#pr4ktical

is your daddy home?

hbf!joel miller x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw!! fingering, piv smut, porn w/plot, husband's best friend!joel, dirty talk, praise, wall pining, cheating reader...........

synopsis: while your husband is out for a job, you're left home all alone. one night, his best friend, joel, comes over with a pack of beer and food. what starts as a little shared meal in the kitchen, ends with something that makes you think twice about the man you married.

author notes: this was based off the song 'im on fire' by bruce springsteen! :3

The heat pressed against the windows long after the sun went down. The cicadas outside were still singing in waves, slow and drawn out. The air smelled like cedar and newly mowed grass. Inside, the only light came from a dull lamp in the corner of the room, casting everything in amber and shadow. You sat on the old couch, barefoot, legs curled under you, with a sweating glass of water untouched on the small table beside you.

Your husband had left for a two-week job out west, some contract work he’d said would be good money, and it wasn’t like you’d argued against it. You both needed the break, the space.

You were halfway through the same page for the third time. The book sat open in your lap, your fingers curled against the spine, but your eyes had drifted past it again, unfocused. The overhead fan clicked in its slow rotation above you. Sweat beaded at the back of your neck, warm and irritating. You shifted slightly, trying to focus.

You weren’t even sure what the book was about anymore. Something historical. Something heavy. You’d picked it up because it had a pretty cover and you’d liked the way the paper felt in your hands. Now, it was just something to look at so your mind didn’t drift too far into what-if places.

You set the book down on the table, and then reached for the glass. Condensation had puddled underneath it, bleeding out in a perfect ring. The water was on the warmer side now, but still, you took a sip.

Knock, knock

You blinked. Waited.

Another, slower this time.

You turned your head toward the door. The knock wasn’t rushed, wasn’t insistent—just there. You let the glass rest back on the table again, your knees sticking for a moment to the couch cushion as you rose.

You made your way to your front door, questioning who could be here at this hour. Stopping for a moment before reaching for the brass knob, and opening the big wooden door. You were met with one sorry sight.

Joel.

He stood with one shoulder leaning just slightly against the frame. His eyes found yours fast—no hesitation, no pause. He held up a bag and a six-pack of beer like an apology.

Your hand tightened, moving to the edge of the door. You didn’t know what you were going to say until the words came out. “…Just passin’ through?”

Joel shrugged once, slow. You hesitated, you knew he shouldn’t be here, but you also knew you wouldn’t be the one to tell him to leave. He looked at you, eyes dark and unreadable under the heavy curve of his brow.

You stepped back, letting him in without a word.

The door closed behind him with a soft click of the latch catching, no harder than necessary, but it still sounded loud in the quiet house. You stood there for a second, hand still on the wood, watching Joel’s back as he moved toward the kitchen with that slow, grounded kind of ease he had.

A soft flick was heard before the kitchen lit up. The six-pack made a soft thump on the kitchen counter top, glass bottles clinking against one another as he set them down. He placed the food beside them—barbecue, you could tell from the way the smell hit the air immediately, thick and smoky. The scent crawled up the back of your throat, almost making drool come dripping out of your mouth.

You walked towards the kitchen, arms crossing loosely over your chest, the cotton of your tank top catching slightly at your ribs where the heat made it cling to your skin. The floor was cool under your feet—cooler than the air, at least.

Joel didn’t turn to look at you. He was unpacking the bag slowly, setting out wax-paper containers on the counter like he was laying out tools at a job site. You stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, the way the fabric clung slightly where his skin had sweat through it at the short sleeve. He moved his fingers almost in a dance—calloused and blunt, but precise and careful.

“I brought too much,” he said, finally glaring at you over his shoulder. “Figured if you weren’t hungry now, you might be later.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure he saw it. Your voice didn’t want to come out when you tried to call it.

Joel moved, opening a drawer, grabbing a bottle opener without asking, and popping the top off the beer like he’d done here a dozen times before. He slid one of the glasses across the counter toward you, his hand lingering on the marble for a second too long—not touching, still, but just there.

You stepped forward and took the glass, letting your fingers brush the counter instead of his hand. But, you felt it. That nearness. The deliberate almost.

Joel took a swig of his own glass, eyes on you over the rim. You sipped yours too.

He moved to settle into one of the kitchen chairs, a soft grunt leaving his throat. You stayed standing for a moment longer, watching him from the other side of the counter, one hand curled loosely around your glass. He opened the box of brisket and slid it between you both on the counter, the scent of it so strong it made your mouth water. Another box—slaw, hush puppies, something sweet-smelling and fried— and then silence again.

Joel took a plastic fork and ate some of the brisket. You watched his jaw work, slow and thoughtful. He acted like there wasn’t anything strange about sitting in your kitchen, past nine on a Tuesday night, with no warning.

“You eat yet today?” he asked, not looking at you.

You shook your head. Then, realizing he wouldn’t see it, you answered. “No, I was trying to read.”

Joel made a sound, and took another bite. He met your gaze this time.

There was a kind of war happening in the silence between you, invisible but palpable— your breath moved slower now, his eyes flicked once to your collarbone. You sighed lowly while setting your bottle down, before walking around the island.

You sat next to him, and he didn’t flinch when you did. You pulled a container toward you and dug in, not speaking at first. The slaw was cold and sharp, vinegar biting your tongue, but you barely tasted it. All you could feel was the weight of Joel’s stare resting somewhere low on your body, like gravity had shifted between your legs and he was caught in the pull.

He shifted, moving to face his body towards yours. “He know you dress like that when you’re alone?”

You didn’t answer right away. Joel’s eyes had dipped. Your tank top, soft and clinging, had pulled tight across your chest, the fabric thin enough to betray the shape of everything beneath. Your shorts rode up without you noticing.

And oh, did he notice.

You held his gaze and took a slow bite of brisket. “You think you would be here if he did?” you asked softly, almost absently, not because you needed the answer— but because you wanted to hear what it would sound like in Joel Miller’s voice.

He sat back, just a fraction, the chair creaking beneath his weight. “Maybe not,” he gruffed out. “…I ain’t been able to stop thinkin’ about it since the last time I saw you. That dress, those legs. Him talkin’ your ear off while you just sat there quiet, like you wanted to be anywhere else.”

You swallowed. Your thighs pressed tighter together, involuntarily. Joel saw. He always saw.

He leaned into you, slow, like he had all the time in the world. “What else do you do when he’s gone?” he asked, voice dropping to a darker pitch now. “You just sit around? Wait for him to come back like a good wife?”

Your breath caught, you stared down at the food, then back up at him.

You smiled. A small, dangerous thing.

Joel’s eyes narrowed like he could see right through it— through the sweet wife act you barely wore anymore. You dragged your fork through the slaw, slow, not eating, not looking. Your breath was still caught high in your chest.

“I used to think about you.”

You looked at him, letting it hang for a moment, your pulse beating high in your ears. “I mean, before,” you added, voice growing raspy. “Back when he’d bring you around all the time. You’d sit in the backyard, while he talked about money and tools and all the bullshit that made him feel like a man. And you’d just sit there, drinking, listening. But, I knew what you were doing. Watching me.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I used to go inside just so I could breathe,” you continued. “Stand in the kitchen, cool off. When you looked at me like that—” you paused, shaking your head. Joel exhaled through his nose, barely audible. “You never said anything,” you murmured.

His mouth twitched, not a smile, but regret. “Wouldn’t mattered if I did.” he said. “You were already wearin’ his ring.”

You looked down at your hand, at the metal you’d stopped noticing months ago. The thing was— he was right. You had been your husbands long before you wore the ring. You remembered that version of yourself. Naive, young, willing. You thought the quiet spells were normal, thought the long silences were just tiredness. But they weren’t. They were the cold undercurrent of a man who didn’t really want a wife—he wanted something to own. You thought he loved you, then he stopped pretending.

“You still think about me?” he asked, his voice stripped down and thick with something darker. He moved his hand, setting his fingers lightly over your wrist. He could feel your pulse spike.

You leaned forward, lips parting just slightly. “Every time I hear his truck pull up,” you whispered, “I hope it’s you.”

The chair scraped back, quick this time. He stood, not fast nor rough, but sudden. His hand slid from your wrist to your fingers, gripping, then tugging. Joel pulled you off the chair then against him, your shorts brushed against his jeans. He stared down at you for one suspended second, chest rising slow and heavy.

Finally, he reached for you again. It wasn’t rough, but also wasn’t gentle. His hands came down to your waist, dragging over your ribs. His mouth was on yours in no time. His hand immediately slid up, fingers curling around the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. The heat of his lips makes you shiver, his speckled beard rough against your chin, cheeks, and edge of your throat when he kisses down briefly before coming back up again. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls softly. You gasp, sharp and quiet.

You can feel him everywhere. The heat of his chest against yours, the flex of his stomach through his shirt where it presses into your ribs, and the hard line of him already forming where his hips meet yours. Your thighs tense, heat spiraling low in your belly as his tongue licks into your mouth, hot and sure, making your knees go weak.

