#smutober

Specific thanks go to those I read all month long:

@secretlysamcro

@bellaxgiornata

@twd-bee3

@sc3ptre

@imnotjustreadingg

@paulyenvol6

@ravennaortiz

@samcrosfaith

@maiamore

Y’all are rockstars and I love what you put out!! 🥳❤️

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴠᴏʟ. xxx. october 30th, 2025. feat. dean winchester/plus-size!reader. love confessions. multiple orgasms. unprotected, messy sex. hickies. light biting. 69ing. more friends to lovers?! i'm sentimental these days.

approx. 2600 w

Main Masterlist. Kinktober Lineup.

Feeling tipsy? Buy Me A Coffee ☕️

You like horror movies. The classics, especially from the 70s and 80s. Anything adapted from a Stephen King book is a win in your book, which is why this year, you're embracing your buxom curves and going as (book-accurate) Carrie White. The silk hugs your figure perfectly, and the crown adorning your head makes your eyes shine.

"Are you sure you want to cover it in blood?" Charlie asks. "I mean, I know you don't bat for my team, but shit, babes. You're hot."

You adjust your prom queen sash, blushing. "I'm sure. The blood is a necessity."

"Okay," she says.

It's a good thing you're doing this outside, because dumping a bottle of fake blood all over yourself inside the bunker would make a huge mess that Sam would whine about for days. You'd rather avoid that. So instead, you're standing out front, shivering a little, as Charlie dunks you.

"How do I look?" you ask her.

"Awesome!" she gushes. She's dressed as a female Han Solo, and the two of you have been planning this for weeks. A Halloween bar crawl to celebrate the fact that it's finally on a weekend this year. The two of you head back inside to rejoin Sam and Dean, laughing the whole way down the stairs.

Charlie's eyes widen before you reach the landing. "Shit! I left my keys out there."

She runs back up, and you keep heading down. Sam's still off somewhere, probably showering and refusing to wear a costume despite Eileen's pleading, so it's just Dean at the War Room table, pregaming with a beer. He's dressed in a suit—James Bond, he says. Really, it's just his fed suit with a bowtie instead of a regular tie. He's criminally attractive, and he knows it.

He'll probably get laid tonight, a voice in your mind reminds you. Because he's not yours to look at that way.

When he sees you, he kicks out his chair, running forward. "Whoa. Hey! Are you okay? You're bleeding. What happened? Where's Charlie—"

"Dean," you say, fighting a laugh. "I'm Carrie. From the movie."

He blushes. "Sorry."

"Maybe you've done a little too much pregaming," you tease lightly. "It's Halloween. I'm fine."

His ears are red, too. "Don't tell Sam."

"Tell me what?" Sam asks, walking into the room.

"Dean freaked out for a second. Thought I was injured."

"Carrie." Sam gets it right away. "Nice."

"And what are you supposed to be?" you ask.

Eileen rolls her eyes, standing beside him in a vampire costume. "A consort," she signs.

He's just himself, following her around like a puppy. It's a normal Saturday night, then.

Dean glances at you, since you're fluent in ASL, waiting for a translation.

"He's a vampire bitch," you inform him.

"At least I'm not a dumbass confused by a Halloween costume," Sam retorts.

Eileen winks at you, signing, "It's because he loves you that he worries."

You blush, avoiding Dean's eyes. You don't want to translate what she's just said, because that would mean addressing it. You've been in love with him for as long as you can remember, but you've never been his type. Bendy, petite, hundred-pound women—that's what Dean likes. You're... not that. You know you're pretty, but you also know you've never had a thigh gap, and you can keep up with Dean's appetite. You've long since accepted that you two are close friends. Nothing more.

But sometimes, the little comments from Sam, Eileen, and even Charlie make you wonder. Or maybe they're just teasing you.

Charlie comes back in, keys in hand, "Shall we get our drink on, bitches?"

