BellaBoBella

He clears his throat for the third time; he’s anything but subtle tonight. His hand reaches for the volume knob, and your eyes land on his bruised and red knuckles. They hit you in the same place your rope-bitten thighs hit him. Your white knight, Dean Winchester. 

And your head won’t stop playing the sight of him rushing in for you, the sound of your name rumbling loud from his throat—love mixed in with it—and the way his large hands cupped your face to make sure you were okay. God, you’re hungry for him right now… like always. Maybe it’s because the moon is full, or maybe it’s because the pot has finally boiled over, and the song on the radio is saying everything you both want to but won’t. 

He needs you. You need him. 

He shifts in his seat again. He doesn’t know what to do with himself right now, so he starts driving faster, hoping he can get to the motel quicker than he can put the Impala in park and meet your mouth. His brows are pinched, and if you weren’t staring so long and hard, you would’ve missed his jaw clenching ever so slightly. You turn your eyes back out to the road, trying to find something else to garner your attention other than the pretty boy next to you, who is in his head. But then he exhales. A sharp little sound like he’s annoyed at his own head. A quiet “Fuck,” slips out before he can swallow it. 

“What?” You question softly, turning your head toward him. He waits a second before removing one hand from the heel, putting it on your thigh, and finally meeting your tired eyes. 

“You okay?” He asks, and you give him a simple nod. He keeps driving, jaw tight, hand still on your thigh, and eyes forward because looking at you would make it worse right now. Would make it harder. His hand stays put until he parks at the motel. You’re practically dizzy. Stomach tight from his absent-minded rubbing of your thigh and all the one-handed turning while using you for support.

He’s quick out of the car, but he waits to make sure you’re behind him — wobbly legs and all. The ‘something’ between you two is ever-growing and ever-fucking-painful. He likes to pretend that whatever ‘it is’ means nothing, and you pretend you believe him, like right now. 

The motel door shuts behind you with a soft click, and he drops the keys on the table like he’s trying to pretend things are normal. Like it’s another stop. Another night. So, he starts moving around the room like he’s got a job to do — he’s doing everything in his power to keep his attention somewhere other than you. He fucks around for a few minutes before he grabs his jacket off the back of the chair like he might put it on again. Like he might leave to clear his head. And he’s doing everything to pretend he doesn’t feel your eyes on him, puncturing his back while you sit on the bed. 

But then he just… stops. He looks like he’s deciding something he already knows the answer to. Seconds later, the jacket falls back onto the chair, and he exhales through his nose—sharp and controlled, like he’s annoyed at himself for even considering walking out that door. He turns, and it’s no longer accidental—just him, finally facing you like his life depends on it. Maybe it does tonight. Maybe it always has. His jaw grows tighter like he’s already regretting his movement, like looking at you is the exact thing he’s been trying not to do since the car. But god, there you are. The girl he spent half the night worried about, the girl he’s known for what feels like forever. 

“You’re killing me,” he says under his breath, a small admission. You start to speak, but before you can even answer, he is already leaning down in front of you. His hand grabs your neck as you look up at him through your eyelashes, which was all he needed before his lips melted with yours. It felt like forever until the kiss slowed for half a second, like he was checking if this was real. His grip shifted at your neck, less careful, more certain before he went back for more. The kiss was growing deeper by the second, but then he pulled back, just enough that there was air between you — just enough that his eyes found yours. Heavy, low, and steady. He goes to speak, but you cut him off, mumbling out a pretty “Please.”

Your lips were barely a part, teasing each other for god knows what reason. A low moan slipped out of him before his lips were on you again. Harder this time. You trailed your hand up his shirt, curling your fingers around his necklace, pulling softly. He took that and pulled you closer by your waist. Your bodies fully curving into each other with nothing but desperation. 