Your hands find his chest, gripping his shirt, needing something to hold onto. He breaks the kiss, pulling back just a half inch. He grabs you by the waist and lifts, strong arms locking under your thighs as your legs go around him. He moves around, before pinning you against a nearby wall—cool drywall against your exposed skin. His hips press forward between your legs, and you feel him—all of him— thick and hard against the cotton of your shorts, a strap of your tank top slipping off your shoulders as his mouth crashes back into yours.

You moan softly into the kiss, fingers finding their way into his hair. He growls. “You’re killin’ me,” he mutters against your mouth, breath hot. “I can feel how wet you are through your fuckin’ shorts.”

You whimper when he mentions it. You feel his hand slide down more as he holds you, fingers stroking the soft curve just beneath your ass. You buck into him, chasing friction, and he laughs. “You want me to take ‘em off?” he asks, mouth hot on your throat now, tongue tracing just below your jaw.

You nod. 

“Say it,” he breathes, voice ragged. “Say what you want, sweetheart.”

“I want you,” you whisper, coming out broken.

He groans, then moves his hands to shove both your shorts and underwear aside. His fingers slide through your folds, the wet heat of you coating his skin as he groans deep in his chest. “Fuck,” he groans, kissing you again, thumb circling your clit before two fingers slid inside. “You were made for my fingers.”

Your head falls back, lips parting in a cry that’s too loud for how quiet the room is. You clench around his fingers, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders as he finger fucks you against the wall, hand pressed deep between your thighs.

You’re wet—soaked, really— and he loves it. The sound of your hole’s obscene sounds as he works you harder and deeper only pushes him more. Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the top of his ass, trying to pull him closer, trying to make the angle better. His hand is so big between your legs, thick fingers like he knows exactly what you need. He’s watching your face, your mouth, your fluttering eyes, the way your hand curls into him like you might fall if you don’t hang on.

“Look at you,” he mutters, breath hot against you neck. “Such a dirty girl..”

You make a noise—high, and broken, your hips buck. Your thighs shake as the tension starts to coil deep in your belly, tight and molten. You can feel it building, wave after wave, every thrust of his fingers pushing you closer o that edge you’ve only ever chased in the dark, alone, when no one else was home.

“Yeah,” Joel growls, lips at your ear now, “There she is. Gonna come on my fingers, baby?”

You nod—or try to. Your head won’t move quite right. You’re too full, too fucked. He speeds up just a little, fingers fucking into you faster now, his palm rubbing perfectly against your clit in tight, practiced circles. Your stomach clenches. Your toes curl. You can feel the throb between your legs grow sharper.

It hits hard— your whole body tightening around him as the orgasm rushes through you like a flood, hot and fast. A cry rips from you as you grind down into his hand, thighs trembling uncontrollably. Joel holds you through it, fingers still moving, slower now. Your cunt pulses around his fingers, aftershocks making you twitch as he finally pulls back.

You look at him, dazed and ruined. And you reach for his belt with shaky hands. You can see the way his cock strains behind the denim. You start to imagine how it’ll feel inside you, stretching you out, hitting deeper than anyone else ever has.

But, before you can get the buckle undone, Joel grabs your wrist. You look up at him, confused, but he’s already moving. He slides his hands beneath your thighs again and puts you down with care, setting your feet to the floor. Your legs are shaky, but he steadies you. He walks you a few steps toward the counter, before pressing you against it. The marble is cold under your palms as your waist hits it.

Joel steps in behind you, hands slipping around to undress you, throwing the clothes somewhere you will find them later. Then, he steps back to work his own clothes off. You hear the clink of metal, the zip of his jeans, and the soft rustle as he pushes them down. He also threw his shirt off in the middle of the movement.

His hand moves to the small of your back, urging you to lean forward, to fold over the counter. You let him guide you—chest against the cool surface, arms braced, and legs spread. You feel completely exposed, but not shy. He spits in his hand, a filthy but perfect sound. Then, finally, you feel him slide between your legs, the swollen head of his cock dragging through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

“Joel—” you gasp, needy now.

“Shhh,” he breathes, one hand gripping your hip, the other guiding himself into place. “I got you, darlin’. Just let me—”

And then he pushes in. Slow, deep. You cry out, fingers clutching the edge of the counter as he fills you. Your walls stretch around him, your body tightening to take him.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips trembling as he bottoms out. “She’s grippin’ me so hard, honey.” he speaks, like he’s talking less to you and more to himself.

You moan, hips pushing back instinctively, chasing more. One large hand splays on your lower back, keeping you in place while he pulls out just to slide back in again, harder this time. The wet slap of skin meeting skin echoes through the kitchen. Your mouth drops open as he sets a rhythm that slowly undoes you.

His cock drags against your inner walls, every stroke sending sharp, white-hot sparks up your spine. He hits that spot deep inside you with every thrust, pounding into it again and again, and soon your legs are shaking. Your moans come uncontrollably, slurred and begging.

“Jo-el.. fuck, don’t stop—please—”

He pants behind you, fucking you deeper, the sound of his hips slamming into your ass relentless. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart.”

You can barely breathe, barely think. He reaches around you, one hand sliding between your legs to circle your clit again, and your entire body snaps. Your orgasm hits hard and without warning, tearing through you with a force that bends your back and arches you off the counter. You cry—raw and ruined as your cunt tightens around his cock, pulsing in waves that won’t stop.

he is good to me, he's a good man!

dean winchester x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw! pure filth, stress relief sex, dean has a dirty mouth, piv, dom!dean, established relationship, reader cries too much!

synopsis: riding dean after a hard hunt is always a good way to get him settled down!

You hear the front door slam, the sound of Dean’s heavy boots thudding against the floor as he makes his way into your home. He’s been gone all day, off on some hunt in your town. As he enters the room, you can see the anger etched onto his features, his jaw clenched tight and green eyes narrowed.

“Hi, honey,” you greet him softly, setting down your fork and wiping your mouth with a napkin. You made dinner over an hour ago, before just deciding to eat. Dean never cared that you ate without him, he knew he was always late. Of course he felt bad, but he didn’t expect you to starve yourself for him. “How’d the hunt go?”

Dean just grunts in response, not meeting your gaze as he heads straight for the bathroom to wash off.

You finish up in the kitchen, eating, then washing dishes and wiping the counters down, before making your way upstairs to your shared bedroom. Slipping inside, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, inviting light over the room. You lay down on the bed, pulling out your phone to scroll as you wind down.

Time passes quickly, and you hear the bathroom door creak open. Footsteps make their way to your ears, before the door swings open. Dean stands in the doorway, a towel slung low around his waist. His hair is slicked back, water dripping down his muscular body. His eyes are ablaze with a desperate, almost primal hunger. He walks in heavy strides to the bed, before getting in and crawling over you with a feral intensity. “Fuck, I need you,” Dean growls, his voice raw and ragged.

His hands are everywhere, roaming your curves with a feverish desperation. He’s tugging at your clothes, then yanking them off your body. His towel was long gone, fell off when he made his way towards you. His hard, thick cock sprang free, pressing urgently against your plush thigh.

He pants, nipping and sucking at your neck, leaving dark marks on your skin. He hikes your leg up around his hip, grinding his cock against your sopping core. “Tell me you want this, baby,” he demands. He’s positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock nudging your folds. “Tell me you need my cock as much as I need it to bury it inside of you.”

His eyes bore into yours, searching, pleading. He’s on the edge, desperate to lose himself inside you. He needs you, all of you. And god help you, but you need him just the same.

“Please, Dean,” you whimper, voice high and needy as you buck your hips up against his. The movement makes your greedy hole catch on his tip. “I want you to fuck me, make me yours.”

It’s all the encouragement Dean needs. With a groan, he thrusts forward, burying his cock inside your soaked, aching cunt. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as he fills and stretches you out. With how many times you both fuck, you’d think your cunt would mold shape around him, but apparently not.

Dean flips you both over, leaving you straddling his hips, cock still buried deep inside you. “Ride me, baby,” he says before smacking your ass, “Show me how much you want me.”

You don’t hesitate, lifting your hips and slamming back down onto his shaft with a sob. You set a hard, fast pace, your ass bouncing with each rise and fall. Tears spring to your eyes as the pleasure becomes more and more intense, your body starts to shake and tremble above him. “Fuck, Dean!” you wail, grabbing at his chest, and throwing your head back as you continue to impale yourself over and over on his dick. “F-feels so go-good…”

“Fuck, look at you,” Dean groans, his head falling back against the pillow. His eyes start to flutter shut as he loses himself in the feeling of your tight hole gripping him like a vice. “Riding my dick like a fucking slut. You love it, don’t you, baby? Love having your little pussy being filled by my big cock?”

You can only sob in response, tears streaming down your face as you fuck yourself stupid. Dean grasps at your ass, kneading the flesh and pulling you down harder with each bounce. The obscene sound of your wet, sloppy pussy being pounded fills the room, mixing with your desperate cries and Dean’s filthy words.

