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Summary: You really, really need to study for midtermsâand, as it turns out, your boyfriendâs study method is⌠unconventional.
CW: All filthy smut. Sex toys (vibrator, f!rec), no PIV, soft dom Sam, praise kink, bit oâ edging
WC: 2.0K
The air in the room is frigid, but the heat trapped between your bodies is a live, fluid thing.
It clings to you like a second skin, thick with the heady scent of musk and the salty friction of sweat. Itâs a suffocating, feverish warmth that makes every nerve ending fizzle and sing, and every twitch feel dialled beyond comprehension.
Samâs bare chest is pressed flush against your damp back, the solid, heavy wall of his muscled torso rising and falling against your spine. His body is curved to cage you in, his chin dropped heavy against your shoulder. The sharp point of his nose nuzzles along the sensitive line of your cheekbone, his wild, unkept hair tickling your temple with every shift of his head. Your breath breaks into shallow, desperate pants, contrasted by the deep, shuddering puffs of Samâs. Each hot, wet exhale fans over your neck, encasing you completely in his intoxicating heat.Â
One large arm curls beneath your knee, long fingers splayed across the soft expanse of your inner thigh, holding you as wide as youâll go. Your hips ache with the strain, but itâs nothing compared to the insistent, euphoric ripples of pleasure tugging at your core. Sam holds a vibrator over the swollen bud of your clit, its silicone head slick, his fingertips glistening in the lowlight.Â
ââŚWhat is meant by degeneracy?â Sam asks, the low rumble of his voice buzzing against your skin. Your body trembles at the sound, a full body shudder, and he only cradles you tighter, his fingers dimpling into your open thigh. His wrist rolls in slow, rhythmic circles, coaxing a moan from your parted lips as the vibrations spread so deep, you swear they fizzle behind your eyelids.Â
Right. Studying. Physics. Your brain scrambles for the answer, but the puzzle pieces donât click, the wires donât connect.Â
Nothing but a cry slips out as you try to speak, the words thick as sticky syrup in your throat, your eyes rolling back as a wave of ecstasy shoots through you. A laugh rumbles from Sam, not mocking, not quite, but something akin to itâas he tilts his head to suck hot kisses to your neck, sharp teeth nibbling at the curve of your jaw.Â
âCâmon, beautiful. Thatâs not your answer, is it?â he teases, pink tongue darting out to taste your salty throat.
Fuck.Â
You swallow, shaking your head. Your heart patters against your chest so quick, you wonder if itâll jump right out your throat, or melt entirely through the spaces between your ribs.
ââŚIt, um. Fuck. Where⌠s-several quantum states sh⌠ah!â Your hips buck against his hand as explosive, white-hot pleasure slices your train of thought clean in two. Your cunt clenches around nothing, a hollow ache settling deep inside your core. Sam hums, encouraging? Repremending? You canât quite be sureâbut the pressure on your clit eases, and it flares through you like fire. âShare! They, um, share the same en⌠energy.â
âThatâs a girl.â
The ruthless pressure returns and with it the liquid heat, clambering down your spine and pooling low in your belly, pulsing with a dizzying combination of tension and relief. The heavy head of the vibrator leaves your clit to lave through your folds, your arousal guiding it in a smooth slide. Thereâs no frictionânothing but an audible, wet, buzzing slideâand your cheeks heat up so hot you almost worry itâll cook your brain entirely. Sam circles it around your dripping entrance once, twice, just enough to make your hips squirm and twitch, coating the silicone with a fresh sheen of sopping slick.Â
âYouâre jusâ so good for me, arenât you?â Sam praises, and it washes over you like a physical blow. Trickling from head-to-toe like heâs just kissed your very soul with sweet words, and even sweeter touch. His voice is deep, rough with lust, hot with love, his hand petting your thigh with a softness that drips with reverence. Your muscles twitch like a live wire. âSo responsive. So wet.â
The world narrows to nothing but the heat of Sam behind you, the heavy weight of his arm hooked beneath your thigh, the curve of his smile against your throat, and the hot pleasure curling low in your abdomen. Sam Sam Sam your mind sings, and thereâs really nothing else. Quantum mechanics are a distant memory as your brain melts into a gooey, useless puddle, your muscles squeezing, spit pooling behind your teeth.Â
Dazed, your fingers claw to cling to something, anything besides the ruined sheets beneath you. You canât see him, which almost pisses you off, but oh, you can sure as hell feel him. All of him. Your hands slide up to card through his sweat-damp hair, tugging at the soft strands near his nape. A sexy groan vibrates through his chest in response, his thick, aching cock twitching against your back. Fucking-fuck. Your mouth damn-near waters.
Your climax approaches like a threat, and can feel it fucking everywhere. Itâs undeniable, building and building and oh Christ, it feels as though you might implode. Itâs way too much, yet not nearly enough, a whine whirling from you between ragged pants. An insistent force coils in your belly, rippling in blinding, urging waves, wrecking your thoughts as you struggle for coherence.
ââŚSam,â you warn, head lolling back against his shoulder like your skullâs been filled with lead. He responds by sucking a firm mark below your jaw, your pulse fluttering beneath his lips.
âI know. I know, baby,â he coos. âWait fâme.âÂ
Unfortunately for you, the request is void of any real mercy, his white-knuckled hand dragging the toy through your velvety folds, catching on your abused clit with each upward slide. You try to breathe but it comes out as a choked sob, your thighs trembling with the effort of keeping them open. Your abdomen clenches as your muscles squeeze, lock, a desperate attempt to halt your quickly approaching orgasm.Â
âS-Sammy, please. I canât,â you plead, trying hopelessly to wriggle your way out of his grasp, to close your legs around his handâbut his bicep flexes as he spreads you wide open. The bastard hums with all the mocking-sweetness of a man who knows exactly what heâs doing, and loves every fucking second.Â
âYes you can,â he soothes, nose nuzzling your cheek. Yes, you preen into the touch, aching for his comfort, and oh, he provides. The kisses he peppers to your neck then are sweet, sugary-sweet, such a contrast to the harsh vibrations bullying your sensitive pussy. âOne more, okay? One more, then Iâll let you come. I promise.â
Oh, if he promises, then it must be true, your body wiggling in his tight grasp, and he engulfs you completely with his massive frame. You can feel his smile, lips curving against your cheek, a steady puff of breath fanning over your clammy skin. The vibrator dips again, swirling around your weeping hole, and you jolt so hard that he damn-near loses his rhythm.Â
âEasy,â he chuckles, but you feel it more than you hear it, your head filled with air, soaring with nothing but please please please, let me come. âOne more. Which order do we fill up the available quantum states?â
With his question, to your dismay (or delight), comes nothing but stupid, mind-numbing ripples of pleasure, radiating from deep in your core out to your fingertips. Sam curls over your shoulder, eyes locked on your cunt; eye-fucking the way your arousal seeps and soaks the dark silicone vibrating between your puffy folds. His breath stutters, and so does your fucked-out brain.
ââŚCâmon, baby. Donât keep me waitinâ.â
âIâŚâ He twists his wrist, applying just a bit more of that delicious, aching pressure, a whimper tumbling from your lips. âS-Sam, I canâtâfuck, please, âm so close,â you beg through broken gasps. âLemme come. Please, Iââ
The vibrator clicks, and the buzzing seizes entirely.
ââF-fuck!â The loss is almost, no, is painful. Sam leans back just enough to watch the way your face falls at the emptiness, your thighs trembling as they try to squeeze against his grip. A soft, gentle coo hums from his lips. Itâs mean, so damn mean, and yetâyou canât help but crave more. A dull, throbbing ache settles just above your cunt, deep in your pelvis, throbbing as you squirm for relief.Â
âShhhâŚâ he hushes, craning his neck to press his lips to yours in a slow, consuming, punishing kiss; deep enough to steal your breath straight from your lungs, firm enough to remind you whoâs in control. His tongue swipes through the seam of your lips, the intoxicating taste of Sam invading your senses. âWhat did I say, huh? One more, baby. One more. You can do it, canât you?â The vibrator hums to life, âyou can be good for me, yeah?â
Your head jerks a nod so quick, itâs a wonder you donât get whiplash.Â
âUh-huh,â you manage, just as the toy passes over your throbbing clit, a shock of pleasure striking up your spine. Fuck. âUm, the, uh, q-quantum states fill from⌠highââ His hand shifts, pressure lifting, and your eyes shoot open with a sob. ââLowest! Lowest to, fuck, highest.â
âSee? Thatâs my girl. So fucking smart, yeah? So perfect.â He tilts his head, hair tickling your cheek, just as he whispers hot in your ear, âcome for me, beautiful.â
Fuck.
A desperate, wailing yes slides out of you as he shifts, pressing those sob-worthy vibrations right to your clit with mind-numbing pressure. He whorls it in tight, perfect circles, winding you higher and higher and fuck, you feel pure, white-hot pleasure in places you werenât even aware you could feel it. Your body squeezes like a spring that was coiled and coiled and wound far too tight, electric blackouts of euphoria rolling through you in waves.
âYes, yes, yes, Thank you, I, d-donât stopââ you sob, your thighs shaking violently in his hold. Your voice cracks into something unrecognizable, a raw, broken cry that tears from your throat as the coil finally snaps. Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave in blinding, deafening ripples. It obliterates every chance of a thought, every fragment of physics or pride or anything that isnât Sam. Your back bows against his chest, your fingers white-knuckling in his hair, pulling hard enough to coax a groan from his lips as your body seizes and shatters.
âSam, fuck, Sam,â you chant, or maybe itâs just one long, keening wail, your hips bucking desperately against the assault of the toy still pressed firm against your pulsing clit, riding out every spasm, every aftershock.Â
He works you through it, soft coos of thatâs it, Iâve got you, let go, whispered into your neck, sucking kisses into your sensitive flesh until the corners of your vision go white, and your cunt clenches rhythmically. Your thighs shake so violently you couldnât close them if you tried, the vibrator buzzing mercilessly, drawing out every last quiver until youâre sobbing, overstimulated, pawing weakly at Samâs wrist.Â
âSam, pleaseâtoo muchââ He clicks it off immediately. The sudden silence ringing in your ears, and for a moment, you wonder if heâs just toy-fucked you deaf.
Youâre not entirely sure if youâd complain if he had.