You and Dean ride together, and Sam and Eileen occupy the backseat of the Impala. Charlie is confident about her chances of getting laid tonight, so she insists on taking her car. You meant to ride with her, worried about staining Baby's seats, but Dean was opening the passenger door for you before you could say anything.

The night is fun. You dance, drink plenty of free cocktails from guys that Dean scares off with his death glare. You try not to be bothered by the fact he's acting like a guard dog, and instead focus on having fun with your friends.

Sure enough, Charlie leaves the bar with a gorgeous blonde, winking at you on her way out. Sam and Eileen, being the most responsible drinkers, take the front seat on the way back to the bunker, leaving you and Dean in the back. You're buzzed, and so is he, but not so drunk that all inhibitions are out the window. No, you still feel that line between friends and more, wedged right between you.

You won't cross it. You can't.

Back at the bunker, you shower, changing into a baggy Scream t-shirt and pajama bottoms with tiny Ghostfaces printed on them. Your fuzzy pumpkin socks were a gift from Dean. He gave them to you a week ago when you were carving pumpkins, since the bunker floor is always cold, and he thought of you when he saw them.

You tried not to read too much into it. Now, as you study them on your feet, that feels a little harder.

You emerge from the bathroom, toweling your hair, humming to yourself, and run straight into Dean's hard chest. He steadies you, hands around your waist.

"Whoa," he says. "Sorry."

"Wasn't paying attention," you say, blushing. "Sorry."

"I was looking for you, actually," he replies. "I, uh..."

You raise your eyebrows, waiting.

"You looked really pretty tonight," he finishes. He's so uncertain, so nervous and un-Deanlike that it throws you for a loop.

"Even with the blood?"

"Oh, especially with the blood. It's hot as hell when you cut down a bunch of monsters and get covered in it. Badass." Dean's eyes sparkle, and your stomach somersaults.

"Thanks," you respond, because you're not really sure what else to say in this situation, but he's looking at you. The eye contact is enough to make your face hot, and the way he licks his lips makes your heart stop in your chest.

You clear your throat, sure that it's all in your head. "Is that all you wanted to say? You thought I... looked nice?"

He shakes his head, and blurts out the words in a single gasp. "Samsaysyoulikeme."

You flinch, looking at the wall. Shit. He knows. Sam opened his big mouth, and now things are weird with Dean, and you're going to have to leave the bunker and return to hunting solo because you won't be able to look Dean in the eye ever again.

"Oh," you manage to squeak.

"Jesus," he says. "I'm not good at this, okay? Not with you."

You feel like he's doused you in ice water. "Because I'm not your type," you say flatly. "It's fine, Dean. Okay? I do just fine. I don't need to hear whatever you have to say about us just being friends because—"

"Is that what you want?" he asks. His eyes are wide, and he looks like you just struck him. "Because I don't. I want—" He cuts himself off. "Want you. And you are my type. Not just because you're so fucking hot but because you're the only woman I see. I haven't... It's been you, baby, and I didn't want to ruin this thing because I figured you didn't feel that way, or maybe you had something better."

"There is no better," you interject. "It's..."

"It's what?" he asks gently. "Because I'm head over heels for you, baby, and if this ain't what you want, no hard feelings. I'm an alcoholic with daddy issues. I'm not—"

"You're everything, Dean," you cut him off, stepping closer. You look up at him, your hand hovering like you're scared to touch him and scare him off. "You're—"

He kisses you.

You drop the towel in the hallway as your lips meet his in a consuming blaze. He kisses you, memorizing your mouth with his tongue, pushing you against the wall. His hands slide under your shirt, settling around your hips.

"Up," he orders.

"Dean—"

"Up," he says. "Legs around me."

"But..."

He pulls back, gaze searching yours. "You want to take it slow? Because I'll wait, I will. I just thought..."

"I want to," you insist, and he groans, kissing your palm. "I just... I'm heavy."