"Thaaat's it, fucking take it,” Dean snarls, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. You lean forward, running your fingers from Dean’s still-damp hair, down to his defined chest.

His hands slide up your sides, cupping and lifting your tits. He teases your nipples, rolling and pinching the sensitive buds between his fingers as he bucks his hips to meet yours. “So fucking perfect..” He pants.

Suddenly, he snakes one of his hands down between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen, aching clit. He rubs the nub in tight, fast circles, his calloused touch sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your cries pitch higher, your body shakes more violently as he continues to play with you. “F-fuuuck, Dean…I- I’m gonna..” You choke out, your body going stiff above him as your walls start to spasm and convulse. He grunts in response, before grabbing both sides of your waist to fuck himself into you.

You lean down onto his chest, letting him ruin your pussy even more. He moves, having his arms around your back, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you. Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your cunt clamps down hard on Dean, trying to milk him. “I’m coming, fuck, fuck fuck!” Dean groans, his voice echoing off the thin bedroom walls. You feel Dean’s cock throb in you, and with a guttural roar, he slams into you one last time. His seed paints your insides, warm, sticky, and thick.

be a freak like me

dean winchester x afab!reader

warnings: no plot, all porn! dean loves to eat you out, slight dirty talk

synopsis: you have the tattoo 'eat me' right above your pussy, and dean finds it!

author notes: i didn't really base this off of 'freak' by lana but i listened to it on loop when writing this so if you want to listen, listen!! also im working on a sequel so stay tuned... :3

dean vers!!

The leather seats of the Impala creaked softly as Dean shifted, his eyes locked on the words tattooed right above your panties in stark red ink. “Eat me,” he read aloud, his voice dropping to that rough, gravelly tone that made your stomach flip. The moonlight filtering through the foggy windows cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw.

He reached out with one hand, fingers trailing along the edge of your tattoo before moving higher, his calloused palm finding the curve of your hip. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm against the seat. The scent of leather mixed with his cologne created an intoxicating cocktail that made your head spin.

“Well, shit,” Dean muttered, his eyes dark with hunger as they traveled up your body. “Can’t argue with that, can I?” His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, fingers digging in possessively as he leaned in closer. The heat of his breath ghosted over your exposed skin, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies.

Without warning, he hooked one arm under your legs and lifted them slightly, positioning you exactly where he wanted you. His face was mere inches from your core now, his gaze fixed on those two simple words that apparently given him all the permission he needed.

“Gotta follow orders, baby,” he growled low, before his tongue made its first contact. A long, slow lick that traced the outline of your tattoo. The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but gasp as his fingers spread your thighs wider, giving him better access.

His fingers tightened on your thighs, holding them open as he positioned himself between your legs. He dove in, burying his face against you with an intensity that left you breathless. His tongue worked its way higher, lapping at the fabric of your panties with increasing pressure until you could feel the wetness soaking through the thin material. The rough texture of his stubble scraped against your sensitive flesh as he pulled the fabric to the side with his teeth, exposing you completely.

“Fuck,” he groaned against you, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “You’re soaked.” His fingers joined his mouth, one sliding into your slick folds while his tongue lapped up your clit. The combination of his tongue and fingers was overwhelming, making you arch on the seat.

Dean’s tongue was relentless, alternating between long, slow licks and quick teasing flicks. He sucked gently on your clit, then pulled back to take a breath before diving back in. His fingers pumped in and out of you in a steady rhythm that matched the pace of his tongue, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

Your body started to tremble, every nerve ending on high alert as Dean continued his relentless assault on your core. He took his fingers out of you, only to replace it with his tongue. You bucked against his face wildly, hands tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer as your body screamed for release.

“Take it so well f’me,” he muttered against you, muffled and rough. The synchronization of his tongue and hand drove you wild. The wet sounds of his mouth on you filled the car, mixing with your ragged breaths and his low growls of approval.

Dean shifted in his position, angling his head so he could look up at you while he ate you out. His pupils were blown out with lust, locked onto your contorting face. One hand moved from your clit to your breast, squeezing through your thin shirt as his thumb found your nipple and began circling it. The added stimulation was almost too much, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he commanded, his tongue flat against you, licking from slit to clit. “I wanna hear you scream my name when you come.”

Your body was a coiled spring ready to jump, every muscle tensing as pleasure radiated through you in waves. Dean’s tongue was still working you over, sucking your clit gently and swirling his tongue around it.

“Dean…I’mmmfhhh… so close..” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking as your hips bucked wildly against his face. Your hands were fisted in his hair, pulling him harder against you even as your body prepared to explode.

Dean growled in response, redoubling his efforts. His tongue was now lapping rapidly at your clit while his fingers slowly curled inside you again. He perfectly hit the spot in you that made your vision blur. The pressure was building, coiling tighter and tighter until—

“Fffuhhck.. Dean!” you screamed as your orgasm crashed over you. Your back arched off the seat as far as it could as your body convulsed. Your velvety walls clenched around his fingers as your juices started to flow down them. Your thighs trembled, slamming shut and trapping Dean’s head in between them.

can't turn you down

kinktober, day 3

dean winchester x f!reader

warnings: nsfw!! phone/voice kink, orgasm denial, lots of dirty talk, phone sex, hints of sexting, and praise.

synopsis: dean is away in another state, on a hunt with sam. it's only been roughly a day since he left, but you need him right now! giving into your needs, you send him a risqué picture. little did you know, that would change your night completely.(dean is dating reader btw)

The night stretches long and restless around you. You’ve been flipping through your phone for the past hour and a half, lost in old messages. Flipping through them, you find foggy videos of better nights than this one. Nights where Dean had your face slammed down in your sheets, voice low behind the camera, hips driving into you while his hands roamed around your body like he couldn’t live without touching you.

You continue searching, before hovering your finger on one. The cover of the video was you, on your knees, lips parted with Dean’s cum all over your face. Another video; shaky, and dark, but the faint image of Dean under you was clear, as the sound of his tongue lapping up your wet cunt echoed through your quiet room.

Although usually filling to watch at night; tonight, they aren’t enough. They don’t scratch the itch, not this time. Not with Dean gone three states away, chasing some ghoul in a half-dead town, sleeping in shitty motels and eating gas station food. You already tried playing with yourself, making yourself orgasm maybe twice, but you needed more. You needed Dean.

Whining out, you kick off the blanket. Laying back on the bed, you fingers dance along the lace of your panties, teasing the damp fabric as your squirm with need. They were Dean’s favorite ones, a dark navy pair. The camera captures you splayed out, your nipples on full display with Dean’s worn flannel falling off your shoulders. With a breathy sigh, you slip your fingers beneath the lace. Your arousal could be seen with the camera, shining underneath the lace and on your inner thighs. The pale moonlight filtering through the windows made it barely visible, but enough for him to realize how needy you were.

A coy smile plays at the corners of your mouth as you snap the photo. Quickly flipping over on your stomach, you open the messages app with haste. Clicking on Dean's profile and pulling up the photo, you click send. No comments along with it, just an image, an invitation.

You don’t even have time to second guess it before a read receipt appears.

Then, three dots show up.

Then they stop.

Before showing up again.

Dean - Are you fuckin’ serious right now?

You bite your lip, before he’s typing again.

Dean - I’m gone for one damn day and you’re already like this?

Jesus Christ, sweetheart

And you’re touching yourself in my shirt?

You don’t wait this time, you respond back with shaky hands.

You - I’m sorryyyy

I miss you so much

I didn’t mean to be bad, I just need you right now

Dean - Fuck

You are bad

Look at you, so needy you couldn’t wait two fucking days

Your thighs clench.

You - I’m so wet it’s starting to hurt

I need you so bad, baby

Please don’t be mad

There was a long pause. Your stomach knots. He’s gonna scold you. Punish you when he gets home. But-

Dean - Mad?

Sweetheart, I’m sitting in the dark trying not to jerk off with Sammy passed out four feet away from me.

I’m this close to losing it, and it’s all because my girl couldn’t keep her hands off that pretty pussy when I’m gone.

There’s a longer pause now. Stillness. The kind of quiet that echoes.

Your fingers are still resting against your soaked panties, legs starting to tremble slightly from the tension you’ve been holding back. You stare at the screen, heart hammering. You don’t breathe.

Your phone lights up, Dean’s calling you.

You swipe to answer before the first ring finishes. There’s silence at first-just the sound of your own shaky breathing and the low hum of something on Dean’s end. Then-

“..You got any idea what you’ve done to me?” His voice is quiet but tense. It’s like it’s straining through clenched teeth. “I’m lyin’ here in the dark, tryin’ to keep my fuckin’ noise down while Sammy’s over there snoring.. and my cock is so hard it hurts.”

A pause, before a low, strained laugh meets your ear. “And all I can see, is that picture. My girl, wearin’ my shirt, with her legs spread.” You don’t dare make a sound. “I should be mad,” he mutters. You hear a quiet rustle- sheets? Maybe his zipper? “But you look so goddamn pathetic in that photo, sweetheart. So needy. Like you’d do anything just to hear my voice? Is that right?”