âShhh, âts okay, Iâve got you,â he murmurs, and then heâs moving. His thick arm unhooks from beneath your knee, the vibrator tossed somewhere into the sheets with a dull thud.Â
His big, furnace-hot hands find your hips, your waist, stealing needy handfuls of your oversensitive flesh that belies the roughness of moments before. You go pliant, boneless, as he guides you around with ease. Your legs become useless, trembling limbs, but you donât need to stand. Not when heâs gathering you up, cradling you tight, pulling you back against his chest as his back hits the mattress beneath.Â
A warm, exhausted huff of air fans over your hair as his head hits the pillow, sticky-sweet kisses following. His arms bend around you, stroking slow, soothing lines along your side, tracing your sweat-slick skin that hasnât lost its shake. âYâdid so good for me,â he breathes. âSo perfect.â
Another soft kiss. Your heart leaps.Â
ââŚAnâ youâre gonna ace that midterm, baby.â
AN: I forgot to post this yesterday, lol, probably because I⌠hate it⌠but hey. Needed to get the idea out of my system, even if itâs short and shitty đ¤Ł
Also also, if the Physics here is wrong⌠oops. Sorry! I was never the best at PhysicsâŚ
summary ËËđ˘Ö´ŕťÖ´ sam does the responsible thing and turns down your invitation to come upstairs, but he doesnât go too far.
pairing ËËđ˘Ö´ŕťÖ´ sam winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ËËđ˘Ö´ŕťÖ´ 1457 genre ËËđ˘Ö´ŕťÖ´ smut !!
warnings ËËđ˘Ö´ŕťÖ´ explicit sexual content, voyeurism(?), masturbation, sexual tension, sam being morally tormented but into it, public-adjacent risk
notes ËËđ˘Ö´ŕť Ö´âŕť consider supporting my work .á
gif cred to @/sammysodatimes
sam should have left ten minutes ago.
he knows that. he knows it with the same awful clarity he knows latin exorcisms and highway exits and the exact tone dean uses when heâs pretending not to worry. the responsible thing is simple: put the car in drive, pull away from the curb, let the night swallow the shape of your apartment window behind him, and file the whole evening under something sweet and innocent that he had enough sense not to ruin.
except his hands are still on the wheel. except your lipstick is still faintly printed near the corner of his mouth. not actually his mouth. just close enough to make him stupid.
the two of you had run into each other by accident, or something close to it, outside a liquor store with flickering fluorescent lights. heâd said your name before he could stop himself, and youâd turned around with a bottle tucked under one arm, eyes widening in a way that made the years between you feel suddenly thin. too thin.
one drink had become two. catching up had turned into your knee brushing his beneath the booth, your laugh warming over the rim of your glass, sam trying very hard not to stare at the curve of your mouth when you asked if he was still getting into trouble.
âless than before,â he had lied.
âyouâve never been good at lying to me.â
and god, that had been the problem. you still knew him. not all of him, not the parts that had been carved out and rebuilt wrong by hell and blood and angels and grief, but enough. you looked at him and saw through the careful distance he tried to keep, through the polite smile and the lowered voice and the way he held himself as if wanting anything too much might turn it rotten.
then he drove you home.
then you invited him up.
and sam, because heâs determined to be noble at the worst possible time, said no.
you had gone quiet for half a second, not hurt exactly, but close enough that he almost took it back. then you stepped closer, one hand resting against the edge of the open passenger door, your face soft under the streetlight.
âstill careful, huh?â
âtrying to be.â
âwith me?â
he should have said yes. should have said always. instead, he just looked at you, and you seemed to understand because your expression shifted into something that made his pulse drag low in his stomach.
you kissed his cheek. slow. warm. far too close to the corner of his mouth.
âgoodnight, sam.â
now, heâs sitting in the car with his jaw clenched, watching your building from the curb like an idiot. like a man with no decency. the air inside the car is cool enough to fog faintly against the glass, but his skin feels too warm beneath his jacket. he tells himself heâs only making sure you get inside safely. thatâs reasonable. thatâs sam. that is the version of himself he can defend.
then your bedroom light flicks on. he looks up before he can stop himself.
youâre framed by the window on the second floor, your back turned as you tug your shirt over your head, and samâs entire body locks. he should look away. he does look away, for one harsh, panicked second, staring at the dashboard while his heart slams against his ribs.
âno,â he mutters under his breath. âno, donâtââ
when he looks up again and now youâre facing the window.
not fully exposed. not careless. you stand in your bra and jeans, the dark lace cupping your breasts, hair falling a little messily from where your shirt had dragged it loose. your arms are crossed at first, almost shy, which does something worse to him than if youâd been bold from the beginning. then your gaze drops toward the street, toward the car, toward him.
you cannot really see him through the windshield. still, sam feels seen.
the pause before your answer is short enough to hurt.
đđđđ đđđđ đđ.
samâs head falls back against the seat. âfuckâŚâ it comes out low and strained, dragged from the deepest part of him.
he looks around the quiet street once, twice, making sure no oneâs close, no headlights rolling slowly past, no neighbor walking a dog at the wrong time. then his hand drops to his lap, palm pressing hard over the thick, aching line of his cock already straining painfully against his jeans.
he should still leave. he doesnât.
the sound of his zipper is obscenely loud in the silent car. he shoves his jeans and boxer-briefs down just enough, hissing through his teeth as his cock springs free. the first rough stroke of his fist makes his hips jerk and a broken groan tear from his throat. he keeps his eyes fixed on your window, shameful and raw, filthy want twisting together so tightly he can barely breathe.
you reach behind yourself.
your bra loosens.
samâs grip tightens, stroking himself harder now, the wet sound of his hand sliding over precum-slick skin filling the car. your straps slip down your arms, and the lace falls away, revealing the soft, weight of your breasts, nipples already tight in the cool air of your room. the sight punches the air out of his lungs. his cock throbs violently in his fist as he twists his wrist on the upstroke, thumb pressing firmly over the sensitive head, spreading the slickness.
âfuck⌠look at you,â he breathes, voice wrecked.
you move closer to the window and lift your phone. a second later, his screen lights up.
sam looks at the message, then back up at your bare tits, at the way your thumb brushes slowly over one nipple like youâre putting on a show just for him.
he answers with one hand, the other still furiously working his cock.
đ˘đđ.
đđđđ.
the single word burns through him like gasoline. sam groans louder, fist pumping faster, the steering wheel digging into his forearm as he fucks up into his hand with short, desperate thrusts. his balls draw up tight, aching. he imagines pinning you against that window, mouth on your tits, sucking hard while he grinds his cock against your thigh. imagines dropping to his knees and burying his face between your legs until youâre shaking. imagines finally sinking into the tight, wet heat of you and fucking you until neither of you can think.
his rhythm turns sloppy, frantic. precum drips steadily over his knuckles, easing the glide. every stroke pulls filthy, wet sounds from his fist. his thighs tremble. sweat beads at his hairline.
you press your hand to the glass, head tilted, watching the dark shape of him in the driverâs seat like you can feel every desperate stroke.
sam comes brutally. his whole body seizes, hips snapping up hard as thick ropes of cum spill over his fist, splattering across his shirt and the steering wheel. a wrecked, guttural moan rips out of himâtoo loud for the quiet streetâbut he canât stop it. he keeps stroking through it, milking every last pulse, eyes locked on you the entire time, vision whiting out at the edges from the intensity.
when itâs over, he slumps back against the seat, chest heaving, cum cooling on his fingers and stomach, shame already licking at the edges of the afterglow.
his phone buzzes.
đ˘đđ đđđđ˘?
sam exhales shakily and types back with trembling fingers.
he looks up. youâre still standing there, bra dangling from one hand, arm loosely across your chestânot hiding, just waiting. soft. patient. wanting.
samâs thumb hovers.
đ đ đđđđđ đđ.
then, after a momentâ
đ đđđđđ đđ.
your posture shifts. even from the street he can see the way your breath catches.
sam sits there with his heart still hammering and his spent cock twitching against his thigh, staring up at your window while the night presses close around the car.
he doesnât start the engine.
ę. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
He wasnât concerned that midterms were next week, or that he had class in the morning. The only thing he was concerned about was making you feel safe and special.
Pairing: Stanford!Sam Winchester x college!reader
WC: 3.3K
CW: 18+ MDNI, virgin reader, loss of virginity, reader is female with female anatomy, description of college party & drinking, language, pinv, oral sex & fingering(f receiving), Sam being sweet and fluffy, size kink if you squint, mild angst
A/n: motherhood is wild yâall! I had this in a draft and figured Iâd post it while baby wants to be awake all night đ đ
You had planned on losing your virginity before you got to college, wanting to leave that awkward experience at home. There were a few times you felt ready, but the person didnât make you feel safe, or your nerves got the best of you.
By the time you got to Stanford, you had some experienceâyouâd given a couple drunken handjobs, but you havenât had much done to you aside from some awkward groping.
When you met Sam Winchester in one of your classes, you were immediately drawn to him. He was hard to miss at six foot fourânot to mention he looked like an Abercrombie model. Sam wasnât really your type, but he had such a pretty smile and charming personality that you would make an exception, if you were lucky enough to have a chance with him.
After you started studying together, you quickly caught feelings for him. Sam was shy and nervousâit was surprising for someone with such an imposing figure, but it only made you more drawn to him.
Your heart nearly exploded when he asked you to join him at a house party on campus. He tried to play it cool, but he was completely infatuated with you at that point. Being rejected would have broken him, but he would never pressure you if you didnât want to.
You agreed, trying not to sound overly excited.
After spending hours getting ready, changing clothes ten times to find something you felt good in, you showed up at the party with your roommate. You both separated quicklyâshe was an extrovert and immediately found a large group of people to get lost in. You were only scanning the room for one person.
Finally, you found him in the kitchen, chatting quietly with a group of guys you recognized from class. When his eyes finally found you, they never left. He smiled nervously and moved towards youâoffering you a beer and removing the cap for you.
You spent hours chatting in the kitchen. It was amazing how easily the conversation flowed, even without drinking excessively. You were a little buzzed after the second beer, but not drunk.
Eventually, you moved outside, after a loud group moved into the kitchen, making it hard to hear each other. You both settled on a bench next to a fireplace on the back patio.
Cozying up at his side, his warmth was so inviting. It was the first time you had felt this good next to somebody. His woodsy cologne and the faint, tangy smell of beer made your head feel thick in the best possible way.
Sam felt the same way, slowly leaning closer to you. He settled his arm around your waist, gently stroking your side with his thumb. It might have been the liquid courage, but your eyes locked onto his and you quickly leaned in, pressing a light kiss against his soft lips. It was shy and tentative, making him smile at the sweetness.
He pulled you into his lap, letting his large hands settle on your hips. He just studied you for a moment, drinking in the way the firelight illuminated your soft features.
âYouâre so pretty,â he said quietly, making you blush.
âNot compared to you.â
He let out a breathy laugh before he cupped your jaw and pulled you closer, kissing you more intensely. He ran his tongue across your lower lip, coaxing you to open up to him and making your breath hitch. You fisted his flannel to ground yourself in him.
He was a better kisser than you, but you learned to mirror him quickly.
His free hand traced your spine, but his touch stayed respectful. By now, other guys would be groping your chest or guiding your hand to their dick.
Part of you wished he wouldâyou were so turned on by him that you could feel wetness pooling in your panties. The friction made you gently rock your hips against his. His hands tightened on your hips to still your movements.
âRelax, sweetheart,â he breathed, smiling as you chased his lips again. âLetâs wait until youâre sober.â
You tried to stifle a groan, but he was right.
It was a few weeks since the party, and you were still mortified by your behavior. Sam could sense you hesitating around him. He felt bad about pulling back, but consent was a hill he would die on. You canât consent when youâre intoxicated.
