III. Dean Winchester {SMUT}

Context: Dean returns early from a hunt while Sam gets a head start on the next one, he came back to check up on you and finds you fucking yourself with a pink sparky dildo. What a little pervert. {Slight Smut, pure filth, No p in v, caught masterbation, a brief second of Dean sucking on the dildo. }

2.6k words

Dean came down the bunker stairs carrying a white grocery bag stamped with a random local store logo stuffed with your favorite snacks and drinks. There was also a few pies for himself, the man could never outrun his addiction no matter how many times he said he would. It's one of the many things that makes him Dean Winchester who he is. He started down the steps expecting the usual scene, maybe you'd be tucked in the corner of the library, or your footsteps echoing through the halls the moment you heard the heavy metal door open and close. But, the bunker was eerily quiet and still. The only sound was the thud of his heavy boots against the metal stairway.

Once he reaches the bottom and takes a few steps in the library, he sets the bag on the large wooden table in the center of the room and glanced around. He called your name cautiously and got silence in return. His brows furrowed. It was weird, you'd usually be there by now, peeking over one of the shorter book shelf or leaning against the table curious about the latest hunt. Excited to talk to someone for the first time in a couple of days. Dean then moved toward the hallway, unease slowly growing in his chest. Suddenly, there's a soft echo that kind of sounded like a squeal coming from further in the bunker. The hunter instinct takes over, Dean's hand moved to the gun tucked in his waistband, drawing it carefully as he walked down the hall. The sound grew louder with every step and with it his heart rate spiked. He couldn't imagine what he'd do if someone broke in and you were stuck with a stranger for God knows how long.

He adjusted his footing, widening each step to quiet the weight of his boots against the cold floor. Slowly, he approached your bedroom with every muscle tensed, especially the finger that rested next to the trigger. The sound was definitely coming from your room. With practiced caution, Dean moves in front of the door and used the barrel of his gun to gently nudge the door open careful not to make a sound. As the gap widened, what he saw on the other side made him stop cold.

Your bed sat against the far side of the room, perfectly visible through the narrow crack in the door. And there you were. Sitting upright against the headboard and completely unaware of Dean watching. He stood there frozen, his mind going blank the moment he saw you. You looked breathtaking, your hair clung messily to your flushed face, strands sticking to your skin, and your eyes were squeezed shut, focused on the task at hand. Head tilted back toward the ceiling, exposing every inch of your neck, a bead of sweat running down your throat made Dean's breath hitch. Even if your eyes were open, you wouldn't be able to see him unless you looked for him, which you weren't obviously. You were too busy in your own world to know he was there staring at you, unable to look away.

The soft light of the lamp next to you castes shadows over you, making every one of your movement feel almost like this wasn't real, it was only a dream. Dean's grip on his gun loosened almost immediately, forgetting he was even carrying it. He catches the weapon mid fall then puts the gun back into his waistband as the shock of finding you like this gave way to something hot and heavy in his chest. His pulse thundered in his ears,he should look away, knock on the door to announce himself, should back out and give you privacy but he couldn't move. Dean could only stand there, staring, his breath caught between his lungs and throat at the sight of your legs spread, your pretty pussy being split by a hot pink sparkly dildo. His eyes were glued to the way your lips parted and swallowed the thick toy, your moans penetrating his ears like a siren song.

He couldn't help himself, his eyes traced every detail, every inch of the scene in front of him like he could believe what he was seeing. His gaze started at your pink cheeks, to your lips that were trapped in a silent scream, down your neck to your tits, nipples hardened, the mounds softly bouncing with each thrust. He watched for a beat longer then moves to your soft stomach and finally back to your pussy, he studied the way your juices coated the fake cock, the way he could see the sheen every time you slowly pulled it out of you and before you roughly slammed it into yourself.

Dean was so completely consumed by you that he didn't noticed the moment you peeked your eyes open, he didn't notice the subtle shift in your expression, I mean he was staring at your pussy of course he didn't. Years of hunting sharpened your instincts just as much as his, maybe more for moments like this. You knew what it felt like to be watched, knew when the air changed, knew when someone's presence made your skin prickle before they could make a sound. And Dean's gaze? Oh it was heavy, heated…hungry. Like a predator watching it's prey. Knowing he was there actually turned you on more, the pace you were fucking yourself with was no longer enough. You had always found Dean attractive, always stared at his cock when he walked around the bunker in sweats, you always wondered how well he'd stretched you. You wondered if he would use his thick fingers to wrap around your neck and squeeze while he called you a whore. And you knew from the way Dean was staring at you like a piece of meat, he wondered if you would drool on his cock under the table or if you'd hold him down as you used him for your own selfish pleasure. You knew his naughty slutty desires matched yours.

A wicked little thought came to your mind and you had to fight the smile threatening to give you away. Dean was convinced he was completely hidden, like years of hunting somehow failed you. But whatever, if he was going to just stand there and watch, you'd make it worth his time. You let out a frustrated whine and pull the dildo out with a moan, dropping your head you fake a soft little huff. "It's not enough." You say just loud enough for Dean to hear. You pushed yourself off the bed, moving slowly at first, careful and calculated. The soft creak of the mattress had Dean tensing instantly, his eyes locked on you, tracking every move. He had the most painful erection he's ever had in in his jeans, but he didn't want to give himself away by adjusting even just a little bit.

You decided to do something reckless and bold. You grab the toy, cross the room toward him to the chair at your desk. It was closer to the door, so close that if you didn't know he was there his cover would be blown with just a glance. Your heart banged against your ribcage in excitement as you stick the suction cup on the chair, you smack it to test the connection and giggle as it sways. This makes Dean's chest tighten, he loved seeing your goofy side, even now. You turn the back of the chair towards your bed so you could use the back as leverage, you're faced away from the door, your ass on full display to Dean. You moan a little more slutty than usual as you feel the dildo stretch your pussy walls in this new position. Dean watches as you allow your cunt to get used to the toy as it fills you to the brim, kissing your cervix. Then you allow yourself to move, slow at first for a minute. Showing Dean the way your pussy grips and struggles to swallow the fake dick, showing him the tight ring that has trouble relaxing completely. Your movements then became quicker, less patient and desperate. You wanted to cum so bad for Dean. A shiver runs through your spine as you felt your walls getting tighter, your abs flexed and your legs started shaking. Your mind no longer on the man watching you, it was now on making yourself cum. "Fuck, I'm so close." You mewl as you bring your fingers down to your clit and start rubbing yourself to the pace of your bouncing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Your head fell back as the wave finally crashed through you, you slammed down on the toy screaming as a wave of liquid come gushing out of you, soaking the chair and a little bit of the rug underneath you. "Fuck! Deaaannn!" His name leaves your mouth before you could stop it. He almost cums in his pants when he hears how sultry his name could sound coming from you. He stays frozen, taking in the sight of you slowly getting off the dildo, he watches your freshly fucked face and tries to memorize every detail of the satisfied expression. Getting up from the chair, you grab the pink sword, and sit on the edge of the bed to finally face Dean looking through the crack. The second Dean's eyes met yours, his heart drops into his ass, you're looking straight at him confident and aware. You smile at him standing there, "You just going to watch…" You asked dropping your gaze down to his pants, "…or do you want me to help you?" Dean stood there for a second before opening the door further to enter. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the door behind him and made sure the locked clicked, sharp and final.

There was no more distance, no more doorway, his jacket hit the floor first and then his shirt. It was your turn for you to be speechless as he reveals more and more of his freckled tone body. You watched intensely as his hands moved to his waistband , slow and deliberate, fucking with your patience. The hunger in his green eyes reminded that you were completely naked, your chest puffed out, your swollen pussy on full display and you had to hide the shyness creeping up on you. By the time he crossed the room, he stood in front of you in nothing but his boxers, his large thick cock standing at attention for you. "Careful," He said, voice low and rough sending shivers straight through you. "You keep looking at me like that and I won't be responsible for what happens next."

The second Dean stepped close enough to tower over you, you made your move. Your foot slowly lifted slowly pressing firmly against his stomach, a smug smile curved onto your lips and you looked at him with half lidded eyes. "Actually, Dean…" You said, voice sweeter than he's ever heard, "You were watching me without my permission." Dean had never seen this side of you, strong, bossy, confident, his dick couldn't get any harder. "I think you need to apologize." You said still holding eye contact. Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees, he thought he had an idea on how to apologize. Once seated, he grabbed your knees and carefully split them apart, finally breaking from your graze to look at your pussy up close. And god, was it the prettiest he had ever seen, his mouth started to water and his cock jumped at the sight. He began to lean forward before you put your pointer finger on his forehead, "That's not what I want."

Dean looks at you confused, "Then what do you want?" A bright smile comes across your face as you pull the dildo from next to you and put it in front of you. "I want you to suck it, clean off my cum. You watched as I came undone, you should be the one to clean it." Dean blinks, expression blank. His brows then furrowed as he opens his mouth then closes again. He hums then says, "Well..that's one way to keep a man humble." He takes a deep breath then nods, "Okay, for you I'll try anything once." You squeal in excitement as you place the toy in front of him, "But I have one condition." He says placing his hand between your thighs, slowly rubbing your pubic mound. "I get to play with this."

You look away in thought for a second then nod, he growls as he presses him thumb over your clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive bulb. You jerk forward as he expertly makes you feel pleasure already, the tip of his finger is calloused from fighting and handling weapons, it sends a spark straight into your womb each time he passes over the nub. He stares at the dildo, takes one last breath then wraps his mouth around the pink glittery tip. He groans at the taste of your sweet cunt still on it, his tongue swirling around the head addicted to the taste. You watch in awe as you watch him take more of the toy, slurping on your cum desperately. You're then caught off guard and your back arches as he enters a thick digit, finding that spongy spot at the back of your cunt instinctively. "Ugh Dean." A moan slips past your mouth as you watch through your eye lashes as dean takes half the cock into his throat, spit dribbling down his chin, feel yourself get wetter watching it run down his chest, his thumb and finger still working against you. The familiar coil begins to form in your belly again, it feels bigger than when you were fucking yourself on the same toy that's in Dean's mouth. "Shit, keeping doing that." You practically scream while other hand grabs his wrist, planting it inside your walls, not wanting him to move even the tiniest bit.

He decides to enter another finger inside of you, stretching you more to what feels like your limit, two of his fingers is like three of yours. Dean groans around the dildo as he watches the way your greedy pussy swallows all of his fingers, he focuses on the way your wet walls clench around his thick fingers and on the taste of your cum in his mouth. He knows you're close from the way you mewl his name like a prayer. begging for him to be your salvation. He pulls his fingers out of you, earning a high pitched whine from your chest. He watches how your hip wiggle looking for his fingers and he watches the way your cunt pulses at he sudden emptiness before slamming them back in sending you over the edge. The coil snaps and it feels like a forest fire had started in your cunt and washed over your entire body in an instant and it feels like fireworks popping off inside your veins. Dean removes his lips from the dildo with a pop, takes it from your hand and throws it to a random corner of the room. He gives you a second to use his fingers to fuck yourself through your orgasm while he watches, when you finally still he gently pulls his fingers out of you and begins to get up from kneeling. You're pushed back onto the soft comforter as he crawls onto the bed, your small frame dwarfed by his large one. You stare into each other's eyes before Dean slowly drags his hand from beside your rib, between your breasts then to your throat. "Now I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk." The low rumble of his voice goes straight to your pussy, making the horny bitch wet again. After tonight you'll want to live on his cock forever.

II. Arthur Morgan .{SMUT}.

3.9 k words

Contents: Taking a midnight stroll after a restless night, Arthur passes your tent and hears you yell his name. He rushes in to find you helping yourself to the thought of him. SMUT, p in v, masterbation, etc.

The moon was high in the night sky as Arthur rose from his bed holding his head in his hands, he couldn’t catch any sleep no matter how hard he tried. He signs, deciding that he’s going to take a walk to clear his head, he dresses quietly, and steps out the tent breathing in the cool air. WIth every step he can’t help but think back to the woman camped across the clearing next to the shimmering lake. It had been one of your bathing days. Careful as always, you refused to wash too close to camp and asked the only man you truly trusted to stand guard for you. He agreed, the thought of any other man seeing you so exposed churned his inside something fierce, especially Micah. At first, Arthur had flushed at the mere idea of glimpsing you in your underthings, feeling like you were the most innocent and delicate flower that he'd be ruined by even thinking dirty thoughts. As the weeks passed and the two of you grew closer, his guarded politeness turned into something more. He admired your kindness and generosity, the easy way you shared what little you had, and the quiet glow that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He noticed the way your eyes narrowed against the bright sun, the curve of your genuine smile, and the softness of your voice when you spoke. 

He found himself appreciating your physical beauty as well. When you believed his attention was fixed on the treeline, he would quietly glance your way as you eased into the water, sunlight dancing along the surface around you. There was something captivating in the curve of your figure, in the natural sway of your hips as you moved. To him, they carried a quiet strength, the kind shaped for endurance, for nurturing, for bringing life into the world. He liked the soft mounds on your chest, perfect globes that he would worship all day if you let him. He noticed how your nipples always hardened when you entered the water, he always wondered how your breast would feel in his hands and your nipples pinched between his teeth. He wondered how’d you sound when he entered you and the lewd sounds that’d follow. Would you have a silent gasp or would you be praising him, saying his name over and over, begging him not to stop while your fingernails raked across his back. These were the thoughts that were plaguing him tonight.

The camp lay hushed beneath the night sky as he wandered through it. The fires had burned down to glowing embers hours ago, casting a low, amber light across the clearing. Above, the sky stretched wide and clear, and moonlight shimmered over the distant water, silver ripples catching his eye as he passed. Almost without thinking, his steps carried him toward your tent. He told himself it was harmless, just to make sure all was well. He had fallen into the habit of it, these quiet walks at night that led to you. More often than not, he’d find you inside, seated near the soft glow of a candle. Sometimes you sang to yourself, your voice low and soothing in the stillness. Other nights you bent over your journal, pen moving steadily across the page, your brow furrowed in thought. He never lingered too long. Just enough to glimpse the warm light through the canvas, or to catch the faintest thread of your voice drifting into the dark. And then he would turn back toward his own tent, carrying that small comfort with him into the night.

When he reached your tent and stopped some thirty paces away, he noticed at once that no light flickered within. The canvas of your tent was dark and still. Around him, the only sound was the steady chorus of crickets filling the night air. He paused, hesitating, then began to turn back toward his own tent. That was when he heard it, a faint, broken sound drifting from your direction. It sounded like you were crying. His chest tightened. You’d had nightmares before and he knew how fiercely they could grip you, he had woken up to your screams a couple times. Without another thought, he moved closer. Five steps from the entrance, the sound of heavy, uneven breathing penetrates his ears. He stood just outside the flap listening, when suddenly you cried out his name. The sound jolted straight through him, panic flared in his chest. He seized the canvas flap and threw it open, stepping inside in a rush. But what he found stopped him short. 

