❝elise❞

Of all the stupid things you’ve done in your life, walking directly into the glowing purple room on a hostile spaceship definitely ranks first.

You’d just finished fighting your way through the horde of robots that occupied the ship when you spotted it. Bruce had been in a heated discussion with Hal, scanning something in the alien-robot helmets that you didn’t quite understand. Barry had scratched his neck, trying to play mediator.

No one but you seemed to notice the glowing, whispering room only a few short steps down the hall. No one seemed to notice the incredible scent—oddly reminiscent of Diana’s perfume—or the way it beckoned you in.

No one noticed as you shuffled your feet towards it in a trance, picked up an ID card from one of the deceased robots, and scanned yourself into the room.

It was Clark that noticed first, his superior hearing perking up the minute he heard the soft click of the door. “What are you doing?”

Barry’s on his feet in an instant, tearing away from the argument. It’s a millisecond, maybe two, before he gets to you. But he’s too late. 

Dazed, you’d already stumbled into the purple mist, the door sealing shut behind you.

The minutes after that were a blur. The mist had wrapped around you, invaded every pore, filled every breath until you weren’t sure if you were breathing or drowning. The burning in your lungs snapped you out of your trance and you immediately spun around to pound on the glass door in front of you.

It didn’t give. Even through Clark and Diana’s joint efforts, through every construct Hal could build and every plan Bruce could think of, the door didn’t give. You were trapped. Utterly helpless, suffocating.

The room only got hotter from there, the perfumey scent that had once been enticing now made your stomach churn. Your muscles weakened and you let yourself slide against the door, resigning yourself to dying on an alien-robot spaceship.

You were unconscious by the time the door opened three minutes later. Diana had immediately grabbed you and dragged you out, scrunching up her nose at the scent coming from the room.

Bruce checked your pulse, Clark scanning over you with his xray vision to make sure you weren’t injured. For all intents and purposes, you were fine. Sure, your core temperature was a little elevated, and yeah, you were unconscious—but you were fine.

Which brings you to now: waking up on the cold metal floor, a horrible ache rattling the back of your skull. There’s a scratch in your throat, a new sort of heat pulsing through you.

You blink up at the five faces above you, forcing yourself to sit up. The pain in the back of your head sharpens to a point as you sit, a trickle of blood leaking from your nose and over your lips.

You wipe it on the back of your hand without thinking, looking groggily around the room. “What happened?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” Bruce says gruffly.

Diana crouches down next to you, brushing a thumb over the steady stream of blood coming from your nose. “How are you feeling?”

“Dizzy,” you admit. “Everything hurts.”

You open your mouth to apologize for wandering off and to warn them about the trance-like state the gas from the room put you in, but freeze when a wave of warmth rolls over you. It starts in your chest, radiating out through your veins and pooling in your lower stomach.

And then it burns, like acid is eating through your organs. You double over, gagging from the pain, pulling your knees into your stomach. Short, gasping breaths leave your lips.

Barry crouches on your other side, laying a gentle hand on your back. “Easy now, easy.” He looks at Diana over your head, frowning, “she’s a thousand degrees.”

The Amazonian nods solemnly though she doesn’t dare open her mouth lest her words make you feel even more anxious.

Somewhere off to the side, while you’re trying to keep your stomach from flipping inside out, Hal and Bruce are trying to figure out just what exactly was in that room. The purple coloured smoke was unlike anything either of them had seen before, and though neither of them want to admit it, that doesn’t bode well for an antidote.

The pain in your stomach subsides, narrowing down to your core. Your eyes shoot wide at the all too familiar feeling. You swallow, casting your gaze down. 

“How’s the pain?” Clark asks, lips pursed in a frown. 

His eyes lock with Diana’s in a silent conversation, Clark assessing your vitals as subtly as he can. You’ve only grown hotter since you woke up, the pain you once felt all over localizing to your lower half.

You double over in pain again, your stomach cramping the way it would when you’re on your period. Heat pools in your underwear, leaking through to the inner seams of your suit. Your lungs ache for air but every breath feels warm and shallow.

Diana rubs a hand over your lower stomach and the minute her palm makes contact, the pain briefly subsides. The sweet relief of a deep breath expands your lungs.

You lean into her touch, tilting your head to rest on her broad shoulders. The closer you are to her, the more of her that fills your senses, the better you feel.

At the same time you make this revelation, Bruce and Hal are joining back with the group.

Though it’s rare to see Bruce smile in his Batman persona as it is, the deep frown on his face feels like a bad sign. “We’ve figured out what the toxin was.”

Next to Bruce, Hal is an equal mix of concerned and flustered. The pair of them only makes your anxiety spike, the pain you’d staved off coming back. 

“What is it?” Barry asks, his own hand resting comfortingly on your knee.

“The good news is that it’s not exactly a poison.”

You look up at Hal through your lashes, waiting for him to say more, about how this could possibly be good news. 

It’s Bruce that speaks up. “It’s a lab made chemical, meant to help with population regrowth on near-desolated planets.” 