He had been thinking about you constantly. There was something so sweet and innocent about you. He wanted to love you and keep you close to him.
Sam invited you to his apartment to study for midterms. You were curled up on his bed taking notes while he sat at his desk, textbook open his lap.
âYou okay?â
You hummed and looked up at him.
âOh, yeah, just tired of looking at this crap,â you huffed, rubbing your face.
âWell, letâs take a break.â
He set his textbook on the desk and walked over to you, settling next to you on the bed. Your heart fluttered at the proximity.
Sam wrapped an arm around you and laid you against his chest.
Something about being close to Sam shattered your inhibitions. You hadnât felt like this about any of the guys you had dated in high school or before coming to Stanford. They were so simple and predictable.
You grabbed his face, pulling him close to you and kissing himâstill slightly awkward, but better than last time. You felt him smile against you as he laid you down and leaned over you. He pulled back briefly to scan your expression, as well as appreciate the sight of you. Your lips were pink and swollen from kissing him, perfectly matching the blush on your cheeks.
âSo beautiful,â he cooed softly. You felt your stomach do backflips and your eyes started to water.
âSo are you, Sam.â
He smiled and kissed you again, deeper this time, sliding his tongue against yours. You arched into him as he ran his hands down your side, grazing exposed skin at your waist. Sam felt his blood rushing south as he lost himself in your pretty noises.
His palm moved under your shirt, sliding against the soft skin on your belly. The contact felt amazing and overwhelming, like electricity. No one had ever made you feel loved like this.
âSamââ
You still hadnât told him you were a virgin. What if he didn't want you anymore? Clearly he was more experienced than you. Maybe you didn't have to tell himâmaybe he wouldnât notice.
You pushed the thoughts out of your mind, thinking maybe you wouldnât get that far.
Sam trailed his mouth down your body, pulling your shirt up slightly and kissing your exposed skin. Your back arched even more into him and you pulled your shirt off to give him better access to you. The sight of you made his pupils dilate. The soft curve of your breasts above the lace fringe of your bra made his cock twitch in his sweatpants.
You felt nervous under his gaze, but you knew you were safe. Before he leaned down again, he pulled his shirt off, tossing it near yours on the floor. You could have looked at him all dayâhis body was perfect. He had a few smaller scars that you were curious about, but you were amazed at how perfectly toned he was. Your eyes followed the thin line of hair that started at his naval and trailed below his waistband.
âYouâre staring,â he said, breaking the trance you were in and making you blush.
âCan you blame me?â You said nervously.
He leaned over you again and kissed you before hooking his fingers into your waistband.
âThis okay?â
You nodded, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.
He started to slowly peel your leggings off, revealing a small spot of arousal on your panties.
Once your pants were discarded, his hand slid up the inside of your thigh and landed on your clothed core. His thumb gently rubbed you through the fabric and your head relaxed onto the mattress. You started to push yourself against his hand, chasing the sensation.
You whined quietly as your thighs trembled around his hand.
âYou like that?â Sam was amazed at how much you responded to him, even though he hadnât actually touched you yet.
The simple act of his thumb rubbing your clit through your panties while his fingers rested on your mound was enough for you. You came with a muffled cry while you shook beneath him.
As beautiful as you looked, he was still surprised. He raised his eyebrows and watched as you slowly came down. You finally propped yourself up on your elbows and looked at him, suddenly mortified by his expression.
âIâm sorryâŚâ
Sam shook his head and affectionately gripped your thigh.
âNothing to be sorry for, Y/N,â he said, âI like making you feel good.â
You noticed the bulge in his sweatpants and the size made your throat tighten. The nerves started to creep back in, the same ones that had put you in this position to begin with. He looked a lot bigger than any of the guys you had seen before, not that there were many.
He noticed your gaze and blushed, rubbing the back of his neck.
âDo you wanna keep going?â
You nodded hesitantly, smiling to seem confident.
Sam waited for you to answer him before continuing.
âY-yeah, I want to,â you said quietly.
âWe donât have to, honey, I wonât be mad.â
You rolled your eyes playfully before repeating yourself.
He stood up from the bed, reaching into his nightstand to grab a condom. When he pulled his sweatpants down, you almost had a heart attack at the sight of him. He was long and thick, the tip of his cock was red and swollen, leaking a small bead of precome.
Sam had gotten this reaction before, but he was always gentleâmaking sure to get them ready before slowly pushing inside.
He kneeled between your thighs and you did your best not to let them shake. His fingers gripped your panties and you lifted your hips to help him pull them off.
His fingers dragged through your slit, coating them in your arousal, making you shudder. Your nerves were on overdrive, but you felt ready.
You trusted Sam, but now you were worried that he might not trust you if you didnât tell him the truth.
Before you could work up the courage to tell him this was your first time, he slid one of his long fingers inside you. Your jaw went slack and you clenched around him. You werenât ready for that kind of intrusionâthe feeling was so foreign and uncomfortable. You emitted a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, making Sam stop immediately.
He was amazed at how tight you wereâhis finger almost filled you completelyâand your reaction raised alarm bells.
âYouâre so tight,â he said, his voice barely above a whisper. âDoes that feel okay?â
You tried to adjust to the feeling of his thick finger inside of you, but now you were so uncomfortable and nervous that you were falling apart. Turning your head to the side, facing the wall, your chest started shuddering and you felt hot tears flood your cheeks.
âY/N? Whatâs wrong? Hey, look at meââ
He slowly withdrew from you and moved to your side, trying to gauge your emotion.
âHave youâŚdone this before?â His voice was soft and filled with genuine emotion.
âNo,â you quietly squeaked, still not able to face him.
His natural instinct to love and protect kicked in and he quickly grabbed a blanket to cover you in. He wrapped himself around you and pulled you close.
âWhy wouldnât you tell me?â
You took some deep, grounding breaths to try and steady yourself.
âI was embarresedâ thought maybe you wouldnât notice and I could justâŚget it over with.â
Samâs heart clenched. This was supposed to be a special experience and he felt that he had nearly robbed you of that.
You were worried that you had ruined the momentâ one that you were sure now that you wanted to share with Sam.
âI trust youâŚand I wanted it to be with you. Iâm sorry I didnât tell you.â
He propped himself up on his elbow and turned your chin to face him.
âYou could have just asked me, that way I would have helped you feel ready.â
You rolled toward him and faced him.
âI still want that.â
His gaze softened even more.
âIâll take good care of you, baby,â he murmurs before kissing you again.
He returned to the space between your thighs and lowers himself to your heat. He presses a soft kiss to your clit before looking up at you.
âAnyone ever done this before?â
You shook your head nervously.
âYouâre gonna love itâlet me know if you donât, though.â
Sam draped your leg over his shoulder and rested his big hand on your thigh. He started planting soft kisses from your inner thigh toward your core. He wasnât trying to tease youâhe was just trying to get you used to the sensation.
When he finally started to drag his tongue against your folds, you whimpered and your legs trembled around his head. You tasted so sweet and tangy and it took everything in his will power not to selfishly swallow your tight cunt.
âThat feels sâgood Sam,â you whined quietly.
He had been holding back until that point.
Sam started quickly tonguing your entrance while his nose nudged your clit. You fisted the sheets and your hips rocked gently. Your eyes were watering but you werenât sad, or scaredâyouâd never felt that good before in your life. No one had ever made you feel that special.
Your eyes snapped open when you felt him slide a finger inside of you, but it didnât hurt like it did before. The feeling was still slightly uncomfortable, but he didnât bury himself to the knuckleâhe stopped when he felt you tense up, trying to work you open from there.
It didnât take long for him to feel your walls start to relax as you got even wetter for him. He wasnât in a hurry, though. He wasnât concerned that midterms were next week, or that he had class in the morning. The only thing he was concerned about was making you feel safe and special.
Eventually he was able to add a second finger and the pressure was explosive, but not painful.
He felt your soft walls start to flutter so he gently crooked his long fingers against your g-spot, making your vision go white and your brows to knit together.
âSuch a good girl,â he mumbled against you while he watched you come undone again.
Once Sam felt your muscles relax and your breathing still, he withdrew his fingers with a wet pop that made your cheeks blush.
He kneeled between your legs, gently stroking himself. You swallowed hard, trying not to focus on how nervous you still were to take him.
âYou sure you want me?â His voice was deep and warm, but it was sincere.
You nodded quickly, shifting your hips and planting your feet on either side of him. He smiled gazing down at you while he rolls the condom on, lining himself up with your entrance.
He opened your legs up wider for him to settle there and dragged the head of his cock through your wet folds. Just the heavy tip against you made you nervousâthere was no way he was going to fit.
It was like he could read your mind.
âJust relaxâit might hurt for a minute, but I promise itâll feel good.â
Your eyes screwed shut and your breath hitched when Sam pressed into you. He grabbed your hand that was digging into the sheet, watching your knuckles turning white.
âItâs okay, Y/N, just breathe,â he mumbled against your wrist before pressing a kiss there. You felt your muscles loosen in your back and thighs as you relaxed back into the bed. Sam laid your wrist on your belly and lowered his thumb to your bundle of nerves and gently rubbed like he did the first time.
He pushed further into you. You could almost feel him in your stomach. It was hard for him not to come with the way you were squeezing him. He just kept his eyes on you, watching you slowly relax around him as he circled your clit. He only sank halfway into you before you pressed your hand against his chest.
âIt hurts,â you said quietly.
He nodded before leaning down and kissing you, trying to calm you down.
You felt him pull out, just leaving the tip inside, before slowly sinking into you, halfway again. This time it felt differentâyou felt butterflies in your stomach as your gummy walls stretched around him.
Sam noticed the little smile on your face and started rubbing your clit faster. He pulled out again, thrusting a little deeper this time. After a few more thrusts, he was fully seated inside you.
Once you felt his hips flush with yours, you pushed yourself up on your elbows and looked down to where you were connected. You were amazed at how good it felt despite being slightly horrified that he fit inside of you.
âYouâre doing so good,â Sam said quietly, kissing you softly again and laying you back on the bed. He caged you between his arms and slowly started to fuck into you. Your eyes rolled back into your head and you struggled to breathe as he nearly forced the air out of your lungs.
Sam kept his pace slow with one of his hands braced on your hip. You felt another orgasm building in your core and he felt it, too. His eyes fell to your low belly and he could see a small bulge rising from where he was filling you. He laid his hand there and the feeling of your belly bulging sent him over the edge. His hips stuttered and he came with a stifled groan.
You watched him while he stilled his hipsâyou assumed he was done, and you had already come twice. He didnât need to keep going, so you just relaxed and waited for him to pull out while you felt your building orgasm fizzle out.
After a moment, he started rutting into you again, this time slightly harder but keeping his pace slow. He was ramming against your cervix, making your eyes roll back into your head. It was almost too much for your first time, but the feeling from being so full was mind blowing.
You were mumbling dumbly, the only thing Sam could make out was his own name. Seeing you take him so well was beautiful. He hiked your leg over his shoulder, giving him better access to your g-spot.