You were lying on top of your blankets, wide awake, not tangled in sleep, but staring straight at him. Your eyes were wide, startled, and your hair clung damply to your flushed face, beads of sweat tracing along your temples. The candle was out, the tent dim in the spill of moonlight from the open flap, and for a moment neither of you spoke  the silence thick with confusion and concern.

“Arthur!” you gasp, snatching a shawl from the chair beside your bed and pulling it tightly to your chest. “What are you doing?” He freezes where he stands, the flap still clenched in his hand. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers, turning his head sharply toward the tent wall as though it might offer him some refuge. “I heard you cry out. Thought you were hurt. I didn’t mean to barge in.” His voice is rough with worry and with something else he can’t quite steady. He tries to look away, truly he does, his gaze fixated on the lantern hook, the small table, anywhere but you. Yet despite himself, his eyes flicker back. You’re flushed from whatever had gripped you moments before, breath still uneven, strands of damp hair clinging to your face. The moonlight spilling through the open flap traces the curve of your cheek, the rise and fall of your chest beneath the shawl. There’s something disarming about the sight of you like this, vulnerable, startled, real. He swallows hard and forces his gaze down to the ground. “You called my name,” he says more quietly now. “I thought you were in trouble.” The panic that had sent him rushing inside lingers in his posture, in the tight set of his shoulders. Whatever embarrassment he feels is tangled up with genuine concern and the undeniable pull he can’t seem to shake whenever he’s near you. But, he also feels something else at the same time. 

For a moment, he can hardly focus on what’s going on around him. All he can think about is what he witnessed the moment the flap came open and he saw what you were doing. Your delicate legs were spread open, resting against the canvas of the tent and the other lazily flopped to the side, holding your bodyweight with your left arm as your right arm was placed on top of your right thigh and your hand was resting on your cunt. It wasn’t resting, It was moving, making your naked breasts shake with it. That’s when a slow change comes over Arthur. The tension in his shoulders eases, and when he finally lifts his gaze back to you, there’s something different in his expression. The worry fades, replaced by a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He’s just realized something. You called his name. You called his name while your fingers were deep inside your cunt, trying to reach the spongy spot that sent electricity through your whole body while your palm was rubbing the little exposed button that sat between your folds. 

That realization straightens his posture. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he stands now, hat tipped slightly back, eyes soft but undeniably pleased. Not arrogant exactly but aware. “Well,” he says, voice low and edged with a faint smirk, “seems I was the one you were lookin’ for.” The cockiness isn’t cruel. It’s lighter than that, a man recognizing, perhaps for the first time, that the feelings he’s been wrestling with might not be his alone. Not if you were here laying under the cover of night pleasuring yourself to the thought of him. 

You sit there, speechless, the shawl clutched tightly at your collarbone. Whatever sharp retort you meant to give him dissolves before it ever reaches your tongue. He watches you for a beat longer, that faint, confident smile still lingering. Then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches back and lets the tent flap fall closed. The soft thud of it shutting muffles the outside world, sealing the two of you inside the quiet, dim space. His boots cross the ground quickly, two, three long strides and in seconds he’s kneeling on your mat. Your breath catches in your throat as he lowers himself, one knee to the ground, then the other, moving with slow, deliberate intent. The bed mat shifts softly beneath his weight as he comes closer, closing the small space that had remained between you. You can smell the faint woodsy scent that always clings to him, pine smoke, worn leather, the clean sharpness of night air. It wraps around you as solidly as the shawl in your hands. His eyes never leave yours, steady and intent, searching your face for something unspoken. He stops just in front of you, bracing one hand beside your hip on the mattress, careful not to crowd you yet close enough that you feel the heat of him.

He keeps moving until only a breath separates you, close enough that the warmth of him seeps through the thin air between your bodies. His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then returns to your eyes, searching, asking without words. Slowly, giving you every chance to stop him, he lifts his hand. His fingertip brushes lightly against your shoulder, barely there at first, testing the space between you. Then, with a gentle, steady pressure, he nudges you back against the pillows. It isn’t forceful. It’s a question disguised as a touch. “Lie back,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, though his expression remains careful. Attentive. He hovers there, only centimeters away, waiting for your reaction, watching to see if you’ll push him away or let him stay.

You ease back into the pillows, heart pounding, eyes never leaving his face. The mattress dips as he shifts forward, and then his hands come to rest on either side of your head, braced carefully against the plush surface not trapping you, but surrounding you with his presence. He hovers there, looking down at you.

For a long moment, he simply studies your face, the rise and fall of your breath, the way your lashes tremble, the flush that hasn’t yet faded from your skin. The moonlight spills across his features, carving shadows along his jaw, catching in his eyes. There’s confidence there again. Not careless but sure. His thumb brushes lightly against a stray strand of hair near your temple before his hand settles back beside you. His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then lifts again to meet your eyes. “You want this, darlin’?” he asks, voice low and edged with that familiar smug warmth. But beneath the tone there’s something steady. A pause. He waits for your answer, holding himself still, giving you the space to choose. You slowly nod your head trying to catch your breath. 

After he gains your consent, something in his expression softens completely. He doesn’t rush. Slowly, giving you time to change your mind, he lowers his head. His hand shifts slightly beside you, steadying himself as he closes the final inch of distance. His lips brush yours, gentle at first, almost tentative, like he’s testing whether the moment is real. For a heartbeat, you hesitate. The world seems to narrow to that single point of contact,  the warmth of his mouth, the faint scent of pine and smoke, the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then your eyes fall closed. You lean into him, your hand lifting to curl into the fabric of his shirt, and the kiss deepens. What began soft and careful grows more certain, more searching. He exhales quietly against you, surprised and pleased, and no longer restrained by doubt. His left hand slides from the mattress to your shoulder then across your collarbone sending shivers from your scalp down your spine. As he presses his tongue pushes past your lips, dominating you in the kiss, his fingers brush over the fabric of your shawl silently asking to take hold of it. Your fingers loosen your grip, allowing Arthur to teasingly slide the cloth down brushing against your perk nipple as he does so. A growl reverberates from his chest to throat as he slides his hand to cup the side of your breast, his palm large and warm against your flesh. He takes your bottom lip in between his teeth and gently bites it as he pulls away from you to look down towards the exposed globes. 

His mouth fills with his saliva looking at your breasts, your nipples are so hard yet so soft at the same time. Arthur can’t tell you the amount of times he thought about playing with them, rolling and pinching one while he sucked on the other. No warning and he wraps his mouth around the bulb, your back arching at the wet sensation. He groans, flattens his tongue, pressing the muscle into the soft mound tasting your sweat and inhaling your sweet scent. You throw your head back further into the pillows when he swirls his tongue causing a low buzzing to arise in your lower belly. “Fuck Arthur.” you moan, bringing your hands to your hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands. “Please don’t stop.” He releases your nipple with a whine from you, smirking with the knowing of what he was doing to you. “Oh I wasn’t planning on stopping anytime soon, sweetheart.” Putting your other nipple in his mouth, he releases your breast and starts to slowly trail down your side. His fingers ghost over your ribcage causing you to twitch from the sensitive region, moving down your side with a controlled crawl, you flex uncontrollably when his fingers pass your belly button.

A yelp leaves you when he pinches the soft skin with his teeth, his thick warm finger rubs against your clit at the same moment making you jolt your chest pushing away from your blankets. The buzz in your belly becomes stronger, making you crave more of him, his touch, his smell, his cock. Two thick fingers border the sides of the sensitive nub, the rough callouses reminding you Arthur was a man, a strong man covered in tight muscles that flexed on top of you. A man that had known hardship, long rides, rough fights, cold mornings, and he was here holding you like you were going to break if he breathed wrong at you. You’ve waited for this moment for months, you had him near you as you bathed trying to get his attention, you could have only dreamed of being in this exact position and Arthur ruining you with his cock. Forbidding Arthur to  treat you as fraglike as a piece of china, you grab his wrist guiding him through your folds, teasing yourself, pinching your clit with the strong digits. Allowing yourself to feel the intense zap penetrate deep into your skin, you clench around nothing, the empty feeling frustrating you with each second that passes. You direct his hand lower, reaching your weeping cunt, wet juices coating Arthur’s middle and ring fingers as you slowly enter them inside you. He watches as you use his hand to fuck yourself, eyes lowered to your tight pussy as you clench down on him, swallowing him deep inside you striving to keep him there. 

He can’t take it anymore, it feels like his cock is going to burst from his pants spilling his seed all over you. A snarl leaves him as he removes his hand from your grasp, grabbing your waist, the movement hurried. He holds you down firmly leaving bruises the shape of his fingertips as he tries to compose himself, not wanting to lose control and hurt you. He watches as you snake your fingers from your stomach to your mound to find your clit yourself, erotic wet sounds fills the silence in the air as you massage your clit, taking Arthur’s place as you finger fuck yourself. Your small fingers don’t have the erotic sting of when he splits you open but you’re so desperate for relief you don’t care whose it is. Hearing you mewl his name and hearing his name whispered from your lips snaps the hold on his control, he uses his grip on your hips and his strength to flip you onto your stomach. Your face is pushed into the mat as he pulls your hips up, bringing you up on your knees, now on all fours as you feel his strong thighs flex against the back of yours. He unzips his pants, the sound exciting you and sending another flood through your pretty pussy. He shoves his pants down and pulls out his hard cock, the angry pink tip leaking precum leaving a damp patch on the front of his jeans. Arthur presses against your entrance, brushing himself up and down gathering all your slick, using it to lube himself so he doesn’t hurt you. Not too much anyway. 

You shiver as he slides his length back down against your quivering hole, his head tilting back as he pushes himself forward. Having to put in a little more effort from the way you’re gripping him so tightly. You wail at the way you feel every inch of him, your fingers gripping the blanket beneath you as he pushes through the tight ring of muscle. Reaching the end, Arthur stays seated in you for a second, letting you adjust to his size. Rubbing your hips provides comfort as he waits. When you’ve finally adjusted, you look back at him and nod, giving him permission to have his way with you. You’ve wanted this for months, since the day you met him if you’re honest. A smirk plays on his lips as he pulls his hips back, dragging his cock out leaving just the tip inside, then without warning he slams back into you. You shriek at the sudden movement, biting down on the blanket attempting to silence yourself as the man behind you drills into you.

Your vision goes black as your eyes roll to the back of your head, Arthur’s cock is stretching you to your limit, his tip kissing your cervix. He’s molding every vein, every bump, even the slit into you. Turning you into the perfect pussy just for his pleasure. You feel the buzz inside your womb growing more with each second, sending ecstasy through all of your limbs. Arthur’s holding onto you, grounding and steadying himself on your hips as he pounds into your tight pussy. He feels a spark flicker at the base of his spine as his balls start to rise into him, his thighs shake and his breathing becomes shallow. He’s about to cum, but not until you clamp down on him, and he definitely wasn’t pulling out of you when you did. Why would he deny himself the one thing that was made for him, the one thing that was truly his, why would he deny himself you. Arthur moved his hand from your hip, snaking it around pressing his pointer and middle finger back on your clit, earning a high pitched squeal. Feeling the buzz inside you shrink into a ball, you knew you were about to cum around his cock. You pull your hips forward to rock yourself against him, keeping the brutal pace he set. You couldn’t think straight anymore, your mind so fogged from the way he was fucking you into your bed, your cheek pressed into the bed and your hair sticking to your face. Arthur rolls your clit harder between his fingers sending erotic pleasure throughout your entire body, from your pussy to your fingers as you finally cum. Your mind goes blank as he fucks you through your orgasm, the intense shock making your eyes roll and any strength leave your body.

Watching you cum all over him, Arthur knows he’s next and picks up the pace, slamming into you even harder. He leans down, pulling you up to his chest, your back now flush to his shirt. His right arm stays wrapped around you and his left is placed between your breasts allowing him to wrap his hand around your throat. “Fuck.” Arthur growls in your ear, “I’m going to fill you up.” Moaning you focus on the way your shared heavy breathing fills the tent the same way skin slapping against skin, making you dizzy against him. You’re brought back when Arthur quickly slaps your clit. “M’ gonna fill this perfect cunt up to the rim, get so round and full with my baby. M’ gonna to make sure every man who dares to look knows you're mine.”. His words send a shock to your womb and you nod, “Please Arthur, make me yours. Fill me with your seed.” The damn breaks as he cums, shooting ropes of himself into you just as you asked. He pumps into you, his head thrown back. When his high comes down, Arthur stalls his hips, keeping you both upright as you catch your breath. After a moment, he finally slips out of you kissing the back of your neck. He gently lays you down and slowly pulls the blanket from under you, placing it over your naked body. Abandoning his pants and shirt before slipping under the blanket with you, he brings you into his chest, his arms caging around you in a protective hold. 

The tent falls quiet again, the world outside reduced to the steady hum of crickets and the distant, soothing rhythm of water brushing the shore. The night feels softer now, wrapped around the two of you like a blanket. Your cheek rests against his chest, his heartbeat strong and even beneath your ear. The warmth of him seeps into you, steadying your breath. “I love you,” you whisper into his chest, the words small but certain. You mean every syllable. He flinches at first,  just slightly, the confession catching him off guard. You feel the shift in his breathing before he pulls back enough to look down at you. His expression unguarded now, something vulnerable breaking through the usual confidence. “I love you too,” he says, voice rougher than before. A faint tremor slips through it. “I always have.” You lift your head, smiling up at him, and place a gentle kiss on his lips. Softer this time, unhurried and full of quiet certainty. When you pull back, your eyes drift closed as you settle against him again.

“You have worn me out,” you murmur, a sleepy smile tugging at your mouth. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, the sound warm and content. He tightens his arms around you, drawing you closer until there’s no space left between you. His chin rests lightly atop your head as his breathing begins to slow. Outside, the night carries on undisturbed. Inside the tent, wrapped in his arms, you both let the quiet take you and drift together into sleep.

III. Dean Winchester .{SMUT}.

Content: Dean and Sam are actually FBI agents when he needs to do a solo interview with the victim's ex-wife, he was expecting it to me a normal day until he sees the ex-wife in question and now he can't help himself. He might just need her for himself, he has been talking about settling down lately.

SMUT, p in v, oral (FEM), cumming inside with no birth control (don't do in irl unless ready)

4.5K Words

"So, get this," Sam says, turning his laptop around with a look Dean knows all too well, the one that usually means he's found something interesting. Dean glances up from his beer already half expecting a lecture. "The ex-wife of the guy who got ganked last night still lives in town," Sam says scrolling through the article on his screen. "and apparently, he supposed to pick up their kids the night but never showed." Dean lets out a quiet hum, leaning back in his chair and Sam continues. "So, she got worried, went over to his apartment and she says she saw something leave through the window." Dean raises an eyebrow somewhere curious and skeptical. "You think she actually saw something?" Sam shrugs, closing the laptop slightly. "No clue, but it wouldn't hurt to ask." Dean shrugs in agreement and sighs. "Alright, I'm going to grab coffee, then we can go check it out." Sam stands from his desk too shutting his laptop the rest of the way. "Actually, I was thinking I'd hit the morgue first. Check out the body. Figured we could cover more ground." Dean pauses for a second, then nods again. "You know what Sammy. That's not a bad idea." He pushes himself up from the chair, and stretches. "Besides, I didn't really wanna stare at the poor bastard longer than I have to." With that, Dean heads out of the office toward the impala, his personal car that his employer surprisingly lets him use.

