notice. She struggled to know whether people who didn’t ask did it out of sympathy or something much less kind.

Her red face and her puffy eyes and the glaring neon sign above her head that read crybaby was why she hadn’t left the safety of the bed, curled up under one of the blankets. The thought of Dean or Castiel seeing her so upset made her embarrassed to even think about, made her curl up tighter under the blanket as she blinked through some more tears.

Most of her crying had passed, no longer was she sobbing or shuddering through breaths that didn’t feel deep enough. Just some stray tears that slipped out of the corner of her eye, over the slope of her nose until it either fell on the pillow or it tickled against her skin too much and she wiped it away. Part of her wondered if it looked cinematic enough, that one stray tear. Did it make her look pretty? Movies had a knack of making pain look like art.

Sam knew she’d been crying, of course he did. He was the reason why she was curled up in her tears and misery in the first place. It really wasn’t often that they fought, neither of them could bear it. But she’d been struggling all week, a cloud over her head and a weight in her chest that wouldn’t shift, and Sam really had just been trying to help. But she’d felt smothered and snapped, and he’d gotten defensive, which turned into an argument that ended with him leaving to get some air and her sobbing into her pillow.

Sad didn’t seem like an apt enough word after the culmination of how she’d felt that week and the fight on top of it. It was a wonder she’d managed to stop crying at all.

The door creaked open behind her and she didn’t move, just stared at the wall she was facing as she blinked through another film of tears over her eyes. Sam didn’t like leaving her alone after they fought, how much he cared even when angry with her felt honestly undeserving. It made her want to break down again.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, almost nervous. She didn’t need to look to know he hadn’t moved from the doorway. “Are you asleep honey?”

She debated on pretending to be asleep just to wallow in her own misery for a little more, but she missed his touch and was selfish when it came to his comfort so she breathed out a soft, “No.”

“Can I come in? Or do you want to be left alone for a little while longer?”

The way she sniffled miserably felt like answer enough but she responded anyways. “No, no I don’t. Please come here.”

Embarrassed, she hadn’t turned to face him. Her cheek smushed into the pillow she fought with her trembling lip and watery eyes, hating the way just his presence was enough to set her off again. All of the anger had simmered away and just left guilt behind. It hadn't been his fault that she felt so awful.

“Alright, sweetheart,” his voice was so soft as he spoke. She heard the door click shut and a moment later the mattress dipped behind her, the familiar weight of him settling on it behind her. “You’ve got me, I’m here.” His arm curled around her waist and he pressed himself up against her back. The contact was so soothing that she just sighed as he got settled, flush against her until all she could feel was the comfort of him wrapped around her much more efficiently than her blanket. His hand crept underneath her shirt until his large palm cupped her ribs, rubbing over the skin that was only for his eyes with the pad of his thumb.

The contact was so soothing that tears were building again almost straight away. After a long miserable week the last thing she’d wanted to do was fight with her soulmate, it felt like a blessing that he’d come back to her so quickly. It was such a relief that she supposed that was where the tears had come from. Her hand reached for the one he had against her chest as he held her, and squeezing tightly she breathed out all shuddery. Patient as ever he didn’t say anything, just gave her the room to breathe through her tears, comforting her in silence. What a skill it was for him to know her so dearly.

“I’m sorry,” she eventually murmured into the comfortable silence that they’d built for themselves. “I just… I’ve had such an off week and I shouldn’t have shouted at you I’m really sorry, it’s— the last thing I wanted to do was—”

Her voice started wavering again and he shushed her gently, planting a kiss against the back of her head. “You were overwhelmed,” he murmured softly. “You were overwhelmed and I was smothering you, right?”

She hesitated before nodding, a second wave of relief at just how well he knew her head and how her brain worked. It was often the case that Sam managed to rationalise her thoughts before even she could. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” he murmured, a hand lifting to tuck her hair out of the way before he pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her neck. She swore her spine tingled as it travelled through to the bone. “But I also know that you didn’t mean to shout at me, you were just stressed.”

She sniffled again and nodded, rubbing at her eyes before giving his hand another squeeze. “I’m really sorry, Sam.”

“I know,” he cooed, voice so soft it felt like a caress against the back of her neck. “I know, honey. I love you, okay? We’re perfectly fine.”

“I love you too.” She whispered, lifting his hand up to her mouth so she could kiss his knuckles, sealing her devotion with the press of her lips.

“There’s my girl,” Sam hummed, a few more kisses pressed to the back of her neck. “Can you turn over for me honey? I miss your pretty face.”

She huffed a breath into the pillow where she leaned a little more into, not moving. “I don’t look pretty right now I look like a crybaby.”

“Hey,” she didn’t have to be looking at him to know that he was frowning, she could hear it dripping off of his tone. “Don’t say that, you always look pretty, you look like my girl.”

Something about the sentiment made her heart flip in her chest and it warmed her enough to give in, sighing as she shuffled enough in his arms to roll over, blinking through any remaining tears to look up at him.

She watched in real time as he took it all in. The puffiness of her eyes, the flush on her skin, the wetness that still cling to her cheeks. Predictably, it didn’t deter him. He just sighed, a large palm cupped the side of her face as he stared. “Oh sweetheart,” he sighed, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead as she nuzzled into the warmth of his hand. “My pretty girl. Can I kiss you?”

Her nod was automatic as she fought more tears. Something about the gentleness and adoration in his tone even when she was like that stirred up a feeling that lodged itself in her throat and made her eyes sting. She wasn’t sure it was possible that anybody had ever been loved as strongly and dearly as Sam loved her.

His thumb swept under her eye and caught some lingering wetness as he leaned in, and the press of his lips to hers was so delicate that it made her breathing shake as she exhaled against his mouth. The kiss was soft, as loving and careful as Sam was in his entirety. There was no lust or desperation lingering beneath the surface, it was simply sweet.

“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled back with one last final peck to her mouth. “You have no idea how dear you are to me.”

“Think I have some idea.” She smiled, earning one in return. She could’ve studied the way his eyes crinkled at the corners as his lashes kissed for hours.

He simply hummed as he stole another kiss. “We’ll go and get something to eat in a little while, okay?” He murmured softly. “But I thought it’d be nice if we read for a while.”

Nothing sounded better than being curled up in his arms and read to so she smiled as she nodded her head. “Sounds perfect to me.” She planted a kiss to the side of his neck just to seal the words in.

“Perfect.” Still smiling, Sam reached for his tattered copy of Frankenstein on his bedside table. It had been their reading pick for the last few days though they’d read it a few times together before, it had actually been the first book he’d read to her so it held a certain amount of sentimentality to it. She got settled against his chest and watched as he opened the book, one hand in her hair and one hand free to hold it up as he started reading. His chest rumbled beneath her ear with every word spoken, his voice and touch so soothing that she had to smile as she settled against him and listened to the story. She wasn’t sure that she could think of a better heaven.

if you’d like to be added to my tag list pls send me an ask letting me know what fics you’d like to be tagged for <3

@samsblades @angelicjackles

[lostalioth]

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

[inlovewhithafairytale]

POV: Dating Sam Winchester

[sacr1ficialang3l]

†These crosses all over my body remind me of who I used to be.†

SUMMARY: Sam and Dean dress up as priest to investigate some mysterious deaths. What Sam does not expect is to find himself a little sacrificial lamb in the process. 4.7k

WARNINGS: smut (mdni). religious themes. religious trauma. mentions of self-harm. reader is an ex-catholic. one tiny scene of s.a. but nothing really happens. car sex. unprotected piv. blasphemy. priest kink. reader is heavily traumatized. if you're extremely religious or sensitive to religious imagery pls don't read. writer is also heavily traumatized and has a thing for rosaries.

NOTES: here i am again, writing about priest!sam. everyone say thank you ethel cain. as always, english is not my first language. enjoy<3

You knew something was going to happen today, you just didn’t expect it to come in the shape of a hot priest.

Your friend Alex’s cousin died a day ago. He was found in his room, his own wired earphones wrapped around his neck. He didn’t hang himself, instead he had somehow pulled on the earphones for long enough to kill himself. The police couldn’t really explain it, but there was no sign of break in or the presence of anyone else in the room either. 

You had only met the guy once, which made your presence at his wake just a little awkward. It was supposed to be a family-and-close-friends-only kind of thing, but it was being held at Alex’s house, and she had begged you to come.

Alex didn’t have the best relationship with her family. They were all very religious, strict, and… moralistic. Her parents weren’t that bad, but the rest of the family was pretty awful. They never skipped a chance to comment on her clothes, or question her career decisions, and God forbid they saw her even glance at the beers her uncles were drinking like holy water.

You once even had to hear one of her aunts ask what was taking so long for her to get a husband and start having kids. You were both 20 at the time.