âFuckâSam! Oh my god!â
He grinned watching you fall apart again. The feeling of you pulsing around him, almost sucking him in more, made him come again. He stayed buried inside youâhe never wanted to pull out. You were almost perfectly moulded around him like you were built for him.
He put your leg down and started gently massaging your hips with his thumbs.
Your body was sore, but in an oddly good way.
âYou okay?â Sam was worried that maybe he went too far, or he was too rough.
You smiled and nodded.
âDid I do it right?â You laughed nervously, but you were serious.
âYou were perfect,â he said,â besides, it was my job to make you feel good.â
Sam finally pulled out slowly making you wince. You tried sitting up but your arms were like jelly.
âJustâŚstay still, honey.â
He got you cleaned up and gave you a pair of his sweatpants (that were way too long) before tucking himself around you in bed.
âWe should probably finish studying, Sam,â you said with your face pressed against his bicep.
His grip around your waist tightened and he pulled you closer to him.
âYeahânot tonight. This is about you.â
Hope you enjoyed this one shot! Early seasons Sammy is too much â¤ď¸
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Being friends since childhood, their fates felt interwoven.
From stolen sunrises and first kisses to whispered promises beneath the Texas sky, there wasn't a version of the future where they weren't together. But after tragedy changes the world overnight, one impossible decision tears them apart.
As years pass and life takes them down different roads, old wounds refuse to stay buried. Some loves fade with time.
Theirs never did. â¸â¸
Pairing: Cordell Walker x fem!reader
WC: 2.6K
CW: 18+, angsty tension, language, repressed emotions, alcohol abuse/drunkenness, mention of character death (canon), mutual pining, slow-burn, some tooth-rotting fluff. I will create content warnings for each part.
A/n: based on this request. This wasn't supposed to be so angsty! I've been on a big Zach Bryan kick lately. I promise there's a happy ending.
Cordell had seen you at your worstâhelping you and your teenage daughter escape a toxic marriage by climbing out a bathroom window in the middle of the night. He asked for nothing in return. Even after you cursed him for refusing to buy into your delusion at the jail, he was still patient and kind enough to come when you finally asked for help.
Now, you summoned that same compassion as you watched him destroy himself with a fifth of whiskey in the back of his pickup truck.
âGet your things, Cordell. Iâm taking you home.â
He watched you like he was waiting for you to vanish. Just like every vision of Emily did.
âIâm not goinâ back there. I canâtââ
He couldnât go back to the home he built with Emily. He couldnât bring himself to step over the cement stone that captured his kidsâ tiny handprints. Not yet.
âWell Iâm not taking you to the ranch. Your kids donât need to see you like this.â Your heart ached at the sight of him coming apart at the seams. But the mother in you was angry with him. His kids had just lost their mom in the most traumatic way imaginable and they needed their dad.
âCome on. You can stay with me tonight.â
He trailed you by a few paces as you climbed the steps to your front porch. He still wasnât entirely convinced this was real. That you were back home. Safe. And inviting him inside your space.
âMaeve is with her dad this weekend so Iâll sleep in her bed. You can take mine.â
He started to object, insisting heâd sleep on the couch.
âCordi I can barely stand to sleep on that thingââ the nickname slipped out too easily, but it seemed to soften him. His shoulders dropped away from his ears and the tension eased from his jaw.
You grabbed him a towel and an extra pillow and blanket, telling him to shower if he wanted and sleep wherever he felt comfortable. He paused and silence settled between you. Without thinking, you stepped toward him and loosely wrapped your arms around his waist. Your head naturally settled against his chest. He reciprocated, his chin resting gently atop your head.
It felt like coming home after being gone for yearsâa thousand miles awayâand finding the porch light left on for you.
Like you were finally safe and warm after being out in the cold for so long.
Your eyes stung and the lump in your throat felt heavy as lead. The smell of alcohol made your nose wrinkle and reminded you of how broken he was.
That he had just lost the love of his life.
That his inhibitions were lowered and that was probably the only reason he was standing this close. You pulled away and noticed his eyes were glassy as he gazed down at you.
âIâm gonna get some sleep,â you said quietly. âGoodnight Cordi.â
His eyes followed you as you walked away. You glanced over your shoulder once before shutting the door behind you.
He tried lying in your bed for a moment. The sweet, faint scent of your perfume was too confusing. Too inviting. He ended up making a spot for himself on the floor. Naturally tossing and turning despite his exhaustion.
His eyes settled on a small box tucked beneath your bed. Had he been in his right mind, he wouldnât have even considered it. He desperately fought the urge to investigate. He could see folded, worn pieces of paper sticking out from one corner.
It was wrong. So wrong. Youâd invited him into your space and he was considering violating your privacy. Just a quick look, he convinced himself. Itâd been so long since youâd talkedâreally talked. The way youâd spend hours telling him about nothing and everything. And he loved listening to you. Watching your expressions shift and your hands move as you spoke. Maybe this was just making up for lost time. Something to distract him from the constant pain heâd been carrying since Emily was killed.
He carefully unfolded the first and looked at the date.
October 15, 2001
A letter. Addressed to him.
He paused when he realized what a massive violation of trust it would be to read a letter youâd chosen not to send. Maybe they were like all the letters he wrote you in Afghanistan. The ones he intended to give you when he got home. He finally decided that regardless of what they said, he wouldnât allow them to change anything between you. It would be as if heâd never read them at all.
The first was a mixture of fear and anger. You were terrified of losing him. Either to war, or to the possibility that heâd come home a broken man. The VA left soldiers to rot on the streets and created broken families. You worried theyâd turn him into a ruthless killing machine. Destroying the parts of him you loved most. The parts that were inherently good.
Most of all, you said that as hard as you tried, you could never stop loving him, even if that love changed over time. Even if he lost the parts that made him who he was, youâd mourn them forever and remember them kindly.
November 9, 2001
You missed him. You admitted to calling friends back home and asking if theyâd heard anything. You were full of regret for how things had ended. The way you left that night.
The government was tight-lipped about casualties, but Cordellâs name was never listed anywhere you could find. Youâd send him letters once you figured out where to address them.
Some of the letters were short and lightheartedâtalking about your auntâs ranch. Stories about how a herd of goats managed to eat a hole through a barn wall to reach the feed storage. Or how tumbleweeds somehow found their way indoors on an almost daily basis.
He even found a small stack of Polaroids youâd taken. One was of a herd of longhorns that had wandered onto your auntâs property at sunset. Another was of you and a colt youâd helped break. He couldnât help but smile at how young you looked. Beaming proudly at the horse you were leading.
The last letter he found was dated the day he ran into you at the farmers market.
âI realized at that moment that I was wrong. The way Emily looked at you told me that your ability to love still existed in abundance.â
Cordell felt like he blinked and it was daylight. Heâd fallen asleep with his arm folded beneath his head and a stack of letters resting on his chest. Almost on cue, he heard a gentle knock at the door. He scrambled to put everything back into the box before you rounded the corner of the bed where heâd slept.
âYou okay?â
He managed to slide the box back into place in time, but he still looked stressed. You chuckled at his choice of sleeping arrangements.
The morning light filtering through the blinds took him back twenty years. You still had those small freckles scattered across your cheeks. The same crease in your nose when you laughed. Now, just like him, you had faint lines at the corners of your eyes from years of experience and emotion. They only made your features more defined. More beautiful.
âCordi?â
His name brought him back.
He needed to shower and pull himself together before he could face his family again.
âFigured you could use these,â you said while gingerly offering him a razor and shaving cream. Theyâd made it into your bathroom supplies when you officially moved out of what was now Lukeâs house. He hesitated for a moment and inspected his reflection.
âHere, sit.â
He obliged and maintained that confused puppy-dog expression as he sat on the closed toilet lid.
âEmilyâd kill me if I let you go home like this.â You mumbled mostly to yourself.
He stifled an emotional laugh, trapping it in his chest.
Truth be told, youâd never shaved a manâs face before, but it couldnât be that complicated. With your focus fixed on avoiding any nicks or scrapes, you stood awkwardly between his knees. His face was nearly level with your chest. He smelled the faint traces of yesterdayâs perfume and whatever soft vanilla-scented lotion you kept on the counter. He couldnât help but smile when he noticed the pink tip of your tongue pressed between your lipsâalways a sign of concentration.
âBe still.â You ordered him but struggled to keep a straight face yourself.
He mumbled an apology and, without thinking, his warm hand briefly cradled your elbow. Then lightly brushed your waist and hip before settling back on his knee. Your eyes fluttered at the unexpected jolt.
You wiped any excess shaving cream off his face and patted it dry. Feeling for any spots you might have missed, your fingertips lingered for a fraction of a second while his eyes remained fixed on you.
Neither of you moved.
The bathroom suddenly felt too small.
Your hand was still resting against his jaw. His gaze drifted to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. The air between you felt heavy.
âCordiâŚâ
The nickname came out softer than you intended.
He leaned forward before he seemed to realize what he was doing. Not enough to close the distance. Just enough that your breath caught in your throat.
Reality crashed back over him.
âFuckâIâm sorry.â He groaned as he immediately stepped away, dragging a hand over his face. âIâm sorry.â
It wasnât that you didnât want him there. He was still deep in the throes of grief and crisis.
âCordellâŚâ you sighed, trying to gather yourself. âIâm not readyâwe arenât ready.â
He nodded emphatically and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to work the tension from his muscles. Now that life had brought you together again, it was difficult to picture a future without him. You just didnât know what that future would look like.
He knew it wasnât the time. Part of him wondered if his desperation to be close to you was born from grief. He couldnât dismiss how natural it feltâhow it had always feltâto hold you. He wouldnât write off his feelings as a need for distraction. But you were right.
His kids needed him.
Cordell did his best to stay involved in his kidsâ daily lives while leading the investigation into his wifeâs death. He faltered. Many times. Struggling to put them before the need to hunt down her killers.
Heâd call you when he could. Usually when he pulled into his driveway late at night. Still wound too tightly after work and needing to ground himself before facing his family. Sometimes it would be a quick call. Swapping pleasantries and light banter. Other times youâd just let him vent while he tried to hide the strain in his voice.
Eventually, you started to anticipate the calls and missed them when they didnât come.
It had been a year since Emily was killed. You knew the anniversary was quickly approaching and were preparing to be there for Cordell however he needed you to be. You hadnât heard from him in weeks, though. The space he used to occupy in your daily routine, even if it was just a phone call, felt painfully barren.
A gentle knock at the door turned yours and Maeveâs heads from your spot on the couch. It was late and you never had visitors drop by unannounced, so you cautiously opened the door and were relieved to see Cordell standing on your porch. He looked tiredâlike heâd been through hellâbut there was a glint in his eyes that told you heâd won whatever battle heâd been fighting.
âWe got her.â
You hadnât even gotten a word out before he told you that Emilyâs killer had been a woman. Unfortunately, sheâd died before she could be brought to justice, but he finally had answers. Out of instinct, you wrapped him in a tight hug. Tears born from equal parts relief and heartache staining his shirt where your face pressed against him.