Dean slid behind behind the wheel of his baby and headed toward the victim's ex-wife's address. The drive was short, maybe about ten minutes. It was just enough time for the familiar crackle of classic rock from his cassette tapes to fill the car and keep his mind from wandering too far. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled into a quiet neighborhood lined with neat yards and trimmed hedges. Normal. He made his way up to the front walk and knocked twice on the brown front door. He expected someone older, maybe late forties, early fifties at most. Someone worn down by life, divorce, and grief. Instead, the door swung open and Dean forgot how to speak for a second as he saw you and knocked the breath out of him. Your hair was thrown up in a messy style that looked accidental in the best way possible, like you'd rushed to answer the door, a half black tank top that bunched at your mid section and clung to you so much that he could see your hardened nipples budding against the fabric, like you'd forgot a bra, and in a pair of shorts so short Dean had to physically remind himself he was there on a case. And for that second, all he could do was stare before your slightly flustered expression registered, and Dean forcibly pulled himself together before his jaw actually hit the porch. "Hi, can I help you?" you ask a little breathless, like maybe he wasn't the only one caught off guard. Dean blinked, mentally cursing himself before slipping smoothly into character. He reached into his coat pocket, flashed his badge and offered you his best professional expression. "Yeah, I'm Agent Dean Winchester with the FBI." he says, his voice steady despite the brief malfunction his brain just experienced. "I'm here about the incident involving your ex-husband." Your expression immediately shifted, your gaze dropping as you exhaled. "I already told the cops everything I saw." Dean's tone shifted just slightly as he tucked the badge away. "Yes ma'am, I understand. But this case may be bigger than we originally thought, and we'd like to speak to witnesses ourselves." Then, with just enough charm to be dangerous, he offers a small smile. "Do you mind if I come in for a bit?" For a moment, you hesitate, not because of the badge but because of the green eyes that were paired with the faint freckles dusting beneath them.

You step aside giving him enough room to enter and he moves past you with an easy professionalism, though his agent instincts are already scanning every inch of the house. At first glance? Normal. No eerie feeling crawling up his spine, just a lived in home filled with the kind of chaos that came with raising kids. The door clicks shut behind him and he turns slightly as you move past leading him further inside. "Sorry about the mess," you say over your shoulder your tone a little embarrassed. "My kids don't listen in the morning and you caught me right in the middle of cleaning up." Dean gives a small shrug and lifts his hand dismissively. "It's alright," he says easily. "I'm not here to judge, just here to ask a few questions." You smile politely before reaching down to grab a wicker basket sitting near the hallway. And Dean, unfortunately still a man before he's a FBI agent, flickered his gaze downward. He could see the way your shorts rode up higher causing your ass to stick out and unintentionally formed an outline of your pussy due to the tight fabric, and he subtly shifts in his pants. His slacks are starting to feel uncomfortable from the way his hardening length is pressing against the zipper. He coughs lightly into his hands, clearing his throat and forces himself to focus on literally anything else when you rise with the basket and walk to your right into the living room. He follows, inhaling the cloud of your perfume deeply and sees the unmistakable evidence of small children scattered across nearly every available surface. Toys, crayons, blankets, normal children things. "So," you ask moving around the room gathering toys and random kid clutter from the tables and TV stands, "what do you guys want to know?" Dean slips into work mode a little easier this time. "Well," he says watching you carefully, "start from the beginning. What happened? What did you see…or feel?" Your movements slow and for the first time the lightness in your expression fades. "Oh..um." You set a toy down and glance away for a second, clearly replaying the night in your mind. "He was supposed to pick up our nine and seven year old at four." Dean nods once, silent. "When he didn't show by six and wasn't answering any of my calls, I got worried so, I had the neighbor come over to watch the kids and I drove over to his apartment. He gave me a key for emergencies so..I let myself in." Your voice catches just a little. "And I opened the door and he was there on his knees, grabbing at his throat with blood spurting everywhere." Dean's jaw tightens. "And there was a woman." That gets his full attention. "A blonde woman," you say, your voice steadier now, you're almost frustratingly calm considering what you're describing. "She looked at me…and then jumped out the window." Dean says nothing. You let out a short humorless breath and shrug like you already know how insane this sounds. "She had fangs, like a mouthful of them." Silence. "I know," you add quickly. "I know how that sounds, the sheriff sure as hell didn't believer me either." Dean studies you carefully, expecting fear, trauma, but got annoyed instead. Like this was an inconvenience more than a breakdown.

"You don't seem too upset about it." Dean says casually, but there's a sharpness beneath the question, the kind that tells you he's paying closer attention than he lets on. You barely pause with a soft huff scooping up a blanket from the armchair, toss it into the basket next to the couch, and finally turn to face him fully. "I mean.." you say with a shrug like the answer should be obvious. "He wasn't exactly the nicest guy to me, he cheated when our youngest was born and took off." Dean's eyebrow lifts, "And now," you add, your tone dry but honest, "I don't have to worry about that bastard trying to take my kids from me." That catches him off guard enough to earn a low chuckle. "Sounds like a motive to me." You scoff immediately already turning away from him to grab more toys off the rug. "Yeah, the sheriff said that too," you mutter. "But I've got a solid alibi, so unless I've suddenly learned how to be in two places at once." Dean crosses his arms amused. "The hospital cameras had me at work the entire time," you continue, your voice carrying easily as you tidy. "kinda hard to murder your ex-husband while clocked in and doing your job." Dean nods his head. "Fair point." He watches as you drop to your knees to bend down to reach something under the coffee table, your chest pressing into the rug, he can see the way your soft tits squish themselves against the floor and his eyes trail over your curves to your ass, then down to your…and he sees it. Your pretty pussy sticking out of your shorts, there's no way you can't feel a slight breeze. You go on about work and how you had to leave work early because you got a call from your babysitter but Dean's barely listening. He wants to look away, he wants to give you a heads up but he can't move his eyes or bring himself to say anything. And honestly, he didn't want to. You had the prettiest pussy he had ever seen, he watches it so intensely as you bent further into the table, he looked at the swollen folds taking in the color and the shape of it when he notices how wet you actually are. There's a dark spot on the crotch of your purple shorts and before he could stare any longer, you move to stand again. He sharply snaps his head to the side trying to find something other than you to look out, desperately trying to focus on why he was here in the first place. He adjusts his jacket hoping to preserve at least some of his dignity when something in the corner of his vision catches his attention and there, sitting next to your face down phone like it belongs there is a sparkly pink dildo. He freezes, then his expression changes, it's somewhere between surprised, entertained, and very determined not to laugh because suddenly this case got a whole lot harder to focus on.

The size of it is impressive and it kind of surprises him. Dean then stares at it while the dots begin to connect in his brain. He thought about your braless chest, your messy hair, the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead when you opened the door, how puffy your folds are and how you were dripping onto your shorts, he had shown up while you were bouncing on the fake cock, the thought invades his mind and he wonders what that sight must have been like. Were your plump tits rocking up and down, were you on your hands and knees or were your legs spread open while you teased just the tip into yourself. Quietly, he steps forward as you ramble on about something, he doesn't hear what it is and picks the toy up by the suction cup base. You didn't notice at all until you turned around and your jaw drops seeing the attractive agent standing there with your fucking dildo in his hands. You freeze, unable to come up with anything and unable to yell or do something from pure embarrassment. Dean smirks mischievously at you, "You know sweetheart, these usually stay hidden under the bed." This brings you out of your trance and you stomp over to the man, you try to swipe it away from you but he raises his arm holding the silicone out of your reach. You begin to jump, doing anything to get your most prized possession back and you fail miserably. The only thing you're doing successfully is giving Dean a show, he watches as you jump making your tits jump with you and you're almost flashing him with the movement.

You huff in frustration, stretching for the toy just out of reach before finally giving in and shooting him a glare. "You weren't cleaning were you?" Dean asks, his voice is low, rough, the familiar rumble deep from his chest causes your pussy to ache. You stares into each others eyes, the tension between you two so thick you could cut it with a knife. "You were playing with that needy cunt weren't you?" You bring your hand down, shocked at the vulgar language coming out of him and nod slowly, you don't know what's going to happen but you kind of wanted to find out. "Did you at least get to cum?" He asks in an almost whisper, his pants are shrinking around his hard cock when you shake your head no. The innocent look on your face definitely not helping at all what so ever. You take the silent moment between you to really look at him, he's tall and the most attractive man you had ever seen. He then brings his arm down and uses his free hand to place it on your hip, his palm warm and large sitting on your exposed soft flesh. "No?" he says with a hum, his face is so close to you, you could smell the mint and a hint of coffee on his breath. "Would you like help?" You swallow hard at the question, you don't know if you're nervous or excited or both as you nod your head once again. He lets out a satisfied groan, he brings the toy back up from his side and places it on your chin, lightly tapping the pink sparkling tip on you. "Suck it." he says looking straight into you, "Get it ready for yourself." You keep eye contact as you slowly part your lips and allow yourself to begin sucking on the tip bobbing your head up and down, and your tongue swirling around the head. You can taste the sweetness of your own pussy, you never really liked the flavor of yourself but the way he slightly pushes the dildo down you throat and the way he's looking at you makes you love it. You'd do anything to please him right now. Dean's pupils double in size, the black making the green of his eyes slowly disappear. He watches as you swallow it in your throat causing a small bump to form, your eyes watering from ignoring your gag reflex trying to prove yourself to him, and he hums in enjoyment as he sees you increase your pace, drool starting to drip down your neck. "How do you taste?" He asks slowly pulling the dildo out of your throat, watching the bulge slowly disappearing as a line of spit forms and connects your mouth to the tip.

You take in a slow breath, your pulse racing as you drag your tongue lightly across your lips. "You want to find out?" Dean's eyebrows lift, surprise flickering across his before it melts into that crooked smile of his. "Oh, do I." He murmurs clearly entertained and before he can say anything else, you grab onto the tie at his collar and tug. Just hard enough to make his breath hitch as the sudden shift of control. Dean lets himself be pulled, his polished shoes scraping lightly against the floor as you guide him toward the couch. There's something so thrilling about the way such a big confident man follows your lead, not because he has to but because he wants to. You sit on the edge of the cushion never breaking eye contact and give his tie another deliberate pull. Dean exhales sharply as he's brought down in front of you, his knees hitting the floor. And for a second, neither of you move. The sight in front of you send a rush through your pussy, you can feel the slick already leaking out of you. His broad shoulders, his loosened tie in your grip and those green eyes looking up at you with heat, challenge, and just enough patience to make your skin burn. "Take them off." you say, your voice quieter now but still commanding. Dean's grin turns slow, almost wicked and you can see the shine in his eyes. "Yes ma'am." His hands rise, not rushing but teasingly. His fingers brush against your calves leaving goosebumps wherever he touches, past your knees, and on top of your thighs. His fingers hook gently at the hem of your shorts, his gaze never leaves yours like he's making sure you understand exactly what this moment is doing to him too.

His hands move slowly as if he's no hurry to get there, drawing out it and watching you squirm is half the fun. With a painfully slow pace Dean teases the fabric down your legs, inch by inch, his fingers skimming your skin just enough to leave a trail of heat in their wake. The motion is unhurried and the way his eyes stay fixed on yours makes your breath catch harder than the touch itself. When the shorts finally slip free, he doesn't bother placing them anywhere sensible and just tosses them somewhere across the room without a second thought. His hands slide back up slowly tracing along your calves, past your knees and skimming across your thighs. He wasn't demanding, just exploring your soft delicate skin. And he watches you like he's memorizing every reaction, he tracks every sharp gasp, every flicker of anticipation, and every shiver that runs up your spine. Dean’s mouth curves slightly, that same infuriatingly sexy grin tugging at his lips.“Well,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low, “guess I better find out now.” His palms settle lightly, grounding themselves on your knees as the tension between the two of you shifts, less playful and more charged.Because suddenly, this isn’t just teasing. It’s a challenge.

Dean spreads your knees slowly, keeping the eye contact and slowly leaning himself into your pussy. You gasp when you feel his plump soft lift licking against your slit and with each soft touch, his lips are left shiny with your juices. He smiles and takes a second to breath against you, then flattens his tongue against your folds, the tip of the wet muscle flicking against your clit. Sparks shoot through your spine and you throw your head back on your shoulders, the tension between you finally spills over into lust and passion. Dean shuts his eyes and growls as he starts sloppily sucking on you. Pink full lips have your pussy in his mouth, his tongue splitting between flicking your clit and thrusting itself into your clenching hole with his nose fully pressed into your pubic mound. He's mesmerized by the aroma of your sweat mixed with arousal, by the tang of your taste blooming across his taste buds and by the pathetic little sounds coming out of your slutty mouth. The warmth of your cunt is spreading across your womb and igniting a small flame through out your veins, it feels like he's carving himself into every fiber, every nerve, every blood cell to carry him within you. Dean begins to pick up his pace when he feels your hips shake, then an idea pops into his head, he grabs the forgotten cock to the side of him and brings it up to your sopping hole. He presses the tip into you slowly while only focusing on your clit and the way the small bead fits perfectly between his teeth. Your chest jerks into the air while a loud mewl leaves your lip, you grind your hip up and down on the toy while Dean abuses your clit. You can't fight it anymore and scream into your hands when the coil in your womb snaps and the dam breaks, it feels like a firework set off inside of you. Spreading pleasure from your chest into your fingertips. Dean stays on your clit as you grab onto his hair, pulling him further into you riding his face as you come down from your orgasm.

As you gently push him away from you, he begins to unbuckle his pants to free his painfully hard cock. You look down in a daze and your eyes widen looking at the size of him, he smiles at you as you watch him grab the base and slowly stroke himself. "Is that going to fit?" You ask, only a little fearful. He shrugs and grabs your ankles, slowly pulling you towards him and off the couch. "I guess we'll have to find out." You gulp then nod, you slide off the couch and turn away from him with your ass in the air. Your elbows are now resting against the couch cushion and Dean is kneeling behind you, you spread your legs and gasp as he puts his hands back to your cunt. His palm is warm against you as he uses his pointer and middle finger to squeeze more of your cum to slick up his cock, once his palm is soaking with a little puddle of you he begins stroking his cock. Focusing on his tip as he takes in the view of you presented just for him, at the view of your arousal leaking down your thighs. "You ready sweetheart?" Your heart leaps excited and nervous as you say yes. He shuffles just behind you, placing his palm between your shoulder blades and pushes you gently down onto the couch. You feel his tip tease your slit sending shivers up your spine, it had been so long since you had real dick and you couldn't believe it was going to be from a FBI agent that came to interview about your ex and was so sexy it should have been illegal.

