#soulless!sam

[waywardxwords]

Empty

Summary: Ten months ago, Sam threw himself and Lucifer into the cage. While Dean went off to live happily with Lisa and Ben, you couldn’t bring yourself to live a “normal” life. While on a hunt, your trail leads to Lansing, Michigan where you get your hopes up when you stumble upon the Sam Winchester in a dive bar. Instead, bumping into the man you had fallen for years before leaves you feeling empty. Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Female Reader Word Count: ~4.1k Warnings: IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, PLEASE STOP READING. THIS IS RATED M FOR MATURE. Soulless!Sam, swearing, smut (p in v, unprotected), slightly angsty, sadness, feeling used…Sam is kind of a douchebag in this (hello, he has no soul) - I would also like to preface that I'm still new at this whole ~writing smut~ thing, so please be kind but I am 10000% open to critique/feedback!

A cloud of cigarette smoke pooled above the bar as your boots clicked upon the hardwood of a little dive bar in Lansing, Michigan. It had been ten months since everything changed–Sam in the pit as Lucifer’s vessel, and Dean off living the life he had always deserved with Lisa and Ben. You were happy for him, truly. But that life wasn’t your life. Once you knew about all that went bump in the night, there was no going back. Thankfully, you had found Alice McCaffrey. Bobby had introduced you when you told him you wanted to get back out there. “You don’t hunt alone,” he had warned you. Alice was a little older than you, but you seemed to gel well. It wasn’t like hunting with the Winchesters, but it was still fine. 

The two of you found a small, round table towards the back of the bar where there were billiard tables and took your place on the stools.

“I just don’t get it,” Alice gnawed a little at her bottom lip. “We tracked that trail all the way here…there’s no way it just goes cold.” There was plenty of evidence floating around that the Shapeshifter was here, in Lansing. And when you said ‘the’, you meant the one and only: first of its kind, Daddy Shapeshifter; the one who created all shapeshifters. 

“I mean, this thing has been alive for how many years?” You toyed with a round paperboard coaster in your hands. “He could just be that good. He’s used to evading hunters for centuries.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she grumbled, but you knew she wasn’t going to let it go. That was fine by you, but in the meantime…

“I’m gonna grab a beer, you want anything?” You asked her as you thumbed to the bar.

“Yeah, one for me, too. But none of that light shit…see if they have a Guinness or something,” she pulled out her laptop and her leatherbound journal. 

Just as you turned to walk towards the bar, you caught sight of him. Him. The him you had mourned (and were still mourning, if you were honest with yourself). Your breath caught in your throat as his tall, broad frame stood over a billiard table. The bright light above the table accented each of his features–nothing had changed, really, besides his hair maybe being a tiny bit longer and it looked like he had been working out again. His eyes grazed over the green baize fabric on the table to check his next move. 

You didn’t want to make a scene, but this wasn’t possible…there was no way in Hell this man could be standing in front of you. You quickly pulled your cell phone from your pocket and dialed the familiar number. You refused to pull your eyes away as you watched for any sudden movements.

“Bobby?” You asked when he answered after just the third ring. “You got any idea why I’m standing in a bar in Michigan looking at Sam Winchester right now?”

As if on cue, Sam seemed to feel your gaze as he pulled his eyes up from the table and found yours. 

“Balls,” Bobby grumbled as you listened to his drawl through the receiver of the phone. “Listen, it’s Sam…but I didn’t say anything ‘cause I didn’t want ya to get hurt…” you weren’t sure what that meant. Sam had already started his pace over to you. There was a smile upon his lips, but it seemed different. “Something’s different about him. He ain’t been the same since he got pulled out of Lucifer’s cage. You hear me?”

“Yeah, I hear ya, Bobby,” your words were soft. “I’ll, uh, I’ll call you later.” You hung up quickly just as he approached.

Your name fell from his lips, almost inquisitively. That same old Sam Winchester half-smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Sam,” you breathed in return. It was difficult to keep Bobby’s warning in the back of your mind when the man you had hunted with for so long was standing just in front of you. While hunting with the brothers, you had never allowed your feelings to see the light of day. They were professional, and they had taught you so much about what looms in the dark. But you would be a liar if you said you had never felt butterflies when Sam smiled at you, laughed at your joke, or the way it felt when his fingers grazed your skin…

“Hey, wow, it’s been such a long time,” something did feel a bit off with his words, but even more so with his demeanor. You had mapped out those hazel eyes over the two years you spent hunting with the boys, and there was a lightness missing. They just felt empty. 

“Sam, how are you here? I saw you fall into the cage myself,” the thought alone made your eyes burn. Watching Sam and the strength he had to throw himself (and Lucifer) into the cage was devastating. 

“Yeah, uh, I don’t really know?” He chuckled softly. You searched for the light, but still couldn’t find it—even behind his laughter. “I just sorta woke up and I was back…”

“God, it’s so incredible to see you,” you couldn’t stop staring at him, afraid if you blinked, he’d disappear. “Is Dean here? Are you guys trying to figure out what brought you back?”

Sam broke his gaze from yours, but only for a second. He slipped his hands into his front jean pockets. “No, uh, I didn’t want to pull Dean back in. It’s rare to get an opportunity to get outta this life. He seems happy,” he nodded. You couldn’t help but notice the lack of emotion in his tone or on his face. “I, uh, I actually found some of my mom’s family. They have a compound here in Lansing, so I’ve been hunting with them.”

You tried to hide the way his words stung. He was so stoic, you didn’t want to look like a fool. But you were hurt…he had to have known you were still hunting. It made you doubt yourself—there were probably better people to hunt with and he had found them. You had always wondered if you were just a tagalong for the Winchesters; maybe they had just felt bad for you, after all. 

“Oh, nice,” you forced a smile and a small nod. “That’s good. Hunting with family is good…” your words trailed. 

Sam matched your nod. As if he realized he should be asking you about yourself, he continued with, “What about you? Are you hunting still?”

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you turned back to your hunting buddy as she watched cautiously from your table. “This is Alice McCaffrey,” you introduced as you stepped back to the table and Sam followed. “Alice, this is Sam Winchester. Alice and I have been hunting together."

Alice’s eyes widened. “The Sam Winchester?” She asked, incredulously. 

“The one and only,” he chuckled as he shook her hand.

“Wow,” Alice’s eyes drifted to you—you knew immediately what she was thinking: shifter? Demon? Shifter-demon?

“It’s really him,” you confirmed. While you hadn’t tested him yourself, you trusted Bobby. Bobby seemed very certain. He just also made it explicitly clear that Sam was different. 

“Well, it’s nice to meet you,” she smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I just…I thought you were in the pit…”

“Yeah,” Sam tucked some strands of brown hair that had fallen forward back behind his ear. “I was, but somehow got a way out. We’re still trying to figure that out.” He explained. 

“That’s great,” she seemed a little hesitant, but that was why you loved Alice. Alice was wary of anyone and everyone; she didn’t trust at face value. There were still days you wondered if you had earned her full and complete trust. 

“What brings you to Lansing?” Sam shifted the topic, his eyes on you now. 

“We’ve been trailing a shifter,” you kept the topic brief. It felt weird not delving into all the details of your case, but you couldn’t quite shake the fact that Sam had been back and hadn’t tried to connect with you. 

“Oh, the original?” He looked between the two of you. Alice narrowed her eyes at Sam. 

“Yeah, are you hunting him too?” She questioned. 

He looked between the two of you, still emotionless. “Yeah, we got him. A few hours ago, my team had him killed.” 

“You…you managed to kill him?” Alice looked at him with the same level of shock as before. 

“Sam, he was the original shapeshifter. Like, father to all shifters,” you added in, wondering if maybe he didn’t realize.

“I know,” he looked between the two of you. “He was a beast. But we’re a team of six. We had it covered.”

Alicia glanced at you—you knew the look. She wasn’t sure of this Sam Winchester guy. 

“Hey,” Sam's fingertips grazed your hand. “Would you wanna get outta here? Some place we can sit and catch up. Somewhere quiet?” Between his fingertips on your flesh, and the way his voice had dropped lowly, you shuddered internally. 

Somehow, you still seemed hesitant. Had this been ten months ago, you would have leapt out of your chair and been halfway to the door by now. But it wasn’t. And this version of Sam just felt different. You pushed past the hesitation. “Yeah, okay,” you nodded. 

“Let me just go let the guys know I’ll be back in a while,” he thumbed back to the billiard tables where you finally noticed an older man, bald and eyes that you felt like could see through your soul. You managed a quick nod before he headed back that way. 

“Can I say something and you promise it won’t piss you off?” Alicia asked as soon as Sam was out of earshot. 

You were fairly certain you knew what she had to say, but you pulled your eyes from Sam’s back and looked back at her. “Of course.”

“I listened to you go on and on about this Sam Winchester guy. Even when you didn’t realize you were talking about him. You talk about him in your sleep,” she emphasized. Warmth crept up your neck and into your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you were sleep-talking about him… “But the Sam Winchester you’ve been mourning for almost a year? Girl, that’s not him.” Her eyes bore into you. 

“I know he seems a little…rough around the edges,” you tried to reason as your eyes found him talking to the bald man in the corner. The man had returned his gaze to you as Sam spoke. “But we have no idea what happened to him in that cage. That would change anyone, Alicia.” You looked back to your hunting buddy. 

“I get that, I do,” she agreed. “I’m just asking you to be careful. A lot can change in ten months. Especially when we’re talking about someone coming back from one of the darkest depths of Hell…if not, the darkest depth of Hell.”

“I’ve got it handled,” you watched him as he moved back towards your table. “I’ll meet you back at the motel later.” You managed a quick smile and hopped off of your bar stool. 

“Ready?” Sam asked as you approached. You nodded once, but couldn’t help the feeling of the bald man watching you. Sam began to lead you away from the table. 

“It was nice meeting you,” Alicia practically yelled over the sounds of the bar. Sam nodded once nonchalantly back at her. 

“Yeah, you too,” it was strange, but then Sam’s hand snaked around yours and held it in his palm, and any uncertainty you had in your gut went out the window. 

When Sam suggested going some place quiet, you had assumed that would be a café or diner; somewhere public, but where you could get caught up. It surprised you when he pulled into a motel parking lot and had you wait in the car. He wasn’t staying here…why was he getting a room? You were smarter than this, but somehow Sam Winchester had always had a way of emitting a haze around you; a haze that more than clouded your judgment. 

“Why a motel room?” You finally managed to ask as you stood behind him while he unlocked the door. 

“I just figured it would be nice to get caught up…” you noticed his eyes trailed down the front of you. He was looking at you in a way he had never done so blatantly before; a way you had always imagined in your mind, but never experienced. Your throat ran dry as he opened the door and held it open for you to step through. Suddenly you felt nervous. 

“I really missed you, Sam,” you felt a lump of emotion knit together in your throat. Your eyes moved up his torso to find his hazel gaze. A small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. 

A surprise to you, his arms snaked around you and pulled you into his chest. “I missed you, too,” you couldn’t shake the feeling that Sam was saying it because he knew he was supposed to. 

“Sam…” you started cautiously. There were two parts of you, and they were at war: on one hand, you had wanted this moment to happen for so long–you had willed for Sam to come back. But the other part of you had so many questions that you felt needed answered before you could fully open up to him. “How long have you been back?”

“Just about ten months,” he answered with little-to-no hesitation. He seemed a little surprised when your eyes widened.

You moved away from him to sit on the edge of one of the double beds in the room. Your eyes found the multicolored carpet that lined the motel room floor. “You’ve been back almost the entire time we thought you had been gone, and you didn’t call?”

“It’s…complicated,” he breathed out as he moved to sit next to you on the bed. “Things aren’t like they were ten months ago,” he tried to explain. You kept your eyes on the carpet as he spoke. “Things are different now. The Campbells are different…” there was that word again: different. Your eyes didn’t budge until your name fell as a whisper from his lips. “I really did miss you.”

You watched as his eyes trailed over you once more. Across your face, down your neck…you felt the heat rising again. “I feel like I’ve had this dream a million times–you coming back. And now it’s real, and it just feels…”

“I know,” his words were soft again as his body shifted towards you.

Before your brain could argue with your heart again, you felt your hands pull at the collar of his plaid button-down shirt. His face moved closer until your lips crashed against each other in a hasty motion. His movements were quick, but thorough, as his hands traveled to your waist. He pulled at the hem of your cotton t-shirt until his fingers slipped underneath and grazed against the flesh of your hips, causing goosebumps to bubble on the surface of your skin. 

Your hands tangled in the locks of hair at the back of his neck just as his hands lifted you and pulled you onto his lap so your legs straddled his waist. His fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt again until you instinctively raised your arms and broke where your lips met as he tugged the garment over your head. His fingers tangled in your hair once more as he stood up with your legs secured around his waist and turned to lay you on the bed. Once your eyes fluttered to see him pulling his button-down off, your brain kicked back into gear.

“Sam,” you breathed. He was back hovered over you now, his fingertips tracing a line of goosebumps down your neck, then your clavicle, to the tops of your breasts. Your breath hitched in your throat once more. “Sam, should we…are we doing this?” You were still trying to wrap your head around the idea that this was happening.

He paused for a moment and looked back down at you; your eyes tried to find old Sam once more–even just a glimmer. But you were coming up empty, yet again. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” his emphasis on the word ‘long’ made your heart and stomach flutter simultaneously. “I should have before. But I was stupid, and then I was saying ‘yes’ to Lucifer, and I never thought I’d see you again.”

Your brain wanted to remind him that he could have called you, hell, he could have shown up at your doorstep and you would have welcomed him back with open arms. But your heart decided against it as he leaned closer to your lips.

“I thought maybe you wanted this too,” he breathed as his lips gingerly touched against yours once more.

Words failed you, so instead you reached up and tangled your fingers in his hair once more. The way you moved your lips against his gave him your answer.

His fingers strategically moved behind you, expertly unclasping the black bra that constrained your breasts. With a quick flick of his fingers, you felt the material relax and the straps slipped off of your shoulder blades. Your eyes found his once more–the only thing you saw was want and lust. 

You relished in the feeling of his lips as they trailed from your lips to your neck, sucking on the skin just under your earlobe. You closed your eyes at the sensation; your heart allowed your fingers to move through his hair, down to the nape of his neck. He moved against you in a way that warmed you to your core. You hadn’t realized Sam had moved his fingers down to the metal button clasp on your jeans. His fingers very quickly and skillfully moved so the button popped through the denim material and loosened. As he worked, his lips trailed down to your breast and attached to your nipple. His tongue moved over the already hardened bud, massaging in a way that elicited a moan from the back of your throat.

The break of the suction of his lips from your skin evoked a pop that echoed to your ears. In one swift motion, he pulled your jeans from your hips, bringing your underwear with it. He took a moment to stand at the edge of the bed. You watched as the muscles in his fingers, hands and forearms flinched as he worked his belt and jeans from their own metal clasp. He pulled his jeans down along with his boxers until they were at his ankles and he could step out of them.

“So fucking sexy,” he breathed. Your breath hitched once more–that wasn’t something your imagination had come up with when you had thought of this moment. The burn from the pink glow you had felt on more than one occasion tonight crept back up your skin once more, but this time you couldn’t hide.

“Sam,” your breath hitched in your throat, yet again.

Sam moved back over you at that moment, no additional words exchanged. You felt his length harden just between your legs upon your thigh. Your eyes closed once more as he kissed you with a force you had never felt before–you couldn’t place it. It wasn’t passion, it was need. 

His hands moved yours just above your head so they were bent at your elbows. With one hand, he clasped them there. His other hand moved down the side of your face, down your breasts until they wrapped around his cock. You felt his knee move between your thighs to part them. His hand shifted until his fingers deftly found your center. Sam’s index finger slipped between your folds, finding out for certain just how excited you were for this moment.

“You’re already so wet for me, baby,” his breath tickled just below your earlobe as he whispered. He picked up the pace with his fingers as he rubbed your swelling nub with his thumb. He moved in small circles that made you begin to grind your hips with his motions. Without warning, he plunged a finger inside of you once, twice, three times before he added a second finger.

A gasp escaped your lips as you pressed your head back into the mattress even further, your mouth agape. “Jesus, Sam,” you couldn’t help the words as they toppled out between your lips. After a few more thrusts, he reached down to pump his hand between his legs again. Without his touch, your brain started working once more. “D-Do you have a condom?” You didn’t mean to stutter, but you were lucky to even get words strewn together that made any sense at this point.

“It’s alright, I’ll pull out,” he kissed just below your ear on your jawline. Goosebumps flooded the surface of your skin once more as his stubble trailed over you. Your brain didn't have a moment to respond.

As he lined himself up against your center, you opened your eyes to find his gaze. His eyes were dark–a dark you had never noticed before. The normal flecks of gold, green, and blue were suddenly a darker yellow, forest green and gray. It was beautiful–lustful, even–but you didn’t see any emotion. They were still just empty.

Your mouth fell agape as he pushed into you, releasing your hands above his head so he could reach down and pull your legs and hook your ankles around his back. Instinctively, you moved your hips against him, meeting him with each movement he made.

Sam ducked his head so his lips could connect with the sweet spot he had found just above your clavicle. You couldn’t be sure, but by the feeling you knew it would leave a mark; you didn’t care. You focused on the raw feeling of him inside you, the way he grunted with each thrust. You flattened your palms up his back, the feeling of his muscles under your hands adding to the pooling warmth in the pit of your belly.

Strategically, Sam reached between the two of you and pressed his thumb to your clit once more. The continuous motion of the small circles sent a shudder over you.

“Sam…” you warned. 

He nipped at the skin below your ear. “I know, baby. Let me get you there,” the words dropped from his lips in a whisper once more.

You moved your hips to the rhythm of his hand and his thrusts. The muscles in your abdomen tightened and trembled as he pushed you over the edge. The pace of his movements picked up as he removed his hand and gripped your hips again–he pumped in and out of you with such fervor, you thought you might break.

With a shallow grunt, he quickly pulled out as he found his release–and suddenly, you felt empty.

Sam removed himself from the bed quickly and retreated to the small bathroom to clean up. As he came back, he handed you a towel. While you never could have known what being with Sam would be like, exactly…this wasn’t what you had expected. 

“That was…” your voice trailed off as you tried to catch your breath. You rolled to your side and propped yourself up on your elbow as you watched him. Instinctively, you pulled the rustled sheet up just under your chin to cover yourself.

Sam’s eyes found you as he pulled up his boxers, and then his jeans. His chest heaved only slightly as he got dressed. “Yeah, that was nice,” a smile pulled on his lips. “I’m glad we bumped into each other again.” Your throat felt dry again. Words failed you; you didn’t know what to say to that. He pulled his shirt over his head and fixed some of the buttons. “I paid through the night, so you can crash here, if you want,” he gestured to the room.

“You’re…you’re leaving?” You tried to shove the emotions bubbling up so they went back down. It felt like you were underwater–Sam was different. There was no hiding it or trying to deny it anymore. 

He looked back at you quizzically, as if he couldn’t understand why you were asking him this, but then turned his attention back to his boots as he tied the laces. “Uh, yeah. We have a lot of work to wrap up, and you’re just passing through,” his words trailed off a little, but it didn’t seem to be because he felt bad. “It really was good seeing you again.”

He managed one more small smile before he grabbed his remaining belongings and walked for the door.

The emotions finally bubbled over, but all you felt was empty.

A/N: Please, please don’t hate me. If you love Soulless!Sam with zero feeling and emotion, then this might be your jam. If you prefer loving, kind, caring Sam–you’re probably wanting my head on a platter. This is part one, I have a part two in the works and I promise I’ll fix everything <3

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

this vice

part II

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's been six weeks since Sam last touched you. It's starting to hurt. You need it.

Warnings: 18+!, soulless!Sam is his own warning, semi-established Sam x reader, language, smut (dub-con kinda, clitoral stimulation, p in v, restraints, forced orgasms, overstim, dirty talk, coming on stomach), condescension, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 4,366

A/N: I decided to make this one a part two to "strange eyes" so... I hope y'all like it. Felt like the way to go, honestly. I've also found a way to tie it to the first part by making it inspired by another Friday Pilots Club song... so, there's that. The song is so good. Sam is so MEAN!!! My turn, pls. Let me know what you all think please!! <3 Until the next one. All the love.

"Well this vice, this sweet temptation The answer to frustration Put it down on me, put it down Put it down on me

Well my girl, she's bad as hell You know a little fucked up now but oh well"

Bad As Hell - Friday Pilots Club

It didn't happen again.

Not the next night. Not the one after. Not even the one after that.

You waited. You tried.

You wore the pretty things. Spoke softly. Laughed at nothing. Let your hands linger too long on his arm, his shoulder, the nape of his neck when he passed too close. You kissed him once, slow and hopeful, and he let you—

—but he didn't kiss you back.

The memory of that first night haunted you like a bruise in your bloodstream. You could feel it every time you shifted in your seat, every time your thighs pressed together under motel sheets that still smelled like him. You'd touched yourself in the dark more times than you'd admit, and still it wasn't enough. Not after that.

You craved it. You craved him.

But he just looked through you. Past you. Over you.

Sometimes he'd watch. When you thought he was asleep, you'd catch the faint glint of his eyes in the dark. Just watching you sit there, or pace the room, or peel off your clothes with slow, deliberate fingers like he might suddenly want you if you moved just right.

He didn't.

Once, you whispered his name. Just that. Just "Sam."

He turned his head. Glanced at you. Said, "Not tonight."

And that was it. No reason. No cruelty. Just a wall you couldn't scale. It made you worse. It made you try harder. Made you burn.

And you knew he saw it.

He watched you every time you left the shower wrapped in nothing but steam and skin. He watched the way your breath caught when you leaned too close, hoping maybe this time he'd touch. He watched when you sat on the bed in nothing but his shirt, your legs curled up, voice light and meaningless as you said something—anything—to fill the silence.

And then he'd say something like, "You're gonna overheat in that."

Like he hadn't just spent the last hour refusing to touch you. Like he didn't care. And maybe he didn't.

But you did.

And each time he looked at you with those strange, indifferent eyes—eyes that didn't blink, didn't flinch, didn't soften—you felt something in you ache deeper.

Something begging to be broken.

You were already halfway gone by the time he asked if you'd ever been tied down before.

It started differently that night. Not with words. Not with warmth. Just... a shift. A quiet pulse beneath the surface of the motel silence. Like the static before a storm.

He wasn't cold. He wasn't distant. He was something else entirely. Coiled.

You felt it before you saw him. The tension in the air was palpable, electric, like something was waiting to happen—but refusing to name itself.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, steam ghosted after him like a spectre. His chest bare. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. There was no pretence in him. Just presence. Weighted. Measured.

You were already in bed, curled on top of the sheets in one of his old shirts, bare beneath it. Sleeves loose, neckline stretched, your body too warm, too exposed, but you hadn't dared move. Not when you felt him coming like that—like gravity.

He looked at you. And this time—really looked.

Not with the softness he used to carry. Not with anything familiar. Just the quiet scrutiny of a man who was considering what to do with a thing he'd left untouched for too long.

You sat up too fast. Your breath caught. Hope bloomed too violently in your chest, sharp and stupid.

He didn't speak. Just came to the bed and sat beside you, heavy and slow. His thigh pressed against yours.

You didn't move. Couldn't.

Then his hand reached out—dragged over your skin. First your knee. Then the inside of your thigh. Calloused fingertips brushing like he was testing a fault line.

You nearly cried from the contact. Your thighs instinctively pressed together. He didn't react.

And then, like it was nothing, like he was asking whether you wanted your eggs scrambled or fried, he said:

"Ever been tied down before?"

Your mouth went dry. You blinked. Swallowed. Your voice came out breathy, unsure. "Yeah. I mean. Not like—seriously. Not properly. But if you're asking, then—yes. Please."

That last word tumbled out before you could think. Please.

So soft. So desperate. Your face burned with it. You hated how real it sounded. How much you meant it.

But Sam didn't smirk. Didn't lean in. Didn't touch you again. He just nodded once. Sharp. Final. Like he'd already decided.

And then he stood.

You watched him walk to his bag. Watched the tension in his shoulders, the easy cruelty in his posture. He knelt slowly. Unzipped the duffel.

And pulled out cuffs. Not cheap. Not novelty. These were serious. Silver hardware. Matte black. You stared as he brought them over, as he climbed onto the bed and guided your wrists up above your head.

You didn't resist. You couldn't. Your breath came in shallow, shaking waves as he buckled one, then the other, the cool kiss of leather biting softly into your skin.

He didn't speak. Not once.

Your legs were still free, and that felt intentional. But you were too far gone to question it. Because after nearly six weeks of silence, of being looked through like you didn't exist, of begging with your body for anything—

Sam was finally touching you. And you would've let him ruin you all over again just to feel it.

You didn't know what you expected.

Maybe that he'd kiss you. Maybe that he'd strip the shirt off your body and slide between your legs and whisper things he didn't mean in that voice you still dreamed about.

Maybe—stupidly, naively—you thought this would be the night he touched you the way he used to. That the restraints were a doorway back to something you missed, not the beginning of something else entirely.

He said nothing.

Just fastened the last buckle at your wrist, checked the tension, and leaned back on his haunches to study you like a sculpture he wasn't quite finished with. His eyes dragged across your body with clinical disinterest. Like he wasn't moved by you—just measuring.

You shifted a little, testing the give in the cuffs. They didn't budge.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Then he stood. Walked across the room with slow, quiet purpose. You lifted your head to follow him, confused—but something low in your belly was already starting to stir. That old instinct. That familiar fear that felt like arousal.

He knelt by his bag again. Unzipped it. And pulled out something long. White. Thick.

It took you a second to understand what you were looking at. The cord. The shape. The sound it made when he plugged it into the socket beside him and thumbed the switch.

Your stomach dropped.

A wand. The kind that plugs into the wall. Heavy-duty. No batteries. No escape.

"Sam?" You breathed.

He didn't answer. Just cracked his neck, unplugged it, and stood up. Then plugged the thing into a socket nearer the bed. The cord slithered across the floor like a serpent.

He climbed onto the bed. Settled between your thighs like it was his place. Like he owned the space he hadn't touched in weeks.

The wand was still off. But you felt its promise like a threat. He ran it up your inner thigh. Not pressed—just a ghost of contact. Barely there. Then down. A slow stroke. He traced the curve of your knee. The hollow behind it. Down to your ankle. Then up again. Past your knee. Higher. A glancing drag that made your muscles jump. He tickled your foot with it. Cruel. Teasing.

You shivered.

"Sam," you whispered again. "What are you doing?"

No answer.

You tried again. "Are you gonna...?"

Still nothing.

Just the hum of electricity waiting to be lit. And then—just when you were starting to spiral, starting to plead—you said something. You don't even remember what. A joke. A plea. Something breathless and silly and yours. And that's what grabbed him.

His head tilted.

He looked at you. Really looked. And then—without a word—he leaned in, braced one forearm across your hips, and pressed the wand hard to your clit.

It felt like being hit by lightning. You screamed. He didn't blink. Just watched.

And the wand was still on its lowest setting.

You came too fast. Your body had been wound so tight for so long—starved of touch, of friction, of him—that the first hard press of the wand against your clit was enough to detonate you.

It ripped through you like heat lightning. Blinding. Blistering. Your thighs trembled. Your lungs forgot how to breathe. Your wrists strained against the cuffs until the metal bit into your skin.

And he didn't move. He didn't speak. He just watched. Like it wasn't happening to you at all—just a reaction. Just a hypothesis proven true. An equation balancing itself out.

You sobbed once. Sharp and sudden. And that was the only sound you got out before the wand hit you again.

Because he never lifted it.

You weren't even done shaking, and he never lifted it. There was no break. No breath. No reprieve. Just the relentless, searing vibration pulsing into your nerves, still raw and shattered from the orgasm that hadn't even finished echoing through your limbs.

Your hips jerked. Instinctively. Desperately. Trying to get away, to shift, to slide the wand even half an inch from your clit—but his forearm anchored you to the mattress. Heavy and absolute.

It was like being pinned under time itself.

You gasped. Whimpered. "S-Sam—wait—" Your voice cracked on the second syllable.

Nothing. Just the low, brutal hum of the wand vibrating mercilessly against your most fragile point.

Your back arched. Toes curled. You could feel the second orgasm building impossibly fast, but it didn't feel like pleasure. It felt like pain melting into something sharper. Tears welled. Slipped hot down your cheeks. You didn't know when you started crying. It didn't matter.

"Sam, please—it hurts—"

Still no answer. Still no shift.

But he was watching you. Always watching.

His eyes dragged across your face with unsettling calm. You were a trembling, sweating mess and he looked like he was studying weather patterns. Your flushed cheeks. Your bitten lip. The tears that carved silver streaks through the heat of your face. The war in your pupils between panic and want.

You felt it coming again. That unbearable, crashing wave. And you hated how your body begged for it. How you couldn't stop clenching down. How you couldn't stop needing.

Then, finally—

"Are you gonna beg me?"

His voice didn't sound like it belonged to a man touching you. It was too even. Too distant. A detached curiosity. Like he wasn't participating—just conducting the experiment.

You nodded frantically, blinking through tears.

"Please, Sam, please—I c-can't—just let me—please—"

Words fell apart in your mouth. They came out soft. Wrecked. Sweet like blood on sugar.

And he tilted his head. Considered it. Smirked. Then—

"Nope."

And he turned the power up.

The sound deepened. Louder. Thicker. It shook against your clit, brutal and unrelenting.

Your mouth dropped open in a scream that didn't make it out. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't form words. All that came was sound—broken, high, helpless. You thrashed, tried to close your legs, but he slid his knee between them, kept you open, kept you exposed.

"Careful," he said absently. "I'll tie those down too."

And he would. You knew he would. And still—still—your body was rising again. Not from desire. Not from thought. From conditioning. From the helpless surrender of something completely, irrevocably owned.

You were going to come again. And he wasn't going to stop you.

He smirked. Not like someone enjoying himself. Like someone watching a match catch fire in slow motion.

And then—without a word—he turned the dial. The wand kicked up beneath his hand, the hum deepening, vibrating with cruel, mechanical certainty. You couldn't breathe around it. Couldn't think. Couldn't beg anymore.

You screamed.

Your hips lifted off the bed, thighs trembling violently, but his forearm pressed you back down with practiced, effortless strength. Not straining. Just present. Just unmovable.

Your whole body was shaking now—every nerve singing, cracking, splitting under the pressure. Your wrists jerked against the restraints. Useless. Beautiful. Perfect.

Sam didn't speak.

Just tilted his head again. Watched you like something in a museum. A rare, private performance of ruin he had all to himself. His eyes scanned every inch of you—your breasts heaving, your stomach quaking, the wet mess between your thighs glistening in the dim motel light.

At one point, your moans turned guttural. Animal. You were growling now—deep, primal sounds tearing out of your throat as you thrashed beneath him, desperate and feral.

He didn't even blink. Just quirked an eyebrow. Frowned slightly, like he was considering something.

Maybe it was the tears. Maybe it was the way your legs kept trying to close, spasming around his body.

He shifted his weight slightly. Let the wand ease off for just a second—not mercy, just a pause in the procedure.

Then, quietly:

"You keep kicking like that, I'm gonna tie your legs down." His voice was flat. Low. Not a threat. A guarantee.

You sobbed—half fear, half pleasure, all wreckage.

"Sam—please—I c-can't take it, I can't—"

"Mm," he murmured, like he wasn't listening at all. Like he was just acknowledging the noise.

Then he pressed the wand back down. Hard.

You shattered. It was your third orgasm—or fourth? You didn't know. Couldn't count. Couldn't breathe. All you knew was the white-hot pleasure burning through you like fever, nerves flayed open, clit swollen and screaming, muscles locked in a full-body convulsion.

And still—he watched.

"You look good like this," he murmured, almost to himself.

His eyes dragged down your body again, and something in them changed. Just for a second. Not softness. Not warmth. Something darker. Appreciation.

"Didn't know you could come like that," he added.

Then he reached down with his free hand, dragged two fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, lifted it, and watched it string between them.

You were still twitching. Still sobbing.

He tilted his head.

"Still want me to stop?"

You nodded, breath hitching.

He smiled. "Too bad."

And turned the wand up again.

You stopped fighting. Somewhere between the last orgasm and the silence that came after it, your body just... gave.

You weren't moaning anymore. You weren't pleading. Your legs had stopped twitching, fallen limp against the mattress. Your wrists hung slack in the cuffs, fingers curled in weak, trembling fists. Your jaw had gone slack, mouth wet and open, your breath a ghost barely making it past your lips.

The wand was still buzzing against your clit. The vibrations felt like they were coming from inside your bones. Like you weren't separate from it anymore—just a body wrapped around sensation.

And Sam—

He was still watching. Expression unreadable. Not smirking. Not smiling. Not cruel. Just... aware. Like he was watching a star die. Like he was documenting the end of something.

You blinked through the blur of your own tears. Your mouth parted. You swallowed hard. Licked your lips. Tried to speak.

"Sam," you whispered. It didn't even sound like a word. Just a shape. A sob turned sideways.

His eyes flicked to yours. And you knew you had him.

"Please," you said again. Softer now. Wetter. Your voice cracked in the middle, jaw trembling as you pushed the words out around spit and sobs. "I just want to feel you."

He didn't answer. Just tilted his head. Considered you.

You swallowed hard. Fought against the breath trembling in your lungs. It caught in your throat and broke open like a wound.

"Please fuck me," you whispered. "I need you inside me."

And that—that—was the moment the wand shut off.

The silence felt like a gunshot. Deafening. Immediate. Your whole body flinched like it had been struck.

You sobbed without sound, throat too raw to make more noise, your body folding inward like it didn't know what to do without the pain.

Sam shifted his weight. Reached down. Dragged your legs apart a little wider with rough, patient hands.

Didn't say a word.

He didn't untie your wrists. Didn't lean down to kiss you. Didn't offer comfort or care or anything that resembled the man you used to know.

He just pushed into you. One smooth, slow thrust. Deep. Unstoppable.

You cried out—raw, grateful, broken. You were so tight. So swollen. So soaked.

He groaned, low in his chest. His hips stilled against yours. His cock buried to the base.

You sobbed again. A shudder passed through your whole frame.

"Thank you," you whispered. Voice shredded. Barely a breath.

And finally—finally—he smiled.

You should've been too far gone to feel any of it. You should've been numb. Raw. Burnt-out. But the moment Sam pushed into you—deep, slow, unrelenting—your body betrayed you. You felt it. Every inch of him. Every thick, unforgiving stretch. The way your walls clenched without meaning to, the way your breath caught, the way your ribs shook like they were bracing for collapse.

And Sam—

He groaned. Loud. Low. Like the sound was ripped from the centre of him, like it surprised even him. His voice came thick with it, gravel and heat and the barest echo of awe.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips pressing forward until he was buried to the hilt. He held there, motionless, like he was savouring the pressure, the heat, the obscene way your cunt wrapped around him like it never wanted to let go.

He moved then, just enough for you to feel it. A subtle drag and push, a slow grind that made you choke on a moan.

He laughed under his breath, not mocking, not amused—just satisfied. Sated. Possessive.

"This what happens when I don't fuck you for a while?" He muttered, the words sliding out like sin. "Get all tight and gummy for me?"

Your legs shook, useless things twitching in time with every slow roll of his hips. You tried to lift them, to wrap them around his waist, to pull him deeper somehow, but you had no strength left. Your limbs were jelly, your body trembling with aftershock and overstimulation.

He noticed, of course. He always noticed.

He grabbed your legs, one in each hand, and bent them to his liking. Spread you wider. Pushed your thighs back until you were completely open to him, nothing hidden, nothing held back. A helpless offering.

"Been dripping for me for weeks," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Didn't think you could get wetter. But look at this—"

He bottomed out again, slow and sure, and you sobbed at the stretch.

"You hear that?"

And you did. That slick, filthy sound of him fucking into you. The wet slap of skin and the obscene suction of your cunt trying to hold him in. That squelch. It echoed, filled the room, drowned you.

"You're fucking soaked," he growled. "Tight little cunt, and so fucking wet—just from begging."

It should've been cruel. Should've been humiliating. But it wasn't. It was worship, in the way only he could give it now—clinical, feral, exacting.

And your body—fragile, shattered thing that it was—reacted.

Somehow, impossibly, you felt it again. A flicker. A spark. A low coil in your gut starting to pull, starting to burn.

A new orgasm. Real. Alive. Building.

You shouldn't have had anything left. You should've been dry and broken and spent. But he was still inside you. Still filling you.

And somehow, you wanted more.

Sam fucked you deep and steady, hips working in patient rhythm, each thrust a study in precision. He moved like a man obsessed with sensation, with friction, with the hot, pulsing clamp of your body trying to pull him deeper. His breath hitched through gritted teeth, short and hot and ragged.

"Still squeezing me," he muttered, voice pitched low with something almost reverent. "Still fucking clenching. Greedy little thing."

You nodded, unable to do anything else. A whimper slipped past your lips, helpless and pleading.

His grip on your thighs tightened.

"Gonna come again, aren't you?"

And god help you—you were.

You couldn't stop nodding. It wasn't deliberate. You weren't even aware you were doing it. Your mouth hung slack, jaw trembling, drool catching on your lips, and your head just bobbed—slow, frantic, helpless—like your body was trying to say yes before your mind could catch up.

Your chest heaved. Every breath came ragged. And your vision—fuck, your vision—kept slipping in and out of focus, blurring at the edges like you were looking through water, like the world was trying to fade into white.

And Sam—

He noticed.

He was watching your face like he always did, like he was measuring something no one else could see. And when he saw your eyes start to roll, to cross from the pressure and the pleasure and the sheer overload of it all, he made a noise low in his throat. Something mean.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, voice dragging rough over your skin. "There it is."

He adjusted his grip on your thighs, spread you even wider. His thrusts stayed steady, deliberate, but now each one came with weight. Purpose. Like he was trying to drag your soul out through your cunt.

"Eyes are going all stupid on me," he murmured, not even breathless. Just observing. "You know they're crossing, right?"

Your mouth opened wider. You couldn't even whimper. Just little gasps. Little sobs.

He leaned in closer. Didn't slow down. His hips snapped harder, deeper, and the sound of him inside you was obscene—wet, relentless, flesh against flesh, the room filled with it.

"Ruined," he said, almost to himself. "Look at you. All wrecked for me."

You blinked slow, barely conscious, and he laughed—low and cruel and fond.

"Think you're gonna come again, baby?" He asked. "Huh?"

You nodded wildly. Couldn't stop. Couldn't breathe.

"You look like you're about to pass out," he said, and there was genuine amusement in his voice now. "Mouth open, eyes crossed, legs shaking—fuck. You're loving this, aren't you?"

You tried to say yes, but all that came out was a wrecked little noise, part sob, part moan, all devotion.

Sam groaned again, deeper this time, hips stuttering.

"So goddamn wet," he said. "So fucking tight."

He looked down between you—watched his cock disappear inside your soaked, trembling body—and exhaled through his teeth.

"Still clenching like you don't plan on letting me go."

Your whole body was tensing now. Coiling. The burn rising again. Higher. Higher. You couldn't believe it. Couldn't survive it. But it was coming.

And Sam knew it. He knew everything.

You came like it was being ripped out of you. No build. No grace. No warning. Just a violent collapse.

It tore through you without permission, without pause, your body locking up tight and trembling like it had been hit with a live wire. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream, your wrists yanked against the restraints, and every muscle in your body seized as wave after wave rolled through you—hot, endless, obscene.

Sam didn't stop.

He fucked you through it. Groaning now. Low, primal. The rhythm of his hips was brutal, unforgiving. Like he wanted to feel every single aftershock drag against his cock.

"There she is," he growled, watching your face contort. "That's the sound I was waiting for."

You sobbed through it, barely able to breathe, your thighs quaking around his waist. He slapped your cheek—not hard, but enough to make your eyes snap open, unfocused and wet.

"Don't you fucking pass out on me," he muttered, panting, sweat dripping from his jaw. "Not yet."

He fucked you harder.

You wailed.

"So squishy," he grunted. "So fucking gummy and tight. Knew I could get you like this if I just left you wanting long enough."

Your entire body jerked with each thrust, overstimulated and undone.

"Sulking around for weeks," he murmured, voice edged in something sharp, amused. "All moody. All needy. Thought I didn't notice?"

His mouth twisted into a mean little grin.

"Didn't really care. Not until now."

Another thrust. Hard. Deep.

"But this?" He breathed. "This made it worth it."

You hiccuped around your own breath, body twitching beneath him.

"I could come wherever I want," he muttered, eyes locked on the mess he was making of you. "Could come inside you, watch it leak out slow—"

Another snap of his hips. You cried out.

"—or maybe push into your ass and shoot there instead."

You choked on a sob. Hiccuped again.

He laughed, breathless and dark.

"Maybe next time."

And then he pulled out.

You didn't even feel the loss—you were too far gone, too wrecked. A moment later, the heat of him painted across your stomach. He groaned, low and rough, as he came—thick and hot over your skin, dripping down your ribs and pooling into the waistband of his shirt still hanging from your shoulders.

He stayed there for a second, cock twitching, breath ragged. Then he looked at you and smiled.

The room was silent except for the hum of the motel's old air conditioner and the soft, broken sound of your own breath.

You couldn't move.

Your wrists still strained in their restraints, numb and tingling from how hard you'd pulled against them. Your legs had fallen open and stayed there, spent and twitching. The cool air licked over your thighs and the warm, wet mess drying across your stomach. Your body didn't feel like yours anymore—it felt like his.

Sam didn't speak at first. He just looked at you.

No tenderness. No apology. Just those soulless, strange eyes studying you like you were something he'd built and finally gotten right.

He leaned forward. His fingers brushed the inside of your thigh, then dragged higher to your stomach, where your skin still gleamed. He wiped it away with the edge of the ruined shirt you were still wearing—his shirt, the one he hadn't bothered to take off you.

Not until he was done.

He didn't look at your face when he cleaned you. Just moved like he was tidying up after himself. Like it was routine.

Then his hands moved to the cuffs.

He unbuckled one wrist, then the other. Slow. Precise. As if the restraint had never been about force—it had always been about control.

You let your arms fall to your sides. Rubbed your wrists gently. Felt the ache bloom.

Sam pulled the hem of the shirt down over your body. It stuck to your skin in places, clinging damply to your ribs, your stomach. He didn't fix it. Just let it settle there.

And then he lay down beside you. He didn't touch you. Didn't hold you. Just laid back, arm tucked under his head, eyes on the ceiling. And finally—quietly—he said it.

"You needed that."

You didn't answer. Not right away.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven waves. You turned your head slowly to look at him. He was already watching you. Always watching. That same unreadable expression. That same stillness. Like nothing in him had changed, even after all he'd done.

Those strange eyes.

They should've scared you. But they didn't.

"Do you regret it?" He asked. His voice was low. Calm. Clinical.

You rubbed your wrists again. Felt the skin there—warm and worn. You thought about everything that had led to this. The waiting. The silence. The ruin. And then you whispered:

"No."

And maybe—just maybe—you really meant it.

Sam taglist: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @angelicjackles @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @xoswiftieprincess @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready @liiiilsss @mj-102009 @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @deangirlsstuff67 <3

[eighth-heroine]

maps

pairing: soulless!sam x f!reader

CONTENT: SMUT, marking, daddy kink, choking, dacryphilia, s&m, unprotected piv, cum control, light degradation at the end

word count: 1.6k

a/n: takes place in the same week as crazy on you. valentine's day oneshot from this prompt by @iamasaddie. sorry it's not a pedroverse character! it fit this series too well to pass up, and i still wanted to participate 😭

Sam's dark hair brushed against your stomach as he ghosted his lips down your torso. Goosebumps rose on your skin from his feather-light touches, and you shivered. Sam glanced up and smirked at your reaction, then set to work on what he meant to do that night: cover your body in bruises that marked you as his, for the time being.

You moaned softly, pressing your head back into the pillow, as he connected his lips to the soft flesh of your stomach. He sucked and nibbled gently at first, but Sam could never be gentle for too long. He couldn't keep himself from biting down voraciously, scraping his teeth over as much skin as he could get his mouth around at once. You hissed from the sting and squirmed underneath him.

Sam ignored you, attaching his lips to your sternum and focusing his efforts between your breasts. He was making a trail for himself. A map of his favorite places on your body, the places he had found to be your most sensitive nerve endings.

Your breasts were certainly one of those places. His hair tickled your skin as he kissed up the side of your breast, and you giggled and squirmed again.

Sam flicked his eyes up to you and lifted his head to speak. "Stay still." He punctuated his command by holding your hip firmly, pushing you into the mattress.

"Sorry, sir," you said breathlessly. "Just... it tickles." You giggled again as his tongue darted out to tease your nipple.

"Remember what the rules are today?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh," you remembered. "Sorry, daddy." You smiled innocently at him.

Sam growled and returned to his efforts, licking and biting away at the soft swells of your chest, leaving pinkish-purplish splotches in his wake. You hummed with pleasure, reflecting the pleasant hum filling your body at his touch. One of your hands carded through his hair, holding him close.

At once, Sam jerked up and snatched your hand away, glaring down at you. You shrunk a little. You had forgotten another rule: don't touch unless given permission. You were supposed to be a pillow princess today, just lying there and taking whatever he gave you.

"Do I need to tie you down?" he sneered. "Or are you gonna be a good girl?" He cocked his head like an animal.

You gasped, a wave of arousal plummeting to your core. You loved the way he switched up just like that, like he was suddenly no longer pretending to be nice.

"I'll be good, daddy, I promise," you rushed. Your need for him skyrocketed with every twitch of his eyebrow and quirk of his mouth. You stilled your trembling body as much as you could, looking at him pleadingly.

Sam gave you a look like you'd better and bit down on your shoulder. His hair tickled in the sensitive crook of your neck. That, coupled with the feeling of his mouth on your skin, almost made you flinch away, but you managed to stay still.

You could feel his hard cock dragging against your thigh. You had to be good for him so he would give it to you.

Your other shoulder jerked into your jaw as Sam lightly ran his fingers up your neck.

"Oh- not fair," you whimpered as Sam raised his head to meet your eyes in a disapproving glare. "You did that on purpose."

"Seems like someone has no self-control," he said. The offending hand crept around your neck slowly.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't help it," you whined.

"You need to learn some control," Sam decided. The glimmer in his eye made you wish you had no reflexes and that you could lay perfectly still for him. But he had played dirty, which you were beginning to suspect was his plan all along.

Sam's hand tightened on your throat as he simultaneously pushed his cock into your dripping hole. You moaned raspily, at once feeling so full of him. You didn't think you'd ever get used to his size. He wasn't massive, but he was definitely bigger than the toy you usually used on yourself. And most other men you'd had the displeasure of sleeping with, you thought.

For a moment, you really couldn't breathe, and a tear squeezed past your lid. You stared at Sam desperately and were met with a look of apathy as he leaned his partial body weight onto your throat. He stayed like that, completely still, for what felt like minutes. He had a curious expression on his face, like an addict presented with his vice, fighting the temptation to give in. You found yourself wondering if he was actually about to strangle you.

Then he dropped his weight onto his elbow and began fucking you, hard and fast, keeping his hand around your throat. You heaved great breaths in but the force of his thrusts kept knocking the wind out of you. Tears fell freely now, but it was more of a reflexive bodily response again. You weren't exactly afraid, and you didn't know why.

Sam shifted slightly and then he was hitting a spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars. Your gasps became moans as pleasure began to build rapidly inside you. The hand at your neck applied slight pressure that had you feeling lightheaded, like you were soaring away on a cock induced out-of-body experience.

"I'm gonna come," you choked out, gasping and whining against his neck. The ceiling went blurry and your core tightened around him. "I'm gonna- oh fuck, daddy!"

You writhed in his grasp, and Sam once again met your eyes with a firm expression.

"Hold it," came the command.

Your eyes widened. "I can't! It's too much, oh fuck-" You arched your back into him, pressing your chests together.

Sam held your gaze, his strong hand around your throat directing your face toward him. "Do not come until I say you can, understand?" His face scrunched up and he groaned as your cunt clenched tightly around him.

You whined as he pounded into you, now focused desperately on your new task. Your face screwed up with effort as you tried to deny your body what it wanted so badly; what it was made to do. His cock bruised your cervix, hitting so deeply again and again. The blinding pleasure you felt was painful now as you struggled to hold off your incoming orgasm.

"Hurts," you whimpered, sobs beginning to overtake your body. "I can't do it anymore daddy, I can't I can't-"

Sam cut you off with a deep kiss, thumb loosening his iron grip to brush gently over your chin and wipe away the droplets accumulating there. "Shhhh," he soothed when he broke away, smiling in that strangely unfeeling way.

The knot inside you threatened to snap at any moment. Every muscle in your body was taut, ready for release. They shook with effort as your will overpowered them... for now.

"Please," you tried again, tears now streaming down your face.

“Baby, you know Daddy only hurts you because you look so pretty when you cry.”

A sob wracked your body. Your eyes began to sting as you blinked the tears out, letting them fall down the sides of your face, running into your hair, your neck, your ears.

Sam rewound his hand across your throat, applying the pressure that made you feel like you were flying. "Almost there," he cooed.

Your orgasm felt like it was about to explode through you, and you suddenly thought this might be how Mt. St. Helens felt before she blew her lid. Sam's thrusts became rougher, signaling that he was nearing his end as well.

He reached down with his other hand and started rubbing your sensitive clit, shifting his weight back to the arm holding your neck and increasing the pressure. You gasped as best you could and your hands flew down to wrap around his wrist before quickly letting go, remembering the no-touching rule. "I won't be able to- fuck, daddy, I can't hold it!" you cried brokenly.

"Good," Sam breathed, voice gravelly. "Come for me, baby."

You tried to relax at his command, and it only took seconds before your body took over, sending your orgasm roaring through you. You could see why he insisted you hold it, and not just to train you - the combination of his dizzying grip and the orgasm shaking your body almost made you black out.

A string of whimpers and moans fell from your lips as the overwhelming pleasure became almost painful, too much to bear. You became vaguely aware of the hot, liquidy feeling of Sam's cum seeping into you, but the pleasure rushing through you had wiped your mind of any thoughts or implications that might have.

You felt Sam pull out, and you blinked rapidly to clear the white fuzz clouding your vision. Your ears rang from the force of your orgasm. You turned your head weakly to the side, where Sam lay panting. He turned his head and looked at you, smiling without that unfeeling bullshit from before. You smiled faintly back, proud that you had brought some semblance of a happy feeling to him.

Sam leaned forward to kiss you, then pulled away, leaving your sweaty forehead pressed to the damp hair covering his. "Such a good little slut for me," he praised softly, making you shiver. "Gonna have more self-control, now, right?"

"Yes, daddy," you half-said, half-moaned, spent.

He smiled and snaked his arm across your waist to grab you by the hip and pull you into his arms. "Good."

dividers by @cafekitsune

[aliusfrater]

supernatural, the third man [6.03]

[sammybeann]

This is one of my favorite EVER screen caps of Sammy. It's animalistic. The depraved expression, the bloodied teeth, it radiates psychopathy and he's never looked more delicious. I'm simply obsessed.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi!!

Can you do a Sam Winchester begging plus size reader to sit on his face. Whatever vibes you want :) Dommy Sam is always a fav but as long as Sam is reassuring and eating reader out, I’m happy :)

Thank you!!

.⋆｡Peaches and Cream｡⋆.

Sam Winchester x plus size reader

Dean made the mistake of leaving you alone with a very soulless version of your best friend who only wants one thing from you

Warnings: soulless!Sam, smut, friends to lovers?, oral (f receiving), mentions of condoms, praise, body worshipping, overstimulation, dom!Sam, almost getting caught, little bit of self-consciousness WC: 1.8k

Minors DNI

a/n: thank you all for being so patient with me, i promise i only have a couple weeks left of uni and i'm gonna come running back with some new fics!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

His eyes burned into the back of your skull, as they had been for the past 10 minutes. And yet, you refused to look up from the book in front of you, even though you had not turned a page in that same amount of time.  You weren’t a stranger to Sam’s gaze, in fact you used to love it; the way his big puppy dog eyes trailed up your curves whenever he thought you wouldn’t notice never failed to have heat bloom across your cheeks.

But his staring was far different now.

Sam was different now.

You could hear him shift in his seat before the tell-tale sound of his boots against the cheap vinyl as he got closer. You swallowed around the lump in your throat though it did nothing to sooth the fear simmering inside you. 

“You’re not reading.” His warm breath tickled your neck. You shivered and squeezed your eyes shut. You knew what he wanted, and so badly did you wish to give it to him, like you always had but it was so wrong. His soul was gone, the very thing that made Sam Sam but it was still his body, his voice so tantalisingly close.

“Yes I am.” You bit back a whimper as Sam leaned in closer, his large hands planting themselves on the table in front of you, keeping you pinned to the spot. The tip of his nose brushed gently along your ear.

“No.” Suddenly the book was ripped from your hands and thrown across the motel room (something your Sam would never do). “You’re not.”

His lips closed around your earlobe. “Sam.” You cursed Dean in your mind, that man and his need for diner pie no matter how far out of his way he had to go to get it. “We can’t.” Fire pooled between your plump thighs, quickly soaking through your panties. 

He shifted closer, his strong arms now tightly pressed against you. He released your ear with a soft pop. “Can’t or won’t? Because I think we both know just how badly you want me, sweetheart.” You held your breath as Sam’s hands slowly moved from the table to your wide hips.

“Sam.” You tried again but this time he answered you with a deep growl.

“Say my name like that again and I promise that you won’t be walking straight for a week.” A moan escaped your lips before you could even think of stopping it. You could feel Sam’s plump lips curl into a devious smirk. 

“But-“ His grip tightened and all the doubts in your mind vanished.

“But nothing. Dean won’t be back for hours and you need to unwind and I happen to know the perfect way to do that.” 

As a last ditch attempt before your mind completely went fuzzy, you blurted out- “We don’t have condoms.”

His chuckle rumbled through your bones, sending a chill of excitement up your spine. “I’m not gonna fuck you, not today at least. I just want a little taste of this nice,” His right hand slid down the pudge of your stomach and wedged itself between your thighs, cupping you over the thick denim of your jeans, “juicy,” He nuzzled his face against your neck, “cunt.” 

“Be gentle?” You turned your head, encouraging the larger man to meet your gaze. His eyes shone with his victory.

“You want your Sammy don’t you?” He teased. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll give you exactly what you want.” And then he struck. 

His lips moulded perfectly against yours in a kiss long overdue. It was soft, almost sweet but you could feel the way he was holding back, forcing himself to relent to your wishes, even as he cupped your jaw with his other hand, deepening it. 

You whimpered against his lips and he reluctantly pulled away. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Sam yanked you from your chair and lifted you into his arms. “Sam!” You tried to protest, but he silenced you with a kiss more determined than before. 

His tongue forced its way into your mouth as he strode to his unused bed. Your arms wound around his neck, Sam growling in approval. His knees bumped against the mattress and he fell forwards, catching himself with his right hand before he could crush you. Your pussy squeezed around nothing at the raw strength of the hunter you’d been pining for. 

You grabbed at the front of his flannel as he tugged on the hem of your jeans. Your teeth clacked together and the sound of ripping fabric filled the room. “Eager girl.” Sam groaned against your lips as you still held onto the now destroyed shirt in your grip. 

Your jeans button popped open. “Please Sam.” His long fingers grazed the wet spot on your panties and your hips bucked up, encouraging his touch to go just a little further down. He chuckled cruelly but yet he obeyed. The calloused tips of his fingers pressed into your throbbing clit, making your jaw drop with a silent moan.

He nipped at the frantic pulse along your throat, unbothered by the deep welts he was leaving behind. Your heart skipped a beat as you laid your palms onto his naked chest. “Sam.” His name was barely even a breath. 

“Good girl.” Your ruined panties were pushed to the side as his middle finger traced up your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. “So wet for me. You’ve been waiting so long haven’t you.” He cooed.

You tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge, content in teasing you. “Shhh let me play a little longer and then I’ll give you what you want.” His slender hips rolled against your thigh, letting you feel the monstrous bulge of his cock where it was straining against his own jeans.

You squirmed as he finally pressed his thick fingers to your clit, just barely dousing the fire between your legs. “Please.” Your eyes burned with tears of desperation. You needed him like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

Sam tsked and in response, pulled his fingers away. You nearly cried as your relief was ripped away from you. “Now, while I do love your begging, we’re doing this my way. You need to learn.” 

He leaned back onto his heels, his ripped shirt perfectly framing his toned stomach and chest. You couldn’t look away from him, never could you have even dreamed that your best friend was this good-looking. “Jeans. Off.” 

Your hands flew down to your hips, eager to obey. Sam smirked and pulled off the tattered flannel, his eyes remained on you though, burning with lust. Your hands shook as you finally got your pants off. Your panties quickly followed after.

“What a good little slut, listening so prettily. You just want your Sammy to take care of you don’t you.” You nodded desperately.

“Please, wanna be good.” 

He grabbed your wide hips and rolled onto his back, dragging you up the length of his torso until you were straddling his wide shoulders. “Then be good for me and sit on my face.”

“But-“ He shot you a lot from between your legs and dragged you up further so you had no choice but to plant your knees on the mattress next to his head. You caught yourself on the wall behind the headboard as you tried to rock forwards and pull yourself up. 

“Do this for me, sweetheart. Lemme drown in that pussy.” His teeth sunk into the soft fat of your inner thigh. 

“But Sam, I-I don’t want to hurt you. ‘M not exactly small.” 

“Sit. I won’t repeat myself again.” Your knees wobbled but you remained upright, determined to not harm the man beneath you. “Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His arms wound around your legs and forced you down onto his mouth. “Perfect.” He grumbled into your cunt.

“Sam!” But before you had the chance to even think of prying yourself from him, Sam’s lips sealed around your clit and it took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to court around his head and keep him right there, suckling at you, forever.

Your moans echoed through the cheap motel room, bouncing off the peeling wallpaper and soaking into the old carpeting. You couldn’t help but grind down onto his face, chasing the pleasure he had already denied you once before. Sam groaned in approval from between your legs. His tongue lapped at you, moving with a precision that had you asking yourself why you hadn't relented sooner.

“Are-are you spelling something?” He just winked at you and ducked his head down once more. Your eyebrows scrunched as you tried to concentrate on the fluid movement of his tongue against you though the blinding pleasure made it difficult.

S-A-M-U-E-L He took a breath. W-I-N-C-H-E-S-T-E-R

He was branding you, and that thought sent you catapulting to the precipice of your end. “Sam, Sam please. ‘M so close, please, please.” His right hand released your thigh and quickly slipped underneath his chin, letting his thick fingers finally breach your needy cunt. The knot in your stomach wound impossibly tighter and then just as he crooked his fingers, hitting the delicate bundle of nerves within you, Sam spelled one more word.

M-I-N-E

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You thrashed on top of him, wave after wave of euphoria washing over you, drowning you in it as Sam’s unrelenting ministrations pushed you right into another orgasm just as the first was dying down.

Your hands flew to his silky hair and tried to pry him off of you but he kept going, seemingly determined to make you pass out from the pleasure. “Too much.” Your whole body shook as your nerves lit up like fireworks.

“Oh god-“ Suddenly, the tell-tale rumble of the Impala had both you and the man you were straddling freeze. The car door squeaked and you both looked at each other. 

Sam grabbed your hips and rolled you onto your back before ripping his half-naked body from yours. You threw the covers over yourself and shut your eyes, praying that your heavy breathing wouldn’t be noticed by the other hunter. 

Just as Dean’s footsteps reached the motel room door, Sam had tugged on a new (non-ripped) flannel from his bag. Your eyes slammed shut as the door creaked open and Dean slipped inside.

There was a beat of silence. “She sleeping?” You breathed out a sigh of relief, you couldn’t imagine what he would’ve thought if he realised what was happening between his soulless little brother and you barely moments before.

“Yeah.” Sam responded in a clipped tone, a now regular occurrence with his brother. Dean hummed and you heard the sound of a plastic bag being placed on the kitchen counter.

“I got some food for us. You want any?” You could’ve melted from the genuine concern in his voice but as Sam answered, your stomach churred with embarrassment.

“I already ate.” He smirked as he wiped away the last remnants of your cum from his lips with his thumb.

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[sdfrot]

samdean | circus

[holylulusworld]

Extreme tight places (4) - Kinktober 3

Summary: You’re stuck with a soulless Sam again.

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x fem!Reader

Warnings: soulless!Sam being his asshole self, anal sex, smut, unprotected sex, degrading, creampie, voyeurism, outdoor sex, sex in front of others, violence, possessive soulless Sam, forced cum eating (not the reader)

Rating: Explicit

Kink: Anal sex

Square filled for @samwinchesterbingo: Square 18: Plot what plot?

Square filled for @spnkinkbingo 2022 (expired): Square 1: Anal Sex

Catch up here: Cramped (1) & Tight places (2) Very tight places (3)

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2024

“Sam! Sam, stop! You’re going to kill him!” You desperately try to drag Sam off a fellow hunter. You don’t like the hunter, but the last thing you need is rumors spreading that Sam Winchester killed another hunter. “Sam, please.”

“He tried to touch what’s mine!” Sam is like an animal. Not only because of his soullessness but also because the hunter tried to hit on you during a get-together to celebrate the life of a deceased hunter. “No one touches what’s mine.”

You huff. It’s not like you’re together or shit. Sam is simply obsessed with fucking you. There’s no love or even feelings between the two of you.

“SAMMY!” Dean and Cas finally come to your aid. They grab Sam by his arms and drag him off the hunter. “What the fuck!”

“He tried to grope my girl’s ass.” Sam tries to apologize that he tried to beat the life out of the man. “No one touches what’s mine, Dean. Not even you.”

“Sam, get your shit together,” Dean snaps at his brother. Lately, he’s struggling to see Sam as his brother. Death brought Sam’s soul back, but they are still trying to figure out how to turn the new version back into his former self.

Sam squares his jaw. “Let go of me, or you’ll get a taste of my strength too.” Dean shakes his head. The thing possessing his brother is so unlike the Sam he raised. “Y/N, come.”

He holds out his hand for you. You could tell him to fuck off because he flirted with one of the huntresses, but it would only cause Sam to go rampant and find a reason to fight with someone else.

“Sam,” you huff when he drags you toward the back of the place, away from the crowd. “Where are we going?”

“I need to fuck you,” he states, ignoring that you wiggle in his tight grip. “You need to feel it in your bones that your holes are all mine.”

“Says the guy flirting with some bitch moments ago. You’re only angry because the guy was nice to me.” You bite back.

He stops in his tracks to look you up and down. His eyes darken, and you bite your tongue. One wrong word and he fucks you right there, in front of everyone.

“He touched you,” he snarls. “I told her to go down on her knees and suck me off if she wants my help on a hunt.” Sam shrugs. “She was an uptight bitch. Not wet and soft like you.”

“What the—?” You can’t believe Sam sometimes. He tells you he wanted some bitch to suck him off after he almost beat a man to death because the hunter dared to talk to you. “You’re unbelievable!”

“I know, kitten,” he purrs and presses you against the wall. He slips one hand between your bodies to hastily unbutton your pants. Your eyes round. Sam can’t be serious. “That’s why you’re always so needy.”

“I hate you so much,” you argue, but don’t fight his hand slipping inside your pants to pinch your clit. “Sam, not here. Let’s go somewhere else.” You know Sam is pumped up and needs to release some steam. “Please.”

“I love it when you beg me.” He presses his lips to yours, swallowing the tiny moans escaping your lips. Sam smirks when you buck your hips, silently begging him for more. He hums against your lips as he slips his index finger inside your cunt. “Already so wet for me.”

“S-am,” you whimper against his lips. “Pl-ease. Somewhere else.”

“I want them to know you’re mine,” he growls and removes his hand. You don’t argue. Fighting with Sam is a lost cause. Instead, you let him grab your hand and guide you out of the bar.

Sam leads you toward a car you don’t recognize. He twirls you around to bend you over the hood. Sam rips your still unbuttoned jeans down your legs, taking your panties with it.

“That’s how I like you.” He slaps your ass, roughly groping your globes. If you weren’t in a parking lot, he’d spank your ass raw tonight. “Always so ready to take my cock.”

Sam uses his large hand to spread your ass-cheeks. He smirks when you wiggle in his grip. You know he wants to prove your ass belongs to him. Literally. A warm liquid hits the crack of your ass, making you whimper. “Oh, kitten. This ass is mine.” He hums. “It opens up like a slutty hole to me.”

“Sam, not here,” you try one last time, but Sam throws the empty bottle of lube over his shoulder. He unzips his pants and slaps his cock against your ass.

“You’ll let me fuck this tight asshole and take it like a good slut. Maybe I’ll let you cum this time too.” Sam laughs when you hiss his name. He ignores you’re angry at him for flirting with the other woman. While you lie on the car, giving in to his demands once again, he runs his hard cock up and down the crack of your ass to get lube all over his massive erection. “You’re my whore.”

He presses the tip inside, making you hiss. It’s always a struggle to take Sam up your ass. At least he’s less impatient tonight and slowly inches his way inside. His hands grip your hips hard enough to hurt.

“Fuck, Sam…”

“Yeah, I’m going to fuck this hole open,” he growls like the possessive caveman he turns into when it comes to fucking you. “Watch me ruin her ass.”

You don’t have time to think about his words. Sam pushes you down onto the hood of the car and holds you there as he shoves the last inches inside. You’re panting because his massive cock feels good in your tightest hole.

“You’re an ass whore. I knew it.” Sam leans over your body to whisper in your ear. “Say it. Say, I’m Sam Winchester’s anal slut.”

“I’m—” you choke out a moan when Sam slowly starts pushing in and out of your ass. He barely moves his hips, only pressing his cock into you with short strokes, but you feel immense pleasure. You don’t know why, but no matter how Sam fucks you, it always feels good. “I’m Sam Winchester’s anal slut.” You breathe out, making Sam laugh.

“Yes, you are,” he pants in your neck while his hips mercilessly crash into your ass. “Always full of my cock, only mine.”

“Yes…”

“I bet you’ll cum like the whore you are with my big cock up your ass,” he taunts. “Right? You’ll squirt like a slut because you’re my anal whore.”

You should be ashamed. Sam is fucking your ass over the hood of someone else’s car. He calls you his whore, but you couldn’t care less. The bastard ruining your ass isn’t wrong. The pressure in your ass has you tethering on the edge of an orgasm.

He’s pounding you deep, hard, and fast. Sam groans in your ear, getting more excited. His desperate groans get you more excited. Your body is ready to give in to the pleasured pain. You whimper his name, telling him to cum inside of your ass.

And he just lets go, slamming one hand between your legs to swipe left, right, left, and right until you squirt all over his hand. “Perfect whore, isn't she?”

Sam pulls out, stepping away from the car to let whoever watched him fuck your ass watch his cum drip out of your gaping hole.

“Perfect hole.”

You try to catch your breath as you lie on the car. Total spend. Sam eagerly spreads your cheeks to look at his cum. He hums before thrusting one finger inside to scoop a large amount of his cum with his finger. “Come here and have a taste.”

“Dude, I’m good over here,” the man grunts. He’s holding his bruised ribs and glares at Sam. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but I’m out.”

“I said,” Sam growls in the man’s direction. “Come over here and have a taste. That’s what you wanted, right? To fuck my girl’s ass.”

“Sam?” You slowly get up from the car and pull your pants back up. You turn around to watch the man Sam punched earlier stand a few feet away. “What the fuck!”

“Buddy, if you ever get close to her ass again, you’re dead,” Sam smirks darkly. He wraps his hand around the man’s throat and forces his finger inside his mouth. “That’s the closest you’ll get to my girl’s ass. Now swallow like a good boy and get lost.”

“You found a way?” You whisper to not wake Sam. After the fucked-up stunt, he pulled his brother, knocked him out. “How can I help you?”

“You need to distract him. Stay inside the room until Death arrives. It’s only a few hours; Y/N. Sammy will be back soon,” Dean gives you an apologetic look. “I know you liked this one, but...”

“Not after tonight!” You hold up your hand. “He risked my safety, Dean. If that guy was a little more..." You sniffle. “If he knocked Sam out, it would’ve ended badly for me, Dean. If we can bring the normal Sam back, I’d do anything to help you.

Screams echo through Bobby's house. You press your hand to your ears and try to blend out that Sam is suffering inside Bobby’s panic room.

Death brought his soul back and finally found a way to get the old Sam back too.

If only it weren’t so painful...

“It’s going to be alright.” You look at Dean, nodding. You don’t know if he wants to convince you or himself. “It must…”

The screams abruptly end. Death slips out of the room. He ignores you and whispers something in Dean’s ear. “I know, we will be careful.”

You gave the brothers time and space to reunite, promising to stick around for the next case. The procedure was a success. Sam is back to his old self.

What Dean didn’t tell you before Death got to work was that Sam wouldn’t remember your time together. The truth is, Sam doesn’t remember anything after he jumped into the pit.

Maybe it’s for the best. What you let his soulless version do to you was something the old Sam would never understand.

“Y/N, hey.” You look up from your book when Sam calls your name. He leans in the doorframe, eyes glued to your exposed legs. “I heard you helped Dean while I was gone.”

“Uh-yeah. Kinda,” you lie. It’s all you can do. Death warned you and the others not to tell Sam what happened over the last months. If you do, the consequences will be dire.

“Hmm…” He pushes off the doorframe, stepping inside your motel room. Sam slams the door shut and hums as you flinch at the sudden motion. His eyes are softer, and his behavior changed, but the smirk creeping on his face is not different from his soulless version’s smirk. “I see, you liked riding my dick.”

“What? I—what?” You splutter. He can’t know. It’s impossible. Death said Sam won’t remember a thing.

“I can’t remember much, but the videos on my phone helped me. I must say, you have been a good little slut for me.” He laughs darkly as you stare at him like a deer in headlights. “How about we refresh my memory and you let me fuck that pretty cunt and ass again?”

Tags in reblog.

[thedeadedhooman]

the culmination of soulless sam high on demon blood while possessed by lucifer would've put everybody in their place and showed them how it's done. they'd be terrified of him. nobody stood a chance against that and that's why the writers couldn't do it. they knew jarpad would've put his whole pussy into that role and soulless boyking of hell sam would've killed everybody and the show would've ended.

[sirlancenotalot]

[mourningthewicked]

watching soulless sam and clawing at my walls i can’t tell if i’m horrified or horny

[eversw]

SUPERNATURAL l S6E09 Clap Your Hands If You Believe

[aliusfrater]

supernatural, the man who knew too much [6.22]

[sammybeann]

[shinelikethunder]

it's so cute that 6x05 had soulless Sam standing there salivating over Dean getting force-fed vampire blood in a barely-metaphorical back-alley rape scene, then went "it was a strategic-value boner. he was hard enough to pound nails for entirely calculating reasons. what reason could Sam possibly have for not being normal about Dean 'panic room detox' Winchester getting corrupted into monsterdom by some sexually predatory creep dripping blood into his mouth?"

("hahaha what subtextual implications about soullessness as a response to trauma and moral injury. a wizard did it and now Sam can't feel feelings, and if we filmed it like he was standing there jerking it then no we didn't." oh season 6, your sickodom is iconic and your deniability is barely even plausible anymore and i love that for you. keep doing hot girl shit forever.)

[disguting-girl-reads]

my favorite thing about soulless!sam is that donatello was fine without a soul lmao so like, sam became a psycho freak bc he is a freak, not bc he was soulless . that's so funny actually and I love remembering that