No matter how horribly, desperately you don't want it to be true, you know that it is. Before he even continues speaking, a part of you knows what he’s going to say next. Knows what’s coming to you.

“It inflicts damage on your body, staying in your system until you either satiate it or…” He trails off and you swear the frown lines on his face deepen.

No one dares ask what comes after ‘or’.

It’s Diana that breaks the silence. “How is it satiated?”

“Population regrowth,” your voice cracks on the word. “You fix it by reproducing.”

Bruce nods solemnly, confirming what you already knew.

You lay your palms flat on the floor, trying to push yourself to your knees. The minute Diana and Barry’s hands fall off of you, the pain comes back tenfold, radiating up your spine until you’re dizzy.

The blood drips faster from your nose now, a metallic taste filling your mouth. You swallow it back, “if I can just—if we get back to the ship, I can take care of it.”

Barry’s hand finds its way back into your palm, the other one wiping away the blood that spills over your lip. “She won’t make it that long,” he looks up at Bruce with desperate eyes, “will she?”

Again, he shakes his head.

The drop in morale at that moment is so severe you can feel it, tensions rising around you. It’s only now that the gravity of the situation really settles into your chest.

Fear rises to your throat like bile. You’re going to die here, you’re going to die because you made a stupid mistake. And the only way you can stop it, the only way you can fix yourself, is to strip down in front of your friends—your coworkers—and fuck yourself like an unfixed dog.

“How long does it last?” Your voice sounds weaker now.

“We don’t know,” Hal admits. “From the scan Clark did on you, it could be hours, it could be days.”

Hours. Though you’re practically soaked through with arousal, though your pussy flutters in anticipation, the thought of masturbating with them in the room for hours makes your heart drop.

“I can stay here and you guys go back to the ship and I can meet you there—”

Please, god, do not let me have to touch myself in front of my coworkers.

You’re surprised when it’s not Hal or Bruce that speaks next, it’s Barry. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?” 

Spoken like a true scientist. 

“It’s for repopulation,” Bruce reiterates. “If you stay here alone, you will die.”

Hal’s eyes find yours from behind his mask. “You feel it, don’t you?” He gestures to the way Barry’s holding you, “the way touch makes the pain go away. The way the pain triples when you try to pull away.”

He speaks on the experience so eloquently, you can’t help but wonder if he’s gone through this before. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t quite read, one beyond the concern. One that looks an awful lot like understanding.

“So…” Clark begins. 

“I either have sex with someone, or I die.” You look around the room, at each of the people around you, “it’s not fair. I can’t ask any of you to do that.”

The chorus of voices surprises you, though it probably shouldn’t given who you’re with. “I’ll do it.”

Damn heroes, always trying to rectify situations at the cost of themselves.

“I’d be taking advantage,” you frown, the pain in your stomach starting to come back again. “It’s unfair.”

Diana cups your face, turning your head to face her. “How is it that you’re the one in danger, and yet you’re worried about us?”

The feeling of her fingertips on your skin ignites something in you, simultaneously soothing the pain that lingers at the back of your spine.

You shrug your shoulders. “I just…don’t want any of you to do something you don’t want to.”

Again, they begin to protest, heads shaking at your antics. 

Leave it to Hal Jordan to ask the hard questions. “So, who do you want to do it?” 

“I—” You suck in a breath, Diana and Barry’s touch not chasing away the pain as well as it was before. “I don’t care, I trust you all. Just don’t let me die. Please.”

Right now, you’re not sure there’s anyone you trust more than the people in the room. You’ve dealt with countless problems by their sides, confided in them about all of your problems, grabbed beers with them after saving the world.

Your trust in them is unshakeable, absolute. 

Immediately, the room dissolves into discussion. There’s arguments on who does it, on what they need to do, how careful they need to be. They discuss the possibility of the chemical spreading, of someone else being inflicted. Barry rises to his feet, dropping your hand to join the discussion.

And while the men argue, Diana cups your jaw and pulls you in for a dizzying kiss. Her lips are soft on yours, and despite the blood that’s dried to your own lips, she doesn’t seem to mind. 

Her other hand finds the small of your back, drawing shapes over your spine. Her grip on you is strong, reassuring, a total comfort. You fall into her completely, letting her guide you onto your back, the cold metal of the floor staving off some of your heat.

Her tongue swipes across the back of your teeth, that familiar taste of hers filling your mouth. Her other hand trails down to the seam of your pants, dipping inside to rub at your heat. 

For a minute, she’s surprised at how wet you are, how swollen your clit already is. But then she pushes past her shock, her thumb rubbing circles with just enough pressure to have wave after wave of ecstasy rolling over you.

She pulls away—just for a second—to pull your pants down to your knees, giving herself easier access to you. Her mouth greedily swallows every moan before it can hit the air, muffling it from the men still arguing around you.

Every touch is intentional, every swish of her tongue in your mouth synchronized with her finger on your clit. You’re sure the drug must be heightening your senses, making you all too sensitive to her touch.