Your mouth opens back into an 'O' shape as you feel Dean split you in two, your tight pussy struggles to stretch around him, your fingers grab onto the sofa with your fingernails clawing into the fabric, you have never felt so full before. He groans deep into your shoulder when the head meets your cervix and he's fully seated into you, feeling the way you choke his length. "You're so tight baby." You would've clenched at the way he said it but you couldn't, his cock was taking so much of your pussy you couldn't move around him. He stays there for a second to let you adjust to his size and about a minute later you tap his thigh to signal you're ok, he pulls out until only he tip is left then pushes himself back into you, not harsh but gentle. His thick strong arms pull you back into his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist as he rocks into your body. Your mind is blank as you still trying to feel as much of him as you can, feeling his soft pubic hair brushing against your ass, the way he's groaning into your ear and calling you his "pretty girl", and the way he's done a 180. Earlier it felt like you two would claw at each other's skin just to get a taste but now it feels like he's spilling himself into someone more important than a one night, or is it day, stand. "Dean," you moan his name making him twitch, "I'm going to cum again." His hips meets yours over and over, you can feel the tip of his cock caressing against your g spot making it harder for you to stay upright and making it hard to stop the uncontrollable shaking in your legs. Dean can feel his balls tighten into his body, a vibration in his cock as he says your name like a prayer, over and over, feeling that familiar knot in his lower stomach. All he can focus on is pumping in and out of you, he doesn't stop as you cum hard on his cock and he doesn't care that you're sensitive and overstimulated. Right now, he only cares that he's going to cum and release his load inside you, he desperately wants to coat your walls in him, desperately wants to mark you as his. "Fuck princess, I'm going to cum." He whispers as his hips being to snap forward a little harder, "Can I cum inside you? Fill your sweet little cunt up?" You moan at the request and nod your head, you're so drunk on his cock that you didn't think about the fact he wasn't wearing a condom and it had been so long since you had sex you weren't on birth control like you should've been. "You want me to fill your slutty little pussy up? Want me to fuck you and leave you with my baby?" You arch toward the couch, your head leaning on his shoulder. "Fuck me Dean, pleasssseee~" Hearing you say yes made the rope inside him snap and he growled as he felt his cum spurting out of his cock into you, he rocks his hips a couple more times inside of you to chase the last of his orgasm out and keeps his cock inside not wanting any to spill.

You both stay quiet for a moment, catching your breath in the aftermath. Once the room settles, Dean slowly pulls away and gives your thigh a gentle pat. You turn to face him finding his green eyes fixated on yours. "Do you do that with every girl you interview?" You tease softly. A low chuckle leaves him as he shakes his head. "No, just the ones I actually wanna know better." You raise an eyebrow, a smile tugging at your lips. "So I'm special?" Without hesitation Dean says, "Yeah, you are." He takes your hand and brushes his rough thumb across your soft knuckles, proof of your gentle life that he wanted part of. The silence that follows isn't awkward at all, it's just warm and comfortable. Like you'd known each other longer than the last hour, like you could have a stronger connection. After a second, Dean tilts his head slightly. "You wanna grab dinner? I know this great diner that's actually so cute." Your smile widens, "Yeah, I'd like that." His eyes flick toward the abandoned dildo nearby before he smirks back at you. "And maybe we can redo this later…a little more adventurously, I could stuff you from both sides." He says picking up the silicone. You laugh and roll your eyes as your shove his shoulder lightly. "You're crazy…." there's a slight pause, "but, maybe." Dean grins and the sound of his laughter fills the room and you stand and stretch. "C'mon," you say glancing towards the stairs. "Wanna shower? I'd feel wrong sending you back to work with my cum all over you." He nod immediately and follows close behind as you lead him up the stairs.

III. Dean Winchester

Context: Dean always had a problem with nightmares while you were together, especially when they were about you. During one of the random nights you find him in the kitchen so you decide to help him out...with your hands down his pants while he's leaning over the counter top.

Smut, Handjob, no penetration.

2.6k Words

All Dean could see when he opened his eyes was the orange burst of flames spreading across his bedroom ceiling, the roar of the flames so deafening that he couldn't hear himself yell. Seeing the only woman he truly loved staring back at him he scrambled back against the headboard, for a few seconds he could only watch in horror as you were being held captive by the heat. Tears began to spill from his eyes as he saw your pale face contorted in a dark endless agony, he rushes to his feet while still on the bed attempting to reach you as he yells your name. Asking you to answer him, to reach for him, do something other than stare at him. The bedroom door crashes open as Sam appears, seeing your figure brings back painful memories of Jessica. The horror, the pain, the shock, the smell. He shakes himself out of the vision and sees Dean standing on the bed, he rushes over and grabs him to pull him away from the flame. Dean didn't want to leave , he began to scream so loud he could lose his voice but he couldn't care less about it, he only cared about you. He had to get away from his brother and get to you down. He couldn't let you stay up there, he couldn't lose you, he couldn't bare the burden of being another Winchester losing the love of their life to the very thing that started their journey, he couldn't take the failure of not being able to keep the promise of protecting you. The door slammed in his face as Sam successfully dragged him out the room, the heavy wood slammed into his nose before he jolted upward sweat drenched heart racing.

He looks to his right and see your peaceful sleeping figure, safe, he takes a sigh of relief then looks to his left at the alarm clock. A bright neon red reads 03:00 AM stares back at him, lighting up the dark room and burning his pupils slightly. He leans forward holding his head and threading his fingers into his hair as he tries to calm his breathing and heart rate. You were here right next to him, he lifts his head to look at the ceiling and seeing the cold concrete sends a shiver through his body. The thought of you up there and not right next to him still too fresh and too vivid on his mind.

Turning back to your sleeping body he puts his hand on your side, feeling your steady even breaths, feeling your warmth and your soft skin, glad that he was only dreaming. 'That's all it was,' he tells himself, 'only a dream.' He was relieved he didn't have to live the curse of his bloodline, at least not right now. He knows he won't be able to go back to sleep now, he wouldn't want to anyway. Why would he risk going to sleep to see the same scene. He slips out of bed gently, turns to cover your upper half with the blanket and turns to exit the bedroom. He leaves the door slightly cracked just in case you needed him.

Making his way down the hall into the kitchen, he takes in the quiet, half listening for you and half listening for a threat. He flips the switch as he enters the room and hisses as he momentarily blinds himself. Once his pupils are adjusted to the bright lights, he makes his way over to the fridge and grabs a water bottle from the second shelf. Bringing the bottle to his lips the dream begins to slowly tuck itself in the back of his mind with each cold sip. The fear of losing you rattles in his bones and settles in his core. Dean didn't know what he would do if he had to live without you, hell, he didn't think he could. Maybe he would just take himself out that night just to see you again.

~

While he was trying to compose himself in the kitchen, you stirred in your sleep, turning to your other side to grab onto Dean. Except, you only found bed sheet and blanket so you move your arm franticly, opening your eyes when you feel nothing. You sit up and look around the room, the crack from the door allowing some light in, he was nowhere to be found. Looking over at the clock you see 03:23 AM and can't help but wonder if he had another dream or if he was having some insomnia, both were common for this time of morning. Rubbing your eyes, you let the blanket slide off you as you get out of bed and stand up. You feel the cold chill of the air hitting your nipples and remember you're not wearing any clothes so you grab one of Dean's shirts off the corner of the bed, slipping the soft material over your frame. The lights blind you as you open the door to the hallway, so you stand in the doorway for a minute to let your eyes adjust before you went on your wild Winchester hunt.

Once adjusted, you take a step forward and a hiss escapes you as the cold tiles penetrates your soft naked soles. "We should really invest in heated floors, or rugs…or something." You tiredly mumble under your breath and head towards the direction of Dean calls the "man cave". Once you reach the door and peek inside you notice he's not in any of the chairs so, you make your way to the bathrooms, which you find out quickly are also empty. Your next thought is to check the kitchen, then the library and war room, then finally the garage to see it maybe he was working on baby. As your walking down the hall you look into the kitchen and stop in your tracks as you see Dean with his back to the door. Smiling softly you notice the way his t-shirt hugs his frame, the way his corded muscles flex as he take a sip of his drink while he's swiping on his phone with his other hand. You can see a peek of the hand print scar on his arm from Cas brought him back to you all those years ago and move your eyes to his shoulders blades, looking at the defined muscles from years of hunting and the sexy dip of his spine that sends tingles into your cunt, waking her up. The thought of covering him in bruises and your scratches fully brings you out of your tired stupor. You just might have a special way of comforting and getting him back into the bed.

You quietly pad into the room and sneak behind him, snaking your hands lightly around his waist then up to his chest while allowing your cheek to rest against the hard wall of a man in front of you. "Hey baby." he says quietly, the rumble of his voice vibrating in your skin. "I could never sneak up on you, could I Winchester?" You ask as your hands glide over his chest down to his soft abdomen, he chuckles slightly shaking his head no. "Had another dream?" You ask into his back, taking in his earthy scent like you're trying to memorize each note while you leave small circle with your thumbs. "Yeah." he replies softly, "just couldn't go back to sleep afterwards. I didn't wake you did I?" You love how thoughtful and gentle he is with you, the most dangerous man turned to putty whenever it was just the two of you. "You didn't wake me up getting out of bed but, I did notice that you weren't in bed so I had to come check on you." Answering honestly feeling a little sad knowing that you couldn't stop the dreams from visiting him, but you did do everything in your power to be there for him and comfort him.

"I'm sorry." His voice low and guilty. Shaking your head, you move your hands from his chest, to the mid-section then down to his hips. "You don't have to apologize. I missed you anyway." Your fingers slide into his plaid pj pants as you groan feeling that he wasn't wearing any underwear. Making your way lower you find his happy trail and you follow the soft trimmed hair all the way down until you make contact with the soft skin of his cock, feeling how hard he already was. You hum into his back as you wrap your hand around the base of the shaft, feeling him jump in your palm. "You're already so hard baby." He groans as you teasingly begin to move your hand up to the tip, your feel precum leaking from him and swipe your finger over the slit spreading it over the sensitive head.

You enjoy the way he sighs and leans into your skilled hands as you begin to pump his large cock, starting from the tip down the base and back up. You could never get enough of it, of him. Dean feels his breath get caught in his chest, the feeling of your soft body against his back and sweet scent makes his head buzz slightly. He's so intoxicated on you. He loves when you take over for him, you're usually face down in the mattress, mascara running down your face staining the sheets or on your knees choking yourself on his cock. He loves taunting you into worshiping his cock while he abuses your pretty pussy so much that you can't sit right the next day. He, like every other man, needs the occasional nights of being your bitch though. Every tough blood thirsty hunter needs to be under the mercy of a bratty cock addicted woman every once in a while, needs to be tied to the bed while you shove your dripping wet pussy onto his face until your thighs are shaking around your head, needs to be used to so much he can't physically cum for the rest of the night.

While he's lost in his mind and the pleasure you're giving him, you remove your right hand from his cock earning a whine from Dean. He then watches from the corner of his eye as you bring the palm to your mouth and lick it generously. You drool all over your fingers and stare into his green eyes as your tongue splits between your fingers. His green eyes watches you intently, wishes you'd use that tongue on him. Once it's as wet as you want it to be, you bring your hand back into his pants and grab the tip before stroking his member a little faster, squeezing the base each time you reach the bottom. Dean tilts his head back and closes his eyes while soft low moans escaping him without his permission. Sneaking your left hand down from his hip to cup his heavy balls, goosebumps rising on his skin as you begin to massage the spheres. His hand to moves from the counter to your forearm. "You like that baby?" You ask, your voice slightly husky. "Yes." he responds with closed eyes, attempting to feel more pleasure by taking his sight away from your hands on his cock. You slowly pump him a few more times before your remove your left hand to tug at the hem of his shirt, signaling him to take it off and he complies.

You stare at his back for a second before your lips make contact with his freckled skin and your hand returns back into his pants, you grab the base of his length and balls. making your hand a makeshift cock ring, you then apply enough pressure to cut off his incoming orgasm for a little longer. Cutting off the blood flow somehow makes his length harder and your mouth waters just at the feeling of how heavy and warm he is in your hands. You want to drop to your knees and choke yourself so bad, but you know he needs this more than you do so you focus on stroking him faster. Dean feels your hand tighten around him as your lips meet his back again, he sucks in a breath when you begin to nibble and bite. You leave teeth marks and bruises, evidence that THE Dean Winchester belongs to you. He begins to whine your name quietly, his usually rough and gravely voice is a pitch higher as he's borderline begging. "Sweetheart please." The crack in his voice makes you chuckle as you then plant a kiss between his shoulder blades.

"Please what?" The hand around the base tightens, cutting off a little more blood flow, "You have to ask for what you want, I can't read your mind." Oh but you wish you could, you wish you could know how much stroking his cock with your spit while you mark his back really makes him feel. Dean's knuckles turns white as he grips harder onto the table, fully under your control, entranced in the way you squeeze him and swipe your fingers over the swollen tip, in the way you're spreading his precum mixed with your spit all over his length.

You don't hear a please after a couple minutes and you really don't want to ask again so you loosen your left hand on the base of his cock and shift your hand up and down faster. Dean's hips begin to jerk into your hands as he whines your name and his hair begins to stick to his forehead from him starting to sweat a little. "I'm so close." He's trying his hardest to hold back his moans so he doesn't wake up Sam. You go faster trying to get him as close to the edge as fast as you can. "I'm going to cum." As soon as he says this, you move your hands away from his cock and ruining his orgasm. "Fuck!" Dean yells and throws himself forward against the counter, his eyes clamped shut, his mouth slack in a silent scream, with his arms and his legs shaking as he cums into his pants. You watch with a smug grin hearing him whimper as he rides out the pleasure. After a minute, he turns around and looks down at you with his head tilted down, his eyes look black instead of green from how big his pupils are. "Why did you do that?" He asks with a growl and you shrug.

"You didn't ask like I asked you to, so you didn't get to cum with my touch." Taking a step forward you're now flush against him, his eyes staring into yours as you place your hands on his chest and lean up to give him a long kiss. When you pull apart, you look at him from beneath your lashes, "But, if you ask nicely…I might let you try with some other part of me." Dean's eyebrows raise for a second, then rubs his hands down your back to grab your ass. He taps you, signaling for you to jump so you do, your legs wrap around his waist and your arms are hooked around his neck on his strong shoulders. Your tongues explore each others while he makes his way out of the kitchen, then he abruptly stops in the doorway, and turns back into the kitchen to grab the shirt he took off. You both laugh as he carries you to your shared room. Dean's nightmare now long, long, long gone, your wet heat against his stomach is the only thing he's thinking about.