âIâm sorry I havenât called.âÂ
You nodded softly before pulling yourself away from him. You hadnât seen him since dropping him off at his truck that morning, a few weeks after losing Emily. Even though you were only a few miles apart, he had been on his own journeyâone that, like many others, you werenât a part of. You two always picked up where you left off, though.
âI wanna take you out. Dinner and drinks, or whatever you want.â
His smile melted through you, but it faded when you didnât respond right away. You had read the letter Liam left with you the night he asked for your help. You knew that Cordell had loved you the way youâd loved him.
The way you were denying you still did, and probably always would.
It had been a year since youâd laid eyes on him, and now he was standing on your front porch, hat in hand, asking to be close to you again. Like you hadnât spent the better part of your lives as a distant memory.
After some silent pleading on his part, you finally agreed to let him take you on a proper date.Â
âIâll pick you up tomorrow night.â
You cautiously agreed, trying to hide the emotional fireworks igniting in your chest.
âThis is the part where you go home now, Cordi.â You teased when he didnât turn to leave. He stayed rooted to his spot like he was waiting for something.
He laughed quietly and looked down at the brim of his hat, worrying it between his hands.
âYeah. I know.â He huffed a weak laugh.
But he still didnât move.
The string of porch lights cast long shadows across the weathered boards between you. For a moment neither of you spoke.
âI, umâI never thanked you.â
You blinked. âFor what?â
His eyes finally met yours.
âFor finding me. Reminding me where I belonged.â
A soft smile tugged at your lips.
âYou did the same for me.â
When he helped you rescue yourself. When he believed you deserved better before you did. He cleared the lump from his throat and finally stepped off the porch.
âIâll pick you up tomorrow.â
âGoodnight, Cordi.â You called before slipping back inside.
He couldnât help but smile to himself as he watched the door close behind you.
Maeve was still waiting for you on the couch. Eager to continue watching an âoldâ horror movie she'd found in your collection. You tried explaining to her that 2005 wasn't that long ago, but it hadn't done any good.
âWho was that?â
âCordell. You remember him.â She definitely remembered the man who helped you escape from her dad's house. Even if it had been two years by that point.
She gave you a curious look.
âWhatâs that look for?â You asked while taking your spot next to her again.
âIâve justâŚnever seen you smile like that.â
The comment caught you off guard. You had spent so many years convincing yourself that certain doors were closed. That some things only happened once. That first loves belonged in the past.
But somewhere between a faded letter, late-night phone calls, and a man standing on your porch with his hat in his hands, you'd allowed yourself to hope. Hope meant opening yourself up to disappointment and heartache.
But at that moment, hope didn't seem quite so dangerous.
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Dean's been at it for over an hour, head between your thighs, tongue inside your cunt.
You've cum more times than you can count- they've got it at every angle now, every sound you can imagine, moaning, gasping, begging. It's almost getting ridiculous at this point- you know they won't use all the footage.
But you're also not gonna stop him. You're not sure you've ever felt like this- it's overwhelming in the best way possible, your whole body feels like syrup, you're soaking over him, over the sheets. You'd be sobbing by now if you weren't so painfully aware of the camera only inches from your face.
He pushes his fingers into you again, deep and hard, curling in a way that makes your head spin.
Your hips lift off the mattress, he grabs hold of you quick, pushing you back down hard, "Stay still-"
You know they'll keep that. They'll make sure to keep anything he says. Those are always the parts that get the most replays- hell they're the parts you replay. When you're up late, watching his videos, hand between your thighs.
"-I didn't tell you to fucking move."
You don't know how it still works for you. You know it's not him, he even ran through ideas of lines he was gonna use before you started. He was very sweet about it, almost shy when you were alone- he's anything but shy now.
His grip on you tightens as he moves back to your clit, his tongue working against you rapidly. You're gripping the sheets, trying to keep yourself steady, your whole body convulsing as another orgasm starts to rise quickly.
"Fuck- please-"
He's already told you to beg, a couple times actually. You know he will again. It gets you hot just thinking about it, the stern tone in his voice. You bite your lip hard, trying to stop your hips from rising again. Your gaze falls to the camera, a reminder that you're supposed to be performing, you batter your eyelashes, let out another loud moan.
He pulls back suddenly, his sticky hand wrapping around your thigh, his other hand moving up to wipe his mouth. He looks like a mess, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, chin glistening with your arousal. He glances around to the set, speaking louder, "Sorry guys- I've gotta- I've gotta take a break."
The room picks up in a flash, people moving around, cameras resetting. People come running over with robes, one gets draped over your shoulders, a plastic cup of water pushes into your hands. You take a big swig of it, suddenly realizing how dry your mouth is.
People move around you, you see a few people checking the monitors, gearing up for the next shot. You glance at Dean, he's pulling in a shaky breath, pushing his hair out of his face with his long fingers.
You try to go over everything that just happened- why he wanted to stop. Maybe it's the way your bare heel had dug into his back the last time you came, maybe it's the way you tugged his hair a few minutes ago. Maybe he's just getting sick of being the only one actually doing any work.
He moves closer to you on the mattress, settling close enough that he could reach out if he wanted to. He looks up, gaze falling over you, then turns away fast, back to his own cup.
You speak quickly, nervously, "I'm sorry- did I-"
He cuts you off, leaning his head down slightly so he can speak in a hushed voice, "I'm gonna cum, sweetheart."
It catches you off guard, "What?"
He takes a swig of water, then speaks slowly, "If we keep going, I'm gonna cum."
You're still not sure you've understood him, "What do you-"
"I'm not kidding here, I feel like I'm gonna fuckin' explode- if they catch that on film my whole tough guy act is fucked-"
"We haven't even- I haven't touched you-" you manage to get out.
"I'll never live it down if I blow my load just from tongue fuckin' you- jesus-" he shifts awkwardly, you realize he's trying to hide his boner- it's not easy when his cock is larger than any you've seen before.
"You're gonna cum just from going down on me?"
"You're moaning like you've never had a guy touch you before- it's not exactly helping."
You raise an eyebrow, "I can stop?"
He grins at you, "Don't you dare."
Your heart skips a beat, thighs clench together. Forget any video- this is what you're gonna be thinking about tonight.
He takes another gulp of water, then looks back at you, "Just give me a minute to cool off, and I promise I'll fuck you so hard you can't walk tomorrow-"
Reader x Dean body swap fic Iâm begging you đŠâ¤ď¸âđĽ
hi anon! I didnât know much about this trope so I did some digging. Iâm a neurospicy girlie and I struggle with body awareness & dissociation so I think I would suck at thisâI donât even know what itâs like being in my own body sometimes đ I might try and explore it as I get more comfortable writing!đŤś
Everything was perfectâyou were about to welcome a baby girl into the world and finally leave the life of hunting behind. Sam was supposed to have it all: the house, the family, maybe even a dog in the backyard. But before the three of you could begin your new life in an old craftsman home on the prairie, the apocalypse arrived.
All Sam had to do was lock Lucifer in the cageâŚ
Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader
WC: 3.4K
CW: 18+ MDNI, language, well-earned domestic fluffiness, ovulation (not projecting here at all), discussion of birth control, masturbation (f), unresolved sexual tension, mom-bod appreciation. This chapter is pretty tame overall
A/n: my husband forced me to watch the last couple episodes of the series that I had been boycotting and I'm dead inside now :') as much as I love being angsty, I think we all deserve some fluff.
Cruel World masterlist
âShare my body and my mind with you, thatâs all over now. Did what I had to do, I found another anyhow.â - Cruel World, Lana Del Rey
Sam had taken a few days off to give you time to rest and recover. He started noticing flickers of a light heâd never seen before in your eyes. A stray ember returning to the warmth in your voice. It was subtle, but it caught his attention immediately.
There was a twinkle in your eye when you laughedâreally laughedâat one of his jokes. It wasnât funny. That was what made it funny. Usually only to him.
The house felt different, too. Not necessarily happier, but lighter somehow. As though it could finally breathe again after holding its breath for months. Like it was slowly releasing the grief and tension that had seeped into the walls.
You still tired easily. Sometimes heâd catch you staring off into space, your thoughts drifting somewhere he couldnât follow. There were still nights when sleep abandoned you completely.
One of those sleepless nights, you rolled over and reached for Sam out of habit.
The other side of the bed was cold.
At first, you assumed heâd gotten up for water or to check on Willa. But when ten minutes stretched into twenty, you finally pushed yourself upright and padded quietly through the house.
You found him on the couch with Walker awkwardly threaded around his legs. His phone rested on his chest and, if you didnât know him better, you might have been suspicious. But you knew he was waiting to hear from his brother. Ready to help Dean with a research question that would probably never come.
It crossed your mind to wake him and ask him to come back to bed, but he looked peaceful. His face was soft and his body relaxed. For once, he wasnât being plagued by nightmares of the Cage.
Carefully, you lifted his phone from his chest, knowing Dean would never call this late, and draped a blanket over him.
The next night, you woke up alone. Again. That familiar emptiness was beginning to gnaw at you. You walked quietly, expecting to find Sam asleep on the couch once more.
Instead, from the top of the landing, you could make out what sounded like a one-sided conversation.
âCas, I donât know where youâre atâor why youâre ignoring me. I need your help.â
You froze. It was hard not to jump to conclusions. Hard not to assume this had something to do with hunting, or his time without a soul. You wondered if this was really why heâd been leaving you in the middle of the night.
The bed was still empty in the morning.
Downstairs, you could hear the muffled sounds of Sam making breakfast and the theme song of whatever cartoon Willa was currently obsessed with.
For the first time in days, you didnât ache when you pushed yourself out of bed. You paused in front of the mirror and lifted your shirt enough to inspect the bruise on your chest. It had faded to a sickly yellow-green, but that was a sign you were healing beneath the skin.
Out of habit, your eyes drifted lower to your stomachâto the jagged silver lines earned from growing and carrying life inside you. None of the products you tried had done much more than soften their appearance. After spending an obscene amount of money on creams and lotions, you finally gave up.
Accepting them as scars earned in the hardest battle youâd ever fought. Motherhood.Â
The familiar harmony of a chaotic morning grew louder as you made your way downstairs.
âWilla.â You called her name when you noticed she was standing far too close to the television. She spun around immediately.
You stifled a laugh at the awkward excuse for a ponytail her father had attempted. It bounced wildly as she ran toward you.
For the first time in days, you held your child without feeling like your chest was splitting open.
Now that you were eating three meals a day and sleeping most nights, you hadnât realized how unwell youâd truly been.
Samâs voice from the doorway startled you. It felt like youâd been caught doing something you shouldnât.
âYou okay?â
âY-uh, yeah. Iâm fineââ You winced. Youâd promised to stop hiding behind that phrase. It had been your shield for years. âI mean⌠I feel good.â
He eyed you suspiciously but softened when he saw the smile on Willaâs face. Being held by what he firmly believed was her favorite person.
âAlright. Iâll allow it.â
Heâd expected an eye roll. Or a tired sigh. Instead, you gave him a playful smirk while adjusting Willa on your hip.
âBut youâve gotta eat before we go.â
You cocked your head at him. The simple gesture melted him every time.