She’s barely slipped a finger inside of you when you’re already coming undone, electricity bolting up your spine as your walls pulse around her finger. The aftershocks of your orgasm chase away the pain, the fear—everything.

"Good girl," she praises. "I'll take care of you."

And then she’s kissing down your chest, lips sucking at your neck. She starts to slowly move her finger inside of you again, her other hand leaving your face to push the fabric of your shirt up. She kisses further down, lips getting closer and closer to where she’s fucking you with her finger.

Just as her mouth attaches to your clit, another finger pushes inside of you. A particularly loud moan slips from your lips and without Diana there to muffle it, the cacophonous arguing stops.

“Holy shit,” Hal breathes, and suddenly you’re way too aware of four sets of eyes watching the two of you.

Diana looks up at you, long lashes framing her eyes. “Let them watch,” she says, “maybe they could learn something.”

Her fingers curl inside of you and you moan again, the sound rattling the room. You arch your back, whining. Your eyes flutter shut, that knot in your stomach building up almost as fast as it did the first time.

Your thighs shake on either side of her head, nails digging into your palms. You try to close your legs but then they’re being forced apart by a pair of floating green hands.

You blink at Hal, who’s since discarded his mask. He grins in return.

And then you’re finishing again, slick coating Diana’s face and tongue as she eats you through it. You can feel their eyes on you even through your orgasm, even as your eyes flutter closed and your muscles all twitch.

Then Diana is pulling her mouth away, taking deep breaths as she gives you a minute of rest. It’s only a minute, but already the pain starts to come back as a dull ache.

“How are you feeling?” Clark asks.

“It’s starting to hurt again…”

He doesn’t ask another question before he’s replacing Diana on the floor in front of you, adjusting his suit until he can free his cock. He’s already somewhat hard—the two of you had put on quite the show.

Clark and Diana’s willingness to fuck you in front of everybody almost has you feeling guilty for your hesitance earlier. You trust these people, you love these people. How could you doubt that?

“Come here,” he opens his arms to you, “I got you.”

And then you’re crawling into his arms, letting him pick you off the floor. With his strength, he does it with ease, slowly lowering you down onto his cock. The minute his head pierces your entrance, you have to bite down on your lip to keep from being too loud.

You take him inch by inch, your body adjusting much more easily than it usually would. Despite your aching need, Clark’s gentle with you. He takes his time, watching every twitch of your body for a sign he should stop.

When you’ve finally taken all of him, the two of you gasp in sync. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair. He tightens his grips around your thighs and then he’s lifting you up and dropping you back down on his cock.

With every motion, he pierces deeper inside of you. Your walls suck him in, beg him for more, beg him to go deeper. You’re so close to him, you can feel the beat of his heart, hear every tiny hitch in his breath.

He guides you up and down his cock like a toy, and you let him, going boneless in his arms. Lurid sounds leave your lips but you’re long past the point of caring. You drag your hands from his neck down to his back, scratching at his shoulders, though Clark doesn’t seem to mind.

“You’re so warm,” he groans. “So hot.”

Maybe it’s the toxin or your own overstimulation but it only takes a few minutes before you’re finishing again, muscles clenching up, pussy tightening around Clark’s cock like it’s trying to milk him dry. He fixes his lips against yours, bearing your weight completely while you orgasm.

“That’s it. Let it all out, sweetheart.”

It’s only a few more thrusts for Clark before he’s finishing too. Both the heat and the sudden tightness of your walls is too much for him. He presses his hips flush against yours, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he comes. He fills you up, the warm fluid slowly leaking out of you. 

He kisses you again, softly. “Do you need more?”

You feel horribly greedy as you nod your head yes, barely registering what’s happening as Clark passes you to Hal and Bruce.

The two men take you between them, holding you up despite the way your knees shake and threaten to buckle at any second.

Hal pulls you in for a tantalizing kiss. It’s needy and sloppy, punctuated with the desperation he feels after watching you get fucked by his teammates. Bruce’s hands make quick work of your uniform, finishing what Diana had started earlier. 

Being free from the fabric cools you down only slightly, the heat from their bodies immediately making up for it. There’s a flash of green light and then there’s a bed only a few feet away from you.

Bruce grabs you, practically throwing you on top of it before the two men and Barry join you. 

It’s a blur of hands and lips from there, the three of them somehow wrestling you onto your knees. Bruce is behind you, lining his cock up with your entrance, while Hal and Barry both sit on their knees in front.

Bruce taps your back, just once. "You're still okay?"

You weakly hum in agreement, arching your back to encourage him.

Bruce doesn’t waste a second before he pushes himself inside of you, Clark’s leftover cum acting as lube. Your mouth falls open in a gasp, Barry slipping his fingers inside. You don’t even think, your lips just close around them and you start sucking.

Bruce’s thrusts are aggressive, rocking both you and the bed, sending Barry’s fingers further down your throat. And then he’s replacing his fingers with his cock, your jaw aching at the sudden stretch.

You let your eyes flutter closed, letting the two men use you. Every thrust sends you further against the other, a perfectly choreographed dance between them. One goes deep and sends the other deeper, Bruce’s thick cock filling you so much that it’s hard to breathe.