He rolls his eyes and then lifts you into his arms like you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs around his hips, surprised for a second before he kisses the doubts out of your head and walks you to his room. He grinds his cock against your core, and you can feel every ridge of him through his thin sweatpants. You want him just as bad, your panties damp, your body shaking with barely contained need.

He kisses your neck, pulling your shirt collar aside to lick your collarbone and suck little marks in the skin there. You whimper, and then he's got you on the bed, lifting your shirt, running his hands over the curves of your belly until he cups your ample tits in his palms. The sound he makes, raw and completely primal, makes your pussy throb. His thumbs tweak your nipples into hard peaks, and then he lowers his head and sucks each of them for what feels like hours of torture. You're writhing, antsy for more.

"Arms up," he says.

You raise them. Your shirt disappears into the darkness of his bedroom.

"Lift your hips," he continues, his finger hooked under the waistband of your sweats. He pulls your panties off in the same motion, leaving you completely bare for him. His breath hitches, and he shifts off of you for a second, reaching for the lamp switch.

"Dean!" You grab his wrist. "Wait."

He pauses, confused. You can make out the shape of his face in the dark, but the details are hazy.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"What are you doing?"

"Turning the light on so I can look at the beautiful woman in my bed," he replies, incredulous. "You think I'm gonna make love to you in the dark, baby? Not a chance."

"It's just..." You trail off, hiding behind your hands. "I'm not... skinny."

"No," he agrees, "but you're perfect. You're like a fuckin' Renaissance painting. The way they paint Aphrodite in all those museums you like. so much. Every perfect inch of you, I want to kiss, explore, and memorize. So I want the light on."

You're going to cry. You're going to cry, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. You blink away the tears.

"If you're not comfortable with it, we can keep it off," he murmurs. His mouth finds your neck again, your breast. "But I want to look at you. Really look."

You nod, finding your voice. "Light on is okay."

"Are you sure?"

You smile against his lips. "I'm sure."

He turns the lamp on, looking you over from head to toe. It's a hungry survey of your body, heat in every rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. "Look at you," he whispers. "So fuckin' beautiful."

"You're overdressed," you manage to say.

He grins, and then takes off his clothes in record time. When you see his cock, proud and thick, your mouth waters. You're really doing this. With him. He pumps his cock in his fist, groaning.

"Need to taste you first," he says. "Scoot."

You giggle as he lays down on the bed, his cock slapping against his stomach. "C'mere."

You tilt your head.

He squeezes your thighs, lifting his chin. "Sit."

"Oh!"

"If you tell me you're heavy one more time, I'm gonna slap that perfect ass of yours raw," he warns. "Sit."

"I think I'd like that, actually."

"Next time," he promises. "Now sit."

"Can I..." You pause, eyes downcast. "Can I suck your cock?"

He goes very still, and his dick twitches at the question.

"Please," he whispers. "But only if you're on my face."

You straddle his shoulders, and he grips your ass, smacking one cheek lightly as you settle over him. You can feel his annoyance in the breath he takes before yanking you down to sit firmly on his mouth. Your hand finds the base of his cock, squeezing, teasing his balls, and then he runs his tongue across your folds and you forget your own name. You take him into your mouth as he starts to suck at your clit, working you in perfect time with each movement of your head up and down. The sounds he makes as he eats you out make you wonder who's enjoying this more. It's like your pleasure is his, and he's enraptured, worshipping your body. You've never felt more beautiful.

You fit him as far back as you can, gagging on his length, quivering as he fucks you with his tongue, circling your clit into a puffy mound as you flirt with the edge. You cum so hard you're seeing stars, sucking him back, letting him fuck your throat as he keeps you riding out every second of pleasure.

Then, suddenly, he pulls you off his cock. You lift your hips, confused, and he chuckles sheepishly. "Didn't want to cum yet," he admits. "It's been a while."

"Does that mean you're clean?" you ask.

He moans. "You saying what I think you are?"