âYeah, I figured itâs nice out. We should take Willa to the park.â
Willa squealed at the idea, the high-pitched noise making both of you flinch. She immediately began wiggling in your arms until you finally set her down.
âget my shoes!â
Those were the only words either of you managed to make out as she awkwardly charged toward the stairs.
You both laughed at her ostentatious exit. Knowing exactly where sheâd learned it, And knowing it wasnât from either of you.
âThat sounds fun,â you said as Sam moved to follow her upstairs. âBut I need to talk to youââ
A loud thud cut you off.
Both of you sighed in unison and turned toward the source of the noise. There was no crying, which probably meant sheâd dropped something she wasnât supposed to be carrying in the first place. Sam shot you an apologetic look before heading upstairs after her.
It was still cold, but the bite from winter was weakening into a softer, more invigorating sting. The first buds were starting to appear on the maple trees lining the country road into town. Still a few weeks before they would begin to sprout, but still a clear sign that spring was on its way.Â
âUh, Sam? You missed it.â Youâd planned for a quick drive to the small city park closest to home. Instead, he drove past it and signaled for the next town over. Willaâs lip quivered as you passed her favorite place to visit.Â
âThat oneâs so small and there arenât any other kids for her to play with.â He was right. Willa was probably the youngest person in the dying prairie town you resided in by twenty years. The playground was easily forty years old and a tetanus shot waiting to happen. You knew it was important for her to socialize with other kids her age. But with kids her age came parents. People you didnât trust and didnât have anything in common with. âIâm pretty sure thereâs a bigger one in Bridge Creek.âÂ
You relented and decided to use the longer drive as an opportunity to ask him about the conversation you overheard the previous night. Â
âI need his help with something, thatâs all.â He smiled and glanced over at you quickly to gauge your reaction.Â
âDoes it have anything to do with why youâre not sleeping in our bed?âÂ
You watched his face drop in your periphery. Even Willa seemed to sense the mood shift and her tiny feet stopped gently kicking in her car seat.Â
âItâs the nightmares.â His grip tightened on the steering wheel before he shifted in his seat, trying to work some of the tension out of his shoulders. âI donât wanna wake you up or⌠worse.â His voice faded at the end.
He meant he didnât want to risk hurting you again. Saying it out loud would make it real.
âOkay.â You nodded gently. âYou think he can help?â
In reality, Sam had no idea. Castiel was the only celestial being he knew who might have a chance of helping him the way Death once had.
Heâd expected resistance from you. Maybe even an argument. He knew how wary you were of Castiel. Instead, he was surprised to see your expression soften.
âSo, what do we do?â
âWe?â
âYes, Sam. We.â You gave him a look. âI donât need to remind you what happened the last time you worked with him.â
âI donât even know if he can help yetââ
ââwell, weâll find out together. Weâre retired, Sammy.â You paused, smiling when you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch upward. âWe donât do solo missions anymore. We donât split up.â
He rested a hand on your leg and gave three gentle squeezes.
A silent I love you.
Back when you were too afraid to say the words out loud, when you were all still on the road together, youâd squeeze his leg under the table at some diner in the middle of nowhere. Or heâd sneak a hand into the back seat where you were sitting.
Three gentle pulses.
It always made him fight back a smile while Dean watched the two of you with growing suspicion. Now, you glanced over and found him smiling at the memory heâd just summoned between you.
You threaded your fingers through his, smiling at the difference in the size of your hands before giving three squeezes back.
Before long, you rolled into Bridge Creek. Willaâs face lit up at the sight of the larger park and she started wiggling impatiently in her car seat.
He was rightâthere were plenty of other families there. Families that probably looked nothing like yours.
Anxiety twisted in your stomach when you noticed how busy it was. Sam kept his hand planted firmly on your leg, allowing you to fidget with his fingers while you grounded yourself.
âReady?â Samâs voice was gentle in a way that you needed it to be. âI think Willa is about two seconds from combusting.â
You couldnât help but laugh at the sight of her practically gnawing on the straps of her car seat.
As usual, the moment her feet hit the ground, she took off toward the large wooden playground. Both of you scanned the area out of habit while simultaneously keeping an eye on Willa.
You noticed most of the parents sitting on benches, keeping only a passive eye on their children. Some had their faces buried in their phones. Others sat reading books beside expensive strollers, seemingly oblivious to whether their kids were hurt, lost, or hanging upside down from the monkey bars.
You couldnât take your eyes off Willa. You watched every tiny handhold and careful foot placement. Sam stayed close enough to catch her if she fell.
Not wanting to crowd either of them, you stepped back and admired your favorite version of Samâthe father of your child.
âHow old is she?â
You flinched at the sound of an unfamiliar voice beside you.
The woman looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties. She wore name-brand yoga pants, an athletic jacket, and enough makeup to look effortless. Her nails were perfectly manicured. It was hard not to compare yourself.
Glancing down, you noticed a few small stains from Willaâs breakfast on your shirt. Youâd thrown your hair into a messy ponytail after fixing Willaâs bedhead that morning and rushed out the door. The most effort youâd made was applying cherry lip balm in the car.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you forced a polite smile.
âEighteen months.â
The woman stared as though she expected a longer answer. You shifted your gaze toward Sam, silently begging him to rescue you from the interaction. He was blissfully unaware. Completely engrossed in watching Willa conquer the playground.
âIs that your husband?â
You chortled at the question. Not because it was ridiculousâbecause of how confidently sheâd asked it. Then you glanced down at your hand and realized you werenât wearing your engagement ring.
âUm, no. Heâs not.â You cleared your throat when you noticed her gaze lingering on him. âWeâre engaged.â
Your lips twitched upward. This complete stranger was the first person youâd actually told. You hadnât even said the words out loud before.
You tensed when you noticed Willa interacting with another toddler. A wave of anxiety hit immediately. What if being isolated from other kids had put her behind? What if she didnât know how to play with them?
Willa looked nervous and glanced toward her dad for reassurance. With a gentle nod and an encouraging smile from Sam, she let her guard down. Soon she was happily toddling around beside the other child.
Youâd completely forgotten the woman next to you as you quietly celebrated another one of Willaâs victories. This time, Sam was there to see it.
Evidently, the child belonged to Valerie. Before you left, she scribbled her number on a scrap of paper and handed it directly to Sam to arrange a playdate. He promptly handed it to you while you did your best to stifle any laughter.Â
On the drive home, you could feel him stealing glances in your direction while you stared out the window.
âSo⌠Valerie?â
âFucking Valerie,â you groaned. âI donât think she believed me when I said we were together.â
He frowned at that.
Honestly, it didnât bother you much. Youâd never been the jealous type. If anything, you found it amusing watching him turn bright red when women flirted with him.
âProbably because I looked like a homeless person.â Your tone was playful, but there was a trace of insecurity underneath it.
âOr maybe because you werenât wearing this.â
He awkwardly fished your engagement ring out of his pocket and handed it to you.
âSorryâŚâ You blushed while taking it from him. âI told you, Iâm terrible with jewelry.â
âYeah.â He smiled to himself. âYou really are.â
You hugged one knee to your chest and stared out the window as guilt gnawed at you. You hated forgetting something that meant so much. Something that represented one of the happiest moments of your lives was forgotten like a set of car keys.Â
âBut I donât want to marry you because you remember jewelry or wear expensive clothes.â He glanced over at you. âI mean, you look amazing in anything you wear.â
You rolled your eyes as heat crept up your neck.
âIs this you trying to flirt with me?â
âIs it working?âÂ
You shrugged playfully while admiring the pink hue in his cheeks and his nervous smile. After all these years, that effortless spark was still alive between you.Â
Over the next few days, the three of you continued settling into a new rhythm of normalcy. Sam went back to work now that you were healthy again. He still made sure you ate before he left for his shift and let you sleep in on his days off.
He continued trying to summon Castiel, but he knew it could be a waiting game. In his experience, the angel had a habit of appearing and disappearing entirely on his own schedule.
Most nights when Sam worked, you went to bed early enough to wake up before Willa in the morning, giving you time to eat breakfast or shower in peace.
Tonight had been different.
Youâd gotten engrossed in some trashy reality showâone of the many programs Sam loved teasing you about, even if he inevitably ended up watching whenever it was on.
Before you knew it, it was one in the morning.
You hurried through your bedtime routine and crawled beneath the blankets, fully expecting exhaustion to drag you under.
Instead, you stared at the ceiling. Sleep stayed just out of reach.
All day, youâd found yourself stealing glances at Sam. Watching him carry Willa on his shoulders through the yard. Watching the way his legs stretched while he read in the armchair by the window. The way his nose creased and his dimples showed when he laughed at one of his jokes.
Everything about him seemed to catch your attention lately. Maybe it was the feeling of safety in your new ânormalâ. It had been years since you saw him so relaxed. Not in a constant state of survival.Â
You groaned quietly and rolled onto your side. Your body felt restless. Every nerve ending seemed to be humming beneath your skin.
A quick glance at the calendar earlier that day had offered a likely explanation. After years of birth control, you were still adjusting to paying attention to your bodyâs natural rhythms. Youâd been on it long before you got pregnant with Willa. Now your body seemed determined to remind you exactly where you were in your cycle.
You were ovulating.
You buried your face in your pillow and laughed quietly at yourself. Sam hadnât even done anything out of the ordinary.
Heâd just smiled at you across the breakfast table that morning. Touched the small of your back while passing through the kitchen. Kissed your forehead before leaving for work. It was all painfully normal.
The clock on the nightstand ticked past two-thirty. You tossed and turned in bed trying to ignore the dull ache in your core. Eventually, your fingers started tracing delicate patterns on your low belly and teased the waistband of your panties. You could feel the growing heat between your thighs from the way you pressed them together. With one hand slipping below the soft cotton, the other massaging your breast and rolling your nipple between your fingers.Â
Your fingers were as skilled as Samâs, but it wasnât the same. He had memorized the landscape of your body and mastered it the way you had. But you couldnât reach that sensitive, spongy spot deep inside you. Your fingers didnât have the perfect amount of callus that increased the friction tenfold. Still, you slid two fingers inside your tight channel, gathering some wetness to tease and rub your sensitive clit. You felt that familiar coil tighteningâso frustratingly close.Â
You were about to dig your vibrator out of the drawer when you heard the front door open and shut quietly, making your heart flutter. Both out of nervousness and excitement. Nervous about the humiliation that comes from being caught, not that he would care. And excitement because you knew he would take care of you.Â
âHeyâwhat are you still doing up?âÂ
Still expecting you to be asleep, he had planned on holding you for a while before falling asleep downstairs. He knew by the look on your face and the way you were still breathing heavily that he interrupted something.Â
He sat next to you on the edge of the bed and you rolled to face him. He assessed your desperate condition with a soft expression.Â
âCouldnât sleep. I missed you.â
He leaned over and kissed you softly, smiling at your responsiveness. You moaned at the intoxicating taste of him while his hand slid down your body underneath the covers. Your back arched into his touch to chase more of the delicious drag rippling across your skin. His rough pads excited every nerve ending and added to the excruciating need.Â
âDirty girl.â He teased and watched your cheeks blush a rosy pink.
You hadnât moved your hand from between your legs and were still rubbing gentle circles. Just enough to stave off the growing ache. His fingers replaced your own and he watched as your jaw went slack and you knit your eyebrows together.Â
Before he could slide a finger past your tight entrance, Walkerâs sharp bark caused you to jolt upright. Sam strained to listen for whatever had caught the dogâs attention. Your heart was pounding and your breathing turned shallow as you remembered the last time Walker had alerted you in the middle of the night.
This bark was different. It was surprisedâlike the time Willa had tripped over him while he was asleep on the floor and her tiny foot caught his tail.
You leaned toward the nightstand to grab the handgun stashed there, but Sam quickly caught your wrist.
âWait.â
He adjusted himself awkwardly before moving toward the landing. You watched his shoulders sag the moment he looked downstairs.
Curiosity finally overpowered your anxiety. Pulling your sleep shirt down to cover yourself, you followed him to the top of the stairs.
Your eyes fluttered shut in frustration.
Castiel.
Walker was sitting at his feet, panting happily while the angel absently scratched behind his ears. Like he was greeting an old friend instead of a celestial being who routinely appeared in peopleâs homes in the middle of the night.
âCas,â Sam sighed.
âHello, Sam.â
Castielâs gaze shifted to you. âY/N.â
âDo angels not have phones?â
You folded your arms across your chest. Castiel frowned.
âThe voice told me I was out of minutes.â
a/n: thanks for being patient! it feels good to get this out finally. Also, y/n is totally her own OC at this point đ
A never-ending week-long hunt and a shared motel room with the Winchester brothers makes you test poor Sam's self-control, but you might not be in as much control as you think...
â you should see the things we do in my dreams part one - 5.1k words
Sam is harbouring a bit more than a major crush on you, and tonight you might just let him show you how important you really are to him.
part two - coming 11-Jul!!
How will Sam deal with the fallout from last night? Unfortunately, not very well.
part three - coming soon!!
You and Sam âworkâ things out.
â what lovers do (request!) (coming soon!!)
â feel you in my bones (coming soon!!)
â the last day of you - miniseries (coming soon!!)
â animal attraction (coming soon!!)
â gold-skinned, blue shirt, and eager (coming soon!!)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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MEMORIAE NOCTEM
âTell me what you think about, when you do this by yourself.â
   WINCHESTER, Sam (soulless); READER, Fem. Romantic (established, casual)
      Sam pays you a late night visit, and wants to know what you remembered about him.
      c. S06.e06-08 (missing scene)   wc. 4.1k
      cw. fingering. piv. sexualized grief/yearning.
Itâs late, sometime after midnight. Through the window, a thin sliver of moon watches you. Chilly, not quite cold, you pad your way to the bathroom, make your way with the lights off. No need to wake up, all the way, for this.
There's a long shadow in the corner, watching you, waiting. It canât be a simple nightmare, youâre sure that youâre awake. You stumble backwards, shaking, terrified. Someone is in your home that shouldnât be.
As your eyes adjust, you realize itâs him, spilling out of the armchair heâs reclined in. The sprawl of his limbs is unmistakable. He greets you, tells you to calm down, but his sotto voice is flat, too even. It doesnât calm you in the slightest.Â
âSam?âÂ
The look heâs wearing is intense, predatory. Itâs meant a lot of different things in the past. Most frequently, itâs made good on incredible dicking downs, but right now itâs creeping you out. Â
Whatâs between you is easy. Casual. Predictable. At least it had been, before you found out heâd died. His brother had called you, spent too long with your silence, until youâd found something to say.Â
Thanks, I guess? and Sorry, for your loss.Â
His brother called again, not long ago. Said the dead thing didnât take. Told you to be careful, that whatever happened to him changed him, that heâd been through hell.Â
âThrough Hell.â Sam laughs, looks to the ceiling, and rolls his eyes. âFuck, Dean. Thatâs almost clever.â He tells you his brother wasnât wrong. He is different, things have changed, but not everything. Not what he wants to do to you. Â
He assures you heâll go, if you want, but that he doesnât think you do, lets his legs stretch long as he leans all the way back, and the audacity of it is both enraging and arousing. When his fingers curl towards the expanse of his lap, youâre reminded of all the things theyâve done to you, will do to you, if youâll cooperate. You refuse him, at least for now, stand firm, demanding an apology before youâll consider fucking him.Â
âYouâre getting ahead of yourself.â He looms over you, arms crossed, mocking you in a mirrored stance. At his full height, Sam Winchester is big. Imposing, when he wants to be.
Your stature doesnât compare, not by a long shot, but you jut your chin up defiantly anyway. He looks down at you as you look up at him. He brings his mouth to meet yours, but you lean back just enough that he knows not to kiss you. Yet. A rough, callused thumb presses into the dip below your lip, pulling down to expose your teeth.
âIâm sorry.â His mouth ghosts over yours, and you feel the shape of his contrition, passing like a secret between your lungs. It is factual. Functional. Your want deems it sufficient.
Almost.
âWhat if I was gone?â You tease, a sultry challenge, not quite ready to forgive. His grip on you tightens, big hand palming your face. âSomewhere you couldnât find me.âÂ
âNot possible.â Youâre in his arms faster than you can think and he is arching your back, making an offering of your thinly covered tits. He presses his face against you, dragging his teeth along the angle of your jaw, an uncoordinated assault on your neck, your ear, your cheek. âThereâs nowhere you could go that I wouldnât find you.âÂ
He grabs your ass, making you whine with the strength of it. He wraps you around him, rocking your mound against his hip, and youâre too desperate now to refute his claim. Â
âNot when you want to be found.â You catch his lip with your teeth in response, nipping it lightly before letting it go. He growls, staring at you, mouth hovering just over yours, his pupils blown so wide they blot out the thin ribbon of gold that usually surrounds them.Â
He looks unravelled. Unrestrained. Unsafe.Â
You know that Sam's a dangerous guy, but youâve never really felt it, until now. Now there is a dark and wild part of him, prowling just below the surface, a thing he's never let you see before. It gives you a thrill in the hollow of your throat.Â
He kisses you. Fiercely. You canât catch your breath, canât stop the way your head swims. You feel his thumb pressing into your jaw, hinging it open so he can lick into your mouth. You let him suck and bite at your lips, leave them raw, puffy and slick from how heâs marked you with his spit, his eyes following the string of it that drops down to your heaving chest with a look that makes you whimper with need.
âYou gonna sit in my lap now?â He stands you in front of him, drops back into the chair. Heâs pulling his shirt off over his head, chest taut, forearms flexing. He spreads himself out, the bulge in his jeans shifting on its own when you lick your lips. You feel ravenous.
Your panties are being pulled down, his knuckles brushing against your slit to see how wet you are. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, expression dark, and you sweep it up over your head for him. It looks like heâs thinking of something filthy. You want to know if itâs a memory or a fantasy, maybe a mix of both.
âWhatâs that look?â He shakes his head, doesnât answer, watching you stand there, naked, rubbing your thighs together, spreading your slick around. He takes his time and soon you start to shiver. âSam. Iâm getting cold.âÂ
His eyes flick up to your face, pausing on the way to note how hard your nipples have become, and he opens his arms for you. âCâmere then.âÂ
You climb into his lap side-saddle, burrow into the warmth of him, your ass wiggling against him, needy, and he lets you stay there as long as you want. He wraps his arm around you, asks if thatâs better. You donât bother pretending that it isnât, the tenderness of his embrace is so familiar. It reminds you of a memory of him, one where heâs a little warmer, more playful.Â
The slow and deliberate way youâre kissing is trying his patience, has him crushing you against his chest. Your closed-mouth kiss is subtle, pressure and suction sweetly tugging at his lips. Itâs not long before you take your turn gnawing at him, fingers clawing at his back, tugging at his hair.Â
Gripping you firmly, turning you so your leg falls open, youâre already whimpering from how he spreads you wide. âTouch yourself for me.â He coos, kissing your temple so softly you could mistake him for that other Sam, again. âTell me what you think about, when you do this by yourself.âÂ
âYou?â You slip your hand down, over your belly to the damp patch of curls, the ones barely hiding your arousal from him. You breathe deep the scent of his sweat and your cunt and the lingering traces of aftershave he wears. Itâs cheap but that doesnât matter. On him, it smells good. âYou wanna know if I think about you.â  Â
âAnd?â He studies you, like you are data he is collecting. The focus of it furrows his brow. His eyes flick between the apex of your legs and your mouth, both wet and open, the latter smirking as he stifles a groan. Not so empirical, now. You are wetter than you expect, when you part your lips to slide your fingers through your slick. Rocking so your ass rubs along his length, you start to pet yourself in earnest.Â
You press the place between your shoulderblades into his chest, arching your back, his fingers brush the underside of your tit and you gasp again, your head lolling along the top of his shoulder. He chuckles, or maybe growls, and it vibrates low in his throat. Youâre awash in a sea of memories, where all at once you are settling in next to him, asleep, on your couch, and his hands are under your thighs making you spill cereal all over the floor, and he is waking you from behind, entering you so, so, slowly.
âNot all the time, but.â Your mouth feels like a desert no matter how you work your tongue around it, so when you speak itâs in a croak you barely recognize as your own. You lick your lips and find heâs close enough that you taste his skin by accident. âSometimes, yeah. I think about you.â
âDid you, when Dean told you I was dead?â He bites your cheek, not enough to mark, but enough to send a shock of pleasure through you, making you cry out. It mingles with the sadness that drives between your ribs, traps your breath in your lungs.
A wave of sorrow washes over you, tightens your chest to think of it again. You defy him, focus on the ache youâre feeling, the rock of your hips in the direction of pleasure. Itâs true what they say: grief makes you horny. âWhy would you ask me that?â
âI want to know.â Heâs grinding up into your ass, the rub of the fly on his jeans rough against your skin. He covers the hand between your legs with his, guiding your fingers with gentle insistence against your clit. âWere you sad?â Â
You buck into his touch, ignoring his questions. The want between your legs blooms deeper within you, making you twist in his hold, spreading your legs wider while he urges you to answer.Â
âA little, at first.â You swallow, struggle to hold his gaze, feel ashamed. You didnât rend clothing or wear black or throw yourself on the proverbial casket. If there was a real one, you didnât know about it. âI didnât really think about it, you, much after a while.âÂ
âBut you did.â You whine his name, protest compounded by pleasure, bring yourself to look up at him and he nods at you, studying your face. âYou cried for me.â
âJesus Christ, Sam.â Youâre writhing against him, your hand left to continue its work at your clit as his fingers dip lower, teasing at your slit. It feels so deeply fucked up to be getting off on this, telling him you didnât really mourn even though it felt like you did, at the time. âIs this what you came for?âÂ
But then, heâs getting off on it, too.Â
âCorrect me if Iâm wrong, but.â He slides his fingers between your lips, stuffing you full with one smooth stroke of his wrist. He uses your cunt to hold you in place, against his cock, harder. He works into you, a gentle wave, the curl of his fingertips making you quiver until his pressure inside meets yours outside and you canât keep your eyes open for the feeling of it. âNobody's come yet.â
You bark out a laugh that gets caught in your throat. It hitches from the force of it, tangling with your pleasure, stumbling over the joke that isnât funny, but it is. Your whole body shakes against him, and he works you harder as your cunt clenches around his fingers with your laughter and your lust until youâre gasping for breath, and soaking his hand.