Meanwhile, Hal rubs the hair away from your face and the sweat away from your forehead. “You’re like a pro,” he jokes. “You’re taking them so well.”

Barry gasps as you swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. “Fuck, Hal, you gotta try.”

And then they’re switching places, Hal’s cock replacing Barry’s in your mouth, Barry’s lips attacking the side of your neck instead.

Bruce digs his fingers deeper into your hips, fingertips sure to bruise you the next day. He slams himself deeper against you, every thrust punctuated with a cock muffled moan from you.

“That’s it,” his gruff voice calls out. “Just keep taking it.”

Barry’s teeth graze the side of your neck, his hand slipping down to rub circles on your clit and that’s all it takes for you to come undone all over again. Your arms shake violently, sending you pitching forward on the bed. Lucky for you, Barry catches your head, keeping you up the best he can while you get spitroasted on their cocks. 

Bruce fucks you through your high and then he’s falling apart with you, his cock twitching in your walls. With one final, rough thrust, he pushes himself in balls deep and lets himself cum inside of you.

Hal pulls his cock out of your mouth, letting you breathe freely while you fight the aftershocks of your orgasm.

When you’ve finally come to enough, you blink up at the man. “Want you next,” you declare, “you and Barry.”

And after the show you’ve put on, neither man is in any place to argue. Barry holds you against his chest while Hal moves away, repositioning himself where Bruce was only a minute ago.

Hal helps you move your quivering thighs on either side of Barry’s, grabbing the man’s cock and slipping the head inside of you. Bruce and Clark’s cum drips out, sliding down his shaft and onto his thighs.

Barry’s tip slips inside of you easily, his arms wrapping around your back to hold you still while Hal positions himself. The Lantern grips your hip with one hand and slowly guides his cock to your entrance with the other.

There’s pressure, your aching hole struggling to accommodate both of them, but Hal Jordan is not one to give up. 

He rubs a hand up your back, “breathe, baby. Deep breaths.”

You try to do as he says, letting yourself go limp against Barry. With your muscles relaxed, his cock slides inside of you easily. You’re full, so full you can barely move, but fuck it feels so good. That constant gnawing heat that’s been plaguing you dissipates into almost nothing, every thought in your head clears away.

Barry thrusts first and it’s such a tight fit that that alone has your eyes rolling back. Hal goes next, the friction of their cocks inside of you making your mind go blank. They continue in that rhythm, sloppy at first as they try to find a suitable pace.

"F-fuck, it's so tight." Barry curses.

Barry kisses at your cheek, your temple, the side of your head, trying to soothe you as both men fuck into you. Your pussy aches, your walls shaking sheerly from the fullness.

Hal digs his nails into your skin, crescent marks of his fingers matching Bruce’s from only a few minutes ago. His thrusts are frantic and fast and nearly violent, sending you further into Barry’s chest with every single one.

Barry is only slightly better, faster than Hal and just as punishing, but much less desperate.

"That's it, baby," Hal praises. "Let us take care of you."

You let yourself fall against them, let them fuck you while your mind goes entirely blank. That knot inside of you builds and builds and builds, heat radiating from your core until you finally snap and cum.

It’s already a tight fit with both of them inside of you but with your walls clenching up, it’s almost painful. Hal comes first, his cock twitching and filling you up pretty much the second you finish.

Barry’s next, the combined heat of your slick and Hal’s too much for him. He squeezes you tightly against his chest while he finishes inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim.

You’re left sweaty and gasping, laying against Barry’s chest on the construct bed that Hal made.

Barry kisses the side of your head. “How are you feeling?”

“G-good, I think.” 

It’s a few minutes before the three of you untangle from each other, both Hal and Barry climbing off of the bed. Barry offers you a hand, helping you onto your feet and keeping you up despite the exhaustion plaguing your body.

“I-I’m feeling better,” you announce to no one in particular. “Thank you guys for helping.”

“That’s good,” Bruce says, gesturing over his shoulder. “But we have another problem now.”

You squint, following the line his finger points to to see Diana, flushed and naked, and Clark, on his knees and eating her out.

Fuck, you think to yourself. It must have been contagious after all.

dc masterlist | navigation | kinktober 2025

Sam Winchester doesn’t do quickies.

It’s a fact that you’ve, rather unfortunately, become painfully aware of over the past year. One that can make you melt one moment, and lose your mind the next.

Because when it comes to you, Sam takes his time. 

If he had it his way, every night spent with you would stretch long past midnight, bodies tangled beneath motel sheets while the rest of the world seems to fade into nothing. He’d kiss you so slow that your lungs would run out of air, and you’d have to drag it back in between gasps as he touches every inch of your skin with careful hands. There’s nothing rushed about the way Sam loves you, and nothing careless, either. He makes damn sure that you’re nothing less than spoiled, left boneless and worshipped against his chest, drifting in the hazy bliss of exhaustion as his heart thumps beneath your cheek.

And God, you love him for it. Most of the time.

But the downside of dating Sam is that his life comes with a permanent, trauma-bonded punishment attached at the hip, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. 

You love Dean. You really, really do. He’s family, always has been, and always will be—that’s just a fact of life. But there’s moments, usually when you haven’t spent more than five uninterrupted minutes alone with your gorgeous boyfriend in over a week, that fantasizing about wringing out the older man’s neck like a dish towel becomes your go to form of stress relief. 

The two of you need to run some errands? Dean has the impalas keys in his hand before either of you can speak.

Need to interview some witnesses for a case? Well, apparently, the only thing better than two fake FBI agents is three. 

Want to stop at some cute diner you noticed for a bite to eat? Oh, you’ve just read Dean’s mind, because he’s been dreaming about pie since last week. 

It’s endless, and it’s starting to become unbearable. Especially when you’ve spent the last two weeks with nothing more than a little heavy petting, and it’s starting to feel like some forced dry spell. By day fifteen, you’re pretty sure Dean’s doing it on purpose.

Maybe not meticulously, or even consciously, but either way, you’re going a little insane. For a man so sex-oriented, you’d think he’d be less oblivious about how much of a cock block he’s become; and there’s only so many interrupted moments and unwanted third-wheeling a woman can take before she starts making up conspiracy theories. 

Like tonight, for example.

You and Sam had finally managed to peel away after dinner under the excuse of breaking into the local library past close, and digging through some lore archives for your case of the week. Your plan to jump your adorably clueless boyfriend, and climb him like a fucking tree, was in full swing.

And God, it almost worked. It should have worked. Dean had barely looked at you over his burger as he waved the two of you off, mumbling something about not wanting to join in on your little nerd club. 

But, of course, fate had other plans. Because not ten minutes later, he’d had some stupid change of heart. And coupled with Sam’s inability to say no, your sweet little library date had turned into a three-person job.

So, you sit wedged beside Sam in an old rickety chair, pressed close enough to rest your shoulder against his, as Dean slouches across from you looking bored out of his skull. Honestly, you’re just grateful he’s finally stopped bragging about his alarm disarming abilities after the three of you busted in through the back door. The silence that’s settled in in the aftermath, though, only makes you twitchy.

Sam’s warm at your side, his thigh brushing against yours every time his leg bounces against the dusty floor. To his credit, he really is researching, which doesn’t surprise you one bit. There’s that familiar, deep furrow in his brow, accompanied by a look of intense focus lighting up his hazel eyes as he scans each page. You, on the other hand, haven’t flipped a single page of your copy of ‘Daemonologie’ in over twenty minutes. 

Because Christ, it’s pretty damn hard to focus on mind numbing lore when Sam’s so close, and smells like fucking heaven. 

It’s a little stupid, really, how a few dry weeks have managed to wound you up so tight, that you’re vibrating in your seat like a bitch in heat. But that revelation sure as hell doesn’t stop your foot from tapping restlessly against the floor, or do a damn thing about the way you’re practically salivating over the scent of Sam’s shampoo. But, hey, you’d thrown away subtle nearly ten minutes ago, the moment Sam’s beautifully long fingers started tracing the faded ink of some demonic sigil, and you had to resist every primal urge to lick the veins on his hand.

You’re about five seconds from drooling when you break the silence. 

“Alright.” You slam your hands down on the table, spooking an unsuspecting Dean, who’d just laid his head down over his forearms—Sam’s head snapping towards you. “This is getting us nowhere.”

Dean groans his agreement, shoving away the book that he hadn’t touched since he’d sat down. “…Thank God. Y’know, I saw a dive a few blocks over. We should—”

“—There’s a microfilm reader in the back,” you interrupt smoothly. “We can flip through old newspapers, look for an actual, visible pattern.”

Dean’s mouth clicks shut at your words, and you swear you’ve never seen him look quite so betrayed. He blinks at you, before throwing his head back like he’d just been sentenced to life in prison.

Sam, on the other hand, folds his book closed with silent care, tilting his head towards you in silent question.

“Microfilm?” he echos, raising a brow, before offering a shrug. “I mean. Beats sifting through physicals, but…”

You shoot him a less than friendly look, one he must some-what understand (bless his soul), because his mouth snaps closed before he can finish his sentence.

“…Right,” he amends. 

“Whatever, sweetheart,” Dean grumbles, already moving to stand. “Let’s all go stare at some ancient newspaper clippings ‘til our eyes start to bleed.”

And oh. Oh, absolutely not.

“Dean,” you say flatly, “you hate microfilm.” 

He freezes halfway to standing, argument already on the tip of his tongue, but you’re faster.

“Last time, you almost smashed the damn thing before Sam took over.”

You stand quickly, too quickly, knee thumping against the table in your haste, your hand falling to plant firmly on Sam’s shoulder.

“You stay here, Dean. Keep watch, take a nap, or whatever the hell it is you’ve been doing for the past half an hour. We won’t be long.” You give Sam a soft squeeze. “Right, Sammy?”