Dean groans- quiet, cut off, like he bit it back behind his fist. He straightens out, before his voice drops an octave. “Tell me, sweetheart. You want to touch yourself?”

You inhale sharply, too loudly. And he hears it. But, he lets the silence stretch. It’s cruel, intentional.

“Put the phone on the pillow, lay back, and keep your mouth shut unless I ask you a question. You want me? My help? You’re gonna earn it.”

You listen, quickly putting your phone on speaker and down on the pillow. You lean back, staring up at the ceiling, hardly daring to breathe.

“Good girl,” Dean’s voice rumbles from the speaker, after hearing you move around. You feel his words reverberate through you.

“Now, I want you to slip your hand inside those pretty panties. Nice and slow.” His command sends a shiver down your spine. Without hesitation, you allow your fingers to creep beneath the lace once again. A soft gasp escapes your lips at the contact.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Feel how wet you are for me?” You nod, before realizing he can’t see you. “Yes,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

You hear his breathing quicken on the other side of the line, “Keep going, I want you to tease yourself. Play around your clit, don’t you dare touch it directly yet.”

You obey, again, tracing teasing patterns around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Slowly, a knot coils in your core, your hips starting to buck upwards into your touch. “Fuck, I can hear you,” Dean groans softly. “I can hear your fingers sliding around your pussy.. you’re dripping, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you manage to choke out, cheeks flushing with embarrassment and desire.

“I bet if I was there, I could slide my cock right into your pussy. No warning, no prep. Just bury myself fucking balls deep.” Your breath hitches as you hear the subtle rhythmic sound of flesh meeting flesh from his side. The knowledge that Dean is stroking himself to the image of you touching yourself sends a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you.

His words paint a vivid picture in your mind. Your pussy clenches around nothing, aching to be filled. “Please,” you whimper.

“Go on sweetheart, rub your pretty pussy. Nice and hard for me, show me how much you need me.” He pants quietly, the sound of his hand moving faster on his cock now more audible.

Spurred on by his encouragement, you obey eagerly, your fingers finding your aching clit and circling it firmly. A load moan escapes your lips at the needed stimulation, your back arching.

“Mmm, yeah just like that. Fuck, I wish I was there to see you. To watch you play with your needy fucking pussy,” he groans, his breathing growing heavier and more erratic. The obscene sound of his hand pumping his shaft fills your ear, as if he was holding the phone right next to his dick.

Your other hand comes up to squeeze and knead your breast, pinching the peak of your nipple. You imagine him watching you, jerking off to the sight of you touching yourself so shamelessly.

“Ahhh fuckkk, I’mm gonna cum, Dean-ie!” you whimper desperately, feeling your climax building.

“No,” Dean denies firmly, his voice tight with restraint. “Not yet, baby. You don’t get to cum until I say so.”

You whine in protest, your hips bucking up into your hand as you try to chase your release. “Please, I need.. I need it,” you beg, voice high and needy.

“Patience, sweetheart. You’ll cum when I fucking tell you to,” he growls his own pleasure evident in the way he’s panting into the phone. “Fuck yourself on your fingers. Imagine it’s mine. Feel how deep I’d go, curling them just to hit that spot you like,” His voice echoes through your ears as he guides you. You let out a choked moan, plunging two fingers knuckle-deep into your aching cunt. Your velvety walls clench greedily around the intrusion, drawing your digits in deeper. You imagine it’s Dean’s hand, his thick fingers claiming your pussy.

“That’s my good girl, taking me so well,” he praises, his own breathing growing even more harsher as he listens to your sounds. “Don’t forget about your clit. Rub her just like I would. Show me how much you need my touch, baby.” Obediently, you bring your other hand down, rubbing your throbbing clit in tight, desperate circles. Each flick of your fingertip sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, pushing you closer to the brink of ecstasy. You picture Dean above you, his intense gaze fixed between your spread thighs, exactly how he does when he's there with you.

Dean groans, the sound of his hand growing more desperate. Your fingers plunge in and out of your dripping sex, rubbing your clit wildly. You’re so close, teetering on the very edge of climax. “Can I please cum, now?” You whimper, trying your best to hold back as you await his answer.

“F-fuck, y-yeah. Cum for me ba-by. Let me hear you fall apart.” Dean manages to grit out, his own pleasure nearing it’s peak. Your walls clamp down viciously around your fingers as your climax crashes through you like a tidal wave. A strangled cry tears from your throat, your back arching as ecstasy whites out your mind. Release gushes out, coating your hand and dripping down onto the sheets below.

At the same instant, Dean lets out a guttural groan, quickly smothered by what sounds like his hand pressed tightly against his face. His cock pulses and throbs in his grip as thick ropes of cum fall from the tip, painting his lower stomach with his release.

After a few moments of silence, Dean’s voice cuts through it, sighing before he begins. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” His words bring a blissful smile to your face, heart fluttering in your chest like a teenager in love.

“I love you too, Dean. More than anything,” you reply softly.

“I’ll be home tomorrow, okay? Can’t wait to hold you in my arms again. I'll make this up to you when I see you."

...

the other woman

sam winchester x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw! pwp, slight angst, revenge sex, recording, piv, oral (f!recieving), soft dom sam

synopsis: being in a relationship, you have to be somewhat paranoid. you had your suspicions, he was always going out, turned off his location, etc. going through his phone, you find he's been cheating on you. you run to your best friend's house in seek of some kind of comfort, not wanting to be in a house alone with the man whose been lying to you for who knows how long.

author notes: lowkey feeling very motivated so be ready for more fics... also bf's name for reader is trey!! (some random one that i came up with T-T)

You’d been lying awake for an hour, staring at the ceiling, gut twisting in ways that you couldn’t explain. Trey was asleep beside you, the room lit only by the dim glow of the streetlight and far off city-lights bleeding through the curtains. His breathing was even, steady.

You told yourself not to. Going through his phone wasn't right, you should trust him. But, when it buzzed on the nightstand, your heart stuttered. He got home late again, saying he was out with “a friend from work,” but you’d heard that excuse too many times now.

Slowly, you turned over on your side. He was out cold, arm thrown lazily across the blanket, face relaxed in the dim light. You stared for a moment, hoping that just looking at him would be enough to silence the storm in your chest. It wasn’t. You reached out over him carefully and slid the phone off the nightstand.

Holding the phone, you sat up. Your hands shook as you entered the password—four numbers you’d memorized months ago but never used. The screen unlocked, becoming met with a picture of you and him together as the background. Standing in front of the ocean, you had your arms around one another smiling under a shared kiss. You almost stopped there.

But, you needed closure, making your thumb move. Tapping on the messages app, the foreign contact was open already. The words on screen were unmistakable proof.

Trey - I can’t stop thinking about last night.. you looked so good in my shirt on top of me

I wish you were here rnn :(

You froze, blinking at the screen to make sure what you saw was real. Your chest began to feel hollow. A trembling sound left your throat—half laugh, half sob. You scrolled further, each message slicing a little deeper. Pictures, plans, voice notes. Some things you never even heard, words he’d never even said to you. You dropped the phone on the mattress like it burned.

For a moment, you just sat on your bed, turning to watch the rise and fall of Trey’s chest. He looked peaceful, innocent, unknowing of what you just found out. You wanted to scream, to wake him and demand answers. But instead, you felt your chest constrict while the tears built, hot and fast, vision starting to blur.

You pressed your fist against your mouth to stop the sound. Your breath came in shallow gasps, shoulders shaking. The air felt wrong, like the whole room was closing in on you.

You slid out of the bed as quietly and quickly as you could. The floor creaked once, but he didn’t move. You grabbed your jacket from the chair in the corner of the room, throwing it on over your shoulder. You fumbled with the zipper, then made your way to grab your car keys, along with your phone.

Outside, the night air was cold enough to sting. The road shined under the streetlights as you stumbled toward your car, heart pounding so hard it drowned out every other sound. You didn’t know where to go, at least not at first. But when your hands stopped shaking long enough to turn the wheel, you knew where you had to go.

...

Every red light, every empty stretch of road—it all blurred together until you were pulling up outside his place, headlights washing over the familiar front porch. The house was quiet, warm light glowed faintly from the living room curtains. You hesitated, your breath catching as your reflection stared back at you in the rear view mirror— eyes red, cheeks streaked with tears, hair a mess, and still wearing the shirt you’d fallen asleep in beside Trey.

You pulled yourself out of the car, not caring to lock it. The porch boards creaked under your feet. You knocked once, a beat, and then the door opened.

Sam filled the doorway—barefoot, and in an old band t-shirt and sweatpants. “Hello?” he asked, before becoming instantly alert and saying your name. He wanted to question why you were here so late, but when he saw you, the words immediately died in his throat. His eyes softened, calling out your name, “.. what’s wrong?”

Your throat tightened, tears threatened to spill from your eyes. The words came out as a broken whisper. “He’s been cheating on me, Sam.” Making his jaw clench. For a beat, he didn’t move. Then, he stepped back and held the door open wider. “Come in.”