Now, two years later, you’re trapped in one small house with at least twenty of them. You convinced Alex’s mom that there would be too many people and she’d be way too busy to serve them all, so you offered to help by passing around snacks and drinks. It worked, and she let you stay. But that means you’re now stuck in the corner of the living room with a tray full of mini chocolate chip cookies, smiling at a bunch of people you really don’t like.

Alex had advised you to dress up for the occasion, and you had to dig deep into your closet to find the clothes you used to wear when you actually attended church. You wore a black dress that was supposed to hit your knees, but since you hadn’t worn it since you were a teen, it now hit almost at mid-thigh. It earned you a few questioning looks from the grand-aunts, but at least it covered what it needed to.

In your search, you also found an old rosary. It used to be your favorite, and the sight of it made you feel nauseous for just a second. Still, just for Alex, you placed it around your neck and pretended it didn’t drag you back to the dark times.

It used to be a comfort to have around your neck. Now, it’s tight and itchy. Like a noose, or a leash, or both. 

It feels like a punishment—like the weight of sins you no longer believe in but still carry.

You’re walking toward a group of gossiping women—so much for “Do not go about spreading slander among your people,” you guess—when two new people walk through the door. You start to dread the presence of more self-righteous old assholes… until you actually catch sight of them.

Two priests enter the living room, followed by Alex’s father. They’re in full getup—suits, Bibles, and clerical collars. And they are insanely hot.

Both guys look younger than thirty, and they’re explaining something to Alex’s parents. You stare for a moment longer than necessary, until the shorter one glances over and catches your eye. 

You immediately turn around and start walking somewhere, anywhere. You try to find your friend, but she’s nowhere in sight, so you just head toward the group of ladies you were originally aiming for and offer them some cookies.

That’s when Alex’s mother finds you and hands you a new tray with the mini-pies you and her daughter made yesterday.

“The church sent their two new junior priests to pay their respects. Isn’t that so kind of them?” she asks, genuinely touched by it. You try not to grimace. “Go and offer them the pies, and make sure to get them everything they need.”

Cool. Now you had to serve two literal clerics. Like this day couldn’t get any worse.

You’re awkward and shy when around people you find attractive, so you walk up to the men with your eyes on the floor and a mental chant of don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.

“Uhm—mini-pies?”

You meet their eyes for a second. First the shorter one’s, who at the mention of pie immediately looks toward the tray and starts digging in. Okay, safe. Then your eyes drift to the taller one. 

And Holy fucking God indeed. 

The guy is absolutely gorgeous. Big hazel eyes, his styled long hair already falling onto his forehead a bit from the heat of the summer, and just so fucking tall. You can only hold eye contact for a second before your gaze drops back to the floor. 

“Hell yeah.” exclaims the first guy, mouth stuffed with mini-pies.

You raise your eyebrows, surprised by his cursing. Some priests, huh?

It’s not the most blasphemous thing you’ve seen a man of the church do anyway, so you don’t comment on it.

The taller—giant, just fucking huge—man sends him a glare and rolls his eyes. 

“Excuse him, he is our newest recruit. I’m Father Frehley.” He presents himself, extending his hand towards you. 

For the smallest second, you’re overcome with terror. That hand, sliding out from a black sleeve, framed by the white, crisp cuffs—it’s too familiar. Too sickening.

You swallow it. Don’t be fucking pathetic. Get over it.

You struggle a bit to grab the tray with just one hand, movements clumsy with nerves, but the other guy helps you by grabbing the whole tray and immediately devouring the rest of the mini-pies. 

You shake Father Frehley’s hand, meeting his eyes again. One, two, three, four… you look away. Okay, an improvement.

“This is Father Simmons.”

The shorter guy shakes his hand in greeting gesture, crumbs and blueberry filling all over his mouth. You frown a little, looking back and forth between the priests.

“Frehley and Simmons? Like… Kiss?” You raise an eyebrow, making both men stare at you, taken aback for a second, before Frehley chuckles and lowers his head.

“Yeah, exactly. Freakish coincidence.”

You’re still a bit skeptical, but you let it go. You already had enough to deal with today. 

“So, are you the daughter of the homeowners?” Simmons asks, using a napkin to clean the remains of mini-pies off his face. 

You shake your head quickly. “Oh, no. No, I am their daughter Alex’s friend.” You introduce yourself.

“So you knew the deceased?” Frehley asks, glancing around the room. You take the chance to study his features. Once his eyes return to you, you look down at your hands.

“Not really. I think I met him once or twice,” you shrug. The priests look a bit confused, so you continue. “The truth is, Alex doesn’t really… get along with some of the people here.”

You glance around the room again, trying to find Alex. She’s alone at the dessert table, looking like she definitely needs a sweet treat. But she doesn’t need rescuing—yet.

“I’m here for moral support. Even though I don’t like them much either.”

“Well, it is in times like this when the Lord wants us to support each other the most,” Simmons begins. “I’m sure He is pleased with you—”

That’d be a new one, he never seemed to be before.

You can’t help the snort that escapes you but you quickly turn to the priests, apologetic.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” you add quickly. “Thank you for your words.”

You try to sound as genuine as possible, but you’re pretty sure your expression gives you away. 

“So why do they have you handing out snacks?” Frehley asks in a low voice, leaning forward a bit. God, his voice is so smooth and warm. Maybe you wouldn’t mind attending Mass if he were the one directing it.

“That’s how I convinced her mom to let me stay.” You sigh, shaking your head. Come on, girl. That was a Father. “But my real mission is to keep an eye on Alex. The moment some invasive family member tries to interrogate her, I slide in and interrupt the speech with some desserts.”

Both men chuckle at your words, and you study their faces again. What were two sexy guys like that doing in the church? You guess life does work in mysterious ways. 

They continue asking what you know about the cousin’s death. You recount what you’ve heard, always keeping an eye on your friend. At some point, you two make eye contact, and she sends you one of those “those guys are fine” looks. You have to bite down a laugh.

“It was nice of you to come.” you add once the silence gets a bit awkward. “I am sure many here find comfort in your presence.”

“Not you, though?” Simmons jokes, and you can’t help but let out an amused huff.

“That obvious?”

“Just a bit.” Frehley looks at you with the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You swear this is divine punishment.

“Yeah, well… my relationship with religion isn’t the best.” you avert your gaze again. “Grew up very Catholic—and I’m talking all-girls, nun-run Catholic school kinda thing.”

And now I feel guilty for breathing… and also kinda wanna fuck a priest. 

“Oh, so the hardcore stuff.” Simmons teases, and it makes you laugh.

“But you’re not anymore?” 

You shake your head. “No,” You had worked for years to keep the apology out of your voice when you said this. “I’m not.”

The eyes of the Christ in the front of the bible being held in Frehley’s arms burn into your skin.

“Let's say my relationship with God is very complicated.” You scoff, taking in a deep breath. “I really don’t mean to offend, but… many things happened that made me—well, not a fan of all things religious.” The scars on your back ache just a little, but you ignore it.

Both priests nod, and they don’t seem angry. They’re young, and seem smart enough to understand. You relax a bit, feeling less uncomfortable than you usually do around clergy members.

You feel both their eyes on you then, so your gaze drifts around the living room. And thank every deity you’ve ever heard of—because there’s Alex, cornered by the man you two had dubbed Creepy Uncle.

You quickly grab the old tray with the cookies (Simmons had finished off all the mini-pies) and turn back to the priests.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Fathers,” you say quickly, walking backward. “I think the mom’s in the kitchen if you wanna talk to her—but right now, I’ve gotta go play superhero.”

Turns out, going to save Alex from Creepy Uncle was a very bad idea. Because the moment she’s out of sight, he latches onto you.

He keeps inching closer, backing you up against the dessert table. His breath reeks of beer, and the way he pronounces every word—slow, suggestive, like he thinks he’s clever—makes your skin crawl. Even the spit flying from his mouth feels calculated. It all reminds you of the men from your old church: the cheating husbands who hovered near high schoolers, that one youth pastor you still try not to think about.

His hand starts to move toward you, and you freeze. Too many years of being taught not to fight back. Your stomach flips as his fingers reach for a strand of your hair—

And then your guardian angel steps in.

“Mrs. Evergreen wants us to pray.” Frehley hovers behind Creepy Uncle. His dark eyes and twisted mouth make him look menacing, almost scary. Like a predator—big, stealthy, quiet, but ready to sink his teeth into your jugular if he had to.

A different kind of fear bubbles inside you. The kind that makes you press your thighs together, heat pooling in your lower stomach.

Creepy Uncle finally leaves, looking bashful in front of the priest.

Frehley gives you a careful yet somehow comforting look before walking away to stand next to Simmons.

You stay in the back, hiding in the corner of the living room as the family begins to pray. You try to keep your expression neutral, forcing yourself to be respectful. Not everyone who believes in God is bad, you tell yourself, over and over.

A few tears are shed during the more emotional speeches. The priests stand in the background, both of them looking a little lost. Did the church really send their newest, least-prepared members for this?