Sam lifts his head to meet your gaze, staring at you with those big, earnest puppy eyes, wide and slightly confused. He looks unfairly pretty in this light, all messy hair, sleepy focus, pink lips slightly parted in silent question. 

He glances at your hand on his shoulder briefly, then back to your face, like he’s trying to piece together why you’re suddenly so intent on getting him alone. Which, unfortunately, is a fair question. Not that you care.

“Uh,” he buffers quietly. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Dean plops back down in his chair with an exaggerated sigh, kicking up both his feet. He doesn’t even pretend to read this time, just watches you with narrowed eyes full of suspicion, and, well. Maybe mild annoyance.

You spare him one last mostly well natured smile as Sam stands, but you don’t let him get another word in before you’re practically herding his brother across the library with far too much enthusiasm to be casual. The back room is quiet, dimly lit, and just far enough from the main library to fall out of earshot. Perfect. The door groans in protest as you pull it shut behind you, creaking loud enough to make you wince. And then you notice it.

No lock.

The realization gives you pause for exactly half a second before it’s buried beneath need so thick you have to swallow it down to keep it momentarily contained. Because honestly, now that you finally have Sam alone… a flimsy detail like that is nothing but an afterthought.

Sam, the sweetheart, who somehow still hasn’t managed to connect the dots, moves instinctively towards one of the desks in a few short strides. He leans over the tabletop, bangs falling lazily over his forehead, his hand moving for the knob.

“What are you doing?” you ask, unable to keep amusement from creeping into your tone. His finger hovers halfway over the microfilm reader’s power switch, eyes flicking from it to you. That big, Stanford brain of his trying so hard to decipher where he’s missed a cue.

“What?” 

The question comes out a little croaked, and the puppy-eyed sincerity of it damn near brings you to your knees. 

“Sam.” You take one slow step forward, tilting your head with an almost innocent smile. “I thought my eye-fucking was getting a little obvious.”

He freezes. Not dramatically, no, more like a slow, dawning realization washing over him like a wave. That sweet, dumb face of his finally cracks into something else, something warm. Something darker. The kind of look that makes your stomach flip, and heat coil low in your core.

His hand slides away from the switch in a slow, teasing drag, as he pushes himself back up to his full height, stalking towards you in a few measured steps. Shadows fall over his features, catching on the sharp angle of his jaw, the perfect slope of his nose—and that gorgeous dimple that’s just begun to show itself with the heated smirk that spreads across his lips.

“Oh?” he breathes, voice rougher now. “Really? Here?”

“Yeah,” you purr, and there’s nothing subtle about the way your gaze drops to his lips before flicking back up. “Here.”

You don’t let him think too hard about it before your fist is curling around his collar, and his lips are crashing against yours.

It’s not slow, or testing, or soft. No, it’s immediate hunger. It’s you pouring weeks of desperation and need into a single action, mouth devouring his with every ounce of frustration you’ve bottled up tight enough to burst. He exhales into it, a warm puff against your cheek, as those big hands that have been haunting your fantasies slide up to cradle your jaw with infinite levels of care. His fingers splay over your cheeks, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes as he tilts your face closer to his like he can’t get enough.

He pulls back just long enough to drag in a breath, the taste of him still heavy on your tongue.

“We’re in a library,” he reasons, your noses brushing, breaths mingling. 

“We are.”

“Dean’s just outside.”

“He is.”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time, and you can tell he wants to drag this out. Make it last. Take you apart so slow that you’ll be shaking in his grasp, and the only word left on your tongue is his name. 

But right now? That… that just won’t do. You part again with a slick pop.

“…And you’re sure about this?” he asks, of course he does, and your heart squeezes tight in your chest. 

You raise a brow, moving for another kiss, but he dodges you with a chuckle. You can’t help but glare. 

“That’s not an answer, baby.”

“Been soakin’ wet since you bitched out that asshole cop earlier,” you tease, raising one palm to trace down his chest. “That an answer?”

He pauses for a moment, considering, then his expression breaks out into a sweet, cocky grin, and then he’s crushing his lips back on yours. He kisses you like he’s drowning and you’re the surface. Like he wants nothing more than to drink you down and swallow you whole. One arm loops around your waist, cradling you closer, spinning you until you’re caged between him and one of the cold, veneer-lined desks. His tongue slips between parted lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that belies the tenderness of his touch. 

“Up,” he murmurs between licks, tapping your hip with two calloused fingers, before hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting. You squeak, a sound that earns you the world’s most panty-dropping snicker, your ass hitting the desk with a thud. The heat of your core contrasted by the cool surface sends a new spark of want through your system, left sizzling beneath layers of pesky fabric.

Hot, feverish kisses pepper your throat not a moment later, as he splays his palms over your thighs, nudging them apart until they bracket his hips. Massive hands hold you in place, heavy and warm and so damn close to where you’re aching for him. A shiver rips through you like lightning as his lips trail up your neck, soft and wet against heated skin. He finds that sensitive spot, the one just below your ear, lingering on it with slow, open-mouthed kisses, nipping gently before soothing the sting with a lap of his tongue. Sparks climb up your spine like a kindling fire, a poorly-stifled moan whirling from your lips. 