You nod, gesturing to your arm. "Implant. And I'm clean. It's been a long time for me, too."

"Then we're golden," he says. "You want to take me raw?"

Your pussy gushes at his words.

"Then take me, sweetheart," he says.

You climb over him, running your slick cunt against his abs before you settle against his cock. He slips through your folds, running his shaft through them until he's glistening. You reach for him, guiding him inside, and slowly lower yourself down onto him.

It's paradise. Dean inside you is paradise. He fills you up so completely, splitting you open with every inch of his thick cock, and you're completely gone for him. He's reaching every spot inside you, meeting all the places that make you quiver for him. His head nudges against your cervix as you get settled, adjusting to his size.

The way he stares up at you? You've never felt anything like this.

"Please," he whispers. "Ride me."

You do. Slow at first, to get used to taking him, and then he starts to buck his hips, thrusting into you, and the pace becomes more frantic. You grasp the headboard for leverage, tits bouncing, gasping as he fucks you hard. The coil in your belly is tightening, and you're so close, your heart beating the syllables of his name, Dean Winchester, over and over again.

"Gonna cum on my cock, baby?" he rasps. "Hm? Gonna cum for me?"

You nod, crying out. "Oh, Dean—"

You come undone, and he doesn't let up. He keeps fucking into you, and then, when you're boneless, he flips you onto your back, legs around his shoulders as he presses you into a folded position, and hits a spot so deep you gush around him.

"Gonna give me one more," he says. "One more. Need you to cum with me. You're so beautiful when you cum. Come on, pretty girl. One more. One more—" His words fall into a broken moan, but his thumb rubs your clit with furious circles, and you find your final orgasm at the same time he does. He thrusts into you one final time, as you squeeze around him, milking his cock, and then he paints your insides white with his hot seed.

When it's over, he cleans you up, and then he holds you. "I love you," he says, kissing the top of your head. "Always."

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴠᴏʟ. xxᴠɪɪɪ. october 28th, 2025. feat. sam winchester/gf!reader. established relationship. undercover case. reader poses as a stripper. lap dance. semi-public sex. sam hits it raw. dry humping. creampie. size difference. based on this ask!!!!

approx. 1k.

Main Masterlist. Kinktober Lineup.

Feeling tipsy? Buy Me A Coffee ☕️

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ - ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴄᴇ 0:01 ❍─────── 5:20 ↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺

"I don't like this."

"Sam, you don't have to like it. I'm telling you that it's happening."

He shakes his head. "No."

"No?"

Eyebrows raised, stern curl of his mouth. Sam looks ready to throttle you, which normally means hot argument sex, but no one's getting laid until the case is finished. "Sending you into a strip club to hunt a siren unarmed is not going to happen. No."

You sigh in exasperation. "Help me out here, Dean?"

Sam is faster than his brother, shutting him up with a glare. "No, Dean!"

Dean shuts his mouth, holding up his hands as if to say, 'I'm not part of this.' He heads out of the library, leaving you and Sam in the library alone.

Needless to say, you wind up dressed in a pair of tall stiletto heels, body glitter, tinsel in your hair, and a mink coat pulled over an outfit Sam would normally have torn to shreds before you made it to the bedroom. Dean is filling in as a bouncer, and much to his dismay, he's on the outside of the building. And Sam? He's skulking around with a sour look on his face.

Buttfuck Nowhere, Kansas isn't exactly a prime spot for strippers, so it was easy for someone like you, pretty enough and athletic, to get a chance to dance. It's fun, being Bambi with the ridiculously long eyelashes, long press-on nails adorning your fingers. Beyoncé is on the stereo when you take the stage, warm under the neon glow of the lights.

Sam is in the corner booth, staring at his drink like he's robbing it an gunpoint. When the needle drops, and he recognizes a song from your workout mix. His head lifts, eyes molten as you circle the pole, an arm over your head, balancing on your ridiculous heels with a surprising steadiness.