You’re already congratulating yourself for how well you're handling the situation when Alex’s aunt, the mother of the deceased, walks to the front of the room.

“Oh merciful God, I beg for you to forgive me.”

There it is. You see it in her eyes, her trembling hands, the pained tremor in her voice. The guilt, the shame, the self-blame. The same weight that was once tattooed into you, the one you can’t seem to get rid of.

Her son is dead, and she’s apologizing for it.

You shift on your feet, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. It tastes like wine and sacramental bread, the same taste that was forced into your mouth the day of your first communion.

“I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

“In my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do.”

Your knees weaken, and your throat tightens. Not this one. Not this prayer. Not again.

“Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault;”

You’re drowning, choking, dying. The rosary around your neck tightens. The crucifix on the wall looms over you, ready to strike. God is here, and He demands repentance with blood.

“Therefore I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin, all the Angels and…”

You run. You did back then, and you do now.

You stumble out of the house, breath ragged, panic clawing at you.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

You fall to your knees on the sidewalk, skin scraping like it did when you spent every waking moment kneeling.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The church chorus, the smell of incense, the bleeding Christ.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The fear of punishment, the confessional’s dark embrace, the heavy footsteps of the pastor behind you, the crushing need to repent.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

Sin. You’re a sinner. The snap of leather against your skin.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The cold floor beneath your hands and knees, the warm blood trickling down your back. Your firm grip on the whip.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The sudden voice makes you jump. You look up quickly, meeting Frehley’s gentle, hazel eyes. You try to steady your breathing, to rise on shaky legs.

The priest offers a hand. You take it.

It’s the first time you’ve felt the gentle touch of a cleric.

You clear your throat quickly, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t noticed rolling down your cheek.

“Yeah, Father Frehley,” you choke out, the title catching in your throat. “‘M fine, just—had a moment there.”

You laugh, like you always do in these moments. Because you either laugh, or you lose your mind.

There’s a moment of silence in which the priest studies you slowly, as you try to get your body back in check—pushing the panic back into the little sealed box in the deepest part of your brain, the one you designed for it years ago.

“Sam,” Frehley murmurs, and you look up at him, confused. “That’s my name. You can call me Sam.”

It makes your heart slow a little, your breathing gradually steadying. You nod, running a hand through your hair.

“Sam.” you say it slowly, savoring it. It still tastes religious—but differently.

Like salvation. Like sin. Divine, almost. Godly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be leading the prayer?” you ask once you’ve composed yourself, forcing a relaxed smile back onto your face, even though your hands still tremble and something remains lodged in your throat.

The bite of the forbidden fruit—damning you to be crucified for sins committed long before your conception.

“Father Simmons is on it,” he says with a hint of amusement, and you can’t help but imagine the pie-smudged, cursing priest standing before Alex’s puritan family. You almost laugh.

“You’re bleeding.”

You look down, feeling the warmth of blood running down your legs. Somehow, your knees always end up bloody.

“I’ve been for a while.” The words slip out before you can stop them—too honest, too painful. Sam’s worried gaze catches you, but you quickly try to brush it off. “It’s okay. I’ll just go inside and clean up.”

But the thought of going back inside that house makes your stomach turn. You glance at the front door, where the words “God loves you” on the rug seem almost mocking.

“My b—Simmons’ car is parked nearby,” Sam stutters, and it ignites the doubt in your mind again. “We have a first-aid kit. You don’t have to go back there.”

He nods towards a black classic car parked down the street, and you hesitate for a moment before following him toward it.

You might as well.

If anything, dying in the hands of a psychopathic priest would be the biggest cosmic joke ever written.

Sam, movements slow and steady, opens the backseat door for you.

You sit sideways on the leather seat, legs dangling out the open door, body angled toward the street. It feels exposed, vulnerable, like a patient waiting in a pew. Sam moves to the trunk, retrieving what you assume is the first-aid kit.

Feeling more than a little nervous about being alone with a man who is not only a cleric but also hot as hell, your hand unconsciously reaches for your rosary, fingers curling around the cross like they used to when you were a child.

Your long, slender fingers wrap around the same crucifix your chubby, sticky ones once did. They fidget just like they used to—during Mass, in religion class, or when your mother was screaming behind the door.

A moment later, you realize what you’re doing. You yank your hand away so fast it hits the car doorframe with a dull thud.

After all these years. After you’ve scrubbed your skin raw trying to wash it away. After clawing at your flesh with teeth and nails to purge every drop of holy water you were bathed in.

Your hand still reaches for the rosary.

“Got it.” Sam appears in front of you, white box in hand, pulling you back from the dark void you were about to fall into.

That’s when he kneels, right before you.

Your breath hitches at the sight. Sam, with broad shoulders and a clerical collar, kneeling right before you. 

He leaves the kit on the ground and opens it, first grabbing a cloth and some antiseptic. He leans in, and your legs unconsciously part.

One of his hands—calloused in a way you knew clerics' hands never were—wraps around your calf, long fingers closing around your flesh reverently. His other hand, the one holding the cloth, presses it gently against the wound, cleaning the dripping blood.

Sam moves even closer, getting right between your legs.

It’s too much. The white cuffs and black sleeves of the hands around your leg, the old Sunday Mass dress riling up your thighs, the rosary rising and falling on your chest with every heavy breath.

You feel wetness pooling in your cunt, soaking your lacy panties. You wonder if Sam can smell it, if he can taste your arousal from where he is—so close, yet so far away.

If he does, he doesn’t react. He continues to clean the blood off your knees, some of it getting onto his fingers. He doesn’t notice, and when he goes to adjust his collar, it gets stained.

The impeccable white square, symbol of devotion, of discipline, stained with blood. Your blood.

There’s something deeply metaphorical and insightful to be drawn from that, but your brain is too busy malfunctioning to process it.

Your breathing grows heavier, and you can't help the way your thighs press together.

This time, Sam notices.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, and it almost sounds genuine. But there's an edge to his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, that betrays he knows exactly what he's doing.

He keeps his composure, his serious face and benevolent attitude, but his fingers brush your inner thigh, and his smile is just a touch wicked.

It should make you want to run. Should make you scream for help. Should make you sick with flashbacks. Another perverted priest, another wolf in sheep’s clothing, another rotten apple. But instead, your legs part wider.

Corruption. Sin, dark and simmering. Lust, calling your name, burning like hellfire. Punishment, the good kind. Depravity. Profanation. Temptation. Blasphemy.

You’re not sure who kisses who—whether you tilt your head down or Sam leans forward—but his lips are soon engulfing yours. It’s violent, almost. Teeth clashing, tongues twisting. Carnal. Heretic.

Something fills your chest. A blaze, white and pure, that lights you up from the inside out. Edenic, sweet like the juice of Eve’s apple. Dizzying, like the poison of the snake.

I am kissing a priest. Oh, Alex is going to have a field day with this one.

Sam rises from the ground and leans over you, guiding you to slide deeper into the backseat of the car.

Once you're both inside, Sam breaks the kiss and turns to close the door. You lie back on the cold leather seat, eyes following his figure as he looms over you—so much bigger, imposing, intimidating. He blocks your only way out, and when he looks down at you, his eyes are full of vice.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his hands returning to your soft thighs. He slides them up slowly, carefully rucking up the dress. “So soft, darling.”

You shiver at his touch, licking your lower lip before biting down on it. You aren’t sure what to say, how to act.

Lust, the greatest sin of all. Sex, the doom of humanity. Arousal, something you couldn’t experience without the ghost of guilt tingling at the nape of your neck.

Taught to be virgin-pure. Tainted from birth.

Trained to feel shame in your pleasure. Learned to find pleasure in your shame.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” Sam whispers in your ear, his hands sliding to your waist beneath the flowy dress. “You want this, I can tell.”

Your back arches as his thumbs slip under the waistband of your panties, your breaths escaping in soft, shaky puffs.

You push away the voice—the one that echoes through your mind like a pastor’s sermon—preaching about chastity.

“I do,” you whisper, your hands gathering the hem of your dress and sliding it off your body, tossing it to the floor of the car. You lie there in lacy underwear, bare and exposed. The rosary still hangs around your neck, slithering down the valley of your breasts like a snake.

“Fuck me so hard it purifies me.”

Sam curses under his breath, eyes devouring you—like he’s imagining every way he could ruin you.

He quickly shrugs off his suit jacket, leaving him only in a black shirt and the blood-stained collar. When he goes to take it off, you stop him. 

“Leave it on.” You whisper, pulling him down until you’re chest to chest. 

“Okay, you little heathen.”

It’s only a few minutes—and an orgasm—later when Sam finally slides inside you. Raw. Depraved. Skin against skin. Unholy. 

“You’re dripping, baby.” Sam murmurs, moving his hips with reverence, making you throw your head back and moan. “Your sweet little cunt so tight around me, fuck.”

Sam is big, bigger than anyone else you’ve ever had. He fills you so deep it aches, stretching you open in a way that toes the line between pain and pleasure.

You're acutely aware of every sensation. The ache of the stretch. The sting of old scars brushing against the leather as you rock with every one of Sam’s thrusts. His nails digging into your thighs. His teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck—marking you as condemned. The rosary beads biting into your nape when he grabs hold and tugs, pulling you down onto his cock.

You relish the pain—all of it colliding and bursting inside your chest, transfiguring into pure, burning pleasure.

Pleasure. Pain. They’ve always felt like one and the same to you.

Your hands grip his shoulders, back arched, mouth open in ecstasy.

Sam’s thrusts are merciless. Relentless. Unforgiving. His slicked-back hair now falls over his forehead, teeth gritted, sleeves shoved up to his forearms.

When his hand drops the rosary and slides down—south, to where you need him most—something inside you explodes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on your clit as you come undone. “Fuck, you’re divine.”

Your peak is so high, you think you see paradise, your vision blanking out. It’s an all-consuming fire, wrapping around you, angelic and demonic all at once.

Then you feel Sam’s hips stutter, his warmth flooding you like holy water, filling you up completely.

You’re reborn. Burned to ash and pieced back together. It hurts, like crucifixion for your sins, but then Sam kisses you—soft, gentle—and you’re resurrected.

Washed clean. Ruined to the core.

Moments later, you lie on top of Sam in the cramped backseat. His chest is so broad, he barely fits, his legs tangled with yours. You slot against him like a missing puzzle piece, still boneless, fucked out. Stripped raw, drunk on sin.

Bruises mar your skin—on your neck, between your thighs. Little purple marks you’ll later press on, the ache both punishment and reward.

Sam’s fingers trail up and down your back, grazing the raised, silvery skin. He traces shapes over the crosshatched, uneven texture with such tenderness that it might bring tears to your eyes—if you weren’t so blissed out.

“Can I ask about these?” Sam’s voice is low, rumbling through his chest, sending a deep sense of peace through you. You nod against his collarbone, lips brushing lightly over the clerical collar. “How did you get them?”

“Self-flagellation,” you murmur after a long pause. Sam stiffens beneath you, his hand freezing on your back.

It makes you frown. You know some churches nowadays are a bit more “progressive,” but no priest would ever be shocked at the concept of corporal penance.

You raise your head, perching it on Sam’s chest and looking him in the eyes.

The setting sun filtered through the car window, washing him in warm light. His eyes, green with a rim of brown and just the shiniest golden flecks, wide and shiny, looking up at you like a kicked puppy.

He looked gorgeous, with his eyebrows furrowed and his hair messy. His golden skin glowy and his soft lips pursed. The kind of beauty you only see in stained glass. Tragic. Romantic. Sacrosanct. Godforsaken.

“You’re not a real priest.” It isn’t a question.

Sam’s mouth falls open, but he’s at a loss for words.

Then there's a knock on the window, and—

“Dude, you will never guess whose number I just—”

Yeah, definitely not priests.

It isn’t until you’ve slid back into your dress and you’re sitting on the sidewalk, because Dean would “not get into Baby right after you two profaned it, you little sinners” that Sam and Dean explain their job and what they are actually doing in Alex’s house.

Many things go through your mind. Things like “ghosts are real?” and “demons? Holy shit.” and “I just revealed my priest-kink to a non-priest, that is so embarrassing.”

But most importantly, you think about Sam’s gentle eyes on you, shining with just a bit too much affection for someone who he just met. About how his soothing touch could become so brutal when you needed it. How it had been him that whispered things like “you sweet, mourning lamb” and “let me sanctify you” and “you’re heaven-sent, baby. Made by Him just for me to ruin.”

And you wonder, as Dean rants to Sam about getting a motel room next time, if there’s any chance Sam could sneak you two into a church.

NOTES: this was pretty cathartic to write ngl. VERY self-indulgent but still. fuck the catholic church, guys. while i was writing i kept coming up with other priest/religious ideas and idk how to make myself stop. i might create a whole series of priest!sam at this point. anyway, hope you liked it!

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[samsno1]

warnings: oral s. (f.), pussydrunk sam

Sam never failed to make you see stars. Especially when he had you laid on your back, his hair tickling against your inner thighs and hands holding your hips down with an almost bruising grip as his mouth ate you out like his last meal.

Sam liked going slow, appreciating your taste and the feeling of going down on you. Your legs tightening around his head from time to time, when he hit an especific spot, your fingers going into his hair when you were close, your hips rocking against his face just for you to whine when he stops your squirming with his hands.

It was heaven.

He would get drunk on the feeling quickly, going for minutes and minutes until his jaw gave out — which usually took a long time to happen — leaving you either edged or overstimulated.

"S– Ah– mm..." You moaned out, pushing against his head with your hands. He wouldn't give it up. "T'much baby, too much" You managed to stutter out and Sam finally stopped, but not after giving a last teasing lick over your whole cunt, making you shudder.

He started kissing up your bare body, going through all the previous bites and hickeys he left on his way down. He left one last kiss on your left collarbone before being face to face with you. He had that look on his face, that lovesick, pussydrunk look he always had when he went down on you.

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your lips slightly parted as you let heavy breaths out. Hooded eyes and a lazy smile adorned your features as you looked at all the details in Sam's face.

"Sorry love" He said, pecking your lips. "You just taste so good it drives me insane" He murmured against your lips. You hummed and kissed him yourself, a bit longer, a bit more desperate than a simple peck. You pulled back again.

"You are an addict, that's what you are" You joked with him, shooting him a mischievous smile and his hands squeezed at your waist.

"How can I not be?" He didn't wait for you to answer as he suddenly reached down with his hand and gathered some of your slick in his middle finger. You opened your mouth in a soundless moan, your pussy still sensitive.

He brought his finger up to his mouth and sensually sucked on it, looking directly in your eyes. He made a show with humming — practically moaning — and you were absolutely speechless as you swallowed harshly.

"God..." You whispered.

"Especially when you look at me like that. Fuck, you're so hot" He almost growled as he smashed his lips against yours again, his tongue already invading your mouth in hunger. He arched your back with his hands, urging to be closer to your body.

Sam was absolutely crazy for you and he always showed you just how much.

—

A/N: Hey, this is just a tiny tiny drabble to give you guys something while I finish up a jealous!sam fic. Hope you enjoyed you horny asses.

[southernimpala]

midnight swim

sam winchester x fem!reader (ft. dean :)

summary ↬ you and dean decide to take a dip in the pool after a rough hunt, but sam takes a little convincing

notice ↬ super fluffy, the boys are actually happy for once, a lil suggestive, sam's just a shy boy in love and dean sees it but you don't (what else is new), first ever work for spn and i'm so excited to keep writing for them, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.8k

motel pools were always a disgusting concept to you. murky, unkempt water that was debatably properly chlorinated, bugs and dirty concrete. every time you saw one, it was always you shutting down dean’s feeble attempts at dragging you and sam in with him. 

but this one is different. 

it’s nothing five star, certainly no cleaner than what you’ve seen in the past, but after the grueling hunt—a couple of stubborn poltergeists and a bunch of flying knives—you’re in need of something to soothe your muscles. and a gross body of water certainly feels like the right thing to dip your aching feet into.

“i’m grabbing three towels from the lobby,” dean says, a childlike grin on his face. 

sam stops him, looking up from his computer, “just get two, i’m stayin’ in.” 

“what?” you and dean both say simultaneously. 

sam looks between the two of you with furrowed eyebrows, “is this a surprise to either of you?” 

you roll your eyes, “come onnnn, sam. we just got done with a case and you’re already looking for the next one.”

“that’s because i don’t wanna catch some disease just because i’m bored,” he bears that know-it-all grin that erupts butterflies in your stomach and twinges an incessant need to slap it off him at the same time. 

“just come outside and enjoy some—” dean glances at the window, “—moon—whatever—just don’t be a grouch and get out there!” he reaches for the doorknob, “i’ll meet you there. you, too, sammy!” 

when the door shuts you turn back around to sam and cross your arms over your chest, tapping your foot, “so, what’s it gonna be? coop up in here or hit a midnight swim?” 

 sam sighs, defeated, “fine, i’ll go out, but i’m not getting in.”

the moon glows full in the pitch black sky, blending with the gross neon motel sign, its flickering M and T painting the pool a vibrant blue. there are some questionable stains on the pavement, and one visible from the bottom of the deep end, but it looks swimmable enough. 

soft rock music plays from a speaker somewhere, wrapping you in an embrace of nostalgia and something so winchester. 

sam’s leaning back in one of the flimsy plastic pool chairs, kicking his feet up and placing his hands behind his head, “maybe you’re right, it is kinda nice out here.” 

“it’ll be even nicer if you get in,” you tease, fumbling with the button on your shorts. 

you swear sam’s eyes find their way to your figure, growing wider as you slide the denim down your legs, revealing the black panties you wear underneath. 

your cheeks tint crimson as you feel his warm gaze on you, and pretending not to notice, you pull your shirt over your head, now exposed from head to toe, your bra—which doesn’t match at all—suddenly feels too scandalous for a pool. and now your heart starts to beat quicker, and—

“got the towels!” dean calls from behind you, startling both you and sam. you turn around as sam clears his throat, shaking himself out of a trance, “swimming in jeans, sammy?” 

“very funny,” he responds, narrowing his eyes. 

when dean lays the towels down, he quickly strips into his boxers, not wasting a second before cannonballing into the still water. you follow shortly behind, your underwear clinging uncomfortably to your now wet skin. the pool's temperature is a relief from the muggy summer night air, goosebumps crawling up the parts of you not submerged. 

you can already feel your tight muscles loosening—and dean’s rough swimming pelting water at your back—so much so, you throw your head back in pure bliss. 

“feels nice, huh, sweetheart?” dean says, brushing up against your forearm.

you nod, shutting your eyes, “hmm… just what i needed.” 

suddenly, your head breaks the water’s surface, and you’re pushed under. your eyes snap open in shock, but all you can see is the blurry underwater. you can hear muffled shouting before your shoulders are free and you spring back up. you gasp, whipping your now drenched hair as you spin around to dean, laughing so hard his face is pink. 

“what the hell!” you yell, rubbing your burning eyes. 

he struggles through his laughter to get words out, “you were flailing around like a fish down there!” 

your mouth parts in annoyance, you want to be mad but can’t bring yourself to be. the sound of such rare happiness warms your insides, and you huff a laugh, “sam, tell your brother that he almost drowned me!” 

“i tried,” sam says, and that’s when you notice he’s now standing by the edge of the pool, a crease of concern lingering in his forehead, but the ghost of a smile on his lips. your stomach flips. “dean, you almost drowned her.”

 “maybe if you were in the pool, you could’ve saved her,” dean baits, and sam’s face flushes. 

he chokes on his words, “you’re ridiculous.”

“not as ridiculous as you’re about to look,” dean says, and before sam has time to question it, he’s being snatched into the water by the bottom hem of his ragged jeans. 

a wave of water crashes against your face, but you unshield yourself quickly to catch sam’s surprised expression as he’s drenched in wetness. his button down has turned a dark, damp blue, clinging to the outline of his pecks, and his perfect wisps of hair stick to his neck and cheeks. 

you can’t lie to yourself and say he doesn’t look so good dripping wet like that. 

“i swear to god, dean,” sam threatens, “i will drown you!” 

��try it, sammy!” dean swims to the other end of the pool to escape his brother’s wrath. you watch from the edge, leaning against the pool wall as sam attempts to speed up. his clothes are obviously weighing him down, so an idea sparks to you. 

you move through the thick water to sam, stopping him by reaching for the buttons on his shirt. as he opens his mouth to question you, you shush him, “you’ll be faster without these,” and try to put on a brave face as sam’s eyes bore into you so intensely you’re drawn to meet them. and when you do, it’s catatonic. breathless as your fingers idly pop each button loose, a shimmering glint of confusion glowing in his eyes.

he’s still panting aggressively from the shock of the water, his soft lips tinted blue. you try to avert your eyes to anything other than his, but staring at his mouth isn’t a good idea, either.

he keeps you looking at him, his brows ever so slightly furrowed in bewilderment at your sudden boldness, but once the last button threads through, you’re hastily shrugging his shirt off his shoulders. you want to get his jeans, but you can already hear dean treading closer. plus, you don’t know if you’re brave enough for all that.

“alright, go!” you shout, queuing dean to start swimming faster. 

it takes sam a minute to break out of whatever trance he was in—hell, you both were in—but eventually, he starts towards dean, grabbing him playfully by the shoulders and pinning him underneath, just like you were. 

lighthearted giggles escape you and sam as dean tries to lift his head up, “oh, what was that, dean? i can’t hear you under all that water.” he laughs.

sam catches your face from across the pool, matching your smile. something twinkles in his eye. you catch it before it fades when dean grabs sam from behind the neck, flipping him under, too. 

you swim closer, attempting to hold dean’s large frame while sam grapples under the weight of his brother’s strong hand. “let him go, you monster!” you yell playfully, jumping onto dean’s back to take him down. 

sam manages to pop up, gasping for breath but grabbing your slick arm to pull you off dean and into him. your cheek is squished against his broad chest, water clinging to your lashes. your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, the leather belt still worn rough on your legs, while your arms circle his dripping neck. you can feel sam’s adam's apple bob at the movement.

dean tries to get ahold of you, but sam keeps you tight, and to keep yourself from crumbling under the weight of your crush, you try to focus on dean’s feeble attempts at shoving you under again. 

“i call a truce!” you call out, twisting in sam’s grip, “my savior has come!” 

“oh, yeah, just climb him like a tree, why don’t you?” he pants, shaking his hair like a wet dog. 

“whatever works,” you giggle, and when you turn into sam’s face, he’s already looking at you, eyes hooded with something indescribable, scanning every inch of your face as rivulets of pool water run down your smooth skin. “right, sammy?” you try and say, but it comes out breathless. 

"yeah," he nods, and suddenly the feeling of his warm body on yours in the ever chilling water is too much to ignore, now that the playing’s died down, “whatever works.” 

after the three of you get out, you all shiver underneath the poor quality pool towels as you make your way back to the room. sam is dying to get his damp jeans off his legs, and you’re dying for one more second against him, to feel his heartbeat against yours. 

sam, insisting to shower first—”it wasn’t my choice to get wet,”—”whatever you say, sammy,”—leaves you and dean sitting your damp bodies on the floor against the far right bed. 

“i’m happy we got him out,” dean says after a moment of silence, save for the low hum of the AC and the shower running in the bathroom. 

“yeah,” you agree, leaning back tiredly against the mattress, “me, too.” 

“y’know,” he starts, sitting up further, “it’s been a long time since i’ve heard him laugh that much.” 

your eyes open to look at him, prompting him to continue. 

“he laughs that much when he’s with you,” he says, sending you a rare, genuine smile, “i see it.” 

your heart blooms in your chest, pulse loud in your ears, “dean—” 

the shower stops and the bathroom door swings open, startling the words right off your tongue, “what are you two talking about?” sam asks nonchalantly, rubbing a towel against his noodly hair, damp on his forehead. 

you open your mouth to answer, to say anything other than, ‘we were talking about you loving me, or, something’ but dean speaks before you can. 

“i was telling her not to forget getting your jeans off next time,” he says teasingly, and sam stops in his trek to grab pajamas. 

“fuck off, dean,” he mumbles, embarrassed, but you swear you see the corners of his lips turn upward, just slightly. 

dean winks at you, and before he gets up to steal the shower, whispers in your ear, “he’s so in love, it’s gross.” 

you believe him when you catch sam’s eye twinkling at you again as the bathroom door shuts.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sam winchester masterlist !

[samsblades]

✶ smirking and butterflies — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluffy hurt/comfort, suggestive, badass!reader, mentions of mental/emotional exhaustion, implied sex, unedited, 783 words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : the dinner table in a tiny apartment + “i just don’t understand, i get all– all nervous around you and my cheeks get warm, and i– oh.”

sam thinks you’re adorable. he also thinks that you are hot and sexy and stunning and all of that, of course. it’s just that most other people don’t tend to find you cute. but most other people don’t get to see you slumped inside your apartment, stumbling over your words.

it’s true that you’re a complete badass; confident and good with knives and guns and hand to hand combat. your monster kill count is easily on par with his and dean’s, which is saying a lot. but you can also be a bit clueless when it comes to other things, like his huge crush on you, or, apparently, your own huge crush on him.

he’s seen first hand how sure of yourself you can be. how easily you can slice your way through a nest of vampires or beat him in a game of throwing knives. and maybe your leather jackets, seemingly effortless intelligence, and grace in a fight keep you distracted from thinking very much about how you feel.

but these days, you’re bogged down by it all, shoulders sagging and eyelids heavy. you’re frustrated, quick to anger and even quicker to tire. why is he so distracting? why do your steady hands fumble and why do you feel like falling apart at the seams around him? it doesn’t feel fair and you can’t tell who you should be angry at. maybe you shouldn’t be angry at all, but something else.

and you can’t tell if you like that he’s sitting here with you, at the table only big enough for two people in your tiny apartment. he’s made you a cup of tea in your own home and asked if everything’s alright, and you can’t help but answer honestly.

“i don’t know,” you sigh, your forefinger tracing the rim of your cup. “i’m so tired.” you avoid meeting his gaze, about to admit that it’s about him, “and i just don’t understand, i get all– all nervous around you and my cheeks get warm, and i– oh.” then suddenly, you’re mortified as the pieces slide in place, and sam is holding back a grin. you’ve accidentally confessed, and you didn’t even know until those words slipped out. sam wants to smile, to kiss your cheek, or maybe your lips if you’d let him. but you look stressed, and he quickly picks up on it.

“hey,” he murmurs, taking your hand gently, “it’s okay. i’m making you tired?” he says that last bit apologetically, like he’s done something wrong. he hasn’t at all, you don’t think.

“no, no, it’s not– it’s not you, i mean, it’s just… it’s confusing. or it was. or– maybe still is. god, sam, what are you doing to me?” you breathe out, so unlike yourself as you trip over your words without any of your usual grace.

with more emphasis, but still gentle, he repeats, “it’s okay.” he cringes lightly because he never meant to stress you out, but has to hold back a giddy sort of triumph because he has managed to make you flustered. and of course because you’ve just admitted to feeling the same way that he does. “you don’t have to be tired anymore. or confused. you make me nervous too. not in the way you make most people nervous. i mean, i know i can’t beat that knife at your belt, but i’m not worried about that. it’s just ‘cause i like you.”

maybe it’s because he says it a little shyly that you get some of your bravado back, some of that intimidating charm that makes him go crazy. it’s a weird feeling, a satisfied smirk tugging at your lips and fluttering in your stomach all at once. you just wanna kiss him. so you do.

you stand, the chair scraps against the wooden floor, and poor sam barely has time to react before you’re leaning over him and tilting his head up with your hand on his chin. but his lips manage to meet yours with just as much eagerness, and you kiss like you punch, minus the harsh intention to maim. it’s passionate, hits its mark without hesitation, and sinks in deep. though, with the way you thread your hand through the strands of his hair at the back of his neck, he’s sure you’re just as good at kissing rough, too.

then there’s your tongue, slicing right through his lips and slipping past his sharp canines like one of your pretty knives. it’s not too hard to make him moan, you find out as his hands hungrily plant themselves on your hips. so, you make him moan all night long. to be fair, he most certainly returns the favor.

[zepskies]

Wake Up Call

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Sam often gets up before you in the morning. He enjoys luring you into the waking world. 

AN: Surprise! After writing Rest for Dean, equal parts hurt/comfort and fluff, I’ve been itching to do some “early morning” fluff for Sam…

Word Count: 700

Warnings: 18+ only for smuttishness. Fluff and feels.

Unlike Dean, Sam isn’t one to be sentimental.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. On the contrary, he hordes and treasures memories in his mind, rather than on his shelves.

It also means he’s not one to collect things just to have them. There has to be a practical use, like the way good books can be read again. Even his dad’s journal is a useful resource, not just a record of the man’s most significant words, and in some ways, his legacy.

Sam’s room is function, not fluff.

That is, until you invaded.

Well, less invaded, and more invited, but still. He sees traces of you everywhere, in the half-drunken mugs of coffee and tea piling up across his nightstand; in the shelves you’ve put up to showcase his books, alongside yours (complete with “cute” little bookends you found at a flea market in town); and in the extra fuzzy blankets and smaller pillows you’ve bought, not only because they’re comfortable, but because they help “pull the room together,” in your words.

Sam had to snort at that one. Somehow, he doesn’t think a few decorative pillows and a lamp from Goodwill are going to make a windowless bedroom in a bunker look like a page out of a Pottery Barn catalog.

But he humored you then, with the same smile he looks down on you with now. It's early in the morning as he sits up beside you in bed with his coffee. He has a fresh mug ready for you on the nightstand. (He's also brought the army of old ones back to the kitchen sink.)

He spares a moment from his laptop to brush your hair away from your cheek as you sleep. His hand drifts down your bare shoulder, as far as he can reach down your arm. Finally, his touch stirs you. Your breathing shifts with a little hum as you creep closer to wakefulness.  

“Awake already?” you grumble at him.

“Yeah. Waiting for you.”

“Hnnmmmmm.”

Sam smiles. You can be so grumpy in the morning.

He takes another sip of his coffee and sets aside his mug and his laptop. He gets up just to raise his side of the blankets, sliding back in and slotting himself behind you. You sigh after his arm has slipped beneath your head, and the other around your waist, pulling you comfortably warm against his chest.

He issues his first plan of attack, laying soft kisses behind your ear, along your jaw. Even with your eyes closed, you smile as his long hair tickles your cheek. He pays special attention to your pulse point, nipping and sucking gently. A shiver tingles down your spine.

“No fair,” you breathe out, reaching back a hand to card through his hair. Your fingers tangle in the dark strands as he smiles against your skin.

He continues his tantalizing path down your neck. His hand moves under the sheets, under your borrowed sleep shirt. His thumb brushes the underside of your breast, earning a pleased hum from you. It encourages him to palm the round softness with his big hand, pebbling the nipple under his nimble, rolling fingers.

Uttering a soft whine, you begin to subtly writhe against him. Your ass presses back into him, accidentally-on-purpose. His arousal rises to meet you, a low-burning fire crackling to life.

Sam’s kisses become more insistent with the brush of his tongue against your skin. His hand moves from playing with your breast, down the soft length of your body. Every move is a form of delicious persuasion, especially when his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties.   

“You awake yet?” Sam teases, his lips moving against your cheek.

Your smile grows. You finally open your eyes and tangle your leg with his under the covers.

“If I’m not, this is one hell of a dream,” comes your cheeky reply.

Sam chuckles. His fingers dip between your legs, into your wet heat. You suck in a breath.

His voice in your ear is enough to raise the hair on your arms.

“Baby, we haven’t even started yet.”

AN: 😘 Hope you enjoy! I haven't written Sam in a while, but I do love him too. 💜

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[ultravi0lence14]

LIKE YOU MEAN IT

SAM WINCHESTER X READER

WARNINGS: down bad sammy, pet names, unprotected p in v, creampie, overstimulation, hair pulling

WORD COUNT: 595

“fuck, baby”. . . thrust. . . “you’re so”. . . thrust. . . “fucking”. . . thrust. . . “tight”

sam’s groans and deep thrusts were annunciated with the bang of the headboard against the wall. your mouth was wide open, soundless moans and mewls stuck in the back of your throat as sam fucked you dumb. you’d been at it for what felt like hours, your third orgasm cresting over the horizon of pleasure as sam pounded into your sopping cunt.

he had ate you out like a man starved, lapping up the juices that poured out of you like it was his final duty. sam had even let you ride him, tits bouncing in his face as your nails scratched down his chest. you could remember his breathy moans, the way his voice sounded when he groaned out, “that’s it, baby, fuck yourself on my cock. you squeeze me so fuckin’ good, gonna fill you up until you’re choking on my come.”

that was two blissful orgasms ago, and now he had sprawled on your back, legs high in the air, your thighs pressed into your chest as he fucked you into the mattress. sam’s thrusts were punishing, his strong arms caging your body as one hand held the headboard and the other took fistfuls of your hair. one hard thrust had your vocal cords ripping back to life, loud moans crashing past your lips as sam repeatedly hit that spot inside of you that left a lethargic feeling in your chest.

“ahh, fuck sam,” you mewled, words broken off with high pitched moans as you gripped tightly onto his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “oh god, right there. fuck, right there sam, you feel so fucking good.”

sam just smirked, pulling out all the way until only his tip was left inside of your tight cunt. you went to whine, ready to beg sam to keep moving, yet your words were cut off with a loud moan as he rammed his cock back inside of you, repeating that same motion over and over again.

each brutal thrust of sam’s dick punched the air out of your lungs, and when he felt your gummy walls clamp around him, he couldn’t help but smirk to himself. “you gonna come, angel face?” he asked with a smile, hand gripping your hair tighter to tilt your chin up. “gonna drench my dick? let me pump you full of my seed? c’mon, lovie, let me feel you.”

his filthy words had you coming with a scream, and sam wasn’t far behind, his come drenching your insides, dripping out around his dick and making a creamy ring around the area where you two were connected. the bliss you felt post orgasm was blinding, though nothing could’ve prepared you for the feeling of sam quickly pulling out of you before flipping your body around, hand going back into your hair and pulling you back until you were on your knees, back against his chest.

when he thrusted into you from behind, you couldn’t help the loud moan that left your lips. sam’s pace was bruising, not allowing you to get used to the feeling of him back inside of you before he was ramming his dick into the spongy spot inside of you.

“you got one more?” he asked with a coo, licking up your sweat soaked neck before nibbling by your collarbone. “what am i saying, of course my girls got one more in her.” sam didn’t stop until you were both throughly fucked, many orgasms and hours later until he finally pulled out of you for good.

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @sunsbaby @haunteres @figthoughts @bluemerakis @h8aaz @dulcescorderitas @honeyryewhiskey

[sleepyangelkami]

PLAYTHING s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 1.2K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - though on the road with dean, sam always comes home to you whatever chance he gets. this time, he feels he's been gone to long and when he finds you sleeping in only his shirt... he aches for you.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, p!v, sleepy sex, praise kink, reader mentioned to be smaller than sam, practically porn with no plot, gentle sex, unprotected sex, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

exhaustion coated sam as he fished around in the back pocket of his jeans, looking for the spare key to your house. it was late and by now, the stars covered the sky. he knew you'd be asleep, that's why he didn't bother knocking.

the door opened silently and sam silently cursed you for leaving your hallway light on. he was always telling you to turn it off before bed but without him there... you felt safer with it on.

he kicked his boots off, not wanting to make a mess of your carpet and found himself walking up the stairs, switching the light off as he went. he tossed his bag somewhere by the top of the stairs, knowing he'd come back to it in the morning.

all that mattered now was well, you.

he opened the door of your bedroom. it was dark but he could still make out the silhouette of your body. your leg was propped up, practically cuddling the duvet. he could see a shirt enveloping your body, too big to be yours.

as he slid his shirt off, he found himself longing to feel you, to touch you. it'd only been a week since he was in this room last and yet it had felt like an eternity that he'd been deprived of your touch.

whenever sam came home after his trips, he'd slide his clothes off and get right into bed. which is exactly what he did now. he wasted no time in enveloping his large arms around your body, pulling you in close.

the smell of your shampoo made his eyes flutter closed and the scent of his own cologne against the sleep shirt you'd stolen from him made his lips quirk.

"sammy?" your voice was a quiet, soft mumble. he loved the way you sounded when you'd just woken, so vulnerable. perhaps he loved it so much because he knew you wouldn't be so vulnerable with anyone else. just him.

"'m here, sweetheart." he felt you move in his embrace. he loved holding you like this, he wished he could get impossibly closer, as if it were possible.

you moved so that you were facing his chest, slightly lower down in the bed than he was. "how was your hunt?" even in the dark, your hands trailed up his arms. he was wearing nothing but his boxers. but feeling his body, there was something about it that just assured you he was really there. "missed you."

"yeah? how much?" the man ignored your first question, his hands sliding around your own body.

you couldn't describe the soft feeling of when he'd come home, feeling him, knowing he was there while he did the same to you. it was rather... lovely.

you felt his fingers inch higher, trailing past the flimsy material of his own shirt on your body. suddenly, you felt the base of his fingers against your panties.

"sammy." you practically whimpered out, low and sleepy. "'m tired."

"i know, honey." you felt him move your hair with his free hands, pressing gentle, damp kisses against your neck. not the kind of kisses he usually left, sucking and leaving marks, roughly and making sure everyone knew you were his. no, this was different. he wasn't kissing you to leave any marks or to induce pleasure, even. he was kissing you so softly, to let you know you were safe with him. "you don' have to do anything, okay? jus' lay there 'n let me do the work, yeah?"

a soft, "okay." left your lips, though your mind was still half torn between sleep and wake.

"good girl." pressing the same, simple kiss to your cheek as his fingers hooked against your cotton panties. you could feel him drag them down against your legs but truthfully, your eyes had fallen shut, tiredness seeping into you.

he pushed his own boxers out of the way too, discarding the clothing against the ground before grabbing his dick in his hand.

if he were being honest, he'd felt himself harden the minute he'd seen your body, pretty cotton panties on show, hardly covered by his own shirt.

perhaps he was being territorial now, but there was something so aching about seeing you in his shirt. he knew you were his, that was a known fact, but seeing you like this, it lit a part of him ablaze.

he moved his hand up and down his shaft, making sure it was hard enough before maneuvering it up against your wet hole.

he didn't push in yet, gently testing the waters as he pushed the tip around your cunt, softly against your clit and finally back down to your sopping hole again.

"jus' relax, baby." littering kisses against your skin. "gonna do all the work."

the hum that left your lips was slick with tiredness but when he pushed himself in, he was met with a stuttered gasp that left your lips. a grunt left his own, usually a string of curses would accompany it.

but not tonight.

often, he'd spend the first few minutes teasing you as much as he could.

but not tonight.

"good girl." he mumbled against your forehead which he had kissed tenderly. "doin' s'good."

he didn't speak much tonight, which he usually did. usually, he couldn't get himself to stop talking. dirty words and the sounds of loud moans would bounce from wall to wall. now, the room was filled with only heavy breaths and lazy whimpers that could be heard from you, buried in the crook of his neck.

but he didn't need you to say anything either. the mere feeling was enough.

it was different than usual. the feeling was indescribable, how comfortable you were with him. the realisation of that on his part was something so riveting.

even now, between the twisted blankets of your bed. you were half asleep, hardly able to keep your eyes open and yet you trusted him with the most vulnerable thing that you could. he realised how protected you felt with him, his large body enclosing around yours, hands gentle against your waist while your head stayed hidden between his neck and shoulder.

your gentle breaths, tiniest of whimpers in his ears was enough for him.

and it didn't take him long to get close.

perhaps he really had been deprived of you.

your breath grew slightly more shallow. "sam." is all you could whimper out, he knew exactly what it'd meant.

"i know, baby." he all but whispered back. "'s okay, let go f'me."

and when you came undone around his cock, he felt himself do the same.

even when everything was done, when the feelings floated away into the air and everything was replaced by this heavy weight of tiredness, he stayed inside you for a few minutes. he stayed inside of you until finally, he realised he was going to fall asleep if he didn't move.

and when he did move out of you, he still kept you close. his large hands trailed up your body, holding it as close as humanly possible.

"really did miss you, sammy." you whispered in the utter darkness.

it was enough for him to think. to really think. perhaps the life he lived wasn't worth it. if he had to give everything up just for a few moments like his with you, then he would.

"missed you so much more, angel."

and with the soft movements of one another's breaths, you fell asleep rather quickly, unable to fight of the tiredness that washed over you both.

sam made sure you didn't leave his embrace until the sun began to rise over the horizon.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

[chxrrywines]

₊˚⊹♡ mean | sam winchester x reader

requested - heyy could u make a sam x reader thing where he fucks rlly roughly but he’s really sweet during aftercare bc the idea that sam is rough during but sweet after makes me weak in the knees🫠🙏 (anon)

a/n - this is. probably the most filthy thing i’ve written. it’s just filthy smut. with a hint of sweetheart sam at the end. i need him so bad it’s not funny. still working on my longer plot fics but i wanted to get this out today to get back into writing!! hopefully you enjoy :) would very much appreciate feedback! <3

cws - fem!reader, 2.4k, nsfw 18+, meandom!sam turned soft!sam, oral f!recieving, praise, very mild choking, condescending words, p in v, mild overstimulation, tears, aftercare, fluff

other fics can be found on my masterlist

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

She was convinced that Sam’s mouth was a whole new kind of heaven.

He’d already made her cum once with his mouth alone, large hands pressed into the plush of her thighs to keep them spread, her hips stilled, which were twitching with every sweep of his tongue. He was skilled, drawing the pleasure out of her like it was nothing. Sam had easily spent fifteen minutes down there, eating her out like a starved man, like it was all he wanted.

And she didn’t know how she was still breathing. There was a relief that ran through her that Dean and Castiel weren’t in the bunker that night, because even though they were shut away in the privacy of their room, she was sure that she would’ve been heard. Sam had been pulling noises out of her all night, obscene lewd sounds that she would’ve been embarrassed about being heard if it wasn’t Sam with her.

He always made sure that as much as he made her feel, none of it was embarrassment.

His tongue flattened against her, licking a stripe up between her folds until he pressed against her clit and she shuddered, a horribly whiny sound pushed from her lungs when he closed his lips around the bead and sucked, like he was trying to pull the life out of her. Her hips jolted, unable to go anywhere as he had her pinned down, and she was practically seeing stars as Sam worked down there. She wondered if he was even breathing.

“Sam- oh my god—” She whimpered, hissed in a breath when he licked back down to her entrance and his nose nudged against her clit, stomach clenching as she reached her hands down to grasp onto his hair, fingers curled into the soft strands.

And then he pulled away.

His hands left her thighs as his mouth left her, but she didn’t have time to whine her complaints at the loss of sensation as his long fingers curled around her wrists, yanked her hands out of his hair. “What did I say, huh?” The tone of voice made her pussy clench around nothing. “Hands to yourself. You’re pretty bad at listening, baby.”

Sam shifted over her, his face over hers as he pushed her wrists down onto the pillows above her head, and she almost squirmed when she saw the look in his eyes, the way his lips were wet with her.

“Are you listening?” He squeezed her wrists as a reminder, and her eyes quickly flickered back up to his eyes. “Do I need to tie you up, or will you keep these here for me?” She knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do it. Sam could be such a soft lover — he’d kiss every inch of her skin, whisper praises and compliments, tell her he loved her a thousand times as he made love to her. But he could also be like this, mean and demanding as he fucked her silly over and over. She wasn’t sure which she liked more.

“I’ll keep them there.” She breathed out, her voice still a little too whiny. He’d gotten her so close to cumming again, the lack of stimulation was driving her crazy, her cunt throbbed as she stared up at him.