You came apart once more, and he paused, fully taking in your face like it was the first time. “Fuck.” He breathes out, causing you to furrow your brows, assuming something’s wrong. Which he caught immediately, panting ever so softly. “Baby.” His grip on your waist tightens like he can’t stand the idea of letting you go. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya.” 

There was no time to digest his words before his lips were on you again. Not slower, not hungrier, just deeper like he was trying to kiss your heart through your lips. And he keeps pulling you closer like there’s still space to close. His patience is waning, and soon he stops it altogether. Your back is on the mattress, and he’s over you, not giving you any time to settle into the dipping mattress. His hand still sits at your waist — firm, tied there while the other moves to your jaw, tilting your face up into his again. He lingers there, watching your softness, but you stop him, moving to meet his swollen mouth. 

You kiss him slowly, but the rest of your body is so eager. Your hands are in his hair, pulling and tugging him closer. Until they find his shirt, tugging at that too. It breaks something loose in him; he exhales into your mouth like it frustrates him how easily you pull him off balance. But he loves it. Your hands tug harder, and a whine falls out of your mouth. He can’t help but answer with a soft chuckle; he doesn’t know why, but your desperation is the cutest (and deadliest) damn thing he’s ever seen. So he obeys, throwing his shirt across the room, and you immediately go for his neck. Wet kisses and slow licks, all while he’s trying to control his moans. Your movement is slow, but you push him on his back, and his hands go right for your hair as your lips make their way all over his chest. You take your time, trying to let him know you’ve spent years thinking of this. Savoring it. 

Right before you meet his cock he pulls you back up to his face, kissing you slowly and swiftly moving you to his back. “Not yet,” he mumbles through kisses, “Need to taste you first.” 

And you let him. Because why would you deprive him of what he needs? Within seconds, he is raking the sides of your underwear down, careful. Maybe because he doesn’t wanna irritate the impressions on your thighs, or maybe he is trying to tease you — or himself. The first second your pussy is in view, he is foaming at the mouth. Jaw practically slack, eyes glossed over, and he doesn’t waste any time. He starts kissing your inner thighs, wet, sloppy kisses. Your body is beginning to wither around him as he continues this painful show of affection before moving to kiss your pussy. You're drenched, and he loves how wet you feel against his lips. He keeps giving your clit wide, wet kisses until your whimpers grow louder. Does he want you to beg? Maybe. But maybe he just likes the way you sound under his mouth. 

Yet, it doesn’t last long. He’s eating you up like he’s been starving for days (or years). He’s made you a moaning mess, and you swore you could feel a smirk come across his face while he was getting down to it. Lapping you up like he can’t live without it. Can’t live without the sounds coming from your throat. Whimpers, moans, whines, and a bunch of soft mutters of his name. If he wasn’t so hard already, the sound of his name coming from that mouth would’ve gotten him there in a second. His fingers start to make their way inside, gaining another loud moan from you. He’s three fingers deep, and you can feel his ring as he’s pounding deep inside of you. God, you’re a mess. He’s a mess. His tongue accompanies his fingers, and within minutes your hands are tugging on his hair as he’s eating up your orgasm. 

When he comes up from your swollen pussy, he’s wearing a crooked smile, watching your body come down from that experience. He moves back up to your face, kissing you hard, and you mutter, “Need to meet your cock, Dean.” His expression shifts like he’s in pain, like he’s never wanted to give someone his cock more than he does right now. He doesn’t move; he just stares at you for a second. 

“Please, baby,” you pant, and he’s never obeyed someone faster. Once his cock pops out, your hunger can’t hold off much longer. But you try, try to tease him and take your time. Kissing up his shaft and giving him tiny licks on his head. He’s watching. Fuck, he’s in heaven. He hates to admit how many times he’s thought about this, thought about you and what you’d feel like. The second you wrap your mouth around him, his head falls back on the pillow. He doesn’t lead, he doesn’t move, he just holds your hair as you give him the sucking and licking of a lifetime. He’s down your throat, he’s all over your tongue, and he’s moaning louder than he has before. You can hear him mumble tiny ‘fuck’s, since that’s all he can muster. Until he whines your name. So you keep going, bobbing your head up and down while moving your tongue all over him. He doesn’t wanna finish in your mouth. No. God. He needs to be inside you. 

So, his hands move to the sides of your face and come off of him with a pop. His eyes are heavy when he looks up at you, a soft smile sits on your face, and his stomach flips. Yeah. You’re it. He moves you onto your back and doesn’t waste any time before his cock is swimming through you. You share a moan once he’s made his way inside you. The weight and heaviness of his cock fill you up so perfectly you almost question if he was made for you. He questions it, thinking how your pussy is the only one he’s ever felt this at home in. He’s above you, watching your face as he starts moving inside you. Your face is deadly, and your moans are nothing like he’s heard before. He doesn’t know what you’re doing to him right now, but fuck, he’s loving it. 

He keeps a steady pace, moving down to kiss you harder than he has before. You can barely kiss him back because your sounds need to leave your throat, even when his hands are around it. You don’t take your eyes off him. His brows are pinched in pleasure, and his own moans are deep even when they come out in a pant. “Fucking—shit.” He grits, and a whiny “I know.” leaves your lips. He’s taking in every second of this, not wanting it to end. 

“You’re so sexy,” you whimper. You're growing weaker now. Desperate, whiny, practically breaking under him. The sight of him is about to make you feral. The feeling of him is everything right now. 

“S’are you, sweetheart.” He chokes out, his words are breathy, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. He’s trying to hold on, hold out. But he can’t help it; he goes faster, and you get louder — he almost doesn’t know what to do with you. You’re killing him. And the repetition of his name isn’t helping. You’re a mess. Your words are disconnected, and you’re trying to muster up some dirty talk for him, but all your throat wants to do is moan, whine, and whimper. 

“Dean,” you pant, “Love your cock so much.”

God, that nearly took him out. He never thought he loved your voice this much before. He tilts his head at you, like he’s trying to understand why that little sentence made his heart jump. He leans down and kisses you slowly, cock still buried deep. His hands move to the sides of your face, watching your pleasure as he grumbles, “Come on, baby.” 

“Tell me more.” Pound. “Sound so good.” Pound. 

“Fuck,” you whimper. Pound. “Always been you.” Pound. 

“God—“ he pants. “I love you.” 

His speed increases, even if he doesn’t want this to end. But how you feel wrapped around him is just too much right now. He thrusts a few quick ones before a deep moan mixed with your name leaves his lips. His face during it is a sight you’d worship when you’re dead. He drops down onto you, panting into your neck with his cock still inside you — he doesn’t wanna take it out; you feel too good wrapped around him even if he’s only semi-hard right now. Your hands are moving softly through his hair, and he starts giving you tiny kisses while he’s coming down on your neck. 

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

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

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

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

B = BODY PART..

sam’s favorite part of himself? his hips.

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

that’s when it clicks.

and it turns into obsession. he’ll hold your legs open and grind slow, steady, deep, not just to get himself off, but to feel you fall apart. it makes him feel powerful. like you were made for him and he was made to fit into you just right.

however, when it comes to you… your stomach.

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

and if you’re insecure about it, beware, sam’s the guy who will not shut up about how beautiful you are. “don’t hide from me, baby,” he’ll whisper, lips hot against your skin. “you know how crazy you make me?” and then he’ll show you. with his mouth, with his hands and most importantly, with his cock.

C = CUM..

okay, he’s is not some careless, casual spur-of-the-moment guy when it comes to this, nah. when sam finishes, it’s a whole experience. he’s in his feelings about it. his soul is involved.

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

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

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

also, i just have to mention his breeding kink. sorry. sorry but NOT sorry. that man does not casually cum in someone, he breeds. he fucks you like he’s trying to own you. doesn’t even mean he wants babies, necessarily (though that fantasy might linger in his brain on bad days when he wants a life he thinks he doesn’t deserve) but it’s the claiming. the act. the feeling of “i gave you everything i had.” that gets to him. hard.

D = DIRTY SECRET..

sam winchester’s dirty secret? he fantasizes about being corrupted.

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

in his head, it’s always messy. shameful. hot.

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

he’ll never admit this to you. ever. he plays it cool. maybe a little dominant, a little protective. but behind his eyes, he’s imagining what it’d feel like to lose it. to fall apart under you. to be the one who’s teased, overstimmed, punished a little. he wants to feel like doesn’t have to hold it together anymore.

and the dirtiest part of all? he touches himself to the thought of you ruining him. he’ll come fast. embarrassingly fast. and then hate himself a little for how bad he wants it.

E = EXPERIENCE..

this is not a “yes or no” question per say.

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

he means it.

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

soo does he know what he’s doing? too fucking well. and he doesn’t brag about it. doesn’t have to. he’s experimental, but only if you are too. he’s not scared to try new things, wants to explore. communicates really well. that whole stanford brain? it’s in the bedroom too. he analyzes what makes you tick.

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

but what makes it even hotter? that little rookie edge that never fully goes away. he’s not cocky like dean, he gets flustered sometimes when you praise him. looks down at you with those big brown eyes like he can’t believe you’re moaning his name like that. he still blushes if you say something filthy.

F = FAVORITE POSITION(S)..

1. MISSIONARY. BUT.. i’m talking feral missionary. let’s get this straight, sam loves eye contact. he wants to watch you fall apart, wants to see every flutter of your lashes, every little twitch of your mouth when you moan his name. he’s a romantic. a bit of a control freak. so missionary? when he’s deep inside you, his hands pinning your wrists into the mattress, sweat dripping down his neck, his forehead against yours while pounding into you? yeah. that’s peak sam winchester.

that skin-on-skin closeness is everything to him. he loves the intimacy. loves the grip he’s got on you. loves that he can thrust slow or hard or hold you still and grind into you while you gasp like he’s in your lungs. he livesss for your reactions.

2. YOU ON TOP, FACING HIM (COWGIRL). again, sam likes seeing your body, your expressions, your hands on his chest. but, now you’re in control. you set the pace. and he LOVES that. he’ll put his hands on your waist, let you ride him until he’s groaning through gritted teeth, whispering things like, “fuck, just like that… keep going, baby…”

but if you get tired, he flips the script. grabs your hips, starts thrusting up into you while you whimper, overwhelmed. he lives for that whiny, fucked-out look you give him when he takes control back just enough.

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

if he’s feeling unhinged, he’ll hold you by the throat and fuck into you like he needs it. but afterward? he’ll press kisses down your spine like he’s sorry for ever letting go like that. because that’s sam. gentle and a freak.

G = GOOFY..

sam is serious in the sheets… most of the time.

he’s focused, he’s got a fucking mission, to worship you, ruin you, and make you feel so good you forget your own name. especially if he’s in a soft or angsty headspace? he takes sex seriously. every moan, every stroke, every look feels like a fucking prayer.

BUT…

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

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

and oh the post-nut giggles? oooh he gets them. not every time, but if it was extra messy or especially intense, he’ll bury his face in your neck and laugh like, “jesus christ, what the hell did we just do.” it’s sweet. and it’s sexy as fuck.

H = HAIR..

let’s start with the obvious, yes, the carpet matches the damn drapes. brown. thick. yeah. he’s not fully shaved, he’s neatly groomed down there. enough that it’s never in the way, never too wild, but still super sam. you pull his pants down and you’re greeted with trimmed hair, a big cock, and the scent of his skin and it’s just so real. so raw. you’re instantly feral.

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

facial hair? depends on the era, obviously. sometimes he shaves. sometimes he’s stubbly. but when he’s got that little beard scruff going on? oh yeah. you feel it burn your thighs when he’s going down on you. you feel it drag along your neck when he kisses your collarbone. you tell him not to shave and he listens. every time.

I = INTIMACY..

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

he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

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

kissing? always. he has to kiss you during sex. even if it’s messy, even if you’re turned away or on top, he’ll find your lips. he’ll guide your face to his with shaking fingers, panting against your mouth like he needs it more than air.

he says the sweetest things, too. especially when you’re not expecting it. it hits harder because he means every single fucking word.

and the thing is? he can rail you into the mattress and still make you feel like you’re the center of his universe. that’s the duality. he holds your heart while he ruins your body. because for him, intimacy is everything. not some accidental side effect, it’s the whole reason he’s there.

J = JACK OFF..

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

if he’s around you and can’t have you? it’s a big (no pun intended) problem. he’ll lock himself in the bunker’s bathroom after seeing you walk around in one of his hoodies with no pants on, cheeks red, muttering to himself like, “fucking hell, get it together, sam.”

and then… yeah. the pants come off. fast.

when? at night. in the shower. when he’s on a hunt and misses you so bad he can’t sleep. when you send him a voice message that wasn’t even hot or something, but your voice alone has him rock fucking hard. and sometimes, middle of the day, unexpectedly. you laugh a certain way, bite your lip, literally anything. yeah. he’ll be hard for hours and finally give in when he’s alone.

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

and afterward? he’s so ashamed. full hands-over-his-face, “god, what’s wrong with me” energy. but it never stops him from doing it again the next night.

K = KINK(S)..

1. PRAISE KINK. sam needs to hear how good he’s making you feel. he craves that validation. “you’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” he’ll literally start panting harder, fucking deeper, the second you whimper that shit. he never grew up being told he was good enough. so in bed? it wrecks him. he’ll mutter little broken replies too, all breathless, “yeah? i got you, baby… s’only me, right?” (YES IT’S ONLY YOU SAMUEL.)

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

3. LIGHT DARCYPHILIA. hear me out, if you ever cry during sex, (from the pleasure of it or from being so emotionally overwhelmed, mayhaps.) he goes into full teddy bear mode. whispers your name over and over. kisses your tears. tells you how beautiful you are, how you feel so good, how he has you. he’s never felt anything like that before, and it makes the orgasm hit harder. for both of you.

4. HAIR PULLING (ESPECIALLY HIS). if you tug his hair when you’re on top or while he’s between your legs, his hips will stutter. he’ll let out this rough, low, “fuck- do that again.” and he loves to gently pull your hair too. mostly to make you look up at him while he fucks you. to get that eye contact he’s obsessed with, to see your face while he ruins you.

L = LOCATION..

1. HIS BED. this is his main HQ for sex. why? because it’s safe, private. cozy. he can take his time, strip you slowly, light a candle or two if he’s feeling it. the sheets are always warm. his pillow smells like him. there’s usually a lore book or journal half-open on the nightstand that he shoves aside to pull you underneath him. he’ll fuck you into the mattress like it’s the last time every single time.

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

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

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

M = MOTIVATION..

1. YOUR VOICE. soft. whiny. teasing. sleepy. anything. you could just be reading off a menu, and he’ll suddenly be thinking about your lips around his cock. you moan a little too loud during a stretch? “goddamn it…” he’s hard. and now he has to figure out how to not fuck you into the kitchen counter.

2. YOUR BRATTY BEHAVIOR. sam doesn’t know how to handle it when you talk back. he just gives you that look. that “are you sure you wanna start this?” look. and the second you smirk or sass him again, you’re pinned to the mattress in 0.4 seconds with his hand on your throat and his voice in your ear, “you’ve got a mouth on you tonight, huh?”

3. NEEDING HIM. you curl into his lap and whimper “sammy, please?” he gets this overwhelmed, aching urgency to take care of you. to fuck you slow, kiss every part of you like he’s trying to fix something inside you. because what turns him on most isn’t just sex. it’s that you trust him. that you want him. that you’re so fucking trusting with him and no one else gets that.

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

N = NO..

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

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

pet play, daddy kink, or calling you baby girl is a big no for him, too. it’s just not his language. it makes him feel weird. he’s not into calling himself “daddy.” or calling you “baby girl.” he’ll call you baby, sweetheart, angel, his girl, but nothing that gives off weird power dynamic vibes. especially not the kind that messes with your innocence or infantilizes you. that shit makes him uncomfortable.

and meaningless sex. maybe he could’ve in his soulless era. maybe during some fucked-up grief spiral post jess or post ruby. but normally? if he doesn’t care about you, he’s not hard. he’s not mentally or emotionally there. he’s an intimacy guy. he needs that trust.

O = ORAL..

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

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

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

he eats pussy like he’s starving. and when you cum, he doesn’t back off. he locks you down and rides it out, tongue still working you while your legs shake around his shoulders and you’re whining his name like a prayer. if you push at his head, he growls, “uh-uh. one more. gimme one more.”

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

now let’s talk receiving.

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

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

P = PACE..

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

but oh, when he gets desperate…

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

Q = QUICKIE..

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

that man is a fucking liar.

because when he’s hard, when he’s needy, when you press up against him in the hallway and whisper “five minutes. please, sammy.” he’s already unzipping his jeans.

it doesn’t happen super often. sam doesn’t crave them as much, but when they do happen it’s because he’s so overwhelmed by you he can’t think straight. when you wear something provocative, grind on him and stuff like that. suddenly he’s grabbing your hand, dragging you into the nearest room, locking the door like, “okay. bend over. now.”

how he feels after? lowkey guilty. but not for long. he wipes you down with his shirt sleeve and kisses your forehead like it was a sacred act. he always promises to make it up to you that night.

R = RISK..

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

but for example, fucking you with the bunker door unlocked while dean’s asleep down the hall? yes. that kind of “you have to stay quiet” risk is alright. he gets off on the idea that he’s the only one who knows how ruined you look under him, it’s secret.

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

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

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

⭑ letting you suck him off while he’s on the phone with someone. (pretty self explanatory.)

S = STAMINA..

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

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

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

multiple rounds?? YES. ABSOLUTELY. CONSISTENTLY. he’ll go two rounds minimum on a regular night. if you’re both worked up or he’s been gone for a while… three, okay, four.

his recovery time is quick, too. man’s metabolism is on crack. give him 10-15 minutes and a sip of water and he’s ready again, hard against your thigh while he kisses your shoulder and whispers “can i?” all it takes is a praise session. a little pillow talk about how fucking perfect you are. and he’s back in action.

T = TOYS..

YES. sam owns toys. he just keeps them very private. hidden in a locked drawer in his bunker room, tucked under layers of boring-ass lore books, so dean never even thinks about touching it. he doesn’t have a million flashy things. his collection is intentional. a little sleek, intimidating. and all designed to make you scream.

on you? oh babe. that’s his favorite. he uses toys like a study tool. he’s learning your body from scratch.

like, a vibrating bullet while he fucks you? he watches your face while he turns it higher. moans softly when your back arches. he’ll hold it against your clit and stay buried inside you, whispering, “come on, baby. let it go. i’ve got you.” he does not move until you’ve cum twice. he livess for how soaked it makes you.

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

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

U = UNFAIR..

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

thinking about physical teasing, he’s a literal terrorist. he’ll touch everywhere but where you need. kiss your thighs. suck your neck. drag his fingers up your stomach and stop right before your clit, just to hear you whimper.

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

V = VOLUME..

sam is a moaner… the first time you go down on him? he gasps, whimpers, whines. his hand tangles in your hair and he’s trying so hard to hold it together, but that first swirl of your tongue? he chokes out a guttural “fuck, baby…” and it just keeps going from there.

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

OH AND when he goes down on you? he moans into your pussy like it’s his job. every single one of his desperate little grunts are just as much for your pleasure as his own. he gets off on your sounds. groans louder the louder you get.

however, sam is the loudest when he cums. if it’s one of those long, slow, emotional kind of finishes, he’ll whimper. full-on, breathless, high-pitched whimpers. and he collapses on top of you, still murmuring, “so fucking good… jesus… i love you so much…”

W = WILD CARD..

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

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

and then the door creaks. and you’re standing there. watching. “oh my god, sam?” he freezes, hands still. “fuck, i thought you were asleep, shit-” he scrambles for a blanket but it’s too late. you’ve already seen everything. and instead of looking disgusted, you tilt your head and give him a look. and that’s it. that’s the fantasy. that look you give him. that sick little thrill that comes with being caught with his guard down, not in control. it makes him cum so hard he blacks out.

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

X = X-RAY..

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

let’s not even lie about it, this man is hung. “why is that shit still growing??” kind of way.

soft? it’s still intimidating. you accidentally brush his thigh and think it’s a wallet or a knife but no, ma’am. it’s the holy weapon. hard? you’re staring at it like, “okay. that’s gonna hurt. and i want it to.”

we’re talking like 8.5 inches BUT HE FUCKS LIKE IT’S TWELVE. because he knows how to use it. it curves just slightly up and hits your g-spot like he’s got a goddamn degree in it. a little too wide to comfortably deepthroat without tears but you still do it like a patriot!!

when it comes to girth, this is where he’s unreasonable. thick. like genuinely. your hand doesn’t close all the way around it and the first time he slides in.

⭑ tip? pink. a little swollen when he’s worked up.

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

⭑ curve? slight, upward, aka DESTROYER OF WORLDS.

⭑ balls? big. warm. hang low when he’s relaxed. he’ll literally grunt if you play with them too long like an old man getting up from a recliner.

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

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

Y = YEARNING..

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

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

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

Z = ZZZ..

it depends on the type of sex.

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

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

but if you’re not okay? shaky? sensitive? just need aftercare?? sam will stay up all night. no matter what. cleans you up real gentle, makes sure you’re warm, gets you water, and pulls you into his chest.

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Is It Real? Possibly, Could Just Be Another Concussion?

While home on a short leave, Reg was out at the pub when he spotted you being harassed by another fella from another unit

Small fella with a bit of a bruised face – the bruising came after Reg hit him for you

Not that you asked him to. He walked over, stole the man's drink, and hit him

A bit stunned and slightly intrigued by the brawny officer

You offered your number and asked him to call whenever he felt the need

Taking the scrap piece of paper Reg really isn't sure he'll use it

Well maybe not? Maybe he will?

Ah hell no doubt he'll be ringing you by dinner tomorrow

Back in Action!

Letters! So many letters! Reg is a man of few words but he sure as hell writes enough of them

Some of the men didn't even know Reggie could read or write! Huh?

He sends little notes and thoughts as often as he can. He likes sending them to you because you listen

Reg is vulnerable with everything going on in the rest of Europe. He sees you as his breath of fresh air

You don't know what's going on and he wants to keep it that way

His letters mostly consist of reminiscing about your day together at the beach, asking about your cat, and telling you how much he hates that fucking mad Scottish Prick.

He may also sneak in a line about how much he misses holding your hand and how it makes him happy

The Softer Side – Yes! He has One!

When you are alone Reg is quiet and calm

It's not often that his mind isn't a battle field of chaos

He likes the way you sing and hum as you read, it relaxes him more than you're aware

Walking along the beach, feeling the soft sand and cool waves, as you laugh and shout with happiness

One day when it's all over he may ask you to settle down with him

Not that he deserves someone as sweet and good as you, but he can dream

A dream which often finds him on the nights he manages to sleep which are few

When he does close his eyes it's getting a little easier to erase the destruction of war by finding your sweet face and allowing his mind to focus on you