You swish your hips, sinking low, those eyes of yours batting. You're surprised at how fun this is. Your fishnet tights, your pert ass on display as you throw it back, working the pole.

"Tell me how I'm looking, babe."

Bills get tossed at your feet, tucked in the strap of your heels. Some of the other dancers look like they want to cut your head off. You let it all fade to the background.

Until you move to unclasp your bra. Then Sam is pushing off the table with a little too much force, stalking over to the stage. He all but throws a hundred-dollar bill at you, and you take his hand, indulging him, taking him back for a private dance.

"Couldn't take it anymore?" you tease as the curtain shuts.

He sits down in the chair, the line between his brows deepening. "Don't like anyone touching what's mine."

"Well, the rules say you're not supposed to touch me. Neither are they."

"They were looking."

"Now, you're the only one," you murmur, low, sweet. "And I'm going to finish my dance."

You toss your bra in his face and then pick up where you left off.

And you finish the hell out of your dance. He keeps his hands down, watching you grind on him, tits bouncing, working your hips over him. You can see him getting hard, straining against his slacks, and the sight of his cock pushing through the fabric makes your mouth water.

Then he breaks.

He hauls you into his lap, and the second your core is seated over his erection, your eyes flutter shut. You're so wet, aching for him. The thought of him watching you, envious in his corner booth, is enough to get you hot. His mouth crashes against yours, and his massive hands are on your chest, cupping and squeezing your tits as you roll your hips over his clothed length. You feel him through your panties, from your clit to your spine to your very nerves. You moan, clutching his shoulders, shaking as he brings you to the edge.

You explode like a firecracker, and he covers your mouth with his hand, stifling the noise.

"Gotta stay quiet for me," he reminds you, hot breath against your ear. He licks your neck, suckling a little mark beneath your ear. "That's a girl. That's it."

You whimper against his palm. He uses his other hand to undo his belt, freeing his throbbing cock. You push your panties aside and sink down onto him, and the relief of him stretching you, sheathed fully inside and bumping against your cervix, is delicious. You ride him slowly at first, the bass of the song playing on the stage beyond the curtain guiding you. Then, he takes control, guiding your thighs with a bruising grip, lifting you up and down.

You're shaking, tugging at his hair as he thrusts up into you, pounding you into another dimension. He keeps your mouth covered, licking and nipping at your breasts as they bounce in his face. Your eyes roll back, another orgasm crashing over you. He doesn't let up, relentlessly fucking you through it until your cervix is bruised. Abused, even.

When he comes, spilling hot ropes of cum inside your weeping cunt. As he fucks it back into you, he releases his grip on your mouth, kissing you softly.

"Whoa," you whisper. You touch his cheek, smiling. "You're covered in body glitter."

He chuckles. "Guess so. Hell of a dance, hon."

You giggle. "Again?"

He shakes his head. "I think we're supposed to be working." As if on command, his phone beeps. He glances down, scoffing. "Or not. Dean got her."

"So..."

Love & Deepspace SMUTOBER ⋆˙⟡

Day 5 - Caught | Abysswalker Fae!Rafayel x Unicorn!MC

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴠᴏʟ. xxᴠ. october 26th, 2025. feat. bucky barnes/fwb!reader. overstimulation. cockwarming. kinda mean!bucky. multiple orgasms. cum play adjacent(?). super soldier serum makes a man horny ig. multiple rounds. dacryphilia. approx. 800 w

Main Masterlist. Kinktober Lineup.

Feeling tipsy? Buy Me A Coffee ☕️

ɴᴏᴡ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: ꜱᴇx - ᴛʜᴇ 1975 0:01 ❍─────── 3:26 ↻ ⊲ Ⅱ ⊳ ↺

This is how you die.

