#sub!sam

By the time you step into your motel room, it’s nearing two in the morning. The door creaks open with a piercing sound that makes you wince. The radiator you had sworn was broken buzzes relentlessly, the hum meeting your ears in such a way that your skin crawls.

The hunt had been, to say the absolute least, completely fucking awful. 

Not because it was some crazy, powerful son of a bitch—no, it was a simple salt n’ burn. You even managed to scrape your way out of it without so much as a purpling bruise. Your ego, on the other hand? Yeah. Definitely beaten to shit. 

The stupid spirit had you running in circles for what felt like days, but must’ve been just a few hours, at most. Leaving your thighs trembling unpleasantly, sweat caking to your skin, a permanent scowl on your face, and, the worst part: an adrenaline high.

One that has your heart beating a mile a minute, your thoughts racing, and your nerves buzzing restlessly. You know there’s absolutely no way you’re getting any sleep, even when your muscles ache for rest.

You dig your phone out of the pocket of your jeans, the screen taking a moment to boot up, probably from being in the cold for so long. There’s a reason you hate hunting in Maine during the winter months. When it finally does, you’re met with what has to be at least ten text messages, each one longer than the last, and two missed calls from Sam.

Shit.

This was a solo hunt for you. It was supposed to be you, Sam, and Dean, but just your luck, there was another spirit terrorizing a small town an hour away. So, you made the logical decision to split up. Kill two birds with one stone. You insisted on staying where you were, finishing up what the three of you had started, and after a few arguments (and a perfectly timed ‘please’), Sam finally agreed. Didn’t stop him from being protective, though.

As in, checking in on you constantly, and full-blown panicking when you didn’t respond.

You don’t even bother reading through the series of worried messages. Instead, you send a simple one of your own. You don’t expect a response, not when it’s so late, but the second you send your little ‘you still awake?’, fingers still hovering over the button…

Your phone starts ringing.

Because the moment his phone lit up, Sam was shooting up in bed, running a hand through his tousled hair, before immediately dialing your number. 

You should’ve known he wouldn’t text back and wait for a response. No, Sam is a cover all bases kind of guy, and what he really needed was to hear your voice. As soon as possible. 

You take a breath, bracing yourself to be relentlessly fussed over, before pressing accept on the second ring. And as soon as the call connects, Sam’s voice meets your ears, thick with worry.

“Baby? Are you okay?” he rasps, dripping with that syrupy-tone you only hear when you know he’d pulled from sleep.

It has you softening immediately, the way it always does. Breaking down walls you hadn’t even realized you’d put up, easing some of that tension in your face. you pad towards the bed on aching legs, not even bothering to kick off your boots, and you sit on the edge with a sigh.

“Hey,” you start, voice low. “I’m fine, Sammy.”

Sam’s breath comes out shaky, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a hair. He flopped back onto the bed with an audible ‘oomph’ you can hear through the phone, his arm flung over his face like he could block out the day with it.

“…’M sorry for not answering your texts earlier. I just finished up the hunt over here,” you say, leaning forward so your elbows rest against your sore knees.

“God, don’t apologize,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and something softer; pure relief. “…I’ve been staring at the ceiling for hours thinking you were tangled up in some ghost, or face down in a ditch.”

Your chest squeezes at his words, that way the worry seems to melt away as his brain puts together the pieces. You’re okay. You’re talking to him. 

Even through some of his lingering tension, he lets out a soft huff of laughter to lighten it. “But… thank God you’re okay. You sound tired.” His voice drops lower, warm like it’s wrapping you in a blanket fresh out of the dryer. “Are you okay? Really okay? Not… hurt n’ lying to me right now?”

You almost want to roll your eyes at that. Always so damn worried about you, no matter how much you reassure him. But you don’t. Instead, your face breaks out in a fond expression, a smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. 

“Mhm. Not even a scratch,” you tell him, before breaking off into a breathless laugh. “Not unless you include my ego. Then I’m definitely hurt.”

Sam’s heart tugs a little in his chest at your response, both the reassurance, and the hint of exhaustion behind them. He could almost see your face in his mind’s eye, eyes closed, face relaxed, hair mussed from running in circles… it made him wish you were there, beside him. Close enough for him to soothe. To hold. 

He huffed out a chuckle to match your own, fingers tracing lazy patterns on the phone pressed to his ear. “Yeah, yeah, your poor bruised ego… how ever will you recover?”

There you go.

His teasing is back, finally, which makes you relax even further. Makes your chest feel all fuzzy. And suddenly… your motel room feels extra cold without him.

“Hmm…” you hum, pretending to debate. “Driving a couple towns over to see my boyfriend. That’ll help. Definitely.”

Sam’s heart does the weirdest little flutter at your words, affection surging through his tired mind, but right along with it? Worry. His protective side kicks in the moment you mention driving, his tone turning a little more serious.

“You wanna drive now?” he asks, the concern deepening in his voice. “Baby, it’s two in the morning and you just got out of a hunt. You’ve got to be exhausted.”

“Running on adrenaline, actually,” you shoot back without missing a beat, and you hear a ragged exhale leave him on the other end of the line. “I’ll help you solve the case?”

“No. Not tonight. You can drive up here tomorrow, yeah? Help us out?” he tries to reason, voice lightening into that tone he uses when he’s trying so damn hard to bypass your stubbornness. Unfortunately for him, though, you’re tougher than that.

“I miss you.”

You pipe up before he can say anything else, and his exhale tells you that it breaks him down. Just a little. “Yeah, baby,” he sighs. “I miss you too.”

You almost feel his voice physically. The way it’s dropped low again, a deep rumble that you feel right down to your bones. The kind of timbre that makes you want to crawl into his arms and never leave, makes you want to press a thousand kisses all over his skin until he’s covered in little marks and flushed a deep red. 

Oh. And it makes it painfully obvious just how stupid horny you are for him.

You could blame it on the adrenaline pumping through your system, or the fact that you haven’t felt his skin on yours in nearly a week. But deep down, you know that’s all just an excuse. You never really could contain yourself around him.

The silence that’s fallen between you is comfortable, tensionless. So, you decide to change that. 

“…I miss all of you.”

Sam went still. The words hit him like a heat wave in the middle of winter, unexpected and overwhelming. His breath caught, just slightly, but you heard it. It makes the corners of your mouth twitch. 

“Jesus,” he whispers, voice suddenly heavier, thick with something rough around the edges. “You can’t just say stuff like that outta nowhere.”

He pauses. Swallows. Before he breaks out in a laugh, so light that you can barely hear it over that damn radiator. 

“…Which part of me do you miss most?” he teases after a moment. Because yeah, he’s playing along now—the man’s missed you just as much as you’ve missed him. But as always, there’s warmth underneath it. A quiet longing that matches yours.

“All of you,” you repeat, shrugging your shoulders even though he can’t see it. “Though, there’s one part that I really miss… ‘specially when my bed is just so cold without you here.”

He swallows again, deep enough that you can hear it, shifting in his bed so he’s on his side now, surely moving to face away from Dean. When he speaks, his voice has taken on a raspier, almost intimate tone.

“Is that so?” he hums, and God, that timbre already has you shifting. “How cold?”

You can hear that edge to his voice. The one he gets when he thinks he’s in control. But right now? Nope. He just doesn’t know it yet.

You stand from your place, picking up your already packed duffle, shoving your phone in the crook between your shoulder and your cheek as you rustle for your keys. 

“Real cold, Sammy. Such a shame,” you tease, already pulling your jacket back over your shoulders. Another beat passes. “…Cold enough that I have my keys in my hand. See you soon?”

A sharp inhale is heard on the other end of the line. Caught off-guard entirely. Sam’s eyes widen the moment he realizes what you’re doing, and he sits up in bed all over again, one hand running through his hair.

“Baby,” he starts, half warning, half pleading. “Be reasonable. It’s late. You’re tired. You could fall asleep at the wheel…”

His protests? All static to you. And Sam’s not stupid. He knows you. Knows that you’ve made up your mind, keys in hand, teasing tone in your voice. 

He sighs. And finally: “Be safe. Please. I love you.”

God, he’s so soft for you, it’s almost ridiculous. It’s nearly disarming, the way your heart seems to grow in your chest, your limbs going all boneless. Oh, he is so getting it when you get there. 

“I will. I promise,” you say, stepping out into the freezing air, the cold biting at your skin through your jacket, as you make your way towards your ‘64 Chevy Nova sitting all pretty in the parking lot. “I love you, too.”

By the time the line goes dead, your foot’s already on the gas. 

You manage to cut that hour drive down to a mere forty-five minutes. Sure, maybe you broke a few traffic laws. Performed a couple rolling stops. But hey, you’re a woman on a mission.

When you peel into the driveway of the motel, you round the building to the back parking lot, stopping in a secluded spot hidden from the road. You turn off your headlights, the leather interior illuminated now only by the neon sign to the left of the lot.

You pull out your phone again, sending Sam a quick ‘here,’ and your phone rings all over again. You answer it before it gets through the first ring.

“Room seven,” he tells you, not bothering with a hello, not now. But still, even with your seatbelt unbuckled, the heat no longer blasting through the vents, you don’t get out. 

“Dean in there?” you ask, voice a little impatient. Because c’mon—forty-five minutes is a long time to wait when you’re trying to get to someone. Someone you want very badly. 

Sam huffs out a laugh, and you hear the sound of him brushing his hair out of his face before he speaks. “Yeah. Big idiots passed out, snorin’ like a chainsaw.”

You groan at that, annoyed. Because as much as you love Dean, he isn’t making your situation any easier. 

Damn cock-block.

“Come out here,” you say, finally, after an exaggerated breath that has Sam biting back a grin. “I’m parked ‘round back.”

The only response you receive is a hum before the phone clicks again, and your screen goes dark. Anticipation prickles beneath your skin, your adrenaline-filled veins making that need in your gut impossible to ignore. 

When you see his silhouette moving through the parking lot, big, dark, and imposing, your heart rate kicks it up a notch. You climb out of your car without another thought, rounding the front. You don’t even get a word out before he’s right in front of you, crashing his mouth on yours.

He presses you back against the cool exterior of your car, massive hands automatically finding your hips, pawing at your flesh beneath your open jacket. His tongue’s already licking at your lips like he’s trying to eat you whole, his body pinning you against the car so perfectly that your head all but spins. 

You shove at his chest gently, just so he’ll stop sucking your face off long enough for you to speak, and you take the opportunity to pull the back door of your car open, nodding towards the bench seat with a simple: “Get in.”

You don’t miss the way his eyes widen, just for a moment, even in the dark. He lets out a ragged breath, irises dark with pure need.

“Bossy as ever,” he teases, but he moves to follow your command anyway. He climbs into the back seat, folding those long, muscled limbs, and you can’t help but let out a fond laugh. He glares at you, pushing himself back so his shoulder blades press against the cool window. His legs spread along the leather bench, knees bent up because goddamn does he ever take up so much space.

You don’t waste another second standing out in the cold, crawling inside on top of him, slamming the door shut behind you. The two of you giggle like school girls as you manoeuvre yourself over him, head smacking against the roof, palms white-knuckling the front headrest, knee digging into his tree trunk thigh. But, eventually, and rather ungracefully, you straddle his hips.

His eyes rake over you appreciatively, his hands reaching out to grab at your waist, pulling you firmly against him. 

The heat between you is thick and heavy, Sam taking in the sight of you in his lap with a look so full of adoration that your mouth goes a little dry. It’s intoxicating, really, the way he looks at you, even after all this time.

“Hi,” you whisper after a moment, your hand reaching out to brush some loose hair that fell over his eyes.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs after a ragged breath, his gaze dark with want. His voice is thick with desire and something else, something deeper.

You smile down at him, innocent and teasing at the same time, as your hands find his chest, trailing towards the hem of his shirt, fingers dancing around the fabric there. You may be a little lost in his pretty smile and soulful eyes, but you’re also impatient.

“I missed you,” you say, gently, making him hum as you lift his shirt up, giving him time to stop you. He doesn’t.

Once the fabric clears his head, you stare at him shamelessly. Like you’re savouring every perfect inch of his tanned skin. He looks good enough to eat, beneath you like this. Your hands find his toned chest again, bare this time, playing along his body like you can’t help but just touch. 

“So. This hunt,” you start, tracing a line along his sternum. “You said it’s a vengeful spirit, yeah? Explain the case t’me.”

Sam lets out a low, breathy laugh, half turned on, half exasperated, because of course you’d do this. Of course you’d straddle him all wanton in the back seat of your pretty little car, fingers dancing on his bare stomach like he wasn’t already struggling to think straight, and then hit him with the hunt.

He tilts his head back against the window, eyes fluttering shut just for a second as your touch sends sparks through him.

“You’re kidding, right?” He growls softly, looking at you like he doesn’t quite believe you.

But whatever joke he was looking for there, he didn’t find it. That sobers him up, just a little, because goddamn your hand just keeps moving. And damn it all if he doesn’t just obey. 

His fingers flex on your waist as he begins speaking through ragged breaths.

“Spirit… male… late twenties… hanged himself off that old bridge ten years ago near Holt Mill after being accused of killing his wife…” he swallows hard as your nails scrape down his abdomen. “…We’ve got almost everything we need… but the graves’ untouched ‘cause no one knows where it is.”

Your fingers dip lower now, feather-light touch across the V-line peaking from the waistband of his sweats.

“…You doing this on purpose?” he grits out, thick with need, but also a dark amusement. Because yeah, you’re killing him—but he’s loving every second of it. 

You shrug nonchalantly, almost innocently, like you have no idea what you’re doing to him. But, of course, you do, and that smirk on your face isn’t fooling anyone.

Saliva fills your mouth as your fingertips trace the lines of his abs, goosebumps blooming beneath your touch, muscles tensing like you’re worshipping him.

God he’s pretty.

It’s then that you realize he’s stopped talking, though, and you raise a brow at him, sucking back that spit that’s collected through your teeth. “Keep going. I want to hear everything. I came here to solve a case, didn’t I?”

Sam lets out a low, rough chuckle that’s half groan, the sound going straight to your already aching core, your fingers playing along his skin like you’re drawing a map of him.

“You’re evil,” he breathes, voice thick with desire, his hands tightening on your flesh like he needs an anchor.

But you wanted the case? Fine. He’ll give it to you. He exhales sharply as your nails dig in again, and he obeys.

“Paper says… the wife vanished first. No body. No note. Just gone,” he pauses just as your thumb circles the waistband of his sweats. “Fuck… they accused him ‘cause… their neighbours saw them fightin’ in the lawn just a day before. And… her family never liked him.”

Another shaky breath. 

“B-but the spirit… it doesn’t just haunt the bridge… it’s been showing up at her family’s homes…” his jaw clenched as your palm pressed flat against his abs.

You nod along as he speaks, both taking in the information, and relishing in the little tenses and gasps of pleasure you can pull from him with gentle touch alone.

“So… he’s punishing the family, then? For accusing him?” you prompt, but even through the question, you don’t go easy on him.

You pull back just enough to shrug off your jacket and pull off your own shirt with it, unhooking your bra, tossing the discarded garments onto the floor mat.

His breath snapped out of him at your movements, no warning, no hesitation, just suddenly, your torso is bare in his lap under the dim glow of the parking lot lights.

His hands clench hard in your waist like he’s itching to go further, to touch more, but Sam’s connected the dots. He sees that glint in your eye. Right now? You’re in control. His pupils are blown so wide that there’s almost no hazel left in his eyes.

He opens his mouth to speak, but it’s cut off in a ragged groan as you shimmy back on his lap, hands finding the waistband of his sweatpants. In one smooth pull, you tug, freeing him: hard and aching beneath you.

His cock springs free, slapping against his stomach with a heavy, pussy-wettening smack, pre-come spilling from the tip. The sight alone has you licking your lips like you’ve just eyed up the tastiest goddamn lollipop in history.

Sam finally musters up the air to speak. “Y-yeah,” he managed, voice wrecked, eyes closing tight when your fingertips tease a line up his length. “He’s—fuck—he’s punishing them… blaming them for not believing him…”

His head falls back against the window with a soft thud as your hand starts moving, slow at first, torturous, like you’re not just touching him, but trying to break him.

You give him a few agonizing pumps, spreading the slick around his swollen, flushed tip, squeezing just tight enough to hear him gasp before dragging that wetness along his heavy shaft.

“…And you’ve done some interviews, baby? Does he have any living family members?” you ask him, like you’re not literally fisting his cock. “Or jus’ her family?”

Sam lets out a broken gasp when you ask him that fucking question like you’re casually discussing dinner plans instead of jerking him off in the back seat of your car with your perfect hands. 

“Jesus—” he chokes out, head thrashing against the glass. “H-his… his sister, H-Heather… sh-she said he was broken after his wife vanished…”

His voice cracks when your thumb swipes over his leaking tip, gathering that slick heat. 

“…B-but she won’t talk about the wife’s family. Seems real—real bitter towards ‘em…” He sucks in a sharp breath when your hand tightens around him all over again. “Christ, baby—you tryin’ to kill me?”

You grin, really grin, at the way he sputters over the words, the way his hips jerk in response to each touch, each squeeze. But the moment he stops talking about the case? You give him one last pump, tight and perfect, before removing your hand completely.

Sam lets out a ragged, desperate sound, one that sounds all too much like a whine, bordering-whimper, sending a jolt right to your heat. Jesus Christ.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” he begs, hips twitching uselessly upward. His chest heaves as he stares at you with dark, blown pupils, wide and so far gone.

You decide to give him a little mercy. Not because you’re done with him, God no, but because of that pretty way he’s looking at you. 

You’ve never been able to resist that. Not really.

“How do you want to come, baby?” you ask, hands smoothing over his thighs this time, pulling his sweats down just a little further. “My hands? My mouth? Inside me?”

He doesn’t even hesitate.

“You,” he growls, voice rough like sandpaper. “Inside you. Wanna feel you clench around me when—when we both fall apart.”

He reaches for the button of your jeans with trembling fingers.

“Please, baby. Need to be inside you.”

The need in his voice has you huffing out a breathless laugh, both amused, and agonizingly turned on. 

You don’t reprimand his shaking hands, not this time, at least. You let them move without your assistance, his thick fingers popping that button open, and it’s only then that you push back just enough to slide them off along with your panties, joining the pile of clothes on the floor.

You settle back on his lap then, Sam letting out a ragged moan the second your slick pussy bumps his aching cock. His hands fly right back to your hips, fingers pressing hard into your flesh like he just needs to hold you there, like you might disappear if he doesn’t.

“God, you’re so wet,” he breathes, voice raw with awe and need. His hips rock up slowly, dragging himself through your soaked heat. Just friction for now, maddening and slow. Your clit throbs between your thighs.

“You feel so good… fuck…” He leans forward just enough to press his forehead against yours, another desperate roll of his hips sliding your core along his length.

And holy fuck, seeing him like this? All desperate and aching? It only makes you hotter for him. Makes you want to wait for him to beg. To hold yourself over him just like this, until he’s pleading and can’t take it anymore.

But you haven’t seen him in almost a week, and you’re only so patient.

Still, your hands find his where they’re tight on your hips, peeling them off of you with a disapproving tut. 

“Hey,” you breathe, and when he looks at you with those goddamn puppy eyes, dewy and sweet, you almost lose it. “Be good.”

The command is simple. But damn, it rings through him like a shot, and you can see it in the way he shudders. His body trembles with the effort to hold still. He wants, no, needs to move.

“Baby…” he huffs, voice thick with pleading.

His hips twitch again, not to buck, no, just reflex, like they’re aching to move, to slide his cock into you the way he craves. The way you crave. “Please. Need you. I’ll—I’ll be good…”

You hum in approval at his now mostly still hips, at his sweet words and that sultry tone. And because he’s being good, you lean forward, dropping a kiss to the corner of his mouth, chuckling at the way he instinctively chases your lips.

“Good,” you whisper, softly. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Finally, you lean back again, letting your hands drop between your bodies to find him, hard as damn steel. You line yourself slow enough for him to let out a needy sound from deep in his chest—but as soon as he whimpers? Yeah. 

You sink yourself down on him in one smooth glide until you’re flush pelvis to pelvis. He’s long and thick, like he goes on for-fucking-ever, stretching you out so perfectly, a satisfied exhale slipping from your parted lips.

Sam’s entire body just about seized at your movement, the moment you sank down on him. A choked, broken groan tearing from his throat as you took him deep, all the way to the hilt. 

“F-fuck—!” he gasps, head falling back against the glass. His fingers dig into your thighs like anchors, trembling with needy restraint. “Oh God, you’re so tight—”

He couldn’t speak after that. Couldn’t form words. Just ragged breaths and sputtering moans as you surround him completely, hot, slick, and perfect, and you start with a slow grind.

You love it. Hearing him like this. Like he’s going to lose it, but’ll do anything you say, just because it feels so fucking good. 

“Christ, baby…” he manages through clenched teeth, voice wrecked and desperate. “You feel… missed this so much…”

You lift up your hips, just to slip down in one sharp drop, a guttural groan leaving his lips, your own parted in a silent ‘fuck’. But then you still once again, sliding your hands along his chest, until they’re braced on his broad shoulders. Your fingertips dig into the meat there in a way that leaves indents on his skin.

“Alright, baby. You’re going to tell me all ‘bout this case, okay? You’re going to tell me what you found…” You lift your hips until he’s nestled only half-way inside, before grinding back down with a slick glide. “Where you’re planning to go…”

Then you stop again, squeezing his shoulders to make him look at you. Cause damn him, his eyes are already rolling back. 

“And if you don’t? I’ll stop,” you say, and before he can whine out his protests, because oh, you know he will, you add: “You going to be good for me, Sam?”

“Oh God—” he chokes, hips twitching uselessly under you. His chest heaved, hands clawing at your thighs. “You’re going t’kill me…”

He stares up at you with blown pupils and spit-slick lips, trembling under your control. But you told him to be good. So, he lets out a ragged laugh, half desperation, half worship.

“Always,” he breathed. “God, baby, I’ll tell you anything. Just… please. Don’t stop.” 

His voice cracks on that last word, and you clench around him in approval, his eyes rolling back for a fleeting second before those puppy eyes are back trained on you. 

You start to move again just as he speaks, beginning with slow drags that have his cock pulsing deep inside your soaked cunt.

“We—we’ve just gotta dig up the old cemetery records in the county clerk’s office tomorrow morning—” he gasps as you roll your hips just right, slow and cruel. “F-fuck—just gotta find where they buried him u-unmarked…”

“That’s it,” you praise, lifting right back up until only his thick tip remains inside, before falling back down with a roll that has you both seeing stars. 

You don’t stop. Not this time. You let him babble on as you move in quick drags, slams, bounces, moving on top of him with a pace that slowly gets more and more dizzying.

Every whine and whimper that slides from his lips? Perfect. Every time his voice breaks when he tries to explain some little detail about the case? So fucking hot. 

You lean forward to pepper messy kisses to his throat, leaving wet splotches that glisten in the dim light, as you whisper sweetly into his ear. 

“…He have an obituary, honey? Or the family blame him too much to write one?” Your own voice comes out breathless, losing yourself in the pleasure, but determined to keep your focus. To work him up. You pick up the pace, bracing yourself over him. 

His breath came in sharp, desperate gasps as you rode him, hard, fast, relentless, each bounce dragging a broken sound from deep in his chest. His fat cock now drenched in your combined juices, a soaking squelch filling the car with each motion.

“N-no o-obit,” he stammers, voice cracking as your nails scrape the back of his neck, your teeth sinking into his shoulder. “Her f-family practically erased him… like he never—fuck—!” His hips buck up in time with your drop helplessly. “Like he never existed…”

You nod, he lets out a sobbing whimper as you clench tight around his dick mid-thrust. The slap of skin and the musky smell of sex consume you in a cloud of pure desire, desperate pleasure clawing deep in your core.

The car is fully rocking now. Windows fogging up in an obscene way that makes you shiver. Knowing that any minute—anyone could step into the parking lot, and know exactly what you’re doing. 

Sam continues his helpless stuttering between guttural moans and choked whimpers.

“…B-but the wife… she had an obit-obituary. Don’t even mention him once. N-not once, baby…” he breaks off in a deep groan, one hand finding your breast, palming the plush flesh while the other snakes around to grip your ass. “God, honey—I can’t—think—I can’t…”

His fingers dig into your flesh as you continue your assault, nipping his neck with fever, leaving little red marks that’ll purple by the time the sun rises. 

“…I’m… I’m so fucking close,” he whispers desperately. “Please, let me come…”

You can feel him throbbing inside of you. His thick cock pulsing with each thrust, twitching against your gummy walls as you clamp around him like a vice. His breath is coming out in frantic bursts, his whines and sobs getting more instant—you knew he was close.

But, fuck, you can’t help but be a little mean.

“Shhh…” you coo, threading your fingers into his hair at the nape of his neck, tilting his head up so he’s looking at you. “No. Not yet, baby. You can do it, right? You can hold it f’me?”

“…Please, honey,” he whines, voice wrecked and broken. His chest heaved, shoulders ridged, every muscle taut. “I need…”

He’s interrupted when you slide your fingers through his hair, tugging his head back. Not rough, just pulling hard enough to get a reaction out of him. And oh, he groans, the sound catching in the back of his throat, and you swear you see saliva bubbling at the corner of his lips.

He stares up at you with those wide, puppy-dog eyes, wild and pleading. “Please,” he pants, body trembling. “…God, I can’t… hold it. Not—ahh—not that much longer. ‘M sorry, please…”

“Yes you can,” you encourage, voice syrupy thick, absolutely dripping with desire. “Just a little longer. You can do it, baby, fuck…”

You break off in a moan of your own, his thick cock brushing against that sensitive, spongy part inside of you that has your legs shaking around his hips, your knees sticking to the leather below.

Your rhythm, though, doesn’t falter. Not for a moment. Your palm finds the back of his head, pillowing the blow when his head falls back against the window all over again, and you drop close to mouth at his exposed throat.

“Just need you to keep talkin’ to me, Sammy. That’s all,” you say, voice so sweet, it’s cavity-inducing. “Just think, baby. Y’said his sister was upset, hmm…? She—she give you any hints as to where he m-might be buried?”

Sam doesn’t even answer you for a moment, his jaw clenched tight enough to break a tooth, eyes screwed shut like he’s trying so fucking hard not to lose it. But when you slow your motions, even just a little, almost like a threat, his eyes snap back open.

“I d-don’t…” he chokes out, voice trembling with the effort it takes. “I can’t—can’t think, baby, ‘m… fuck, I’m so close…”

You let out a soft laugh that vibrates against his neck, as you place another kiss, just one, to his pulsepoint, feeling how it’s hammering under his skin. Your fingers massage the back of his head as you speak. “C’mon, honey… use that big brain of yours. I know you can…”

His breath continued to come in desperate puffs, and you see his brows pinch together for a moment. Thinking. His pleasure-filled head scrambling to find something, anything. Then:

“Y-yeah,” he mumbles suddenly. “H-Heather… she—she mentioned an old willow tree…” his hips jerk up on instinct, meeting your roll. “G-God, s’fucking good… s-she said he used to go there all… all the time. As a kid…”

You nod as he speaks, riding him just a little harder to show your appreciation, and fuck, just because you can’t help it, moans of your own find their way past your swollen lips before you can catch them. Intense pleasure sending fire through you every time his cock pulses deep inside you.

You can almost see his pretty little brain connecting the dots, putting things together that he hadn’t quite thought of before, and holy shit, his brains’ always turned you on.

“I… I thought she was jus’ gettin’ all sappy on me, b-but. Fuck, t-that’s—ahh—! That’s probably it…” his fingers dig into your thighs hard enough to leave bruises, a low whimper escaping him. “Please let me come,” he begs, softly. “God, I can’t hold on. I can’t…”

It’s that that makes you smile. Really smile. You reward him by capturing his lips in a searing kiss, one that he reciprocates with uncoordinated fever, his wet tongue pushing through your lips to taste your own.

And when you break apart to breathe, you take him in. That pleading look on his face. The sweat beading at his forehead. The way you’ve reduced him to a whiny mess, saliva dripping down his chin.

The sight alone makes sparks explode in your core. Your thumb finds his jaw, swiping at the spit that’s spilled from his lips, and when you speak again, it’s your voice that wavers.

“There you go. You’re so good, Sammy,” you praise. “You did so p-perfect, solving the case, baby. You want your reward, honey? Wanna come f’me? Do it.”

His entire body visibly tightens the moment you give him that permission he’d been waiting for, a broken cry tearing from his throat as he finally lets go. 

“F-fuck—yes!” he gasps, hips bucking up hard with an intoxicating slap as he spills deep inside you, pulses wrecking his body in waves. His hands clutch at your back, fingers pressing into sweat-slick skin. He chokes your name into the thick air, raw and desperate, before collapsing against the car door with a whine. His big hand finds your cheek, cradling your face, fingers splaying along the side of your head almost reverently. 

The moan you let out is guttural, that intense feeling of heat flooding through your core. You feel every pulse, every twitch, the way his come paints your walls in what you swear to be fucking glassfulls. 

“Yeah, fuck, s’perfect… did so good for me, baby…” the words slide out before you can catch them, slurred from the intensity of the pleasure sparking beneath heated-skin.

Your own body is just aching for release, the pressure in your core wound tight, like a bowstring about to snap. But fuck, seeing him so destroyed? So worth it.

So you slow down your movements, riding him through the aftershocks, drinking up every sound that falls from his kiss-swollen lips. You stop only when those whimpers turn to broken sobs that catch on every breath, your hips coming to a halt, still buried to the hilt. 

“You—you okay, Sammy?” you ask, voice so gentle now, leaning into his palm that’s warm on your cheek. “N-need me to stop?”

Sam’s thumb brushes your cheekbone, his breathing still ragged, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

“Don’t you dare stop,” he whispers hoarsely, voice wrecked in the best way. His hips give a lazy roll beneath you, still sensitive, still deep enough to bump your damn cervix. “…’M fine. More than fine. Just… give me a sec…”

He pulls you closer with those thick, grabby-hands, pressing his forehead to yours. When your cunt spasms around him once, swallowing him whole, he hums deep, but his brows pinch.

“You… you didn’t…” he murmurs breathlessly, half to himself. He shakes his head then, so vigorously that you’re almost sure he’s going to give himself whiplash, brain entirely unable to form a coherent thought other than ‘don’t stop.’

His chest still heaved, body still trembling with aftershocks, but he manages to lift his head, capturing your lips in a soft, tender kiss.

“W-want you to come, too,” he breathes against your lips. “Want to feel you. God, wanna be so good f’you…”

“You are good for me. So good,” you say, voice dripping with lust and pure adoration.

Your hips itch to move. To chase that edge, that friction, that release. But you don’t move. Not yet. Not unless he’s sure.

“You sure, Sammy? Not too sensitive? I can take care of myself, y’know. If it’s too much,” you tease, but there’s a note of real concern, there, too.

His response is instant.

“I’m sure,” he gasps, his voice a deep husk. His hands slide from around your back to your ass, clutching you tight. “Please, baby. Want to feel you come apart on me.”

He rolls his hips up beneath you, slow, gentle, more teasing than anything. His face is flushed, pupils blown wide with desire. That desperation in his voice is replaced with raw need. “You know I can take care of you, too. I wanna be good for you. I am good for you… please…”

“So greedy,” you tease, letting out a breathless laugh, as you finally start moving again.

Slower this time, not wanting to overwhelm, but leaning back in that perfect way that has the tip of his half-hard cock brushing along your g-spot with every thrust. 

“Jus’… tell me if it’s too much, ‘kay?” You pant out between slow rolls. “Fuck…”

You were already close just from watching him, so it really doesn’t take long for the pressure to start building again.

“God—yes,” he gasps, head falling back. “So good… you feel—ah—you’re gonna get me hard again, shit…”

He watches you in dazed awe, his hips rocking up in slow, lazy thrusts to meet yours. You brace one hand on his shoulder, the other on the ceiling of the car to give you leverage as you piston yourself over him, moans and mewls slipping from your lips as you see white behind your eyelids.

He moves his free hand, using those gorgeous, thick digits you love so fucking much, sliding them between your thighs, thumb finding your clit with that perfect pressure he knows will have you seeing stars. 

“You—fuck, you’re so perfect, baby, makin’ me feel so g-good—” you break off in a moan, the combined pleasure making your eyes roll back, and you have to bite your tongue to keep from crying out.

His overstimulated whimpers are like music to your ears, ebbing you on just that much more, until your cunt is squeezing around his heavy cock. “Sam, ‘m gonna—fuck—” you gasp between movements, your hips faltering, but Sam makes up for it with those lazy rolls of his own, and those relentless circles.

It’s not long before you’re all-but shattering on top of him. Cries and praises slipping from your lips, hands pawing at his shoulders as you ride through the waves of ecstasy, the aftershocks that follow. 

You clench down around him, tight, pulsing, and perfect. His hips move on instinct now, slow and deep, helping milk every last drop of your release. His length slides into you with slick ease as you soak him, clenching around him in bursts that have him panting for mercy. He presses soft kisses to your shoulder, your neck—worshipping you through the aftermath. 

When you finally still against him, boneless and trembling, he gently eases you down on his chest with a soft groan.

“God, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “Y’okay? Did I…did I take care of you?”

His words come out wrecked. Thick with lust and so full of gentle love that it makes you shudder around him, and you know what he wants. What he craves. 

“Yes, Sammy. You always do, so good for me…” you praise again, shaky hands threading though his silky hair.

And when you finally do pull back, God, do you ever get an eye full.

He looks destroyed. Sweaty and exhausted, swollen lips parted, cheeks flushed, and those eyes. Puppy eyes staring up at you, so full and wet.

Goddamn.

You swipe your thumb over his cheek like you’re wiping away a tear that hasn’t yet fallen. “So… all you needed to connect the dots was to get fucked stupid, huh?”

His cheeks flush all pretty at your teasing, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly in a hint of a smile. Despite already being thoroughly wrecked, he still manages to roll his eyes in protest. Of course.

“S-shut up,” he mumbles, burying his face in your neck and huffing softly. He presses a tender kiss to the sweaty hollow of your throat, as if to punctuate how much he didn’t appreciate that comment.

A beat.

“…Best research method I’ve ever tried, though.”

AN: Happy New Year everyone! Absolutely insane that it’s 2026! Cheers to the new year, and Id like to thank everyone for the love recently. You’re all so sweet 🖤

Little side note, the ‘case’ in this fic is based off a short story a wrote a few years ago about a man trying to prove his innocence after his wife’s disappearance. Fun stuff!

ㅤֵ⁀💼 ꒱⠀getting off after a long day ݁ ˖ ꪆ꣒

ㅤֵ⁀💼 ꒱⠀fucking you after a hunt ݁ ˖ ꪆ꣒

ㅤֵ⁀💼 ꒱⠀making out after sex ݁ ˖ ꪆ꣒

ㅤֵ⁀💼 ꒱⠀fingering his sweet little girlfriend ݁ ˖ ꪆ꣒

ㅤֵ⁀💼 ꒱⠀distracting you ݁ ˖ ꪆ꣒

ㅤֵ⁀💼 ꒱⠀munch!sam is so loving! ݁ ˖ ꪆ꣒

ㅤֵ⁀💼 ꒱⠀cumming in his boxer briefs ݁ ˖ ꪆ꣒

ㅤֵ⁀💼 ꒱⠀making him wait ݁ ˖ ꪆ꣒

It started off as just a joke – another hunt, another time of finding Sam bound and gagged to some support beam in a random basement waiting to be rescued. Rope burns on his wrists and a sheepish half-smile when you cut him free. But you didn’t miss the way his cheeks went a little pink when you teased him about being the one who needed rescuing. And when you were finally back at the bunker with Sam in the kitchen, sharing a beer, you couldn’t help yourself.

“You know, Sam,” you started, leaning against the table with arms folded and a Cheshire cat grin gracing your features. “I think I’m starting to see a pattern here.” Sam paused halfway through taking his jacket off.

“What do you mean?”

“You end up tied up pretty often. I’m starting to think you like it.”

“I– what? No, that’s not– I don’t–” His stammering only made your grin widen.

“Sure,” you said, stepping closer and lowering your voice. “So it wouldn’t fluster you if I tied you up for myself? Just for some fun?”

The way his throat worked around a swallow was enough of an answer for you.

Minutes later, the two of you were in his room, and he was on his knees in front of you, ropes criss-crossing over his chest in intricate, geometric patterns that you had learned from a book about the art of Asian rope bondage. They weaved across the broad expanse of his shoulders, and you had bound his hands behind his back with his own belt. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths as you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to make him look up at you. He was already panting, the weight of giving up control written across his face.

“Guess I was wrong,” you whispered, leaning down so your breath ghosted over his ear as you spoke. “You don’t just like this. You need it.” His only response was a broken moan, hips jerking forward, and you realized just how much power you had over the man who usually carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. You circled him slowly, admiring the contrast of the ropes against his tanned skin. Sam Winchester – hunter, scholar, savior of the world – begging you with those hazel eyes that had seen too much darkness. You cupped his face, thumb brushing over his bottom lip and watching it part slightly under your touch.

“Tell me what you need,” you commanded softly. His eyes fluttered closed for just a moment.

“I need… to not be in control.”

“Then let me take care of you.”

You trailed your fingers down his throat to the center of his chest where the ropes intersected. His breathing quickened, his eyes never leaving yours. You circled him again, running your hands over his shoulders and watching the way the muscles in his back flexed against his restraints when he tried to follow your movement. You clicked your tongue twice, and he stilled immediately. You pressed your lips to the nape of his neck and trailed your fingers along the thick, corded muscles of his bound arms.

“Your hands look good like this, Sam,” you murmured, testing the give of the belt holding his wrists together. “All that strength of yours and it means nothing right now.” He made a noise that was a half-groan half-whine, his head tipping forward as your name fell from his lips. You stood in front of him again and pulled his hair, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “Answer me with words tonight, Sam.” His lips parted, pupils blown wide and voice cracking.

“Please. Touch me. I can’t–”

“God, look at you,” you cut him off, slipping a hand down to palm him through his jeans. He bucked into your touch, a strangled gasp escaping him. “All that control… all that weight you carry… But the second I tie you up, you’re nothing but a begging mess.”

“Fuck,” he moaned, spreading his knees wider on the floor as though to offer himself up. You undid the fly of his jeans slowly, brushing your knuckles along the length of him just enough to make his whole body tremble.

“You like being mine like this? Tied up and helpless? All that power stripped away until you’re just…” You slipped your hand into his boxers and pulled him free. He was already leaking, cock straining against your grip, but you kept your touch light and teasing. “My good boy.” He whimpered at that, and you traced the length of him with your fingertips, stroking him and pulling away until he was rutting helplessly into your hand.

“Please,” he begged again, and the way his voice broke was beautiful.

“What’s your color, pretty boy?”

“Green,” he whispered, eyes locking with yours with an intensity that made heat pool low in your belly. “So fucking green.” You rewarded him with a firm stroke, watching his eyes flutter shut as his hips stuttered forward.

“That’s my good boy,” you praised, withdrawing your hand to trace the outline of his lips. They parted instantly, tongue darting out to taste your fingers. “So eager to please.” You took a step back, taking a moment to admire the view of him on his knees, bound and wanting. Faint red lines were beginning to bloom beneath the ropes across his torso.

“You’re being so good for me, Sam.” You pulled your shirt over your head, and his eyes tracked every movement, pupils dilated with want as more of your skin was revealed to him. And when you reached for the button of your jeans and slid them down your legs with deliberate care, you heard his breath catch in his throat. “You want to touch me?” you asked, stepping out of your pants. 

“Yes,” he breathed, the word coming out more like a plea than an answer. You could see the tension in every line of his body. The way he held himself perfectly still despite the obvious desire to reach for you.

“But you can’t,” you said, stepping closer until you were standing between his spread knees. “Because you’re going to be patient for me, aren’t you?”

He nodded frantically, eyes drinking in the sight of you. You reached behind yourself and unclasped your bra, shrugging the straps off and tossing it aside. The sound Sam made was desperate, broken, and the belt creaked around his wrists as he strained against it. You knew Sam. You knew the way he would hold onto you, always afraid that if he let go, you’d slip through his fingers like smoke. So it had to be killing him not being able to hold you in this moment.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, voice rough with want. “God, you’re so beautiful.” You smiled at the reverence in his voice, running your fingers through his hair again.

“Maybe I’ll let you touch me soon,” you murmured, guiding his face forward until his breath was hot against your stomach. “But first, I want your mouth. Would you like that, Sam? To taste me?”

“Please,” he groaned, the single word dripping with desperation. “Please let me taste you.”

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your panties, sliding them down deliberately slow while Sam’s eyes followed every moment. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as you stepped out of them, the hunger in his gaze palpable.

“Look at me,” you commanded, and his eyes snapped up to yours immediately. “What’s your color?”

“Green,” came the immediate response.

You stepped forward, cradling the back of his head as you positioned yourself in front of him. The first touch of his tongue against you caused to suck in a sharp breath, and you felt his moan vibrate against your skin. Sam’s mouth was eager and desperate, working you with an intensity that nearly made your knees buckle. His tongue traced patterns that had you gripping his hair tighter, using it to guide him exactly where you wanted him.

“That’s it,” you gasped, watching the way his eyes fluttered closed in concentration. “Just like that. Good boy.” The praise made him redouble his efforts, and the sight of him straining against his bonds and writhing despite his obvious need sent a thrill through you.

You rocked your hips forward, and Sam welcomed the movement with a broken whimper, his tongue pressed flat against your clit. Carefully, you set one foot on his thigh, widening your stance slightly and giving him a better angle. The ropes across his chest creaked and highlighted each labored breath he took as he lost himself in you. You could feel the tension building in your core, that familiar heat spreading through your limbs as Sam’s mouth moved against you with practiced devotion.

“God, Sam,” you moaned, your voice breathless. “You’re so good at this. So perfect for me.” The words landed like a physical blow. His shoulders tensed beneath the rope bindings, and there was a dark patch of precum spreading across his boxers, his cock twitching untouched. He responded by adjusting slightly, pressing closer to you, and the vibration of another moan against you made you shudder.

When you finally pulled back, Sam chased after you with his mouth, a whine escaping him when you stepped away. His lips were slick and swollen, pupils completely blown as he looked up at you with desperate eyes.

“Wait,” he gasped, chest heaving. “Please, I need–”

“Look at you. Big, bad hunter coming completely undone just because I took control. Bet you’d let me do anything to you right now.” You leaned down, capturing his mouth in a bruising kiss that swallowed the rest of his words. Your tongue slipped past his lips, tasting yourself on him as he practically melted into you. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” you whispered, tracing a finger along his jawline. “You’ve been so good for me.”

You knelt down in front of him. The ropes across his chest rose and fell with each breath, and you tugged his jeans and boxers down his thighs.

“Look at you,” you murmured, running your hands up his thighs. “So worked up.” Sam’s breath caught when you wrapped your fingers around him, giving him one slow stroke from base to tip. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking more. “Ah-ah.” You clicked your tongue and met his gaze, and he froze immediately, a whimper dragging itself from his throat. “There’s my good boy,” you praised, rewarding his obedience with another long, languid stroke. 

His head fell back slightly, exposing the long line of his throat, and you couldn’t resist leaning forward and pressing your lips there. The taste of salt on his skin made you hum with satisfaction. You tugged at the ropes crossing his chest, watching his breath hitch as they tightened momentarily against his skin. “I’m going to untie your hands, but that doesn’t give you permission to touch. Do you understand?” He nodded eagerly, sucking in a shuddering breath before responding,

“Yes.”

You hummed approvingly, stepping around him to undo the belt holding his wrists. His hands immediately moved to rest on his thighs, fingers digging into the denim of his jeans as he fought the urge to reach for you. You ran your palm along the red marks the belt had left, and he shivered at the contact, a soft whine escaping him when you lifted each wrist to your mouth and pressed a kiss to his skin. “Stand up.”

Sam rose to his feet with surprising grace despite his obvious arousal and the tremble of his hands. You circled him slowly, drinking in the sight of his bound torso and the way the ropes accentuated every muscle.

“Take these off for me,” you commanded, lightly snapping the waistband of his boxers that were pushed halfway down his thighs. “Slowly.”

His hands shook slightly as he pushed his jeans and boxers the rest of the way down his legs, stepping out of them when they pooled at his feet. You made an approving sound at the sight of him fully exposed, his cock standing proudly and leaking against his stomach.

“Perfect,” you murmured, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating off of him. “Now lie down. Let me take care of you.” Sam moved to the bed with careful steps, settling back against the pillows. The ropes across his chest stretched taut as he positioned himself, creating beautiful patterns of shadow and light across his skin. You followed him, crawling up the bed until you straddled his thighs, careful not to touch him where he wanted you most. “Color?” you asked softly, running your hands along the rope patterns decorating his chest.

“Green,” he breathed, his voice rough and gravelly. You leaned down to press a kiss to his sternum, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your lips. His hands fisted in the sheets beside him.

“I’m going to ride you now,” you whispered against his ear, feeling him shudder beneath you. “And you’re going to be good and let me set the pace.”

“Yes,” he gasped, meeting your gaze. “Anything you want.”

You positioned yourself over him, one hand braced against his chest where ropes crossed over each other, the other guiding him to your entrance. The first touch of him against your slick heat made both of you moan. You sank down slowly, inch by inch, watching as his brows drew together with pleasure and restraint.

“Fuck,” he breathed when your hips sat flush with his and he bottomed out. “You feel so good.” You were still for a moment, adjusting to the stretch of him and savoring the feeling of fullness. Sam’s eyes were locked on yours, his pupils so dilated that you weren’t sure you could see any color remaining in them.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you said, rolling your hips experimentally and watching his mouth fall open in a silent gasp. “Tied up and letting me have my way with you.” You began to move, setting a deliberately slow pace that had Sam’s fingers twisting in the sheets. Each time you rose up, you’d pause just as the head of his cock threatened to slip out before sinking back down with agonizing slowness.

“More,” he begged, his voice cracking on the word.

“More what?” you asked, going completely still and watching him squirm beneath you. The flush on his cheeks had spread down his neck and across his collarbone.

“More of you. Faster. Please.” Even though you were the one calling the shots, denying a request from Sam Winchester was something you couldn’t bring yourself to do. So you leaned down to kiss him as you began to rock your hips with more purpose. Sam moaned into your mouth, his body trembling with the effort not to take control.

“That’s it,” you praised against his lips. “You’re doing so well for me.” You sat up, placing both hands on his bound chest for leverage as you increased your pace. The sight below you was intoxicating. Sam Winchester, completely at your mercy. His hair splayed across the pillow, eyes wild with need, lips parted and swollen from your kisses. The geometric patterns of rope across his broad shoulders shifted with each heavy breath, marking him as yours.

“You feel so good inside me,” you whispered, clenching around him deliberately and dragging a low groan from him. “So perfect for me.” His hips jerked up involuntarily, hitting a spot inside you that lit up stars behind your eyelids. You leaned back down, your lips brushing against his ear. “You want to move, don’t you? Want to flip me over and take control?”

“Yes,” he gasped, the word sounding like it had been torn from his throat. “God, yes, more than anything.” You rolled your hips in a slow circle that had him grunting with the effort to wait for you to give him the okay. “Too bad you’re not in charge right now.”

You could see the exact moment something in him broke. His eyes darkened and muscles tensed beneath the ropes as he fought against his own desires. But even despite all that self control, even Sam had his breaking point. You had no desire to push him to it. You trailed kisses along his jaw to his ear. “But maybe,” you relented, “you’ve been so good that you deserve a reward.” Sam’s breath caught, and when you looked at him, his eyes searched yours with desperate hope.

“Please, I need to touch you. I can’t–” he rasped.

“Hands on my hips, Sam,” you commanded gently, and he moved instantly, his large hands gripping you with barely restrained strength. “You can move, but you still listen to me. Does that work for you?”

“Yes.” He nodded frantically. “God, yes it does.” You searched his face for any sign of apprehension, but when you found none, you gave a soft nod.

The moment you gave permission, his hips surged upwards, drawing a gasp from your lips. His fingers dug into your hips as planted his feet flat on the mattress and thrust up into you, finding a rhythm that had you crying out his name. “That’s it,” you moaned, bracing yourself against his chest as he moved beneath you. The ropes bit into his skin with each powerful thrust, leaving deeper impressions that would mark him for hours. “Show me how much you need this.”

Sam’s control fractured beautifully. His careful restraint replaced by desperate, hungry movements that sent waves of pleasure through both of you. His eyes never left your face, drinking in every expression, every gasp and moan that escaped your lips.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice rough and broken. “So perfect wrapped around me like this.” You leaned down to capture his mouth again, swallowing his moans as you moved together. The new angle had him hitting that delicious spot inside you with every thrust, building tension in your core until you were teetering on the edge.

“I’m close,” you gasped against his lips, feeling yourself flutter around him. The confession made him groan, his thrusts becoming more urgent.

“Come for me,” he pleaded. “Please, I need to feel you.”

His words pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you in waves, body clenching as pleasure consumed you. You cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode out the intensity.

Sam was wrecked under you. Every muscle straining. Sweat slicking his chest. You had pushed him. Made him beg. Made him need. And when you looked down at him now, his eyes were glassy, pupils wide with need. You slowed your movements, concern flickering through you.

“Green,” Sam gasped before you could ask. Then added, “I’m alright, I swear. It’s just… intense. Really fucking intense.” He squeezed his eyes shut, the tears spilling hot down his temples. And in that moment, you realized that they weren’t from pain or distress. They were from the overwhelming sensation of finally letting go. Of surrendering completely to someone who would catch him. You cupped his face with one hand gently, thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured, and something in his expression cracked open even further.

“I know,” he breathed, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. “I trust you.”

“Let go for me, Sam. I’m right here. I’ve got you,” you repeated. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers pressing bruises into your skin as his thrusts became erratic.

“Fuck, I’m–” He sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body tensing beneath you. “Can I–?”

“Yes,” you breathed, still trembling from your own release. “Come for me, Sam.” The ropes across his chest pressed deep red lines into his skin, the patterns distorted by the flex and strain of his muscles. “Can you look at me?” you asked, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. His eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused. “I want to see you when you come.”

That was all it took.

Sam’s back arched off the bed as he came undone beneath you, his eyes locked on yours as pleasure overtook him. His mouth fell open in a silent cry, his entire body shuddering as he spilled inside you. The complete surrender as he gave himself over to you was breathtaking.

“That’s it,” you whispered, continuing to grind against him, drawing out every last tremor of his orgasm. “So beautiful when you let go for me.”

His hands loosened their grip on your hips, sliding up to your waist as his breathing gradually evened out. You leaned down to press gentle kisses along his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, feeling his heartbeat thunder beneath your lips.

“You’re amazing,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and wrecked. His fingers traced lazy patterns up and down your spine as you both basked in the afterglow. You smiled against his skin, carefully lifting yourself off him and settling beside him. The ropes had left intricate patterns of red across his skin, beautiful reminders of his surrender.

“Let’s get you out of these,” you said softly, fingers working at the knots. As each section of rope fell away, you pressed soft kisses to the marks they left behind, soothing the sensitive skin with gentle touches. Sam sighed contentedly as the last of the rope fell away, his skin bearing the imprint of your control. You traced the marks with your fingertips, marveling at the way they decorated his chest. “How are you feeling?” you asked, settling back beside him and pulling him into your arms. He turned to face you, his expression still soft and vulnerable in the dim light of his room.

“Free,” he said after a moment, the word carrying more weight than you expected. “Like I could finally just… be.” His hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he pressed a kiss to your palm. “Thank you.” You brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, noting how relaxed his features had become. Gone was the constant tension he carried. The weight of responsibility that seemed permanently etched into his shoulders. Here in the quiet aftermath, he looked younger somehow. “I needed that,” he whispered, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “More than I realized.”

You gently scraped your nails along his back, feeling the places where the ropes had dug in. The marks would fade by morning, but the memory of him surrendering to you would linger for far longer.

“So,” you began slowly, “you do know that you don’t have to get yourself captured every time you want to be tied up, right?” Sam let out a soft laugh, the sound rumbling through you as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer.

“Would you?” His voice was quiet. “If I asked?” You pressed your lips to his forehead in a soft kiss that held none of the urgency from before.

“Sam Winchester, I would do just about anything for you.”

---

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