You didn’t even try to stop the tears this time. The second you crossed the threshold, Sam’s arm came around your shoulders, guiding you in. His place smelled faintly of old books and leather; comforting in a way. “C'mere,” he murmured, pulling you against his chest. He held you, your fingers quickly fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“I—” your voice cracked. “He was right next to me, Sammy. Sleeping beside me, and I saw everything. I just— I didn’t know what else to do.”

He exhaled slowly, jaw tight against your hair. He huffed, low and angry but not at you. “You didn’t deserve that.” He rubbed your back to try and comfort you.

You shook your head, still trembling. “I feel so stupid. Like— I should’ve known.”

Sam pulled back just enough to look at you. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for someone else's choices.” His voice softened, the rough edge fading.

You swallowed hard, tears dripping down from your face, onto your jacket. “I thought he loved me.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek with the side of his thumb, his touch careful. “He’s an idiot. Anyone whose ever been around you for five minutes knows you’re… worth a lot more than that.”

You met his eyes, and something in his expression made your chest ache. The space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving. The old clock in the corner ticked quietly, filling the silence. Sam’s thumb still lingered against your skin, his other hand resting lightly on your back. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm where it rested against his chest—steady.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words small but true.

He gave a faint smile, “Don’t thank me, I’m just glad you came here instead of trying to deal with it alone.”

Your voice broke again, “I didn’t know where to go.”

“And you came to me.” He said quietly. Something in his tone hit deeper than anything else tonight. You didn’t realize until that moment how much you’d always trusted him, how often his name was the first one you thought of when everything went wrong. The sadness stopped falling from your eyes, replaced with comfort now.

Sam guided you to the couch, cool under your clothed legs as you sat. You took off your jacket, placing it next to you on the sofa. He disappeared for a moment, and returned with a glass of water before pressing it into your hands. He sat beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours.

There was a silence after that. It wasn’t the kind of silence that was uncomfortable—just thick with things neither of you knew how to say.

“I always thought he didn’t deserve you,” Sam said finally, voice low. “I just didn’t think he’d prove it like that.”

You swallowed, “I don’t even know what to do now. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

His eyes lifted up to yours, a hand reaching to be placed on your thigh. “You want to stop thinking about him?” You nodded wordlessly.

Sam’s touch stayed light, just enough to keep you anchored. His thumb brushed slow, soothing circles against the fabric of your pajama pants. “Okay,” he murmured, voice low and careful. He hesitated for a minute, exhaling softly through his nose. “Can I be honest?”

You nodded.

“I ...really like you,” he said quietly. The words hung above your head like a chandelier, fragile but sturdy. “More than I should, more than I planned to. I always hated the way he treated yo-”

You felt your lips part before the thought formed. You leaned in, slow and unsure, until the space between you finally disappeared. Sam’s hand stalked up your neck, and into your hair as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more demanding. His tongue stroked against yours, the taste of him spreading all over your tongue. It was intoxicating, you found yourself melting against him.

You slowly pulled back, a slow panting leaving your lips. His hand lingered, moving to your cheek now. The scent of him surrounded you—leather, pine, and something uniquely Sam. “Can I take care of you?” he sighed, voice low with an intimate rumble in it. You smile sweetly, cupping his face with your hands and nodding.

He smiled softly, leaning into your neck. His lips trailed light kisses along the column of your throat. You threw your head back, allowing more area for him to mark you up. He pulled away, before leaning up and nipping at your earlobe. “Maybe we can record a little video for him?” He whispered right beneath your ear, before pulling away to look at you; the offer hanging right in front of you.

You felt a thrill run through you, a dark excitement that made your core clench. “Yes,” you breathed, voice growing husky with need. Sam’s face broke into a slow, satisfied grin. “Follow me.” He stood up, before walking down a nearby hallway.

You followed him, before he led you to his bedroom. The room was tidy, but lived in; a few open books on his desk, an old flannel tossed across the desk chair, and the faint smell of Sam's cologne coming from his clothes. You stood near the doorway while he moved across the room to a shelf and pulled something from it.

When he turned back, he was holding an old video camera. The same one the brothers used sometimes for hunts—old but functional. You looked at the camera, pointed at you, before meeting his gaze again. Sam took a small step closer, “Remember.. we don’t have to do anything,” he added quickly. “Not unless you want to..”

“Stop, Sam,” You stepped forward, closing the small distance between the two of you, “I want this, I really do.” You placed a hand on his chest, you could feel his heartbeat quicken.

His eyes gazed down at you, a tender smile playing on his lips. He covered your hand on his chest with his free one, giving it a gentle squeeze. He guided you to the bed, sitting you down. You watched him with trusting eyes as he stepped back. He placed the camera down on the nightstand, and angled it towards the bed more. He clicked a button, and a red recording light started blinking.

“So beautiful,” he said to himself, his eyes roaming over your entire body after moving away from the camera. He knelt down in front of you, strong hands sliding up your thighs once more. He wrapped his fingers around your waistband, before looking up with pleading eyes. You nodded, giving him permission to your entire body now. You were at his mercy.

He peeled them off, along with your panties. He licked his lips as he took in the sight of your glistening pussy, a low groan falling from his lips. He leaned in, nose brushing against your folds, breathing you in. Then, he licked a slow stripe up your slit. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he growled, the sound vibrated against your sensitive flesh. He sealed his mouth over your pussy, eating you out like a starving man at a feast. His tongue delved deep into you, before zeroing in on your clit; sucking at the bundle of nerves, and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. Your head fell back, a long moan tearing from your throat. You leaned back against the bed, propping yourself up on your hands.

Then, he slipped two fingers inside your dripping cunt, pumping them in and out, curling them to hit that spot that made you see stars. His other hand slid up your body, groping at your tit.

You got lost in the sensation as he devoured you, along with the feeling of his fingers curling in and out of you. “Come for me, baby,” he urged, and you do. You clamped down on his fingers like a vice, not letting them slip out of you. Sam groaned in satisfaction as he felt you cum on his face; the vibrations of his voice only intensified your orgasm. He didn’t let up, continuing to fuck his fingers into you, prolonging your climax.

He finally pulled back after you finish, taking his fingers out of you before placing them in his mouth, sucking your arousal off them. Pushing himself up to stand again, he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss again. You could taste yourself on his lips, which made a wave of new arousal start to drip out of you. You could feel his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.

He pulled away for a moment, shedding his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. He kicked off his pants and boxers next, his cock springing free, long and heavy between his legs. You couldn’t help but question if it would fit in you or not.

Meanwhile, Sam moved again, grabbing the camera and holding it in his hands. You grabbed your night shirt, before throwing it over your head and into the corner of the room somewhere along with your pants. He stepped back over to you until his cock was pressing against your folds. “Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he commanded softly, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grasp your ass. He pointed the camera down at where your most intimate parts met.

After giving a small smack to your ass, you wrapped your legs around his waist. He moved his free hand back to his cock, sliding it up and down your folds to soak it. Then, he moved it to meet with your hole. The thick tip parted you, teasing your opening. You whimpered at the small stretch starting to happen.

Slowly, he pushed forward, sinking into your tight pussy. He paused, letting you adjust to the stretch, “Breath, sweetheart,” he coaxed softly, before pushing deeper. Inch by hard inch, he disappeared inside you, and the camera caught every moment. The lens zooming into focus on where your bodies met, the sight of Sam’s cock that just vanished inside of you. “Look at the camera, baby,” he encouraged, moving it so that it pointed at your face. It caught the way your stared the camera down with knitted eyebrows, while your mouth fell open in a silent moan.

He gave a reassuring smile, before burying himself in you, his hips nestled against yours. He started to roll his hips, grinding against your clit. Making you squeeze even tighter around him, forcing a choked groan from him.

He eventually pulled out slowly until just the tip remained inside you, before pushing himself back into you. He set a steady, deep rhythm, hips rolling against yours with every thrust. “Oh god, Sammyy..” you gasped, your cheeks flushed a pretty pink, your tits bouncing slightly with each thrust. “Tell him how good I’m making you feel, baby.” He teased, moving a hand down to play with your clit again.

“Your cock feels so good inside me, Sammy, S-stretching me out so goood…” Your voice was breathy. You grabbed your tits, rolling a nipple in one hand. Strands of hair started to cling to your newly damp forehead. Your lips were parted, glossy and kiss-swollen, it was a look of pure ecstasy.

Sam groaned at your words, moving the camera back down from your face, to your tits where you held them, then to where you two met. “Taking me so well…” he echoed quietly. He started pistoning his hips, driving into you with a new-found vigor. The bed creaked beneath you, repetitively hitting the wall it was against. He gripped your thigh, and pushed it away from your other one, driving into you even deeper. You looked down, watching as Sam’s cock disappeared into your stretched, dripping pussy. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to the sheets below. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the quiet room.