A sexed-out blur of oxytocin, love bites, and a half-drunk bottle of whiskey that has your nerves on fire and your bloodstream cranked up to eleven with raw heat. Bucky Barnes's handprints on your shoulders, from when he bent you into a triangle, hands on the mattress, hips pulled up. His handprint on your ass cheek, which sings with every bounce as he pounds your cunt. Finger marks on your wrists where he pinned you during training, and then the invisible hues from how he scooped you off the mat and carried you to bed.

You two are terrible at hiding the arrangement, but you don't care when he's got his tongue in your mouth, those blue eyes cobalt with intense lust. Like you're the only person in the world, the only thing he can see. It's good, that feeling. Incredible, even.

You've lost count of how many orgasms you've had. Your legs feel like jello, and you're not sure you'll ever leave his bed, because walking is a challenge. Your cervix is bruised, your nipples raw from his teeth and fingers, and you're spotted like a Dalmatian in hickies where your clothes will cover. And it's perfect. It's everything you want without the fear of judgment.

You're all sharp edges and danger etched in the fine print. Bucky's the only person who makes you feel like you're a sated, docile creature, incapable of hurting anyone. Your past doesn't define you when he's got you like this, so fucked-out on bliss you can't think.

And sure, the super soldier thing is a perk.

You're splayed across his chest, tracing the ridges of his muscles with your fingertips, light as a feather. His metal arm is folded under his head, his other holding you tight across him. His cum is leaking out of you, even with his cock still stuffed inside of your weeping cunt. He's not soft, but he's not hard either. His smirk tells you he could go another round until you're crying.

He smooths your hair back behind your ear, his eyes on yours. You look up, nose bumping against his chin. "What?"

"Just looking," he says. Lips folded down, as if it's casual. "Just wanna look at you."

"Do you... like what you see?" you ask hesitantly.

He grins. "How could I not?"

This is where you stop. Pull back before it gets too serious, before the chemistry makes you cross a line into a territory you can't come back from.

"You got another one in you?" Bucky asks, his voice dipping into that lower register of his. His sex voice, which always seems to melt your clothes off your body, or make your arousal pulse in time with his name.

"Don't know," you admit.

"Come on," he taunts. "You can take it."

He rolls you onto your back, and you feel him spreading you open, getting hotter and thicker inside you. You gasp for air, nails against his shoulders, nodding your assent before he kisses you stupid.

It's so good it hurts. He starts rocking into you, slow, gentle, giving you time to stretch around him again. Your legs come to rest over his shoulders, and his balls slap against your ass as he moves a little harder, thumb stroking your clit. You cum before you even realize it's happening. That's the effect he has on you once you hit double-digits, so sensitive a breeze could take you out.

He thrusts deeper, watching you take him, feeling how you stretch to accommodate his massive size as he makes you sing for him.

"'s too much," you protest meekly. "Bucky, I c-can't. Can't cum again."

"Yes, you can," he says, "Come on, babydoll, just a little more for me. That's it. That's my girl."

"Y-Yours," you sob. A tear slides down your cheek, and despite the way your eyes flood, you can feel the tension building in your belly, growing from a simmer to a scald. You're gonna give him one more, and he's praising you, kissing away the tears, relishing in your ruination.

"That's it, baby, that's it," he murmurs. "One more. One more."

And as you squeeze his cock, he comes with you, pounding more, fresh cum into your cunt. When he finally pulls out, your sheets ruined with your shared releases, cheeks slick with sweat and tears, he kisses you gently on the forehead before getting up. You take a nice long look at his ass, round and dimpled and strong, and realize he's drawing you a bath when he turns the water on in his bathroom.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hannibal (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter Additional Tags: Trans Will Graham, Trans Male Character, Trans Character, Vaginal Sex, Outdoor Sex, Predator/Prey, Running Away, Bottom Will Graham, Top Hannibal Lecter, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Established Relationship, BDSM, Smutober, Bondage, Light Bondage, Clothed Sex Series: Part 8 of Smutober 2025 Summary: