#smuts

jungkook and his girlfriend had retired to bed hours ago, their bedroom door at the far end of the hall firmly closed. jimin's door was shut too, as it always was when you weren't officially "together"; a boundary you both maintained despite the electricity that sparked between you whenever you were near each other.

hunger gnawed at your stomach, a persistent reminder that dinner had been light and hours ago. the kitchen, with its state of the art appliances and gleaming marble countertops reserved for private chefs, beckoned like a sanctuary.

as you rounded the corner into the open concept living space, you froze. a figure was already there, silhouetted against the city lights as he leaned against the kitchen island. jimin.

he wore only a pair of low sweat gray sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips, revealing the sharp v-lines that disappeared into the fabric. his bare back was a canvas of smooth skin with moon phases tattooed vertically and defined muscle, shifting subtly as he reached into the refrigerator for what appeared to be a bottle of water.

"couldn't sleep either?" he asked without turning, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. you relaxed your tense posture, a small smile playing on your lips. "something like that... more like couldn't ignore the hunger."

jimin turned then, and the sight nearly stole your breath. his hair was slightly messy from sleep, soft strands falling across his forehead. in the dim light filtering from the city, his eyes appeared darker, more intense than usual. "the leftovers from that italian place?" he suggested, gesturing toward the refrigerator. "i think there's still some of that truffle pasta."

you moved toward him, drawn as if by an invisible string. "sounds perfect."

as you reached past him to open the refrigerator door, your arm brushed against his. the contact was brief but electric, sending a jolt of awareness through your entire body. you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin, catch the subtle scent of his nighttime body wash; something clean and slightly masculine.

when you turned with the container of pasta, jimin was watching you with an expression that made your stomach flutter. his eyes had darkened further, his lips parted slightly.

"what?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

"nothing," he said, but his eyes told a different story as they drifted slowly down your body, lingering where the silk robe tied loosely at your waist. "just… you look beautiful like this."

heat crept up your neck as you placed the pasta on the marble countertop. "it's the middle of the night and i'm practically in pajamas."

jimin stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on the countertop beside you, effectively caging you in. "that's exactly what i mean... natural, comfortable and beautiful." his voice had dropped to a near whisper, and you could feel the vibrations of it in your own chest. the city lights behind him created a halo effect around his silhouette, making him appear almost ethereal.

"jimin," you breathed, but you weren't sure if you were warning him away or inviting him closer. his free hand came up to gently cup your jaw, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just below your ear. "i've been thinking about you all night."

your heart hammered against your ribs. "we were all together until midnight."

he leaned in closer, his lips now just inches from yours. "i know. i was sitting across from you, pretending to listen to jungkook's story about his photoshoot, but all i could think about was how you looked in that dress, how your laugh makes your eyes sparkle, how much i wanted to be alone with you."

the confession hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. this was the unspoken tension that always existed when you were together. the fact that you weren't officially together, the careful boundaries you maintained in this shared living space.

"jimin, we probably shouldn't," you whispered, even as your body leaned into his touch. "probably not," he agreed, his lips brushing against yours with each word. "but i can't stop thinking about how you taste."

the last thread of your restraint snapped as you closed the remaining distance between you, pressing your lips to his. the kiss was immediately hungry, desperate, months of unspoken desire boiling over in the quiet kitchen.

jimin's hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him. you could feel his hardness through the thin layers of clothing separating you, and it sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins. his tongue explored your mouth with an intensity that left you breathless, your fingers tangling in his soft hair as you deepened the kiss.

when you finally broke apart, both panting slightly, jimin's eyes were dark with need. "i want you," he said simply. "right here, right now." a thrill shot through you at the boldness of his suggestion. here? in the kitchen where any of your housemates could walk in at any moment?

"someone could wake up," you protested weakly, even as your hands roamed across his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his warm skin. "then we'll have to be quiet," he replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes. his hands slid down to your hips, gripping them possessively. "unless you like the idea of being caught."

your breath hitched at his words, at the image they formed. there was something undeniably thrilling about the risk, about doing something so forbidden in a place of such domesticity.

jimin seemed to read your mind, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "i thought so." he lowered his head to trail kisses along your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your sensitive skin. "i've wanted to fuck you in this kitchen since we moved in."

his words were crude but effective, sending a jolt of arousal straight to your core. you tilted your head back, giving him better access as his hands slid under the silk of your robe, caressing the bare skin of your waist. "jimin," you moaned softly as he found that sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue swirling against it in a way that made your knees weak.

"i love it when you say my name like that," he murmured against your skin. "all breathy and desperate. makes me want to hear you scream it."

his hands moved higher, cupping your breasts through the thin lace of your bra. his thumbs brushed against your nipples, which immediately hardened in response. you arched into him, silently begging for more.

"patience," he chuckled, though his own breathing had grown heavier. "i've been dreaming about this for months. i want to savor every moment." with deliberate slowness, he untied the belt of your robe, parting the silk to reveal the lingerie beneath; a matching set in deep burgundy lace that you'd chosen without knowing he would see it tonight.

"fuck," he breathed, his eyes darkening further as they roamed over your body. "you're even more beautiful than i remember."

his hands resumed their exploration, tracing the delicate patterns of the lace before slipping beneath to touch your bare skin. the contrast between the rough calluses on his fingertips and the sensitive flesh of your breasts felt amazing.

"you're wearing too many clothes," you managed to say, your hands tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants.

jimin laughed softly. "so are you." with practiced ease, he unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the marble floor. his mouth immediately claimed one of your nipples, sucking and teasing until you were squirming.

"jimin, please," you begged, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

"please what?" he asked, lifting his head to meet your gaze. "tell me what you want." you hesitated for only a moment before answering honestly. "i want you inside me."

his eyes flashed with triumph and desire. in one smooth motion, he lifted you onto the kitchen island, the cool marble a shocking contrast against your heated skin. he positioned himself between your legs, his hands making quick work of your panties before pushing his own sweatpants down just enough to free his erection.

you gasped as you took in the sight of him; long and thick and already beading with precum. jimin noticed your appreciation and smirked. you reached out to wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly from base to tip. he groaned, his head falling back as he thrust into your hand.

"enough teasing," he said after a moment, gently pushing your hand away. "i need to be inside you."

he positioned himself at your entrance, teasing you with just the tip before slowly pushing inside. you both moaned at the sensation; him at your tight heat, you at the delicious stretch as he filled you completely.

for a moment, you just stayed like that, savoring the connection as you stared into each other's eyes.

jimin began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had you gasping. each withdrawal was a sweet torment, each return a blissful fulfillment. the kitchen island was cool and unforgiving against your back, but the contrast only heightened the heat building between your legs.

"you feel so good," jimin breathed against your neck, his hands gripping your hips as he found a deeper angle. "so tight, so wet for me."

his words were like fuel to the fire already burning inside you. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper. the new angle made you cry out softly, and jimin immediately clamped a hand over your mouth.

"shh," he whispered, his eyes dancing with mischief. "we wouldn't want to wake the neighbors, would we?"

the irony wasn't lost on you; your neighbors were your housemates, just down the hall. but instead of feeling deterred, the danger only excited you more. you deliberately moaned against his palm, your tongue darting out to taste his skin.

jimin's eyes widened at your boldness, his grip tightening on your hip. "naughty girl," he murmured, removing his hand only to replace it with his lips, kissing you deeply as he increased his pace.

the sounds of your coupling filled the quiet kitchen, the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, your soft whimpers, jimin's low groans of pleasure. his hand snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit with ease. he circled the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts, each movement pushing you closer to the edge.

"look at me," he commanded softly, and you forced your eyes open to meet his. the intensity in his gaze was almost too much. "i want to see your face when you finish on me."

the city lights blurred behind him as your eyes lost focus, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. "jimin," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "i'm—"

"cum for me," he urged silently, his voice strained with his own approaching release. "let it go."

with a cry that you muffled against his shoulder, your orgasm crashed over you in intense pleasure. your inner walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper as you rode out the sensations. jimin followed you over the edge with a guttural moan, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside you. for a moment, he collapsed against you, both of you panting heavily as you tried to catch your breath.

the kitchen was silent again, save for your ragged breathing and the distant sound of the city. you could feel jimin's heart hammering against your chest, a rapid rhythm that matched your own. when he finally lifted his head, his expression was soft, almost vulnerable. "wow," he breathed, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"wow indeed," you agreed with a lazy smile, your limbs feeling heavy and sated. jimin's fingers traced patterns on your thigh, his touch gentle now. "we should probably get cleaned up before someone wakes up." as much as you wanted to stay wrapped in his arms, you knew he was right. the spell was broken, reality creeping back in around the edges of your perfect moment.

he helped you down from the island, his hands lingering on your waist as if reluctant to let go. you quickly gathered your discarded clothing, clutching it to your chest as you glanced toward the hallway.

"meet me in my room?" jimin asked softly, his eyes hopeful. "we could... continue this properly."

you hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "i'll just be a minute."

as you slipped into the bathroom to clean up, you caught your reflection in the mirror; flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes bright with post orgasm bliss. you looked thoroughly and undeniably fucked, and you couldn't stop the smile that spread across your face.

when you emerged, jimin was waiting by his bedroom door, already dressed in a fresh pair of sweatpants and the now warm italian leftovers. he held out a hand to you, and you took it without hesitation, letting him lead you into his room.

the space was distinctly jimin. neat but lived-in, with a guitar propped against the wall and half-finished lyrics scattered on his desk. it was more intimate than the kitchen, more private, and yet somehow less thrilling.

jimin seemed to sense your thoughts. "don't worry," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye as he pulled you toward his bed and placed the food onto his desk. "i have plenty of ideas for how to make this just as exciting."

It went against every fiber of your being to be parted from him. But the last hunt had left him with a mild ankle injury. Even though Dean had grumbled that he was perfectly fine, the fact remained that he couldn’t exactly run if the need arose. He couldn’t even withstand enough pressure on the ankle to drive. 

You wonder if he’s pacing the matchbox small motel room, waiting desperately by his phone for the call that confirmed the job was done, that both you and Sam were headed back. This town had been having a string of deaths, all the victims, young and healthy individuals, spiking unnaturally high fevers that seemed to cook them from the inside out. All occurring in isolated locations without another soul around for miles. After canvassing the area and interviewing the necessary people, Sam connected the deaths to a witch’s spirit, divvying out curses from beyond the grave. Seemed like a simple salt and burn situation.  

“Give me a hand?” Sam grits out, struggling to shift the heavy stone cover off the coffin settled in the center of the crypt. 

One moment you’re struggling to shift the cold stone slab beside him. It moves an inch, and  then, it feels like a white hot iron poker strikes you in the spine, causing you to cry out as you collapse to your knees. 

You’re vaguely aware of Sam calling your name, kneeling beside you in the dirt and grime on the crypt floor. He feels distant, though you know he’s right beside you. That blistering heat is spreading from your spine, worming its way across your entire body. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut against the throbbing in your head. You can feel the pulsation of your blood, the thrumming heightened to a deafening roar in your ears. 

Sam grabs your shoulders in his massive hands, forcing you out of your crouched position. The sensation of his hands on you makes you cry out again, despite your panting, as you register his startled expression through hazy vision. 

He repeats your name, voice thick with concern and confusion. “What is it? What’s going on?” His light eyes search your flushed, trembling form. 

You wrap your arms around your abdomen, dry mouth gaping. “H-hot-” You gasp, feeling sweat prickle along your hairline and along your back. You can’t make sense of what’s happening to you, what you’re feeling. All you know is it hurts.

There’s heat in your face, but it's worse in your belly and lower. The pulsating sensation settles at the apex of your thighs, and as you do your best to swallow a high whine crawling its way out of the back of your throat, you recognize the feeling. You’re impossibly wet, your adductor muscles quivering from your efforts to clamp your thighs together. Your clit is beating painfully in time with your heart, aching so bad you momentarily forget yourself and reach for it before Sam jolts you again in his panic. 

He lays a hand on your forehead and immediately curses. “You’re burning up.” His eyes go wide when you slap his hand away because somehow, having him touch you causes the heat to surge into something worse. 

Sam says something else you can’t hear over the rushing in your ears, and then disappears from your sight. You fall to your side, the flush of your skin briefly cooled on the cold stone floor. As you writhe, tears slip from your eyes. You’re seriously considering ripping your clothes off when you roll over to see Sam forcing the lid of the coffin the rest of the way off. 

The massive muscles in his arms are pulled taut with the effort, his tanned skin sparkling in the darkness from a layer of sweat. His impossibly broad chest is heaving, and you realize your mouth is filling with saliva at the sight of all his brawn. 

This realization chills you. Sam, who you have never looked at as anything more than your boyfriend’s baby brother, is now intensifying the dizzying desire unfurling in your gut. You want him. You know its the curse, figure this must be the fever that the townspeople had succumbed to, but the knowledge doesn’t help you. The fibers of your being are begging for his closeness. You’re losing your clear headedness, losing the ability to be disgusted at yourself for lusting after the wrong brother. The ardor expands inside of you until there is no room for shame. 

It takes Sam less than a minute to thoroughly salt the bones before he ignites them. Having built a healthy blaze, he returns to your side. The smell of him, musky sweat, gasoline and smoke, sends you into overdrive, as you scramble away from him, fighting the intense urge to grab fistfuls of his damp shirt. 

This is it. You’re going to die. This fever is going to consume you. 

“You’re not going to die-” Sam declares, and you realize you must have been talking aloud. “Hey-you’re not going to die.” His voice is firm, deep, reaching the marrow of your bones, but there’s an underlying edge of panic. 

You throw your head back, willing yourself not to say what you’re thinking. “I need-need-”

What you need is for him to grab you. To press his body against yours, to still your trembling under the weight of his herculean figure. You need him to handle you roughly, to fill you with everything, anything. The images of it your mind creates make the desire worse. You imagine ripping first your own clothes away, then his, to be skin against skin, to be sticky against the sweat of his chest. 

Guilt is definitely present in your mind. It’s just not as loud as it should be. 

You try to conjure Dean’s face, to have him star in the chaotic fantasies plaguing your mind instead, and it works for a moment, before Sam’s grabbing you by the shoulders again, and you whine so loudly that Sam looks as if you’ve slapped him. 

“Dean- I need Dean!” You practically scream. 

You lose control of yourself, finally wedging a hand between your thighs over your jeans. Just the slightest pressure there has your eyes rolling back in your skull. The relief is so intense you can’t even care that Sam can see you. 

“...Something’s wrong…feverish and…Of course, I burned the bones but she’s still..” You hear bits and pieces of Sam quickly catching Dean up to speed before he holds the phone up to your ear, hesitating to touch you. 

Dean’s voice is gruff on the other line. He says your name in a measured voice, probably already gaining insight into your condition by your panting into the phone. “You’re gonna be alright, babygirl.” He says. “S’all gonna be okay. Need you to tell me what you’re feelin’.” 

“On fire.” You whisper through a whimper. “I need to-I need you.” But you know he’s a good day's drive away. And you won’t make it that long. 

He seems to understand what’s happening to you. Must have discovered something more about the nature of the deaths because then he tells you, “It’s a curse. You’re gonna have to do it without me, babygirl. Y’know how. Close your eyes and I’ll keep talkin’ to you, and it’ll be like I’m right there.” His voice is tight but you can’t spare a moment to worry about him when your entire body is vibrating, prickling all over with little shocks of electricity. 

You don’t even care that Sam is there, paying him no mind as he turns away. You try to focus on Dean’s voice on the phone as he orders you to put your hand into your panties. The anticipation of your own touch has you gasping as you fight with the button on your jeans, and then you need both hands to paw at your zipper, Sam’s phone clattering to the ground beside you. 

He didn’t tell you to, but you tear your jeans from your legs as fast as you can, moving with clumsy, desperate movements. Your heart beat is still in your ears as you use two fingers to probe your swollen cunt. You cry out at your own touch, hips twitching, as you slide through the mess between your legs. You’ve never been this wet. It’s made your underwear practically translucent, your arousal smearing all over your inner thighs. 

You’re so lost in the rush of euphoria you get from touching yourself you nearly block out the buzzing from the phone, realizing Dean has been trying to get your attention. Without stopping your aggressive movements, you put the phone back to your ear, gritting your teeth against the moan that wants to burst free. 

Dean hears you whimpering. “There you are, sweetheart. Better?” 

“Some, Dean, a little.” You blurt in a rush, closing your eyes, trying to conjure the image of him in your mind. It’s working, his voice helping you erase all thoughts of Sam. Instead, you think of Dean’s perfect face, the planes of his bare chest, the corded muscles of his shoulder. The pretty smirk he wears when he teases you, pinching your nipples, thumb circling your clit. More than anything, you picture his dick, increasing the speed of your fingers until you’re sure he can hear you playing with yourself through the phone. Certainly Sam, who is barely fifteen feet away, can hear the sloppy sounds of your wetness. 

Dean spews off at the mouth, the huskiness of his voice grating against your brain in the best way. “Think of me fucking you, baby, real rough the way I know you like. Fuck, wish I could feel you now. Can just tell you’re fucking soaked.”

You moan appreciatively. 

“S’good, baby.” Dean praises gently. “Keep going. As much as you need.” 

“I need to cum. I need it so bad.” You whine, ditching the phone again, putting it on speaker, to go at yourself with two hands. Your hole flutters as you shove two fingers inside yourself, the stretch easing the blinding ache minimally, your other hand scrubbing furiously at your clit. It’s true, you’re sure you will die if you don’t come. 

“I know, baby.” He muses. “Must be gettin’ close, huh?” You hear him swallow, and it helps you to imagine the bulge in his pants, how turned on he must be from listening to your desperation. “You gonna be good and cum for me?” 

You want to. You want to so badly, but no matter how hard you fuck yourself, you can’t seem to get your orgasm to build. Frustration is the only thing building up, and fully aware of how pathetic you sound but too far gone to care, you begin to babble into the phone, your voice echoing throughout the crypt. 

“I fucking can’t, Dean- I can’t. I’m gonna die if I don’t cum and I can’t fucking do it-” 

You’re devastated that you can’t make yourself come. Rubbing yourself just as frantically, your eyes open a fraction and zone in on Sam, standing as far away as he can. You chew at your lips, mesmerized by the width of his shoulders, the planes of his back that lead to his tiny waist, the sheer fucking size of him, and you bet his cock has to be huge, too. 

“I need you to touch me.” You cry out, only Dean thinks you’re crying out for him when in reality, your pleas are for his little brother. 

“Baby, I can’t-” Dean’s voice is strained. 

“I need more, this isn’t working.” You’re crying in earnest now, the taste of sweat exploding on your tongue. “I swear, I’m gonna die without it, Dean, please. Please, please. Make it stop. I need you to touch me, and I need it now or I’m gonna die.” 

There’s only the sound of your ragged breathing and the slick sounds of you fingering yourself before Dean says grimly, “Put Sam on the phone.” 

You more or less throw the phone at Sam. You feel like a rabid dog, abandoning your hopes of getting yourself off to tear at your top. You wrangle it over your head but the cool air reaching your sweaty back doesn’t make you feel better. 

“Dean, no-” Sam’s voice goes through you, straight to the core. You know you only want him because he’s here in the flesh, but still, you can’t fight it. “No, man…just no!....Are you seriously fucking asking me to-” 

Whatever frenzy you were in earlier is beginning to fade, but the pain, the heat, and the lust stays. You feel boneless, and you wonder how long the curse will make you suffer before you truly die. That would be best. Better than doing the despicable. Better than asking too much of Sam, than going too far and altering your friendship with him forever. Better than betraying Dean. 

Sam says your name, and he’s crouching right in front of you. Sluggishly, your eyes open. He’s incredibly tense, and his eyes keep shifting. His shirt is stickling to his chest with sweat, and you’re humiliated that you cannot tear your eyes away from the sizeable bulge at his crotch. He clears his throat, the noise making you jump, before he reaches a massive hand towards your naked arm. 

“No, Sam.” You beg. You don’t want to know what you’ll do if he touches you. “D-Don’t.” 

His lips form a harsh line as his eyes search your face. “Can’t just let you die.” 

“Sam-” Your clit seems to beat harder as you realize what he’s offering. If you were of a clearer mind, you would have protested more, would have at least wondered what Dean could have possibly said to convince himself and his brother that this was the solution. That this could ever be okay. But as far as you’re concerned, there’s no other choice. You need Sam right now more than air.

At the barely perceptible nod of his head, you throw yourself into his arms. His balance barely falters, thick arms encircling your bare waist. The relief you feel at his touch is startling, and you’re moaning freely, your hands exploring the breadth of his shoulders and chest. 

You know you’re crossing a line. You’ve become abhorrent. A sex crazed lunatic, desperate to be split open by your lover’s brother. But you can’t think about the fallout right now, not when the curse is still boiling your blood, when all you can think about is getting him inside of you. You’re worse than despicable because the instant Sam touches you, you can’t even consider Dean or what he must be going through, incapacitated to help, hundreds of miles away alone in a motel room, trapped with the knowledge that his girl has been driven right into the arms of his brother. 

You let your mind turn off. There’ll be time to hate yourself later. 

Sam’s fingers dig into the meat of your ass, holding you tightly against his body as he lifts you. He pushes you up against the wall of the crypt, the stone rough on your back, probably cutting you, but you revel in the sting. Your legs hug his hips, your core nestling right over the tent in his jeans, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding against him, like the bitch in heat you’ve become. You know you shouldn’t, but you press your open mouth against his, moaning shrilly at the taste of his tongue. He hesitates for two seconds, as if he’s deciding whether or not kissing you is allowed, but lucky for you, his lips begin to move, dominating you immediately. With fingers raking through his hair, you wiggle against him, pressing your breasts into his chest, thrilling your sore nipples, until you feel another gush from between your legs. 

For all the fervor you put into kissing Sam, he returns it, until you’re both smeared with saliva. He pulls at the roots of your hair hard enough to spring tears in your eyes, but you love it. Your hands touch the burning skin of his abdomen, greedily helping yourself to all of the flesh under his shirt, until he pulls his mouth off yours to remove it completely. 

You lean back in for another kiss, but Sam stops you with a firm hand on the base of your throat. He takes advantage of the moment to look you over. You keep rolling your hips into his, reveling in the way his jaw clenches, licking his spit shined lips. Shaggy hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. With the way he’s looking at you, unaffected by any curse, you’d think he’d imagined this before. Doesn’t matter. You’ll let him do whatever he wants. 

“Sam,” You rasp, eyelashes fluttering as the hand not around your neck plays with your left nipple, making your eyes roll. “Please, Sammy.” 

He shakes his head slightly. “How could I fucking deny you?” He murmurs, squeezing at your throat deliciously. “When you need it so bad?” 

Nodding desperately, you lick your lips. “Hurts, Sammy.” 

“Yeah, looks like it.” His eyes drop to where you're dragging your puffy cunt over his erection, making a mess on the front of his jeans. “Want me to make you feel better, gorgeous?” 

Gorgeous. Not babygirl. 

You pull on his hair to cope with his touch, which has you reeling. He hooks his thumb under the ruined material of your panties, to stroke against the molten heat of your pussy. A shudder passes through his colossal frame, as if he can’t believe how soaked you are. 

He raises his fingers, shiny with your slick, to his mouth. You moan obscenely at the sight of his eyes rolling back at the taste of you.

You can't help but buck and thrash in his arms as he circles your clit, touching you with firm reverence. With a mind of their own, your hands grab for his belt, wanting to feel him heavy in your hand, but he shoves your hands away. 

“Don’t worry, Imma give you what you need.” He promises in the same moment one of his fingers slips inside of you. Given the degree of your wetness, there’s little resistance, and you exclaim in glee as he slides the second digit in. 

“Oh, fuckkk, Sammy-” You cry, your perked nipples rubbing against his pecs. His forehead presses into yours, his hot breath on your face as his mouth gapes, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that has you digging your nails into his shoulders. “That’s so good. You feel so fucking good.” You abandon eye contact to stare at where he is drilling into you with his fingers, marveling at the thickness and strength of his forearm. 

“Shh.” The hand on your neck releases you for an instant before it grabs your jaw, forcing your eyes back to his. “Filthy fucking girl.” 

“Please, Sammy.” You plead. You don’t think you can wait any more. 

He quiets your begging by pressing his mouth back on yours. He’s so rough with you, holding you still with the hand on your jaw, driving you crazy with harsh ruts of his hips into yours. You’re gasping into his mouth, the coarseness of the denim against your barely covered pussy sending you into oblivion. You’re whining or crying, making some noise that normally would have mortified you, but if him just humping against you is bringing stars to your vision, you can’t imagine how good it will feel when he finally fucks you. 

With the fire on the torched bones completely dead now, you struggle to see through the darkness, before you decide to navigate based on feel. You touch him everywhere you can reach, scratch him, claim him. 

“Shh, honey.” 

Honey, now. Not babygirl. 

Still holding your jaw, Sam’s hand is big enough to slip his thumb into your mouth, which you accept blindly. You scrape your teeth along it, before gratefully sucking on it, swallowing all of the saliva that pools in your mouth to the best of your ability, some trickling out of the corners of your mouth to slip down to your chest. Sam’s eyes follow it all, groaning lowly at your depravity. He hesitates, then licks the saliva from the top of your breast to the corner of your jaw. You shiver and moan in delight. 

“Imma make it better, okay? Gonna give you my cock now. S’what you want, right, honey?”

You nod, still sucking on his thumb. You hear the sounds of his belt being removed and all you can think is finally, fucking thank god, give it to me, fucking finally. 

He shucks his jeans just low enough on his hips to free his member, just so you can barely make out a thatch of dark colored hair there, and you can't help but succumb to the urge to touch him. He’s massive in your hand, hard as can be, pulsing with need. You stroke him once, whimpering in response to the guttural moan he releases. The hold on your jaw tightens enough to bruise, but you want it harder. 

You wiggle your hips closer, letting the head of him just brush against the heat of your cunt, and Sam sounds almost wounded at the contact. 

“Holy fuck,” His forehead drops to your shoulder as he cries out your name, almost in a sob. He lets you take what you need, dragging him through your white hot seam, effectively soaking him. 

He’s shaking now, too. 

His tip breaches your entrance and your lips fall slack around his thumb, unable to focus on literally anything than the feeling of being filled. He pushes further into you, deeper, until you can feel the coarse hairs at the base of his cock against your spread thighs. You think you’re whiting out, the intrusion slightly more than you’re used to. 

You’re so close to cumming that it hurts. Sam begins to fuck you in earnest, like its his job, like it’s more than just a means to an end for him, balls slapping against your ass. The world turns, and you’re disoriented until you realize you’re no longer pressed against the wall. Now he has you on the ground, one knee pressed up towards your chest. 

You’re not sure if you’re making any noise or not anymore. But you feel his lips at your ear, his stubble rubbing against your soft cheek. 

“There you go, gorgeous.” He grunts. “Don’t needa do anything but lemme fuck you.” 

“S-so fucking good-” You slur. 

“God,” He groans, using the roots of your hair to turn your face towards his. His hips are slamming into yours, and you swear you can feel his cock all the way in your lungs, bullying your insides violently, just like you need. His eyes search your blissed out face. “How’m I only gonna have you this once.” His voice drops even lower as he says this, but you barely register his words. 

You feel yourself uncontrollably fluttering around the width of his cock. The pleasure is white hot inside you, feeling so overwhelming and bigger than anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re almost afraid of what is going to happen when the pressure bursts. You’re not convinced you’ll survive it. 

“Come on, baby,” Sam grunts before giving you a sloppy kiss. “Know you’re dyin’ to cum on my cock. Let it go, gorgeous, fuck, you feel unbelievable.” 

You keen, raising a hand to cup his sandpaper cheek. “I’m gonna cum, Sam. I’m gonna cum-”

He shushes you again, seemingly urged on by your impending orgasm to drive into you even harder. He’s drenched in sweat now, his nostrils flaring as you clench around him. 

“Cum, honey.” He urges, releasing your hair to stroke at your swollen clit. “Cum with me. Fuck, honey, can feel you choking me. Cum on my cock.” He punctuates his words with particularly hard thrusts that have you screaming, or maybe you're silent gaping, you can’t hear anything over the blood rushing through your ears. 

He barely touches your clit before you spasm. Your orgasm erupts inside you, exploding with such an intensity that has you tightening around Sam’s cock, and then he’s cursing and nearly whimpering, cumming deeply inside of you, grabbing at your flesh desperately. Your eyes roll back, body taut for what feels like minutes, and you’re ascending, before the feeling subsides, leaving you shaking and sated. 

As you come back into yourself, you realize Sam has collapsed on top of you as he struggles to catch his breath. His weight is unfamiliar. And you feel…normal. Hazy in your post orgasm bliss, but the uncontrollable lustful fever appears to be gone. You feel elated for half a second before you realize the reality of what you have just done. 

Fucked your boyfriend’s brother.  

Your naked body tenses, and you realize he’s still inside you. 

Your heart begins to hammer in your chest, not from the curse, now from horror. Shame fills you. Embarrassment, too. Oh god. What have you done? 

“S-Sam?” You whisper, touching his biceps lightly. 

He seems to register your wire tight posture and rolls off you, wincing as his cock slips out of you. You feel a wave of nausea hit you as you feel the warmth of his cum sliding out of your pussy. Hands shaking, you pull your ruined underwear off, using them to clean yourself of his spend, before you’re putting your clothes back on in a panicked blur. Your mind is screaming for Dean the entire time. 

Oh god. Maybe you should have let yourself die. 

Sam says your name cautiously, but you can’t look at him. You can’t acknowledge what you’ve just done together. Even if you really had no choice. He says your name louder, and you nearly jump out of your skin when he claps a hand onto your shoulder, turning you to face him. 

He sees the guilt in your expression and must know the curse is gone. His expression resembles a kicked puppy when you flinch at his touch. 

As if reading the thoughts racing through your mind, he says carefully, as if you’re a spooked deer, “...You had no choice…The fever would have killed you if you hadn’t…if we didn’t…” 

You shake your head. How are you going to sit next to Sam for the ride back after doing that? How are you ever going to look him in the eye ever again? 

How are you ever going to face Dean again? Will you still be his babygirl? 

Sam says your name again, very gently. “You would have died.” 

You think of Dean, who already puts your safety solely on his own shoulders, who no doubt will blame himself for not protecting you in the first place. Who indisputably will never be able to look at you and Sam the same way again, without imagining what you two had done. What he wasn’t there to provide. 

You begin to cry. You can’t face him. Either of them. 

Sam seems to take your tears personally, his expression breaking. “He asked me to, honey.” 

He freezes at the petname, but all it does is prove that even if it was the curse that caused this, things will never be the same. It’s too late. 

You and Sam finish the job There’s about 500 miles to cross before you have to face Dean. You feel Sam look at you from time to time during the drive, but you pretend not to notice. 

You hope Dean can forgive you. Even if he does, you won’t forgive yourself.