His thrusts grew erratic quickly, his breathing ragged. He gripped the camera until his knuckles went white as he slammed into you with a final thrust. With a groan, he buried himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he came inside you. Rope after rope of thick, creamy cum painted your insides. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around him at the same time, milking him until he was dry as your own orgasm started crashing through you.

Sam pulled out of your pussy, a small wet sound filling the air. He got the camera close to your cunt, capturing the sinful sight of both of your releases. Pearly white cum oozed out of your hole, pooling down onto the sheets. Sam reached down with two fingers and scooped up the cum falling down onto the sheets, and fucked it back into your weeping hole.

With a soft click, the red light stopped blinking.

…

New Message

To - Trey Williams

Subject - How’s Your Girlfriend Doing?

cant take my eyes off of you!

kinktober, day 2

dbf!soldier boy x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw! porn with little plot, daddy kink, forbidden(?), age gap, ben cant stop talking!

synopsis: ben (your dad's bestfriend) had been staying over for the summer because he had been helping your dad with house renovations. the couch had become his for the summer nights. one late night in the kitchen, a teasing exchange turned into something impossible to forget.

author notes: sorry this is 3 days late! i had to work friday and saturday, and only just got around to posting this today. anyway, i hope everyone enjoys!

Ben’s house wasn’t very close. He lived maybe an hour out, far enough away that driving back and forth everyday would’ve been a nightmare. This house renovation project that your dad was having wasn’t a one day thing. So when Ben showed up, it wasn’t just for the day. The couch had practically become his for the summer.

You had a snack in your room earlier, and forgot to clean the bowl. Knowing you would forget tomorrow, and were already up now, you decided to go and clean it. The house was dark, except for the faint glow of the moonlight slipping through the curtains. Your father’s snores carried down the hall, steady and loud. You moved quiet, fingers curling around the bowl. The house is still, with just the low murmur of rain outside.

“You always sneak around your house like that?”

The bowl nearly slips from your fingers, you turn your head. He’s sitting up on the couch, arms resting on the back of it. His voice was low and rough like it never fully woke up. In the dim light, his eyes catch yours and don’t break.

You shift, turning and leaning back against the counter. The shirt you threw on barley covered your thighs. It was just supposed to be a quick trip downstairs.

“Thought everyone was asleep.” You say, calmly.

“You thought I would be able to sleep after the way I saw you staring at me today?” He turned his head sideways, mockingly; his neck cracking quietly. His broad, unclothed shoulders shined under the moonlight. His hair was a mess, his smirk, worse. You feel heat tightening low in your stomach.

“I wasn’t staring.” You mutter, the lie doesn’t carry much weight. You folded your arms. Ben leaned forward a little, “You were,” he opposed. “When you thought I wasn’t lookin'”

Your throat dries. The bowl in your hands growing cold, as your skin feels warm everywhere else. You shift your weight again, feeling the hem of your shirt pull a little higher with the motion. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you chew on the inside of your cheek, pushing off the counter.

Ben’s voice follows you as you move, slow and drawling. “You’re gonna tell me you weren’t watchin' when I took my shirt off?”

You sat on the porch steps, enamored by him. He was shirtless, chest broad and solid. Sweat rolling down his v-line, disappearing into the waistband of his low-slung jeans. Sawdust clung to his arms, along with a few dirt smudges along his sculpted body. His hair was messy and damp, pushed back with a few strands falling over his knitted eyebrows. His jaw was clenched as he worked.

You couldn’t help but stare as his muscles flexed and released as he moved around. The way his forearms flexed, prominent veins rising with every curl of his hands. It was hard not to gawk.

The memory plays in your head once again. It’s already been playing in your mind ever since you witnessed the scene this morning. You walk towards the sink, trying to keep yourself busy. “You mean when you made sure I saw you take it off?” You ask, the faucet squeaking as you turn it on.

Turning around towards the sink again, a low chuckle was let out. “Hell, if I’d known you were gonna look at me like that, I'd've done it slower, doll.” You glanced at him over your shoulder. He still hadn’t moved, still spread out like he owned the room.

“You always talk like this to your best friend’s daughter?” You question, trying to keep your tone dry.

“You always stare at your dad’s best friend like you want him to do somethin’ about it?”

Your breath catches in your throat. You place the bowl down in the sink and pause, not answering. Ben lets the silence stretch too. The rain outside seemed to get a little louder, with gusts of wind pushing against the windows.

He stands, the couch groaning under his weight. He doesn’t say anything at first; just walks towards you, slow, measured, like he is crossing some kind of line he swore he wouldn’t. You don’t move. He stops just behind you, close enough that the heat off of his bare chest touches your back. His voice was lower now, not teasing anymore. “You think I haven’t thought about it?” he muttered in your ear. “Every damn day since you stopped being a kid. You walk around this house like a god damn temptation.”

He exhales, “But I can’t. Not with him. Your…it can’t happen.”

You turn around slowly, the space between you two is almost nothing now. “And if he wasn’t?” you asked, desperate for closure.

His jaw tightens. His eyes search yours like he’s trying to find a way out of his own words. But there isn’t one. “Then you’d been up on that counter last week.”

Your breath stumbles in your chest, caught halfway. You don’t say anything. Neither does he. Neither of you step back. The silence is deafening.

You kiss him. It’s sudden, but not rushed. Your hands hold the edge of the counter still as you lean in, lips brushing his. He doesn’t move at first, until you feel his hands slowly rake up to your waist. His breath brushes your lips, and you feel the way his chest rises, the tight inhale like he’s trying to pull the air back in his lungs before it escapes.

“Fuck,” he pulls away, voice cracking. “We shouldn’t.” But within a second his mouth is on yours again, like the words weren’t meant to stop anything. His lips move with yours, slow but certain. His hand drifts along the curve of your hip, fingers curling slightly into your skin through the thin fabric. You press against him, moving your hands to his chest. A low sound rumbled in his chest.

The counter presses into your back as he crowds into your space, his hand moving to grip the edge beside you, caging you in even more. He tries to hold himself back with one hand, as the other one moves to slide across your bare thigh. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he breathes into the kiss, words almost swallowed by how hungrily he’s kissing you now. His hand slid higher, pushing up the hem of your shirt to expose your stomach.

His eyes drift downwards, taking in your body. His gaze lingers on the curve of your tits, barely hidden beneath the the thin fabric of your shirt. Your nipples peaked, making them even more noticeable. He swallows, “You’re killin' me, babygirl.” His voice was low, rougher than before. His pupils were blown out, as he leaned closer. “I want to bend you over this counter and bury myself in you until your screaming my fucking name.”

He presses into you, pinning you against the counter with his hips. You can feel the hard bulge of his cock straining against his sweatpants. “Fuck, I bet you’d feel so good wrapped around me. So fuckin’ tight and wet and perfect.” His hand cups the soft weight of your tit through your shirt. “But I cant.”

You whimper, arching into his touch. “Please,” you breath, voice thin and needy. “I need it. Need you.” Your hands ball against his chest, “Fuck me, Ben. Right here. Please, I can’t-” Your words dissolve into a desperate, quiet moan as he grinds harder against you. With a growl, he yanks your shirt over your head and tosses it somewhere behind him. Your tits bounce free. He groans at the sight, palming them roughly. He pinches and rolls your nipples between his fingers, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. He follows that, ripping your shorts down your legs.

He spins you around, and bends you over the counter. Your upper body falls flat against the cool marble, contrasting with your overly hot body. He grips your hips, and presses his dick right in between your ass. You were convinced you could see a puddle of arousal start to show up through your panties. The bulge in his pants scrapes deliciously against your ass as he grinds against you. “Keep quiet now,” He warns, one large hand coming down to cover your mouth. “Wouldn’t want your daddy to hear what a naughty girl you are.”

You nod frantically, biting your lip to stifle a moan as he pulls down his pants and boxers with the other hand. He pulled them down just enough to free his cock. It springs out, long and hard, and so fucking thick. Larger than you ever imagined. He strokes himself a few times, spreading the bead of precum around. Then, he’s pressing the thick head against your core, the heat of him slicing even through the fabric of your panties. He teases you, rubbing up and down, letting you feel how hard he is, how much he wants you, how long he’s been waiting for this. Your panties are soaked through, the damp cotton clinging to your folds.

“Fucking beg for it,” he demands, the hand on your mouth sliding up to tug on your hair. He forces you to arch your back so you meet his gaze. “Tell me how much you’ve wanted this. How long you’ve waited for this.”

“I..I’ve wanted it for so long,” you admit breathlessly, cheeks flushed with shame and desire. “I’ve spent so many nights lying awake, thinking about you splitting me open on your big cock, filling me up so deep.”

He laughs, “That’s fuckin’ right.” He rips down your panties. They fall to your ankles, leaving you bare and exposed. He stares at your weeping cunt, “All this for me?” he marvels, mostly to himself. He lets go of your hair before standing straight again, putting a hand over your mouth, and slamming his hips against yours. He stretches you out deliciously, slick walls parting for his length as he fills you to the hilt. You moan at the intrusion, the sound muffled against his palm. He shushes, “Don’t wake up your dad.” He reminds you, nipping at your ear.