III. Sam Winchester .{SMUT}.

Content: Your way of long procrastination sends you to ask one of your classmates for help. You can't help but notice how shockingly hot he became as he sat in front you so you get the idea to mess with him. Which leads to a a heavier conversation in the bathroom.

{Smut, p in v, teasing with foot (fem), bathroom mirror sex, etc.)

5.4K Words

You officially run out of time and it was entirely your fault. For months, Professor Holden's class had been nothing but background noise, a painfully long boring blur of lectures that somehow entered one ear and disappeared straight out the other. It didn't matter how many times you told yourself you'd start paying attention to the "next class", because when the next class came nothing changed. And before you knew it, your exam was here. THE major exam, the one that was worth enough of your grade to destroy your semester if you failed it. It was all that was ever talked about. So naturally, you panicked when you saw your doom written on the board 'EXAM NEXT FRIDAY'. "Fuck my life right now." you mutter under your breath as your heart sank to what felt like your ass. Rolling your eyes you see the one person actually built for surviving this class at your side. Sam Winchester, the guy you'd somehow been sitting beside for the entire semester without ever planning to. He's tall, quiet, and freakishly smart. His hand was always in the air, answers always correct and whose grades were probably illegal. So basically, your best and ONLY option if you didn't want to retake the class again next year.

When the lecture ended and students started shuffling out the room, you turned to him with nerves buzzing in your chest. "Hey, you're Sam right?" He glances up from packing his notebooks and smiles wearily, "Uh yeah, I am." You give him your name and watch as his smile widened with an amused chuckle. "Yeah." He says, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "I got that from all the times the professor called you out for being late." You immediately drop your head in defeat. "Oh my god." Heat rushed to your face while Sam laughed warmly, the kind of laugh that made your embarrassment worse. "I just hate his class," You mumbled dramatically, lifting your head again with a miserable sigh. Sam's hazel eyes softened as you look into his, he's clearly entertained by this conversation. "Yeah, I noticed. It's not like we've been sitting next to year other all semester." You narrowed your eyes at him, though your desperation outweighed your pride. "So," you shift awkwardly, "I was uh, wondering if maybe you'd study with me? Just for today? Because if I fail this test, my grade will absolutely TANK."

Sam paused for a second, not dismissive but thoughtful like he was actually considering how to help instead of looking for an excuse. Which was honestly kind of sweet. He looks back at you and nods. "Yeah," he said rubbing the back of his neck in that adorably shy way that should've been illegal for someone that tall. "I uh, actually have tonight off if you wanna grab dinner first? Then we could head to the library after." Your entire face lights up, "Seriously?!" you say jumping up, "Oh my god, you're a lifesaver!" Watching you blurt out and beam up at him, his chuckle comes easier this time and for a second you swore, he looked just a little pleased by how excited you are. "It's really not a big deal." He states as you quickly start gathering your things into your bag. "No, no. It is, and I'm buying your dinner. And Snacks. And coffee. Whatever you want, seriously, you're saving. my. hide." Sam laughed again as you zipped your bag. "You really don't have to do that." You put your hand up in protest, "Too late, I'm already committed." He watched while a curious smile as you walked to the door with an extra pep in you step.

You both then headed out together, conversation easier now as you made your way to the cafeteria and it was surprisingly nice. You learned Sam wasn't just smart but actually fun to talk to. Funny in that dry understated way that caught you off guard, and patient enough to answer your increasingly panicked question without making you feel stupid. By the time you grabbed quick food and settled down, your test anxiety had eased. At least a little bit. Between bites Sam was already helping you sort though what you needed to focus on most. "Okay," he said, leaning back slightly as you both sat with your trays. "What do you actually know?" You stare at him blankly and Sam blinked, "That bad?" You groan and throw a small piece of food at him and dodges it easily. "I know some things but I can't just recall it on the spot and honestly, if the test asked for my name, I'd need a minute to think about it." He laughed hard throwing his head back. "Alright," he said, still smiling. "In that case, we're definitely starting with the basics." Hearing him say that so gently made you feel a whole lot less hopeless.

When you and Sam make it to the library the sky had already gone properly dark. It was late enough that most students had either given up or migrated somewhere louder, leaving the place wrapped in that hushed eerie quiet that only libraries seemed to have at night. Perfect, means that you actually have to pay attention to leave. You lead Sam through winding shelves and dim corners until your reached your favorite table, it was tucked in the back hidden by towering bookshelves on each either side. You enjoyed that it was secluded, quiet, and just far enough from everyone else to keep the distractions to a minimum."Wow," Sam said glancing around as he set his bag down. "You really do this seriously."You dropped into the chair across from him with a grin. "Please. If I'm going to panic, I'm going to panic efficiently." You earned a soft smile from him and it was slowly starting to become a problem for you. You unpacked your books, notebooks, pens, and highlighters. The whole chaotic mess of a student in academic distress, spreading everything out in front of you while he sat down. In a flash, Sam starts helping. Like really helping. Not in the rushed, half invested way some people did when they regretted saying yes, but actually explaining things patiently and clearly. Breaking down concepts in ways your professor never had and now you honestly weren't sure what was more distracting, the material or…him. Somewhere between his low, steady voice and the way he leaned over your notes to point something out, your focus started slipping. Terribly.

Maybe it was the rumble in voice and the way he tried not to feed you so much info that it overwhelms you. Maybe it was the way his large hands flexed absentmindedly when he turned a page, his long fingers brushing paper with careful precision, or maybe it was the way his hazel eyes kept locking onto yours whenever he asked, "You with me?" It was like he genuinely cared whether you understood or not which was unfairly attractive. You found yourself staring longer than you probably should've, noticing things you somehow hadn't before. Like how his hair fell messier this late at night, how broad he looked sitting across from you all limbs and worn flannel. How his brow furrowed when he concentrated, how his mouth- "Hey." Your eyes snapped up and he was watching you with one eyebrow raised with the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "You still with me?" Heat rushed to your face, "Yep." You said a little too quickly. "Totally, sooo with you." He noticed the way you were staring at him and got the idea to mess with you a little. "Right, then tell what this means." He said tapping at the page so you look down at the incomprehensible wall of information you had not retained even a little.

"I think," you said slowly, buying yourself some time, "that those are definitely words." He laughs leaning back in his chair. "You weren't listening at all, were you?" The smug look on his face making you blush. "I was listening!" You try defending yourself but the grin on your face gave it away. "Uh huh." he said as he looked back down at the book and started his explanation again, making sure you were listening this time. But now, your heart was beating way too hard for someone supposedly just worried about a test. You bought him dinner, bought him snacks with drinks, and originally that had felt like enough. Sitting here now though, tucked away in the quiet with his voice wrapping around you and those stupidly pretty hazel eyes occasionally catching yours? You couldn't help but wonder if maybe Sam Winchester would let you thank him another way, in a way that might benefit you both.

Attempting to be subtle about, and probably failing, you slowly slipped your right foot free from your sandal beneath the table. Sam was mid sentence explaining some painfully complicated concept with the same calm patience he'd somehow maintained all night. Then your bare toes lightly brushed his shin over his jeans and you watch him to see him react. And he does, not dramatically but just enough. You noticed the slightest jolt, a hitch in his voice and the briefest stumble over a word before he caught himself. Keeping your face carefully neutral like you were still paying very serious attention to your notes, making your pulse race, you watched his expression and kept your foot where it was to allow him the control to stop you. And when he didn't, you slowly let your foot drift higher watching his face as he continued. ".which is why this theory connects back to.." And there you see it, a strain in his concentration, he's trying his best to keep himself composed. You move past the middle of his shin and toward his knee where his eyes flicked up briefly. He looked fine for the most part but you could still see the effect you had on him. You can see the twitch in his jaw, the way his Adams apple bobbed hard and the slight panic in his darkening hazel eyes. Seeing him like this only made it more tempting. Then slowly his gaze came back to yours causing the entire library to feel too quiet, he continued normally but you could see something different in the way he looked at you. Something sharper beneath the college boy sweetness said that you were playing with fire and god did you so want to see more of this side of him. Without breaking eye contact one of his hands finally left the table, your breath hitched as you felt his fingers wrap around your ankle, large, warm, steady, and firm. Goosebumps rise instantly all over you when you feel his thumb slowly drawing circles around the delicate bone, you nearly forgot how to breath. Sam on the other hand seemed more confident as his other hand pointed at the textbook keeping the image of a normal study session.

It shouldn't have been as sexy as it was, especially when he guided your foot higher onto his lap, your leg now stretched underneath the table. He let go, returned his hand back to the table along with his eyes back down to the page, it was the most unfair display of self control you'd ever witnessed. "You should really remember this part," he murmured, voice noticeably lower now. "It'll definitely be on the test." You swallowed hard because beneath the table, the tension between you had shifted completely. This wasn't innocent anymore and judging by the way Sam's fingers twitched against his pen and he knew it too. Carefully, teasingly, you let your foot rub over the hard bulge, slow enough to test him, light enough to leave room for him to stop this whenever he wanted. He didn't. Instead he sucked in a quiet breath through his nose, the sound so subtle most people would've missed it but not you. His shoulders stiffened slightly, composure straining and for the first time all night Sam had faltered completely. A low sound barely more than a restrained exhale escaped him before he caught it and you're heart practically leapt at it. Sam's pen stilled as his fingers flexed once again like he was grounding himself as he looks back up at you. The look in his face was different than any other way he looked at you, it was male and predatory, like an animal watching it's prey. "You," he said quietly, voice rougher than before, "are making it really hard to concentrate." And that was the most distracting thing of all.

You held his gaze through your lashes, your smirk deliberate and cocky knowing you're about to find yourself in the best kind of trouble. Sam's head tipped back slightly, his jaw tightened and eyes closed for one dangerous second like he was fighting for restraint. It was heaven watching the sweet, patient, good boy Sam Winchester struggle beneath your touch, this might just be your most favorite thing ever. "Well," you said softly, voice dipped in temptation, "I could be even more distracting…if you wanted me to." That did it for him, his eyes snapped open and all you could see in his eyes was hunger, straight predatory hunger. His once vibrant eyes were black, the size of his pupils had doubled in size. Your breath caught in your chest as you slowly tilted your head toward the hallway and toward the bathrooms. Sam followed your glance and for maybe half a second the college boy conscience of his seemed to flicker, then promptly disappears completely. He didn't hesitate to gently moved your foot aside, push back his chair and stand to his full height, his frame towering over you. Your eyes widen when you take in how truly big he was standing over you, you stared at his broad shoulders, his long frame and at the way he blocked everything else when he stepped around the table to lean over your chair. Your pulse skyrocketed as one of his large hands rested on the arm of the chair and the other grabbed your wrist, his touch warm, firm and decisive. "C'mon," he said, voice low and rough sending heat straight to your pussy.

You shift in the hard wooden chair, pressing your thighs together, trying to chase any kind of relief but it was only making it harder for you. Your thong so wet and sticky against your skin you wish you could take them off and have Sam clean you up, imagining the way he would flick his tongue against your hole and how hard he'd suck on your clit. He makes it impossible to ignore how easy it was for you to become unraveled for him that you can't stop imagining what it would feel like to close the distance between you, to give in completely and let him fuck you in a way you've never been fucked before. Sam notices the movement, of course he does. His eyes flickered downward then back up at yours, the dark look on his face nearly makes you cum right there. "Jesus." his mutters, his voice rough and low flipping your stomach this and that way. "You keep looking at me like that.." he doesn't finish his sentence, it's a warning that ignore and lean into. He then guides you out of your chair, bringing you to your feet,and starts dragging you down the empty hallway towards the bathroom. Your sandal abandoned under the table leaving the shock of the cold wood floor to send a shiver through your spine. You're breathless and startled as Sam pushes through the women's restroom door with surprising confidence. "You know," you whispered half thrilled and half shocked, "for a guy as smart as you are, this feels like a terrible decision." He checks under the stall doors quickly, clearly running on practiced instinct and adrenaline. "Yeah," he muttered as he came over and locked the door behind you, "you stopped making me care about good decisions a while ago." God, you didn't know how much wetter you could get, soon you'll start dripping down your legs if he keeps this up.

Sam brings you over to the side slightly to push you against the counter, it was like the restraint that he'd been choking down at the library table finally snapped and he kissed you so intensely passionate it felt like he was a starving man slowly losing control with every second. Your hands flew up instinctively catching at his shoulders, sliding up to his jaw, tracing each sharp feature then finally threading your fingers into his hair. He kissed you deeper, the kiss had the same energy from when you were studying, he was so throughout and intense as he put his body and soul into you. Sam gives you a tap on your waist, "Jump." he says in between kisses and you hop up. Sam being so unfairly strong lifts you onto the cold counter without breaking away from you. He takes advantage of the way you gasp at the temperature and pushes his tongue into your mouth, exploring every ridge of your teeth and quickly dominating your tongue into place. He pulls away biting your lip, his voice wrecked and warm, "You're such a bad influence." You smile and slide your hands from his shoulder past his chest, and over his flannel covered abdomen to reach the waistband of his jeans.

"You like it." the seductive tone of your voice is like a siren call to him, he couldn't ignore you even if he wanted to. Underneath the Stanford normal there was something…no…someone else. Sam's a Winchester, he was raised to be a monster fighting machine since he was 6 months old, traveling with his dad and brother across the state lines and training to slaughter what hides in the night. You didn't know that side of him at all, I mean you barely started talking to the guy today and you were about to get a glimpse of who that Sam Winchester was. You move your fingers from the the side of his waistband meeting in the middle against the metal of his buckle, the jingle sounded sharp against the tiled room as you teasingly pulled the loop through. His forehead rests on your shoulder, breathing in your scent heavily as your delicate fingers enters his jeans and find themselves wrapped around his rock hard cock. The growl that rumbles out of his chest as you begin stroking from the base to his tip settles into you, the sound burying itself into the stem of your brain. You feel teeth on your shoulder as he bites down lightly, the pace of your pumping so painfully slow. "I can't wait any longer." Sam groans into you and before you could respond you feel his hand find their way in between your thighs, you gasp as his thick fingers grabs the crotch of your lazy day shorts and thong pulling them to the side. The cold air hits your wet cunt causing goosebumps to rise and spread across your body, the chill is quickly replaced by warm digits lazily circling around your clit. Your body immediately responds to the touch, chest arching into him automatically trying to get more of him onto you. Your nipples harden and painfully scratch against your lacy bra and Sam watches as you twitch underneath him listening to the mewls leaving your smaller frame, the sound feeding his ego. Then, without warning he stops the circles and raises his thumb to press directly onto the nub sending a cold electric jolt through your uterus, you squeal at the unexpected feeling and look at him with a mix of irritation and need.