“Oh yeah?” Sam narrowed his eyes like he didn’t believe her, and let go of one of her wrists to take both into one of his large hands. Her eyes left his face to follow his second as it dipped down between them, fingering at the waistband of his boxers, until she heard a sharp, “eyes on me.”

Her gaze quickly flickered back up to his face. “See? You can be good sometimes, can’t you?” Sam cooed, boardering on condescending, as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mouth, allowing her to taste herself. “You just need some reminding, don’t you, sweetheart? Get so lost in that pretty little head of yours when I’m making you feel so good.”

She’d been so distracted by watching his face, head spinning with his words, that she didn’t realise that he’d freed himself from his boxers until she felt the head of his cock nudging between her folds, gliding easily against her with the slick and spit collected there, and she mewled at the feeling, eyes squeezed shut as he nudged at her clit.

“Eyes open,” his hands left her wrists — which she knew now to keep still — and his fingers splayed across her jaw, squeezing unkindly until she looked up again. “Don’t make me tell you again. You wanna be good for me, don’t you?”

She nodded dumbly, sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth as he rubbed her clit with his cock. Teasing her. “Mhm, I will.”

“You will?” Sam gave her jaw one more squeeze, just for good measure, before he wrapped his fingers around the bare skin of her throat. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t put any pressure, just held her, but the threat was there. The head of his cock rested up against her slickened entrance as his head dipped down, lips brushed her ear as he whispered, “what’s your colour?”

They had a pretty rigid safe word system set out — it was something he went over with her every time they had sex, especially like this, when he was mean and grabby and knew that she wouldn’t like it every time. If she so much whispered the word red he’d be up and off of her before she could blink.

But all that left her words was a whiny, “Green, please Sammy.”

She felt his lips curve up against her ear as he smirked. “Good girl.”

Without warning he pushed into her and she sucked in a sharp breath, her own fingers grabbed at each other in an attempt to keep her hands still, and she shoved a breath out of her throat. He’d worked her open with his fingers when he’d been settled down between her legs, but she still felt the stretch, the burn as he settled his cock deep inside of her, and for a moment she had to remember to breathe back in.

“Fuck honey,” he grunted in her ear, fingers gripped her throat just slightly tighter, still only enough for her to feel pressure. “So tight for me, baby. Can barely take it, huh?”

He pulled back before he rutted back inside and she whimpered, squeezing her own fingers together so tightly so she didn’t break his rule. Needing to hold onto him somehow, though, her thighs clamped harshly around his hips, already trembly from the first orgasm he’d pulled from her.

He thrust in again, and again, and again, and soon she saw stars, gasping and whimpering with every drag of his cock against her gummy walls, pleasure rippling through her in waves that made her stomach clench, her cunt clamped down so tightly around him it was a wonder he could move at all.

“So noisy baby,” he crooned on a particular harsh thrust that made her whine, fingers a little tighter around her throat. “Can’t help yourself, can you?” He huffed with another thrust. “Need me to do all the work, hm? Greedy—” he grunted, “greedy girl.”

It took an embarrassingly short time for her to get close again. Sam was fucking her with determination, grunted every time he pushed himself back in, the head of his cock nudged the soft spongey spot inside of her that made her shudder again and again and again until she was a mess beneath him, lewd wet sounds accompanying her whimpers with each shift of his hips, her pussy fluttering around the stretch of his girth.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t ease up, didn’t give her a breather. She was close to tears by the time she was almost there, already sensitive from her first orgasm.

She clenched around him and his fingers, in turn, tightened on the sides of her throat. She trusted him, she knew he wouldn’t push it too far. Just enough for her to feel a little dizzy, for the bliss to wash over her like a high.

“Sam- mm- Sammy—” She was practically blabbering as her eyes filled with tears, gasping with each thrust, each smack of his hips against hers.

“Oh honey,” he cooed, condescending, mean. “Too much, hm? Need something?”

His hand loosened on her throat and she inhaled a little shakily.

“Please—” she whined, blinking through tears up at him. She didn’t miss the flicker in his eyes as the tears dribbled down her cheeks, but she knew that he knew she’d tell him if it was too much. It had happened before, neither of them messed around when it came to their safe words.

“Please what, huh?” He thrust in harshly and she groaned, cunt fluttering, so close— “Ah-ah, not yet. Don’t you need to ask me something, dolly?” He squeezed her throat once. “You remember what happens if you cum without asking, don’t you?”

Of course she did. The week prior she’d cum too soon, and he spent the next what felt like hours edging her, too skilled with his fingers, words too filthy that they made her head spin. He’d made such a mess of her that she hadn’t been able to even get up off of the bed for a little while after he finally let her cum.

“Mhm, mm, yeah—” she inhaled shakily, whining, thighs clamped tighter around his hips. “Please- please can I- please let me—” she groaned.

“Let you what?” He was dragging it out, the fucker, grunting into her ear as he leaned down over her, pushed his cock so deep her vision almost whitened out. “Tell me, honey. Use those words for me, c’mon.”

The tears were bubbling over faster, rolling down her flushed cheeks. “Let me cum, baby, please.”

“Asking so nicely,” he grunted, pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear. “How can I say no to something so pretty, hm? ‘Course you can, baby, go ahead.”

It wasn’t his words that did it for her, but the hand that snuck between them and pressed down on her stomach, the press of his cock suddenly so much more delicious that she almost fucking fainted.

She came with a breathless whine, hips jerked as she finally gasped a breath and whined again, her cunt throbbed around his cock as he kept pumping, rode her through it entirely. Her head tipped back, his mouth on her neck as her eyes squeezed shut, colours danced on the inside of her eyelids, her own little fireworks display.

Sam came shortly after, groaned into her ear in a way that almost made her cum again, and he rutted into her a few more times before he stopped, warmth spreading through her as he panted against her shoulder.

“Fuck,” he huffed, his own chest heaved, brushing against her bare skin. “Oh sweetheart.” The shift in his demeanour was palpable, soft kisses immediately littered across her shoulder and collarbone, palms flattened to smooth over her sweat-dampened skin. He could be so mean in the moment, so dominating and controlling that he left her a fucking mess underneath him, but afterwards? He’d probably feed her grapes and fan her if she asked him to.

She was still gasping for breath, head spinning, and when she knew she wouldn’t be told off for it her hands lifted, immediately clung to his warm shoulders. She loved the way his shoulders felt underneath her touch, muscles rippling with every movement.

Sam kissed up her throat and jaw before he landed on her mouth, and he kissed her slowly, huffed breaths into each other's mouths as he licked between her lips, sweeped behind her top teeth, their lips both wet with spit.

By the time he had pulled away, he’d so thoroughly kissed her that she almost had her breath back.

“You okay?” His voice was so soft it was like there was an entirely different person on top of her compared to five minutes prior. His hand left her throat, smoothed upwards and cupped her jaw. She felt him thumb away tears that had fallen, some clung to her eyelashes, somewhat cool against her hot and flushed skin.

She nodded as she stroked her fingertips along his shoulders with her fingertips, like she’d committed him to memory. She had.

“Hey,” he lightly tapped her cheekbone with his thumb. “Need words, honey.”

She couldn’t help her smile. He was so caring she sometimes wanted to cry. “M’okay,” she whispered, voice soft like she’d shared a secret. “Really good. You’re so good, Sammy.” She praised, tilted her head to kiss his wrist, and he smiled and blushed like he hadn’t just been the one to fuck the life out of her.

“Says you,” Sam leaned down and kissed her forehead. “You’re perfect. Love you,” another kiss. “Love you so much.”

She smiled so much her cheeks hurt. “Love you too.”

Sam smiled too, that soft smile that made his dimples peek out, eyes crinkled at the corners, and he stroked her cheekbone again. “M’gonna pull out, okay?”

Only when she nodded did he shift, slowly pulled his hips back until she was empty, until all she could feel was the wetness coated between her thighs.

“Christ, made a mess of you,” he murmured, not in the condescending tone from before, instead something closer to admiration. “You’re so pretty when you cum, y’know that?”

She blushed, hard, and shrugged as her cheek dipped to meet her shoulder.

Sam laughed, rolled his eyes as he leaned in and kissed her again. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”

She was still blushing when he helped her sit up, fingers delicately curled around her elbows to pull her upright, her back also damp with sweat. They’d need to change the sheets.

“Two options,” Sam murmured as he gently stroked hair away that was stuck to her forehead, baby hairs that clung to her temples. “We take a shower and let me wash your hair and then go get food, or you let me run you a bath and you wait there looking all pretty for me while I get you something we can eat in there so I can dote on you.”

“You just wanna wash my hair huh?”

Sam smiled. “Guilty.”

Her fingers found his, intertwined with a squeeze. “Bath sounds nice,” she eventually settled on. “As long as you don’t take too long in the kitchen. I’ll miss you.”

He was laughing when he pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Of course. Promise to not take too long, okay?”

She giggled and nodded, smiled against his mouth when he kissed her again. “Okay.”