âGod damn, thatâs tight.â His mouth curls into a shape that feels like the inside of a smile. âAlways said I liked your laugh; I like it even better now.â Affection, perhaps, familiar yet distorted, and a curiosity that borders on surprise. That heâs remembering another version of you through time, the way youâre comparing him to the memory of the man he was before, stirs in you a sense of quiet mourning. You can feel it competing with the rising tide of your climax on his fingers and yours moving faster, deeper. Youâre holding, clinging, on to his forearm but when you try to help him start fucking his fingers into you faster he drags them from you, stifling your protests by shoving them into your mouth. âYouâre getting ahead of yourself. I wanna feel you first.â Â
âThen take your clothes off and fuck me, Sam.â You pull his fingers free, thick strings of drool keeping them connected to your tongue, and twist awkwardly to climb towards his mouth. He manhandles you into his arms, telling you heâs going to ruin you. Wanna see you cry for me. He kneads your ass as he crosses the room, jerky, almost awkward, shedding his pants along the way. Legs cinched tightly around his waist, you lean in to kiss him, softly. Once. Twice. âWhatever you want. Fuck. I havenât felt you since you died.â
He bullies you onto the bed: pries your limbs open, lays you out roughly beneath him, kneels over you, naked and erect. You have to swallow because the sense memory of his cock in your mouth is so vivid it makes your mouth water. Youâre about to bow to it, take him deep and see if the rich, salty musk of him is the same as you remember, when he knocks your knees open, forcing your legs wider, making room for him to settle between them.Â
You reach down to touch him, that same velvet softness you remember wrapped around steel you could never forget. Itâs light, your fingertips revelling in the feel of his skin. You sigh and it sounds like a secret. He groans and it feels like one, too.
His hips shift, the tip of him brushing against you, and you take both hands to part your lips and use him to spread your wetness all over yourself, and him. You grip his shaft and coax him to your entrance, and the stretch of him is less familiar than you remember, though youâre sure itâs not a matter of anatomy. Time has just passed, and your bodies have forgotten. You moan, your guiding hand keeping its grip, drawing out your reacquaintance.Â
âSlow.â You manage to get out, thick, almost drunk. âPlease, go slow, Sam.â You squeeze him, suck him deeper in fractional inches. âI missed you. I.â You thought youâd never have this again. âI wanna remember.âÂ
He goes slower, his cock flexing inside you, body going rigid when you clench around him in response. The agony of it is wonderful, consuming, a dizzying hiatus of time. Youâre certain that this must be Sam, as you remember him. Patient. Deliberate. Worshipful. You moan for him, long and ragged.Â
You guide him home, but when you look at him, his face does not match the one in your memory. Where you should see ecstasy, euphoria, you find a carnal snarl, lip curled and teeth bared. You chase more, try to fill the space where his reverence for you should be with the length and girth of his cock.Â
âShit.â He grabs you, pins you, keeping you in place so you can no longer move. âYouâre really crying.â Wetness stains your cheeks, too late to hide it, and when you try to wipe it away he stops you. He has not finished cataloguing your tears.
âI.â You have nothing to say for yourself, you blink and a few more tears slip free. âI guess so. Yeah.âÂ
He withdraws, just his tip lingers, barely inside you. A string of slick trickles from his shaft down your slit, and then south to pool between your ass cheeks. Everything feels thick and fuzzy, Sam becomes a contradiction.Â
âYou wanted something else.â He kisses you, slow, tender, the way his words arenât. âSomething soft?â He dampens his lips on your cheek, gentle, while he fucks into you hard enough to steal your breath. âYou need me to be sweet, while I take you apart?â His touch is featherlight; his body weights yours like an anchor, sinking deep. âTell you youâre beautiful, that I need you.â It is a promise; it is a threat.Â
âSam.â He grinds against you, face a jarring omission of feeling. The incongruity of him betrays an existential un-knowing, the source of a slow beating pulse of madness, growing in his mind. You wonder if he notices, if he feels the void you see.Â
âI could.â It hits you, like the snap of his hips, that of course he does. He must. He is here to reconcile himself. âI remember what to say.â
He is an exacting calculus where earnestness should be, and yet beneath it all, despite it all, you just see Sam. The same, but different. Dead, then not so much. Sometimes absence is just absence, and somehow that stings a little less.Â
âYou could.â Split open on his cock, you remind yourself how empty you will feel, when he leaves. âBut you donât need to.â He is thick and hard and throbbing, buried to the hilt in you, and you decide thereâs no need to hurry along your parting. âIâll remember either way.âÂ
Immobilized by his weight, grunting, whining from the strain, you clip the corner of his mouth trying to bite him, pull his lip taut and bloody when you finally catch hold. Your limbs scrabble at him, back arching your tits into his chest, elbows knocking his wrists, trying to wriggle free. A bruising grip takes hold of the back of your thigh, presses it down into the mattress. Itâs enough, you break free.Â
His hair tangles in your fists, both of them, fingers knotting around long strands and pulling until you feel resistance. His head jerks, jaw slack, he shows you the whites of his eyes, the white of his teeth. The sound you tug from him through the roots of his hair is throttled by the tension coiled in the muscles of his neck, long and guttering, it bleeds through the confines of his ribs and into yours. âYou feel so fucking good.âÂ
Locked together, his limbs around yours and vice versa, the sheen of exertion building between you lets your bodies start to glide against each other. The smell of his sweat is tantalizing, intoxicating, and you turn your face toward his armpit, breathe deep. Low thunder rolls over as he laughs, a single raindrop of him hits your shoulder from the stormcloud of hair above you.
âThis what you want?â Twisting, stretching, he brings his body close and you bury your needy mewling against the hot, damp funk of him and the moistness of it clings to your nose and cheeks even after you pull away. You gnaw at the delicate skin there, worry at the ropes of muscle that cling to his ribs. âLittle freak.â His tone is a steady, unmodulated assessment, and you mumble that it takes one to know one around his flesh. âSure.â His teeth click together and it makes you shiver. âThatâs why this works.â He isnât wrong.Â
A frenzy builds in you as he fucks you harder, faster, a litany of want and need and filth cascading from your mouth. Your ankles hook over his shoulders, his knees bracket your hips. He leans back, stares down the length of your legs, watches, as his cock glides in and out of you. He describes it in detail: the sheen of your cunt juices coating his dick, your thighs and ass; the sound of you, thick wet squelching he says is because of how youâre trying to milk him, but heâs not ready to come yet; the hidden secret he excavates, dipping his thumb between your puffy folds to circle your clit. You writhe for him, absolutely undone.Â
âYouâre close.â You are, but you bite your lips and shake your head in dissent. âDonât lie. I can feel it.â You can too, the way his thumb slips and slides over your pleasure with the wetness that precedes your release. âYou wanna come for me?âÂ
âYou wanna make me?â His eyes darken and this, you recognize. Sam Winchester, consumed by lust, considering your challenge, and preparing to rise to it.Â
He drags your ass up onto his thighs, still petting you as he starts to fold you in half. Delirium takes over, the air evacuates your lungs as he stretches over you, the full length of his torso melting into yours. He fills you, impossibly deep, needs only the new angle and the weight of his hips to drive him deeper.Â
âHi.â You stare up at him, mouth agape, so close to him. His breath fans over your face, hot and even, makes you shudder.Â
âHi.â He waits until you nod, let him know youâre ready. When he starts to move, a thorough analysis of flesh, you see stars.Â
He takes his time, telling you how tight you are, how good it feels, how youâre taking all of him. His pelvis rocks down into yours, grinds your clit against his pubic bone, until you become his pleading supplicant, pressing your face against his wherever you can. Cheek to cheek, nose to chin, mouth to mouth, your tongue sliding over his in a petition that defies words, begging from a place beyond the confines of language.Â
You are breathing in tandem, your hearts beating in one syncopated rhythm, your fucked out, glazed over eyes hold his until they cross from being too close, revert to staring at the mole on his left cheek. Drunkenly, you kiss it. Awkward, haphazard, you miss your target and your nose slips into the corner of his eye. You snort, he grunts, and the absurdity of all of it tips your chin up, sends effervescent mirth spilling from your lips. You twitch and convulse with laughter, and it pulls him deeper, inside you.Â
âGod damn.â He curses into your shoulder, constricting around you as his climax hits. âThatâs tight. Youâre.â You canât hear him, though his lips move against you like heâs still saying something. His breathing quickens, stalls, whistles out of him in high pitched, desperate pants.
Pain blossoms at your shoulder, he bites you, as hard and deep as the rut of his hips into you as he comes, and it drops you, from the height heâs taken you, into the dizzying descent of your orgasm. Your eyes roll back, your hands claw at his back, ass, and legs to hold him closer, sweat drips from the backs of your knees, and your muscles shake, pull tight, go rigid. Every nerve ending in your body reports an incoherent ecstasy, white heat coursing through you, the blurry sight of God, and Sam, everywhere, holding you together as you come apart. Â
The gentle, rhythmic laving of his tongue over your shoulder guides you back to reality. Sam is still everywhere, heavy and molded to you, crushing the air out of you with the weight of him. You turn into him, nudge at his cheek with your nose. âSam, I canât breathe.âÂ
He grunts, pushing up and off you. The dim light from the street paints him in shades of blue-grey and yellow, a sinful nocturne of rippling muscle. He catches you staring as he walks to the bathroom, smirking at you over his shoulder. He disappears into the sound of running water.
You assess yourself, aching and tender with the promise of bruises on your thighs where he held you down. The place where your shoulder meets your neck aches whenever you move it, and itâs tender when you touch it, makes you hiss. You keep trying to look at where he bit you but canât, your anatomy doesnât allow it. âI think you broke skin.âÂ
You donât realize heâs come back until his hand cups the base of your skull, guides you so he can examine the mark, and then confirms it. He sounds proud of himself. âLooks that way.âÂ
The sheets pool around your hips as you sit up, hold your hand out for the glass heâs drinking deeply from. He pauses, mid-sip, and hands it over. You mumble between gulps that you should make him stay and do your laundry, at least, before he leaves.
âWhat makes you think Iâm leaving?â The glass stalls at your lips. Two fingers on the bottom, he tilts it until youâve drained whatâs left, a small rivulet escaping the corner of your mouth. He catches it on his knuckle, wipes your chin and relieves you of the glass, setting it beside the coaster on your bedside, crowding you against the headboard as he climbs back into bed. âIâm not finished yet.âÂ
a/n : thanks are owed to @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth for their tireless support, and to @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery and @velvourne for the lengthy soulless Sam study sessions. i know they happened months ago, but i remember.
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