You can see the cockiness in his face as he keeps a steady push on you and says,"Pull me out princess." Pride enters his chest as you moan at the name and he watches as you do as you're told, you pull away from his cock to shift his pants down his hips freeing him. Your eyes turn into saucers as you watch the tip smack against his pelvis and there's a sudden fear of not being able to fit the girth and length of him inside you, but there's also the conflicting ache to slide down to your knees to taste the milky precum leaking from him while you feel the thick veins slide against your tongue. He is such a true definition of a man that you can't decide on what you want to do with him, you have never felt so protected and feminine with anyone else, and never felt so turned on in your life. You whine when he stops playing with your clit to step in between your legs, his legs fitting so perfectly in between yours, it was like he was a puzzle piece that was always meant to fit there. Hazel eyes search yours in quiet desperation looking for permission to take his hard length and slide into you. You gulp slightly and nod, earning a smile as he grabs himself lining the thick tip with your soaking pussy. He pushes the swollen tip against your clit, slowly rubbing himself up and down to collect as much of your juices as he can. You're so ready for him you're leaking straight onto the granite underneath your ass, leaving a small puddle in between your legs. Once he spread a good amount all over you, he pushes forward causing your head to be thrown back and your mouth hanging open in an 'o' shape as you feel him slowly stretching your walls more and more with each inch. Painful whines escape you feeling yourself stretch past your limit, "Fuck." you hiss which causes Sam to stop immediately to ask if you're ok. You nod your head furiously without looking at him and beg for him not to stop, "Please Sam, I'm fine, just don't stop. You feel so fucking good." hearing you praise him, he decides to snap his hips forward shoving the rest into you, you cry out as he slams against your cervix making your eyes roll further back into your head. Your arms begin to shake behind you, you have to fight against yourself to stay upright.

Sam stills completely, waiting for you adjust but you're too impatient. You haven't been fucked in month and the way he's filling you up right now reaching every single part of you is turning you into a cock drunk slut already. You whine as you try to move your hips against him, trying to relieve yourself even just a little but his large hands grabs onto your hips and holds you in place. "Shh, I don't want to hurt you. Just sit there for a second." Sam can feel your pussy pulse around him, he can feel a taut ring around his base and it makes him shiver in anticipation. Your mind is completely empty as you feel a fullness you never felt before, not with your fingers, not with any other partners, and definitely not with any of your toys.

After a minute, Sam decides you've had enough time and slowly pulls out you until only his tip his left inside of you, he watches as you moan and your back arches backwards mourning the loss of him before he slams himself back into you. You jolt forward when he does and throw your hips to meet him mid thrust. As he sets a steady brutal pace his tip brushes against your g-spot then bumps against your cervix seconds later, you don't hold back any of the sounds leaving your mouth. You had just begun and this was the best sex you have ever had. "Fuck baby," Sam groans holding onto your hips tighter as he begins to snap his hips quicker and hard into you, "you're so fucking tight." You shout as he pounds against you, not caring that if someone were to pass by they'd hear the lewd sounds of skin slapping and your slutty moans. Sam's consciounse comes back for a second as he hears the echo and grabs the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and shoving it into your mouth. It hardly does anything. He then grabs the black lace of your bra and shoves it above your tits, watching as they bounce violently with each shove. He can't help but stare at you in awe, from the fucked out look on your face to your bouncing tits and down to your clenching pussy being peirced by his cock. "You look so fucking hot right now, look so good being fucked right for the first time." You tilt your head forward and look at his for the first time, brows furrowed trying to keep your shirt in your mouth and trying not to let it fall with each shriek. You look at the shit eating grin on his face and almost cum at the sit of him. He's still earing his close but holy shit does he look good.

"Do you want to see what I do?" He asks huskily still pounding into you and you're so drunk on his cock you nod your head. He stops immediately and pulls out causing yout to sob at the empty feeling. He gently brings you off the counter and helps you steady your legs before turning you to face the large mirror. You look at yourself and barely recgonize who you see, your eyes are half lidded with pleasure, pupils blown, your cheeks are rosy, lips swollen around your shirt and your exposed chest moving up and down with each pant. You had never seen yourself so vulnerable, so fucked, so…desireble. You only look away when you Sam shift shift behind you, he makes eye contact through the mirror as he pushes you down onto the counter. You gasp at the cold and at the image of his large frame behind you, spreading your legs you push your back back into his pelvis. Grunting satisfyingly at the way you're so obediant for him, he beings to massage your ass with his palms while he lets the hottest thing anyone ever said to you out. "I want you to watch yourself. I want you to watch as I fuck into my proper slut. Can you do that for me?" You nod furiously and he smiles, "Good girl." He raises one of his hands and brings it down hard on your cheek ,making you shriek and jolt against the counter. Sam then slides himself back into your swollen folds and you move your gaze to watch your reflection. He gives you no time to adjust, pounding and abusing you, you watch through your eyelash at the woman in the mirror. Her tit bouncing against the white and gray granite, palms spread holding herself steady, and you watch as she takes one of those hands to slide down her stomach to her clit. You watch as your own face contorts in pleasure as you furiously rub your pussy.

The feeling of that once loose floating coil has now snapped tautly inside of your lower belly, your cunt is buzzing and shooting electricity into every nerve with every hit of your cervix. You move your hand faster and raise your eyes to look at Sam through the mirror, he's in awe at someone could look so used and soft at the same time. He couldn't believe that he was allowed to see you in this way, with your hair a mess, your eyes glazed over and hazy, your perfect plump lips biting into your shirt and your tits jumping with each thrust makes his balls begin to pull into him. He was about to cum and from the look of the way you were violently rubbing your clit and they way you clenched around him, you were about to cum too. "You wanna cum pretty girl?" he asks and you nod your head frantically, "Yeah? Then slam back against me and take it, milk my cock bitch."You mewl and start throwing your ass back against him, the force pushing him even further inside you some how. And with the third push the coil finally snaps and wave of fire comes crashing over your entire body. Sam watches as your arms give up on you as you convulse against the counter, your nipples meeting the freezing material, your screams of pleasure no longer muffled and music to his ears. Your heaven sent pussy chokes his cock bringing him so dangerously close to the edge. "Fuck! Can I cum in you?" He asks quickly earning a loud, "Yes! Please!" His grip tightens on your hips as he fucks his orgasm into you, his balls empty straight into your tight pussy, his cum spurts in every crevice of you and spills out around him when there's no where else for it to go. His head is thrown back as he growls deep from his chest, lazily pumping a few times more into you.

You both stay frozen for a second, catching each other's eyes in the mirror before the tension finally breaks. Laughter spills out between you, breathless and a little embarrassed but warm and comfortable. Sam ducks his head with that familiar shy grin, exhaling hard as he steps back, his hands immediately finding the sinks on either side of you like he's grounding himself. "Hold on," he says softly, voice low and a little rough around the edges. His palm slides gently over your lower back, careful and steady. "Just stay there for a sec, let me help." It's so Sam, so practical, attentive and sweet in that way that catches you off guard. Even now, flushed and disheveled his first focus is taking care of you first. He grabs some paper towels moving with quiet efficiency, his touch gentle enough to make you smile. There's a light pinkness in his cheeks, his ears burning red at how close is to your pussy. He was just inside of you but being here and intently staring at her, taking every detail while he wiped up your mixed cum was different. It was more intimate. Once he's sure everything's handled, he quickly cleans up the floor too and mutters something under his breath about "definitely never seeing the library the same again."

You can't help but laugh at the statement and so does Sam sounding so full and free. Your cheeks hurt from how much you've smiled and laughed with him today, at how genuine it feels to be with him. He the gives your hip a light pat, "Okay," he says almost bashful, "you're good." You straighten up and turn to him, sliding your arms around his shoulders and he automatically leans down to your height. Welcoming a soft kiss on his lips, he smiles against yours with affection and lingering nerves. "Some study session, huh?" Sam lets out a quiet chuckle and shakes his head. "Yeah," he murmurs, his hazel eyes bright with amusement. "Think we probably covered a good bit of biology there." You both stay standing there for a moment, wrapped up in that comfortable silence Sam's surprisingly good at. Then his expression shifts, not by much but just enough for that subtle confidence to peek through. "You know," he starts, rubbing the small of your back with a playful smirk tugging at his lips "I do have my own place and we could continue 'studying' there." your grin widens and you wonder how much more perfect he could get, "I mean I really could use the extra lessons." you say teasingly.

Sam laughs under his breath, lacing his hand with yours before leading you carefully to the door. He cracks it open, peeking his head out into the hall like he's on some covert mission, and you have to bite back another laugh. "Clear." He whispers dramatically. He takes you back to your table, back for your sandal and books, gathering everything with that absent-minded responsibility that somehow makes him even more endearing. With your hand in his and that crooked smile still on his face, Sam Winchester leads you into the night towards his home. His strides a little longer than normal to get there as quick as he can.

I. Michael "Robby" Robvinavitch .{SMUT}.

3.7K words

Contents: After a breakup Robby comes over to your house to drop some stuff off and you end up getting freaky on the counter. SMUT, p in v, (I don't know how to write short stories...)

It had been a couple of weeks since you and Robby ended things, again. The third breakup this month, and by far the ugliest. You’d told him you hated him. You’d packed up most of your things and hauled them back to your apartment, determined this time would stick. You both knew the truth, you weren’t good for each other. Every conversation turned sharp, every disagreement became a wound. You pushed, he pulled. He pulled, you pushed. And yet, no matter how far you drifted, something invisible always tugged you back together, like a rope knotted tight around both your wrists. Holding you hostage to each other. It didn’t help that you worked in the same building. The same floor. The same rooms, most days. Maybe this is why nurses shouldn’t fall for doctors.

You’re standing at the nurses’ station, finishing notes in a patient’s chart, when a solid warmth settles against your right side. A body. Familiar. Close. You don’t need to look up to know it’s him. The scent of his cologne, the quiet rhythm of his breathing, your body recognizes it before your mind can protest. How could you not? You’d memorized those details in the dark, in the quiet, in the space of his bed where you always seemed to end up, no matter how many times you swore you wouldn’t. 

His palm settles at the small of your back, warm, steady, possessive. The brush of his breath against your skin sends a ripple of goosebumps down your arms. To anyone watching, it would look innocent enough. A doctor leaning in to consult on a chart. Professional. Routine. But you know better. You can feel it again. That invisible rope tightening, tugging, drawing you back into each other. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice low so you’re the only one that hears him. It sends shivers down your spine thinking of the whispers that would fill your ears while he was on top of you, while he was inside you being clenched by your tight cunt. You don’t look at him. You keep your eyes on the chart, pen moving in careful, deliberate strokes as if your focus alone can keep you steady.

“I still have some of your stuff,” he says. “Can I drop it off after work?”

His thumb begins tracing slow circles against your lower back, absent minded but intentional enough to make your pulse stumble and your clit awaking at the familiar movement. You stop writing. Without turning your head, you lift your eyes to him instead, meeting those familiar chocolate-brown eyes. The ones that have undone you more times than you care to admit. The ones that would stare into you from between your thighs. You hold his gaze for a second too long before letting out a quiet, tired sigh. Letting a small moment of silence surround you for a moment.

“Yeah. My shift ends at seven,” you say, forcing your voice to stay even, steady, like your heart isn’t pounding hard enough to give you away. He glances off for a moment, like he’s trying to figure something out in his head. Then he looks back at you, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Mine ends at nine. I’ll probably be there around 10:45.” he says tilting his head to the side. You lick your lips without thinking, nerves tightening low in your stomach making your thighs clench slightly. His eyes drop instantly, tracking the movement. They linger there for a second too long before he straightens, stepping back into something that almost resembles professionalism. The loss of his hand against your back leaves you colder than you expect. “I’ll see you then,” he says simply. And then he’s gone, walking down the hall toward his patients like nothing just happened. You tell yourself to look back at the chart. To focus. To breathe. But instead, you find yourself watching him go, your pulse quickening as the weight of it settles in. You just agreed to see him. Again.

~

When you open your apartment door, the quiet greets you like an exhale. You drop your keys into the bowl on the table by the entrance and sigh, kicking off your shoes and nudging them neatly against the wall. Your backpack lands on the small bench beside the table. It’s only eight, but it feels much later. You’d stayed behind to finish charting the patients who came in after lunch. Not long after Robby cornered you at the nurses’ station, a multi-car accident had flooded the ER. The chaos had swallowed the rest of your shift whole. Sirens, blood, shouting, controlled urgency. You hadn’t complained though. The distraction helped. It kept your mind off him. Off the fact that he was supposed to come over tonight. You walk past the kitchen without turning on the lights and head straight to your bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you peel off your socks, then stand and tug your scrub pants down, letting them fall to the floor. You pull your top over your head and toss it into the laundry basket, leaving you in your bra and underwear. Your body aches from hours on your feet, shoulders tight, lower back sore, a dull throb behind your eyes from fluorescent lights and adrenaline crashes.

In the bathroom, you flip on the lights and step into the shower stall, turning the dial toward hot. Steam begins to gather as the pipes hum to life. You catch your reflection in the mirror while you wait, exhaustion written plainly across your face. Slowly, you unhook your bra and slide it off, then step out of your underwear, letting both fall into the hamper. The water is nearly ready.

The shower lasts longer than you planned. The ache in your shoulders makes washing your hair feel like a workout, and shaving your legs requires more patience than you have left. Mostly, you just stand there beneath the steady stream, eyes closed, letting the heat loosen muscles that have been clenched since noon. Thirty minutes later, you finally turn the water off and step onto the plush bath mat, wrapping yourself in a towel. You take your time blow-drying your hair, the warm air lulling you into something softer, quieter. When you dress, you skip the bra. Just an oversized sleep shirt and one of your favorite, most comfortable thongs. It’s late. You’re tired.

You toss the towel into the hamper on your way to the kitchen and open the fridge. Leftovers from last night win. Easy, familiar, low effort. You heat them in the microwave and carry the bowl to the couch, turning on one of your comfort shows. The glow of the TV fills the room as you let yourself sink into the cushions, letting someone else’s drama distract you from your own.

You’re halfway through the third episode when a knock at the door makes you freeze. You glance at the time. 10:45 p.m. Exactly. Of course he’s punctual, He never was late to anything. You set your empty bowl on the coffee table and stand, smoothing your shirt down instinctively as you cross the apartment. You undo the top and bottom locks and open the door slowly. Robby stands there with a cardboard box in his arms. You open the door wider to let him in, immediately noticing he’s changed out of his scrubs. Dark jeans. A clean shirt. He smells like fresh body wash instead of antiseptic and hospital air. He sets the box down on the table while you close the door behind him. “It’s some of your clothes,” he says, turning to face you. “And a few hygiene things. Didn’t think you’d want to rebuy all that.” When he turns fully, you’re closer than you realized. Standing right in front of him. Looking up. He steps forward once. Then again. His hand settles on your hip, warm and steady. He moves until your back meets the wall, his arm lifting to brace above your head. The air between you tightens, charged and fragile all at once. And then you’re just… there. Staring at each other. Neither of you moving.