He begins to move, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside you, before surging forward again, burying himself balls-deep inside your cunt. Over and over he fucks into you, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. His free hand grips your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place.

“You don’t realize how many nights I’ve imagined this, sweetheart,” he pants against your neck, breath hot and heavy. “Jacking my fucking cock off till I passed out, thinking about sinking into this perfect fucking cunt. Hearing you scream for me, begging me to fuck you harder.” He bites down on the skin where your shoulder meets your neck, then sucking a dark mark into it. His rhythm grows erratic, hips snapping forward with increasing force. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoes quietly in the kitchen, mingling with your muffled cries and his grunts. “Gonna fill you up,” he raps, fingers digging into your hip. You whimper, clamping down on his dick even harder.He leans in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear again as he continues to pound you. He sighs out a laugh, “Fuck, you like that baby? Like feeling Daddy’s best friend’s cock splitting you open?” His voice is a low, filthy rasp, sending shivers down your spine.

You can only whimper and cry in response, overwhelmed by the pleasure coursing through you. He smiles, “Gonna fill this pussy up so good. Pump you full of my fucking cum until it’s leaking out of you.” The thought makes you clench around him again, a fresh gush of wetness flooding around his cock. A white, creamy circle appears from where his cock and your cunt meet. He looks down, whimpering as you clamp down on him more and more. “Fuck yeah, you like that idea, don’t you, sweet thing? Want Daddy to know his best friend fucked his little girl so good that he’s dripping out of her? Want him to see you walking around, marked, and claimed?”

Your mind grows fuzzy, your core sputters. Your climax hits you like a train, pleasure crashing over you in intense waves. Your walls flutter around him, trying to milk his cock for all its worth. You cry out, the sound muffled against the palm of his hand as he keeps your mouth covered, silencing your ecstasy. He groans, hips stuttering as your cunt squeezes him, trying to pull him deeper. He pistons into you faster, chasing his own release as your pussy clenches and flutters around him. He mutters to himself, before burying himself in you with one final thrust. Hot, thick ropes of his cum flood your cunt, painting your insides white. You can feel the heat of it, the way it coats your walls, and slowly starts to seep out around where you are joined. He groans brokenly against your shoulder, hips jerking as spurt after spurt of his seed fills you up.

Finally, he stills, collapsing against your back as you both try to catch your breath. He gives a small kiss to your temple. Within all this, the snoring down the hallway never stilled.

...

i'm your man!

soldier boy x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw!! porn with a LITTLE LITTLE plot, chair sex, hair pulling, dirty talk, reader is soldier boy's assistant, rough

synopsis: being ben's newly hired assistant is an interesting gig. one day, he needed help with something. you obviously help, but little did you know it was for something...less professional than you thought. (also for the sake of the story just act like he lives in vought tower😓)

author notes: yay guys its time for pr4ktical's yearly post!! all jokes but, again, i've lost my spark for writing in the past few months and i've been trying to get back into it. this might be one of my weaker works, but i promise i'll try to get better again! thank you again yawlllll!!! also.. this may or may not have been inspired after the movie ‘secretary’..

Your thighs tremble as Ben fucked you like his life depended on it. His hands settled on your hips, gripping them as hard as he could. Your hands on his broad shoulders, biting your lips till they were bloody, trying to keep quiet. He would see your bloody lips, pulling them into a sloppy kiss as his cock touched your cervix.

Dazed, your mind wanders, not knowing how to feel about this situation. After all, he was technically your boss.

It all started a few months ago, just with a simple job listing.

You didn’t expect to get the job.

When you clicked that apply button on that strange, nearly blank listing, you were half-delirious with fatigue and frustration. That night, and the nights before, you were searching endlessly for a job. You’d been fresh out of college, and needed a job and quick.

You’d spent hours on job websites, looking and applying, just to get no call backs. You’d been met with a listing that was pretty much blank, all but an email, an address, and just a job name. “Personal Assistant - Manhattan, New York - Private Client.” You can still imagine in your head. There was no company, no description, no nothing. It could’ve been a scam, or even a setup for something darker.

You didn’t care either way, as you were pretty much out of options. Broke, exhausted, and clawing at anything that might help you at all.

So when your phone rang the next morning, No Caller ID, you answered.

“You’re hired. Be here by noon.”

And now here you were, with the world famous Soldier Boy. His dick snug up in your heat. You sat in his room in the Vought Tower, on a chair near his bed. You'd been his assistant for little over a year now. He’d called you in his room, quoting he “had an issue” with something. You didn't think much of it, and left your room quickly to help him with this little issue. But little did you know, his problem was…a less professional one.

You were just.. perfect. So perfect. Your skin, soft and warm on his shoulders, little crescent moon shapes molded into his skin from you digging your nails into him. You suddenly feel his hands move from your hips, dragging up to the back of your neck. His fingers lace through your hair, before quickly yanking you down so that his lips are practically kissing the top of your ear. “You’re such a fucking mess, aren’t you?” He sneered, other hand giving your ass a quick smack.

He rolled his hips up into yours, slotting himself even deeper than before. “So ready to help me whenever I need, hm?” He murmured into your ear, snapping his hips again. You whimper from each sudden movement, nodding your head slowly.

With his hand still laced between your hair, he quickly forces you to stare into his eyes. You meet his gaze, his pupils were blown out with lust, making his green irises just a little skinny ring around them.

He reaches his other hand up, cupping your jaw as he slowly starts to move his hips. You feel his calloused finger run along your lips. “Such a good little assistant.” He drawls, he slots his finger in your mouth, leading you to start sucking on it. You stare at him, swirling your tongue around his thumb. You open your mouth, closing your eyes and licking his finger from the base to the tip, acting as if it were his cock. He groans beneath you, picking up the pace and slamming his cock into you with a much quicker pace.

The room is quickly filled with the sound of your two bodies meeting again, and again, obscene, and raw. You whimper, nodding over and over again, like you’re trying to keep up with his thrusts. Your thighs ache from the trembling. “Just keep making those pretty noises for me.” He murmured huskily, staring at where his cock was disappearing, then appearing again inside you. You whimpered softly, body quivering under his violent thrusts.

Ben groaned lowly, his hands sliding down to beneath your thighs. He lifted you up, just enough so his tip was barely inside you. Before you could think, he slammed you down onto his length. He grit his teeth, and panted heavily. You could feel the bruise starting to form from his grip. “I-oh god..” You breathed out, hands trailing up his neck to grip his hair. “S..so close.”

He gripped your chin again, staring at you before slapping your cheek. “Hold it. Don’t fucking come until I say.” He gritted out, releasing the grip he had on your chin, before throwing his head back in pleasure. You whimpered, torn between obeying him, and the tight coil about to burst inside of you. He kept his thrusts steady now, hips driving into you with timed precision, watching you fall apart inch by inch.

Your hips followed his, chasing the high. He could feel you tightening around him, your muscles started to tense up. He fucked you quicker now, and reached his hand low, circling your sensitive patch of nerves. “Fucking go, cum for me, baby.” He groaned. Not a second later, you shattered. Eyes wide, mouth open, eyebrows knitted, a moan caught in your throat as your body tensed around him. Wave after wave crashing through you.

He guided you through it, holding you, grounding you, until he followed suit. With a quick snap of his hips, he buried himself in you, growling your name like a promise. Warm, thick ropes of his cum cover your gummy walls. He eventually slowed down, riding out his orgasm, before coming to a stop. You could feel a puddle of both your releases flood out right where your bodies met.

Silence wafted over you two. Just the sound of panting was present. Your head fell against his shoulder, hands sliding down his neck. While his hands were possessively spread along your back and waist. He turned his head slowly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You knew this was it. You’d become his.

...

glory box

sam winchester x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw!! masturbation (f! and m!recieving), porn w/very little plot, switch!sam, teasing, needy reader with equally as needy sam, slow burn(?), reader and sam have an established relationship!

synopsis: you, sam, and dean are all living in this motel for a few days on a hunt. while dean is out asking around for details on disappearances, you and sam are stuck in the room together. while he reads a book, you start to feel very very needy for him!

author notes: happy new year everyone! sorry its been a while! school has been kicking my ass but we are back with sam smut (yummy!) :3

also here is what inspired me to make this.. (x)

The buzz of the cheap motel lamp hummed softly in the background, its golden light catching in the dust particles drifting lazily through the air. Rain whispered against the window, soft and rhythmic. Somewhere out there, Dean was poking through town—talking with gas station clerks, sweet-talking librarians, maybe even charming a local bartender into spilling too many details. Wherever he was, he wouldn’t be back for hours.

Inside, it was just you and Sam.

He sat on a chair a few steps away from one of the motel’s bed, hunched over an old volume cracked open on his lap. His brow was furrowed in concentration, hair falling on his face as his eyes tracked each line like it might hold the key to everything.

He looked good like that, and that pissed you off.