Robby leans in until his face hovers just inches from yours, close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he confesses in a low, unsteady voice. “I can’t get you out of my head.” His hand slides from the wall to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair as he draws you closer. His mouth crashes against yours in a fierce, hungry kiss. You clutch at his shirt, your hands fisting in the fabric at his chest as you pull him nearer. The kiss is intense and breathless, charged with weeks of unspoken tension, sending a rush of heat through to your pussy.  He threads his fingers into your hair and gently tugs your head back, breaking the kiss just long enough to search your face. A soft mewl slips from your lips at the sharp ecstasy along your scalp. His gaze is intense, unwavering, as if he needs to be certain you’re focused on him and no one else. “I only want you,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “And I want you to only want me.” His mouth trails down to your neck, lips sucking, teeth grazing, leaving a path of small bruises along your skin. One of his hands slides from your hair to your hip joining the other, then lower, both hands settling beneath your thighs. When he taps lightly, you instinctively jump, and he gathers you up effortlessly.

Your legs wrap around his hips, arms circling around his shoulders as your fingers tangle in his hair. Suspended against him, you feel the steady strength in his hold, the charged air between you thick with longing.  As he carries you deeper into your home, you become acutely aware of the firm heat pressed against you through the fabric of his jeans. The realization sends another rush of warmth through your body, your breath catching slightly. He doesn’t slow, his grip steady and sure as he moves down the hallway, eyes dark and fixed on you. Every step feels deliberate, charged with anticipation, as though the world outside the two of you has faded away, leaving only the tension building in the space between your bodies.

He carries you into the kitchen and sets you down on the counter. The surface is cold against your skin, and the sudden chill sends a shiver racing up your spine. Before you can catch your breath, Robby is kissing you again. It’s urgent, almost desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips against his. It’s as if every kiss might be the last, and he refuses to waste a single second. Your hands slip from his hair, trailing down over his shoulders and chest until they reach his jeans. Your fingers brush the buckle of his belt, hesitating for only a moment before beginning to undo it. The metal jingleing against itself. He exhales softly against your mouth, his right hand gliding from the side of your thigh in a slow, teasing path. His fingertips skim lightly over your skin, tracing upward until they hover at the edge of your thong, barely brushing the fabric and leaving a charged, electric tension hanging between you. 

As your hand enters his pants, your delicate fingers leave a soft teasing trail from the base of his hard shaft. He groans softly against your lips, the sound low and unsteady, as your touch pulls him deeper into the moment. For a second, it’s like everything else disappears,  the room, the noise, the world outside these walls. It’s just the two of you breathing heavily into each other. His thoughts scatter, replaced by nothing but the heat of your body beneath his hands and the taste of your kiss.

His grip tightens slightly at your waist, breath turning heavier, his focus completely consumed by you. Your back arches as he presses into you with his thumb, he moves from your clit down to your opening, he hums as he feels the wet cloth. You remove your hand from his pants and lean back propping yourself on your elbows. Head falling back as you begin to move your hips rubbing yourself against him feeling that familiar tension in your womb.  A moan bounces off the wall into Robby’s ears when a flicker of something possessive flashes in his eyes. His hand tightens at your hip, stalling your movements, steadying you against the counter as he looks at you with blown pupils, somehow darkening his eyes. The intensity in his gaze makes your breath hitch and all you can do is squirm under his hold, but his grip is steady, firm at your waist, keeping you right where he wants you. The strength in his hands isn’t harsh, it’s controlled. Deliberate, reminding you just how easily he can hold you in place.

“I can’t let you take all the control,” he murmurs, voice low and edged with heat. His thumb resumes its slow path along your skin, but now it’s purposeful, teasing in a way that makes it clear he intends to set the pace. He leans in again covering your body with his, kissing you deeply, like he’s reclaiming the moment, like he needs to remind you that he can unravel you just as easily. You can’t help but whine against him, needing more than he was willing to give you at the moment. “Robby,” your voice pitched higher than normal, “please. I can’t handle it anymore.”  His fingers toy lightly with the edge of your underwear, dragging the fabric just enough to make your breath catch. The teasing is slow, intentional,  like he knows exactly how close you are to unraveling and plans to keep you there. Your back arches off the counter, a helpless sound slipping from your throat. Every small movement of his hand sends another wave of heat through you, your finger nails ding into your soft palms as your ball your hands . He watches you closely, clearly aware of the effect he’s having. His touch lingers, slow and deliberate, drawing the moment out until your thoughts blur and all you can focus on is the maddening, electric tension building between you.

“I want you,” you breath, the words slipping out before you can stop them. They hang in the air between you, raw and unguarded. “You have me,” he murmurs with a teasing lilt in his voice. His lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as he leans in close, brushing his mouth just shy of yours without quite kissing you. The playful edge in his tone contrasts with the heat in his eyes, like he enjoys watching the way your breath stutters at his words. You let a frustrated groan throat and let your head drop back. “Fuck Robby.” your voice is slightly raised and you hoped your neighbors couldn’t hear you through the walls. “I want you to stuff your cock into my pussy and I want you to fuck me into this counter.”

He lets his hands fall away from you, the sudden loss of contact making the air between you feel charged and thin. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches for the hem of his shirt and pulls it up and over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it aside. Your gaze drifts over him before you can stop yourself. Then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and shimmies them down his hips, movements slow, like he knows you’re watching. There’s no rush now, just heat and anticipation building in the quiet kitchen. You watch as his cock springs out, proudly showing the angry pink tip. You can’t help but watch as a single bead of precum runs down his entire length. When you look back up, he's looking down at you with that same teasing glint in his eyes, like he’s daring you to look away, and knowing you won’t.

His hands slide under your knees then pull to the edge of the counter, you squeal, being surprised by the sudden movement. Your hips bumping into his, it sends a shock from your clit to your nipples. He grabs the thin part of your thong and slides it over, the air makes your pussy cold when it mixes with the juices that are coming out of you. “You’re so beautiful.” he says as he grabs his cock in his right hand, stroking himself a couple times before he rests the tip on your clit. You throw your head back when Robby starts to rub the tip through your folds, gathering the wetness pouring from your underestimated opening. Continuing his eye contact, he moves a little closer splitting you open, your body shutters when he cock invades you slowly. You feel yourself open up to him inch by inch until he reaches the back kissing the spongy donut at the end.

He's splitting you in the best way possible, your pubic mounds touch and you can feel his full balls resting against your ass. Sex is ruined for you, your cunt is molded to the shape of him, from the bulge of the underside muscle to thick vein that runs on top of his girthy dick. You hadn't had him like this in a couple of weeks, you can't describe the euphoria you feel. Nothing can even begin to compare to him, not your own fingers or the small dildo you had to rely since you last saw him.

There’s a deep groan that comes from his chest when you instinctively clench around his cock like you've done thousands of times. “Fuck,” He says as he drags himself out slowly, watching the way your tight pussy clenches around him. “I missed this cunt.” Pulling his cock all the way out then looking up to watch your face as he slams himself back into you. Your face contorts from the intoxicating push and pull of his hips against yours that makes you see stars when you close your eyes. You can’t help yourself, you're feeling so much that you take your right hand and place it on top of your mound. Placing a middle finger on each side of your clit, you begin moving your fingers in time with Robby’s thrusts, your pussy fluttering around him milking his cock. There's a pressure building that starts from your lower belly making it's way through your entire body. Your hands start tingling, your legs start shaking uncontrollably without your permission and your breathing starts to falter. Robby feels a sudden spark at the base of his spine, electric awareness that makes his breath hitch. His hands digs more intensely into your hips, not to control, but to steady himself. His jaw flexes as he exhales slowly, eyes darkening as he looks at you like you’re the only thing anchoring him. For a second, everything narrows, the cool air of the kitchen, the faint sounds of the house. All fading beneath the pulse of heat running through him. “God…” he mutters under his breath, almost to himself, like he didn’t expect the intensity of it. And then his gaze lifts back to yours, searching, wanting, completely locked in.

When he looks into your eyes, something inside you snaps, your breath catches, chest rising sharply as the intensity of his gaze sinks deep beneath your skin. The air feels thinner, charged, as if that single look has tied every nerve in your body into one aching point of awareness. Robby notices when you start rubbing your clit faster and matches the pace and intensity making you scream his name. You throw your head back as you feel the coil explode, cumming so hard Robby is having to put more effort to keep the steady unwavering pace of his hips. Your fingers find and curl around his wrists as he fucks your harder into the counter chasing his own high. You’re clawing at his skin from the way he's overstimulating you. Robby can feels his balls tighten, rising close to his body, he’s knows he doesn't have much time before he fills up with his cum. He has an image of your fucked out expression with his cum dripping from your abused pussy onto the floor flash across his mind and it breaks him. He throws his head back, growls deep from his chest and slams into you knocking against your cervix, holding your hips tightly against his acting as a cork as the milky white seed paints your insides.

There’s a quiet stillness between you as you both stay there, breathing heavily, trying to steady your racing hearts. The world feels hushed, like everything outside this room has faded away. Robby turns his head to look at you, and the intensity from earlier has softened into something warm and vulnerable. A small, genuine smile curves his lips as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face. “You are the most important person in my life,” he says quietly, his voice still a little breathless but steady with conviction. “I can’t lose you. I want to work on us. I want to fight for us.” There’s no teasing now. No heat-driven urgency. Just honesty. His fingers lace gently with yours, holding on like he means every word.

You look up at him and smile softly, your eyes tracing every familiar line of his face, the curve of his mouth, the warmth in his eyes, the way his expression always softens when he looks at you. And in that quiet moment, you realize the truth has been sitting in your heart all along. You felt the same way. You wanted him fully, completely, and the thought of anyone else standing where he is now feels impossible. “Me too,” you whisper, your thumb brushing gently along his cheek. “That’s what I’ve wanted this whole time.” He lets out a soft chuckle, relief and happiness tangled together, before leaning down to kiss you deeply, not urgent, not desperate, but steady and full of promise. The kiss feels different now. Grounded. Intentional. There’s no tension left between you, only something genuine and steady. Love that chooses to stay. Love that’s willing to grow. You both know it won’t always be easy. But you’re willing to work for it. To fight for each other. To love each other the way you should have all along. And somehow, it all started after  he fucked you into your kitchen counter, when you both finally chose each other for real.

II. Arthur Morgan .{SMUT}.

4.2K Words

Contents: After a break up you decide to go the the bar with your friends and find yourself in the alley way. Being pressed into the brick by a professional bull rider named Arthur Morgan. SMUT, sex in an alleyway, fingering, p in v, etc.

“Come on.” Kara, your best friend since high school is sprawled dramatically across your couch, feet dangling over the armrest like she owns the place. “Forget that fucking loser. He was terrible for you anyway.” You shake your head, trying not to smile, but a laugh slips out anyway. Kara has always been your louder, braver half,  more loyal than any man has ever managed to be. “You think every guy I date is terrible,” you point out. She sticks her tongue out at you and blows a raspberry. “That’s because I’m supposed to be your lover.” You roll your eyes and sink deeper into the cushions as she blows kisses at you. “You’re unbelievable, truly.” you say throwing a pillow at her. “He really was awful,” you admit a second later and it sends you both bursting into laughter. It really wasn’t hard or took too long for you both to start your bullshit.

Kara then suddenly gasps in that overly dramatic way she does, clutching at invisible pearls. “Oh my God. We should go out tonight!” Before you can protest, she shoves her phone inches from your face. “There are cowboys at our favorite bar right now. Look at what Nicole just sent me.” Nicole, Kara's coworker from the bar, agrees with her life obsession, cowboys. You squint at the photo. Boots. Hats. Belt buckles. A suspicious amount of denim. “You two and your awful cowboy obsession,” you mutter. They’ve always had a thing for them. You? Eh.

“I don’t know, Kar…” you say a little nervous. Going out has never really been your thing. Sweatpants and takeout feel much safer than tequila and strangers. In one swift movement, Kara swings her legs off the couch and stomps toward you. She grabs your wrist and pulls you to your feet. “Pleaaaassssse,” she drags out dramatically. “It’ll be fun. You need fun. And maybe a hot rebound with a southern accent.” You try not to laugh. You fail. “Fine,” you say before you can overthink it. Kara squeals like she’s just won the lottery, releasing you and immediately darting around your apartment, grabbing shoes, purses, makeup, anything she deems essential for “Operation Save My Best Friend.” You stand there shaking your head, already regretting it a little… but smiling anyway. This was either going to be a disaster or a really good story.

~

After an hour of curling, straightening, re-curling, outfit changes, and Kara declaring “No, that top is emotionally devastating, in a good way,” you’re finally stepping out of the Uber in front of your favorite bar. The place is already buzzing. It’s full on western themed, neon beer signs glowing in the windows, loud country music spilling out onto the sidewalk, boots thudding against wood floors inside. Through the open doors you can see line dancers moving in perfect sync and girls of every shape and size rocking short shorts with the kind of confidence that makes you breathe a little easier. Okay. Maybe this won’t be so bad. You weave through the crowd toward the bar and immediately spot Nicole and her two friends posted up near the corner. “Hey!” Nicole shouts over the music, waving both arms like you might miss her. “You guys made it!” You laugh and pull her into a hug. “Yeah, Kara somehow convinced me to leave my apartment.” Nicole snorts, wrapping Kara in a hug next. “Yeah, that’s like her magic trick.”

“Excuse me,” Kara says proudly. “I am a gift.” Drinks are ordered. Tequila appears. Then another round. You all fall into that easy rhythm, talking over each other, laughing too loud, dramatic retellings of terrible dates, compliments flying back and forth. Just girls doing girl things. Hyping each other up, stealing sips of each other’s drinks, fixing lip gloss in the reflection of a beer tap. Then Kara gasps. Your stomach drops. That gasp always means something. Her favorite song comes on and she squeals like she’s been personally summoned by the DJ, immediately grabs your wrist. “COME ON.” You shake your head, already laughing. “Absolutely not.” She pulls harder. “I don’t line dance!”

“You do now!” And just like always, you lose. How could you say no to her. You’re dragged to the dance floor in a blur of boots and denim. The lights are dim and golden, the music loud enough to rattle your ribs. Surrounded by boots scuff against the floor around you. Someone whoops as your skirt catches the air as you spin awkwardly, then less awkwardly, then actually kind of… good? You start laughing. Really laughing. There’s something about it, the music, the movement, the way nobody’s really watching because everyone’s too busy having their own fun. Your hips sway easier. Your hands lift. Your skirt twirls again. You feel light, unbothered and free without a bum ruining your mood. That might be the alcohol talking. But honestly? You don’t care, you’re having fun for the first time in months. 

Unbeknownst to you, the front doors swing open again. A group of cowboys steps inside, boots heavy against the wood floor, laughter loud and easy. They’ve just come back from the rodeo that’s been in town for the past couple of months, bull riders, bronc riders, sun-worn and swaggering like they know exactly how they look walking into a place like this. There’s one with a thick, dramatic mustache. A blond with sideburns so long they deserve their own zip code. Another with three distinct scars carving down the side of his face. And then there’s the biggest of the bunch. Broad shoulders, worn denim, dark scruff shadowing his jaw, and a pair of striking green eyes that seem almost too bright under the bar lights. When they reach the bar, the green eyed one leans against it casually, scanning the dance floor while waiting for his drink. His name is Arthur Morgan, professional bull rider, fresh off a ride that probably should’ve thrown him. He’s high off his win and surviving another 2000lb animal. 

His gaze drifts lazily over the crowd… and then stops. There you are. Front and center under the warm glow of the dance floor lights, laughing mid-spin. Your smile is wide and unguarded, the kind that reaches your eyes. You’re a little off-beat, a little clumsy, maybe a little tipsy. Clearly not someone who line dances every weekend, and somehow that makes you stand out even more. You look real. Not polished. Not trying too hard. Just having fun. He turns briefly to grab his drink when it slides across the bar, but his eyes find you again almost immediately. Like he didn’t mean to look back, but he knew he absolutely meant to. When the song ends, he watches you collapse into a hug with your friend, both of you laughing like you just survived something heroic.

Back at your table, you and Kara rejoin the girls. Only to find them suddenly very engaged in conversation with what appears to be the exact same group of rowdy cowboys who just walked in. Kara lights up like it’s Christmas morning. You smile politely as she launches into conversation, she might be slightly drunker than you at this point. You order another drink, mostly for courage, mostly because why not. That’s when you feel it, a presence to your right. Solid. Close. You glance sideways, first noticing a broad chest beneath a worn button-down. Your eyes travel upward slowly, and - Oh. 

Sharp features. Scruff that looks intentional but effortless. And the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen. “Hey,” he says. His voice is deep, smooth like honey over gravel. You catch the faint scent of pine smoke and whiskey when he shifts closer. “Hey,” you reply, turning your body toward him and leaning your left arm casually against the bar. The tequila humming pleasantly in your veins gives you just enough boldness. “Arthur Morgan,” he says, extending his right hand. There’s that confidence again, not arrogant, just sure. Smirking slightly, you take his hand and give him your name. His grip is warm, firm, calloused. “Come here often?” he asks. You laugh immediately, rolling your eyes. “I bet you say that to all the girls.” He ducks his head, grinning, and lets out a quiet chuckle before looking back up at you. “Yeah,” he admits with a small nod. “Reckon that might not’ve been my best line.” And there it is, that southern drawl. Slow. Warm. A little dangerous. You suddenly understand Kara’s cowboy obsession. Just a little.

No man has ever captivated you the way the one standing in front of you does. There’s something about him, the steadiness, the size of him, the way his green eyes pierce into you. “So,” you say, straightening a little and stepping closer, closing the space between you, “what’re you doing here?”

“I ride with my buddies in the rodeo,” he answers casually, like that’s something people say every day. Your eyebrows lift. “Oh, wow. A real cowboy.” You take a slow sip of your drink, letting your eyes roam over him without much subtlety. “What do you compete in?” Up close, he seems even bigger, broad chest stretching his shirt, hands that look like they’ve actually worked for a living. You’re trying to be a lady but you can’t help but admire the man. Looking at his hands, you wonder if he’s as big below the belt as he is above. You quickly pull yourself back, mentally scolding yourself. Focus. “I’m a bull rider,” he says and you laugh, shaking your head. “What?” he asks, amused but slightly confused. “I grew up around guys like you,” you reply, glancing down at your drink before looking back up at him. “Tall, attractive, pretty eyes.” You gesture vaguely toward him. “You’re all trouble.” 

The latest round of alcohol hums warmly in your veins, making everything feel lighter, floatier. Without fully thinking it through, your hand drifts forward and rests against his stomach. His body is solid under your palm. His eyes immediately drop to where your fingers lightly hook at one of his buttons. You look up at him through your lashes. He looks from your hand… back to your eyes. A slow smirk curves across his mouth, then he leans down, close enough that his lips brush near your ear. His voice low and gravelly in a way that sends heat straight to your pussy and tingles down your spine.  “Why don’t you find out how much trouble I can be?” He pulls back just enough to look at you again. Your eyes widen slightly, heart thudding harder now. You’re dangerously close to saying yes without hesitation. Before you can answer, you glance past him, spotting Kara deep in conversation with the blond cowboy, laughing a little too hard at something he just said. She looks very occupied. Very content. You turn back to Arthur. Well, it seems like your ride home might have changed.

Chewing your lip, you make a decision. Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach for his wrist. His skin is warm beneath your fingers, solid and steady. He glances down at your hand, then back up at you, one brow lifting in amused curiosity, but he doesn’t resist. Not even a little. You turn and start leading him through the bar. Past the dance floor where boots are still stomping, past the bar where the bartender is too busy pouring shots to notice,down the narrow hallway lined with old concert posters passing the bathrooms. Arthur follows easily, long strides matching yours. There’s a quiet confidence in the way he moves, like he knows exactly where this might be heading and is more than willing to find out. You push through the exit door and step into the warm night air. The sudden quiet feels electric, crickets hum in the distance and the bass from inside vibrates faintly through the brick walls. The air smells like summer and dust and a hint of smoke drifting from somewhere nearby. He lets you pull him a few more steps before gently tightening his grip, stopping you just enough to turn you back toward him. There’s that smirk again. “Well,” he drawls softly, green eyes catching the glow from the bar’s neon sign, “You always this bold… or am I just special?” He asks as he grabs your waist with his left hand, his large warm palm rests against the bare skin under your shirt. Breathing hitching as he pushes you back until your back hits cold and scratchy brick, he lifts his right arm to lean on the wall, covering you with his large frame. 

“Maybe I just like you,” you admit, tilting your head up at him. The cold brick wall contrasts against the slow burn building in your chest. Liquid courage? Maybe. But this feels steadier than that. His smile softens, less cocky now, more pleased. His hand settles at your waist, thumb brushing gently along your side in slow, absentminded strokes. The touch isn’t rushed. It’s exploratory. Careful. You lift your hand to his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath his shirt. Your fingers travel upward over worn cotton, up the line of his throat until they reach his cheek. The scruff there grazes your palm, rough in the best way. You cup his face lightly, tracing the sharp angle of his jaw beneath your fingertips.

For a second, neither of you moves. Then you both lean in at the same time. Your lips meet and it’s instant. Electric. Not tentative like you expected. Not awkward. Just right. Like you somehow find the same rhythm without trying. His hand tightens slightly at your waist, pulling you a fraction closer, and your fingers curl into his jaw as the kiss deepens. Your heart pounds hard against your ribs, fast and reckless. Butterflies don’t just flutter, they riot, tearing through your stomach like they’ve been waiting for this exact moment. You kiss him again, slower this time, savoring it. He tastes faintly of whiskey and something warm and smoky. His lips are firm but patient, matching your pace, adjusting to you like he’s been doing it forever. When you finally pull back for air, your forehead rests lightly against his. This man is entirely too good. And you’re already in trouble.

As you melt into each other once again, the world narrows to nothing but shared breath and wandering hands, his grip at your waist tightens. Slowly, giving you time to react, his hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingertips brush warm skin first, then lace. The delicate edge of black fabric beneath his rough fingers makes him pause for half a second, like he’s savoring the discovery. You can’t help the small, private smile that tugs at your lips. In your head you thank Kara and her aggressive insistence on the matching set. His thumb traces lightly over the curve there, reverent but confident, and a low sound rumbles from his chest. It travels from him to you, vibrating through the space between your bodies. The sound sends heat spiraling straight through you. When he pulls back from the kiss, just slightly, you can’t stop the soft, needy whine that escapes your throat. Your hands tighten in his shirt instinctively, like you’re afraid he might actually step away. His forehead rests against yours again, breath heavier now, eyes darker. “Easy,” he murmurs, though it sounds like he’s reminding himself just as much as you.

Wanting more from the cowboy, your hands reach for his belt, grabbing the front loop making the metal of his buckle jingle against itself. His head dips into your neck, his lips connect with that sensitive spot under your ear, sucking the skin leaving bruises in his wake. You’re going to be pissed about those in the morning, but right now you just want more of him on you. Fingers slipping through the opened jeans your fingers come in contact with his trimmed mound of pubic hair when you feel his rough calloused fingers snake from your hip, across your thighs, to the center of your core. His fingerpads ghost over your delicate nub through your lace thong, slowly working up then down your folds before he comes in contact with soaking wet lace. “You really this wet for a guy like me?” he asks, voice low, “A trouble making cowboy?” His finger taps your slit a couple times before he hooks his fingers around the thin fabric, pulling your thong to the side, using his finger to tease your opening.

You throw your head back, earning a small thud against the wall when his thick digits prod into you, stretching you better than any past man could. Head throbbing in sync with your cunt. He pulls back out slowly, teasing, a whine slips feeling empty. Arthur chuckles then enters his middle and ring finger back into your sopping hole. Spreading them as he watches your face, your mouth wide open letting soft moans loose, your perfectly styled hair sticking to your face from your sweat and your rosy cheeks. All proof of how much he bothered you, inside and out. You weren’t the only one that was bothered. Fortunately, Arthur was harder than he had ever been with a woman, he could feel his tip leaking, slightly leaving a wet spot on his jeans. His cock jumping desperate to just be touched by you. 

He slips his fingers out of you then leans down slightly, placing his hands on the underside of your thighs tapping them like he’s asking permission. You jump slightly and he pulls you into him keeping your back against the brick with your legs around his hips. His right hand moves from your hips,carefully tucking your leg into his elbow. Using the same hand to pull your thong back to the side before snaking his hand over your cunt, teasing you even more. You're instantly hit with cold air as your pussy is now exposed to him. Arthur then grabs his cock stroking it before pressing the tip to your slit, brushing it up and down trying to grab as much of your juices as he can to lube himself up. 

Your hands wrap around his neck, grabbing onto the longer hairs at the back as he slowly pushes forward, entering you. The head of his cock forcing tight walls apart inch by inch, he grunts, placing his forehead on yours as he feels you clench around him,suffocating his length. He stills, waiting for you to adjust to his size, your face contorting in pleasure. “Arthur, you gotta move. I can’t take it anymore.” You moan, flinching at the sting of your walls being split for the first time in months by a real dick. Your fingers nor your favorite dildo can compare to this feeling of fullness and ecstasy. He pulls out until only his tip is the only left inside you. Allowing you take a couple breaths before slamming into you, he pulls himself back out and does it again, having to put in more effort from the way you’re squeezing him. You tug tighter at his hair, feeling the warmth grow in your womb, letting Arthur slide his hard cock in and out of you in a brutal tempo. Chills run through your legs, goosebumps rising on the skin of your legs as your eyes roll to the back of your head, feeling your legs and breasts bounce against him. Your nipples are so hard you feel like it’s going to cut through the top you’re wearing, sending even more electric pleasure through your spine to your greedy cunt. Arthur starts to harshly fuck you into the brick behind you and you don’t care if it leaves scratches on your back, you want to return the favor by leaving some on his back.

Using the same hand that was holding onto your thong, he moves his thumb to your clit and starts rubbing in circles around it. It makes your pussy clench around him, you can feel the pressure in your belly start to tighten as you shut your eyes. Stars in your vision as you come closer to your limit, It’s only been 10 minutes since you entered the alleyway and this man was going to make you cum. 

Arthur notices the pitch of your breathing getting faster, your moans getting higher and the way you pulse around him. He begins rubbing your clit faster to match the pace of his hips, he leans down to your ear, his breath tickling your neck. “Cum on me sweetheart, I know you want to.” Your chest tightens at his command and you grip harder onto his scalp as you feel your stomach get tighter and tighter until your head is pressed further into the wall, your walls gripping onto Arthur feeling yourself quiver with every thrust, oxytocin spreading through your veins at the same time as your cunt clamps down on his cock from your finger tips, to your hard nipples, and all the way to the top of your scalp. There’s white cream spreading from your abused cunt all over Arthur’s cock, making it easier for Arthur to glide into you faster, pretty soon you won’t be able to tell what belongs to who.

Arthur groans into your neck as his pumps get quicker, there's no longer any rhythm to the snap of his hips. “Fuck baby, you’re about to make me cum.” Your hands move down from his hair to his broad back, feeling the heavy muscles flex on top of you while your fingers grip onto the soft fabric of his shirt. “Cum in me Arthur, I’m on birth control and I’m clean.” He groans as he feels his weeping slit skim the plush opening at the back of you, “Hm, I’m clean too. Just got checked.” He says fingers gripping onto so tight, there’s bruises in the shape of fingertips starting to form your hips. Having gained your consent, he pushes you further into the wall, holding you steady as he continues to snap into you. He feels a ball of energy start to form at the base of his spine, his balls are tightening back into him, two more strokes against your spongy walls and he feels something break inside of him. His vision goes black as it feels like a wave run crashes through his entire body.

He fucks lazily into you, riding through his own orgasm, white thick ropes of cum coating your pink walls filling you to the brim. He stalls his hips after a couple of pumps breathing hard into you as he feels the aftershocks spreading through his spine. Then, after a few breathless minutes, you force your feet back onto solid ground, willing your legs to stop feeling like jelly. Cum leaking out of you onto the concrete before Arthur moves your thong back over your naked pussy .The night air cools your flushed skin as you steady yourself against him. He’s looking at you differently now. Softer. His green eyes search yours, no teasing for once, just something warm and thoughtful. He reaches up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek.“Do you maybe want to come back to my place?” he asks. One eyebrow lifts immediately. “You have a place here?” you tease. He chuckles, glancing away almost shyly. “It’s more like the hotel they put me up in, but… still.” You grin and take his hand in yours, squeezing it lightly. “You could just come back to mine. It’s an apartment. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of those before.” You tilt your head playfully. “Different from campgrounds and one-room hotels.” He lets out a full, genuine belly laugh, the kind that makes his shoulders shake and your heart squeeze in your chest.

“And you say I’m trouble,” he shoots back, shaking his head. “But yeah… I’d like that. We can take my truck if you want.” You nod, letting him guide you back inside the bar. The music hits you again as the door swings open, but this time it feels distant. Like you’re already somewhere else. You make your way to Nicole, noticing Kara is nowhere in sight. “She left with one of the guys,” Nicole says immediately, grinning. “Said she’d be at his place. She texted you the address.” Of course she did. You laugh, thank Nicole for the night, while Arthur checks in with his friends. There’s a few claps on his shoulder, a couple knowing looks, but he handles it with an easy shrug.

When he returns, he takes your hand again like it’s the most natural thing in the world and leads you outside to his truck. You climb into the passenger seat, giving him your address as he starts the engine. The interior smells faintly of leather and something distinctly him. As he pulls onto the road, his hand finds yours across the center console, fingers lacing together without hesitation. You lean back, watching streetlights blur past the window. A small smile tugs at your lips. Somewhere between the dance floor and this quiet drive, you might’ve just bagged yourself a bull rider.

-Arthur Morgan- Save A Horse, Ride A Cowboy 18+ - Alley wall sex Tented Whispers 18+ - Caught Masterbation (Fem)