You shifted where you lay on the bed closest to the chair, curled up on your side, arm tucked beneath your head as you watched him. The TV was off. The silence stretched long, only broken by the faint noise of rain tapping against the glass window. Your skin tingled beneath your clothes, every nerve on edge. It was one of those nights.

You weren’t sure what triggered it. Maybe it was the way his voice had sounded earlier when he read aloud to you, rough around the edges from too little sleep. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was right there, less than five feet away, and hadn’t touched you in days.

He hadn’t meant to be cruel. That wasn’t Sam. He just got like this when he was hunting something—mind in lore, body forgotten. You knew it, understood why. But, that didn’t make the ache dull, let alone go away.

You stretched like a cat, long and slow, letting the motion lift your shirt just enough to expose the strip of bare skin above your waistband. His eyes didn’t flick up. You cursed under your breath.

You let your legs slide open just slightly, not lewd, but just enough to feel the cool motel air against your exposed skin. Still nothing.

“Sammy,” you whined, voice soft.

“Hm?” He didn’t look up.

You bit your lip, sitting up a little, propping yourself on one elbow. “I’m bored.”

He turned a page. “I told Dean I’d go through the Hemlock case notes again. There’s something weird in the dates…all the disappearances line up with the lunar cycle, but they’re off a day, give or take. It might not be a werewolf after all.”

You nodded slowly. “Mmm.. sounds important.”

“Could be. If we prep for the wrong thing, more people could get killed.” He ran a hand through his hair, fingers leaving it tousled. “I just need to—”

You exhaled, louder than necessary, flopping back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The bed creaked under you. “I’m not asking you to stop.”

Sam glanced at you briefly, eyebrows raised in silent question. It passed with a blink, his eyes dropping back to the book.

God. He was so damn focused, it made you want to strangle him. You tried again, swinging your legs off the bed this time. The floor was cold under your bare feet as you crossed the narrow space between the chair and bed. You let your fingers trail over his shoulder when you circled him—barely a brush, just enough to feel the heat of his body, the muscle beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

He tensed for a second, then relaxed. “Everything okay?”

You leaned down, arms draping loosely over his shoulders from behind. “Mhm.”

He turned the page again. You almost screamed. How is he still not paying attention to you!?

Your mouth found the curve of his neck instead, lips barely grazing skin. Just a breath. A silent plea wrapped in warmth and nothing else. But, still, he didn’t react. A pause in his reading, a blink, but no shift. No pull. No hand reaching for you.

Your fingers curled around the edge of his chair. “Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“….Nevermind..”” You trailed off, swallowing the rest. You couldn’t ask outright, not yet, not like this. So, instead, you let the silence hang again, stepping back, slowly returning to your bed. The ache burned hotter now, deeper. But so did the frustration. Under it all though, something darker began to curl in your stomach.

Fine. You thought, watching him lean over to make another note in the margin. If he wanted to ignore you, then you’d make it very hard for him to keep doing it.

Sam didn’t notice at first when the rustle of fabric started. The page numbers blurred together as he read, mind locked into sigils and half forgotten rites—until the room shifted. The air felt heavier, warmer. Then, he heard it. A soft sound, barely there.

He glanced up without thinking. You were standing beside the bed, fingers curled into the hem of your shirt. Your eyes were dark, unfocused, with parted lips like you were already somewhere else. You didn’t look at him as you pulled the fabric up and over your head, letting it hit the floor.

Sam froze.

Your denim shorts and panties came next, slow and deliberate. The sound of the zipper seemed impossibly loud in the small room. When they slid down your legs, you stepped out of them. He swallowed hard, as you climbed onto the bed again. “I tried,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “I really did, Sammy.”

His book slipped a little in his hands. “Tried…?”

You reached behind you and unclasped your bra, letting it fall away. Sam’s breath stuttered. His eyes dropped, then snapped back up to your face.

“Look,” he started, already losing the thread of whatever he meant to say. “I just—”

You shifted closer, falling onto your side as you stared at him. Your hand slid down your own body, slow and unashamed. You dragged your fingers down through your slick, teasing. The sound you made was small, broken. A whimper you didn’t even try to stop.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “Jesus.”

You leaned forward, grabbing onto the white sheets beneath you as you rocked gently against your own hand. He shuddered at the touch. You started slow, but your movements quickly became less careful, more frantic. Each motion drew another breathy sound from your throat, each noise sinking straight into him.

His cock slowly started to twitch in the confines of his jeans.

“Sam,” you whispered, heavy with want. Your hand crept higher on the bed, almost as if you were reaching out for him. He shifted, spreading his legs just a little to try to ease the strain in his pants. He wanted nothing more than to shove the book aside, drag you into his lap, free himself, and take what you were offering. Placing the book on his knee, his hands started to twitch toward his belt.

“Stop,” you said softly.

The word stopped him cold. He froze, eyes snapping to your lust-blown ones. You smiled. “Take them off slowly.”

His chest rose and fell once, then twice, before obeying. The book stayed on his knee as his right hand worked open his belt, fingers clumsy with tension. Before you knew it, denim dragged down his hips, boxers following. His cock sprung free, red and flushed. Pre-cum glistened at the angry tip. He hissed under his breath at the cool air meeting his hot shaft.

You remained on the bed, and he was still on the chair. The distance between you both was an arm’s length now, as he moved the chair closer. The book rested open in his hands again, spine creaking softly as his grip tightened.

“Start over,” you said.

Sam blew out a shaky breath through his nose and lowered his eyes. Your smile was slow. Knowing.

“Read.”

And he did. His voice was steady, filling the motel room with words that had no business being spoken in a moment like this. Sometimes Latin spilled from his mouth, careful and deliberate, the cadence practiced.

You wrapped your hand around him in the middle of a sentence.

His breath stuttered so hard it nearly knocked the words clean out of him. His back pressed into the chair, shoulders locking as his hips jerked forward before he could stop himself.

“Fuck—” He caught himself, jaw tightening. You didn’t scold him. Your grip was confident, slow, sliding just enough to make him aware of every inch of desire. “Keep going,” you commanded quietly.

His voice resumed eventually, rougher now. He tried to keep his rhythm even, but your hand had its own agenda, stroking him with unhurried precision, teasing rather than rushing.

His thigh trembled. You shifted again, free hand disappearing between your own legs again as you grinded against your palm. You whined, making him falter mid-sentence.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, eyebrows creasing. “You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the point.” With that, your hand tightened slightly, thumb brushing over his tip every other stroke, making his hips lift again and again. He groaned under his breath, a raw sound he didn’t bother hiding this time.

The book shook under his grip. His voice dropped, growing uneven as his breathing grew shallow. The words he spoke tangled with soft whimpers coming from your mouth, as well as the slick, obscene sounds of your movements as you rocked harder against your own hand.

His control frayed visibly. His knees spread wider, feet braced against the floor like he needed the leverage just to stay upright. Sweat beaded at his temples. His free hand fisted in the arm of the chair, knuckles white.

You gathered a fair amount of your slick on your digits, before plunging them into your needy hole. The sounds you made grew louder, more broken. You tipped your head back, throat exposed, moaning freely now. Sam’s eyes flicked up despite himself—just one glance— and it nearly ruined him.

The sight of you spread out on the bed, flushed and desperate, hand moving frantically while you watching him struggle—it punched the breath from his lungs.

He growled softly, frustrated, and reached out suddenly, thumb brushing against your soft lips. “So loud.” he huffed, breathless.

You parted them immediately. Your mouth closed around his thumb, warm and salty as it hit your taste buds. You swirled your tongue around it, making his head fall back against the chair. His hips twitched violently, and he bit out a curse, chest heaving.

The idea was not a good one to say the least. Your muffled moans vibrated around his thumb, sending shivers through him. Your hands also never slowed. If anything, you grew more relentless, for him and yourself. You fucked yourself harder, while pulling him closer to the edge with every twist and stroke of your other hand.

He tried to keep reading. Tried to keep the words straight. But, his breaths were coming too fast now. His voice unraveled, sentences dissolving into half-spoken fragments. His entire body was taut, every muscle straining with the effort not to give in.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

You didn’t stop. You leaned back, arching, fingers moving faster as your breath broke into sharp, desperate gasps. Your name fell from his mouth without thought. His whole body tensed, a sharp inhale locking in his lungs as hot, sticky cum flooded out from the tip of his dick. He cried out, head falling back against the chair, hips jerking up into your hand as everything unraveled.

Your own released followed hard and fast, your body seizing as you cried out, hips stuttering, pleasure crashing through you in waves that left you trembling and boneless on the bed. Your hand slowed only when you couldn’t keep it moving anymore.

Sam slumped back in the chair, chest rising and falling heavily, hair plastered to his forehead. His hands were loose now, on the sides of the chair as his thumb was pulled out of your mouth. The book fell to the ground at some point.

You lay still sprawled on the bed, fingers still inside yourself, with a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips.

After a long beat, Sam huffed a breathless laugh. “Dean better not come back right now.”

You giggled softly, before pulling your own fingers out of your gushing hole with a gasp.