You’re already panting, heart slamming against your chest, your fingers sliding to tangle in his messy hair to keep him right where you want him. Your other hand drags swiftly down his front, pressing into the butter-soft expanse of his chest, finally palming at his belt with fingers that have already begun to tremble. 

His lips disconnect with your neck with a sharp inhale as he straightens up, meeting your darkened gaze. You almost fucking whine at the loss.

“Woah, hey.” His large hand covers your wrist, not pushing you away—thank God—but turning it over gently in his grasp, thumb sliding to rest over your racing pulse point. Even that simple touch has you squirming. “Easy, baby. ‘M gonna take real good care of you first, yeah?” 

It’s sweet. Really sweet.

In fact, it’s so sweet, that your pussy clenches around nothing, and that simply won’t cut it. The only thing it really does is make you want him even more. As in, like, as soon as fucking possible. You pinch your eyes shut, forehead thumping against his chest, before looking back up at him with the most pleading look you can muster. 

“Sam. Sweetheart. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before Dean barges in here ‘cause he’s bored,” you argue, and the tight-lipped, almost shy look he gives you almost has you melting right there. “Just need you. Right now. Please.”

Sam swallows hard, pulse thumping so hard in his throat that you can practically see it. The man is quite literally vibrating with need, a shaky breath escaping him as his eyes drop from yours, traveling back to your kiss-bitten lips. If he was attempting to be nobly subtle, he unfortunately fails. Miserably. 

“…I don’t wanna hurt you,” he lands on, and it’s so Sam that you have to fight the primal urge to shut him up with another kiss.

“You won’t.”

He opens his mouth again, probably to argue, or say something far too responsible for your liking, but instead, he loses. His mouth surges firmly back onto yours with such force that your head gets tilted back, and you let out your second embarrassing sound of the night, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. His tongue shoves right back through the seam of your lips, licking hot against yours with such fever that the situation in your jeans starts to become a little unbearable.

“Okay,” he concedes, mostly to himself, tugging his belt open in one sharp movement that probably shouldn’t make you nearly as stupid-horny as it does. You want to complain about not being able to do it yourself—but you forget every word of protest the second he tugs down his zipper, and your gaze lands on the throbbing bulge in his boxers. 

Yup. You’re going to be wet for fucking weeks.

“C’mere,” he purrs, his big, grabby hands scooping around your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the desk until you have to white-knuckle his shoulders to stay upright. He chuckles, the sound vibrating straight through you, his nimble fingers popping the button of your jeans, helping you to shimmy them away. You wiggle and squirm until they fall somewhere beneath Sam’s feet, and he kicks them aside, taking a greedy handful of your now bare ass. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

He latches his lips back just below the curve of your jaw, licking and suckling at your skin as his fingers squeeze hot over your thigh. Your eyes flutter closed, consumed by the arousal flooding your senses, and finally, fucking finally, you feel two thick fingers pull your ruined panties to the side. 

The fabric peels from your core, sticking to your drenched pussy as Sam’s fingers replace it swiftly, and oh, it’s electric. His breath comes faster than before, warm against your neck in punched-out puffs as your body reacts to him, arching into his touch. Two tough finger pads glide easily as he parts your folds, applying a ghost of pressure over your clit for one heavenly second before he’s circling your entrance. You’re dripping. Clenching around fucking nothing. And still—he’s teasing you slow with those unfairly hot dimples popping on his cheeks.

“Sam,” you scold, but God, it’s weak. Real fucking weak. And when one finger dips into your weeping cunt, you damn near cry. “Please, baby. C’mon...”

“Shhh…” he croons, sneaking a quick, mean kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Just makin’ sure you’re ready f’me.”

You don’t get to complain before he’s adding another digit, curling just right, dragging across that spongy, fluttery spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back, and has a broken gasp tearing from your lips. It’s like he intended to shut you up, and it absolutely worked.

“You weren’t kiddin’ about the cop thing, huh?” he teases, and you squeeze his fingers like some sort of warning. He full body shudders like you’ve just done it around his dick. “Soaking wet. Musta’ been a little uncomfortable, baby.”

“You have no idea.”

Your twitchy fingers snake right back between the two of you, this time dipping below his waistband. Your fist circles around his thick cock, and you relish in the very sexy groan he spills into your ear. He’s hard enough to hurt, leaking onto your palm, and he drags his fingers out of you just to help you free his throbbing dick in one quick movement. You can’t help but ogle as you pump him once, twice, nudging that fat cockhead between your folds, his thumb holding the soaked gusset of your panties to the side.

“Ready?” he asks, just one more time, those dark, blown pupils studying yours, glittering with arousal. 

“Shut up n’ fuck me already.”

Whatever hesitation he was holding onto snaps like a rubber band pulled too tight. He kisses you hard, a rough collision of teeth and tongue. One hand braces on the edge of the desk while the other guides his dick through your dripping pussy, collecting the slick that’s practically caked to your core. When he finally presses forward, it’s slow. So damn slow.

So slow that you feel every bit of the delicious stretch, and his pulse pounds against you in more ways than one. Your back bows into the feeling as your chest presses against his, heat exploding through every nerve ending.

You’re panting by the time you take half of him, and when he’s fully seated, you have to suck saliva back in through your teeth before you drool dumbly. Sam’s thumb slides off from your panties, opting to splay his full hand along the expanse of your inner thigh, holding you as wide as you can go. The pressure in your belly coils so hot that for a moment, you wonder how the hell you’ve survived over two weeks without this. 

A groan rips out of him, unfiltered and raw, and the second it hits your ears, it’s already vibrated through his chest and yours alike. Sam’s eyes slam shut for half a second like he’s just been electrocuted by the tight squeeze of your walls so perfectly around him. It’s beautiful, really, a sight that would have you dripping if you weren’t already. His jaw clenches hard, tendons standing out on his sweat-slick neck, fighting for control. His hips shift just slightly then, a gentle, testing rock that has fire licking up your spine.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp, fingers curling around his strong forearm. And oh, that’s all he needed.

He pulls back gently, before snapping forward in a deep, enthusiastic roll. The desk creaks beneath you like it’s threatening to break, and suddenly, he’s not being so careful anymore. 

You wiggle in his grasp, a plea for more, and he doesn’t spare a single moment. He scoops one leg up high over his waist, hips canting into you with a new kind of fever. The pace he sets is dizzying, desperate, damn-near sob worthy, his thick cock splitting you in half so fucking perfectly that stars explode behind your eyelids. Each thrust presses you harder into the desk, his breath huffing ragged against your neck. You reach for him instinctively, fingers splaying everywhere you can reach, taking greedy fistfuls of Sam. 

“Y’take me so well,” he chokes, as he leans back to fuck you in powerful, measured strokes, driving you higher and higher with every slap of skin. His muscled abdomen clenches taut as arousal pulls at his belly, and you can feel the tension beneath your palm. “So—so fuckin’ good, just for me.”

White-hot pleasure crashes through you in waves with every ruthless pound. You barely have it in you to hold yourself upright, raising your hands so your fingers can dimple hard into the meat of Sam’s shoulder for even the slightest lick of leverage. Your cunt sucks him in like it was made to, the heavy upward curve of his cock brushing right fucking there, over and over and oh fuck, you can only hope the room is soundproof. 

“S-Sam, don’ stop, p-please—”

Gasps and moans and pleas tear from deep in your chest, ecstasy bubbling through you so hot, that you have to bury your face in the crook of Sam’s neck before you wake up the entire city. 

He hums into your hair, a smooth, comforting rumble, such a contrast to the way his cock bullies your sweet spot with every brutal thrust. Your lips find his throat, sucking sloppy kisses to his heated skin, but busying your mouth sure as hell doesn’t stop the string of cries from spilling into his ear.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, one arm slipping around your back to tangle in your hair, holding you tight to his chest. It leaves little space between you, if any at all—his hips snapping in quick, short thrusts that hit so deep that you swear you can taste it. “Feels so good, doesn’ it? So full? Tha’s what you needed, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you manage, but it’s broken. So broken. It’s hard to remain coherent when you’re being fucked dumb, and Sam isn’t exactly leaving room for mercy. He squeezes his hand between you, thumb finding your clit with expert-level accuracy, and suddenly, you’re done.

You’re right there. Right fucking there. You tumble closer, closer, closer, until you’re teetering on the edge, dangling off, Sam’s perfect fingers and his perfect cock about to push you over, and—

“What the hell?!”

The sharp, deep voice of Dean-fucking-Winchester stops your orgasm cold like a silver blade slicing through flesh. Shock tears through you as you squeeze Sam tighter than a vice. His hips snap forward hard, way too fucking hard, his body enveloping yours as his palm slaps over your mouth to muffle your forced-out cry.

Sam’s torso practically crushes yours, sparing most of your dignity (thank God for those damn shoulders), your forehead thumping against his chest as his hand slips from your face. Your heart pounds like a snare drum against your ribcage, the strangest combination of sexual frustration and utter mortification washing through your veins.

“Get. Out,” Sam barks, quick, his strained voice sharp as he turns his head towards his brother. You’re suddenly incredibly thankful for your haste—because, hey, at least Sam’s jeans never made it below his waist—but yours sure as hell did, and your only cover is Sam’s body. You tilt your head just enough to peek through the sliver between Sam’s arm and his side, and oh. Oh God.

You’ve never seen Dean look like that before.

He’s white as a fucking sheet, and if you weren’t completely horrified, it would probably be hilarious. Standing in the doorway, he looks entirely scandalized, jaw hanging wide open, eyes threatening to pop right out of his skull, before he snaps out of it long enough to throw a hand over his eyes, turning his head away. 

“Yeah, I—don’t you think I’d freakin’ love to?” he spits, shaking his head like he’s seconds away from losing his mind completely. “I mean, Jesus, what are you two, high schoolers? You’d think—”

“Dean,” you choke, and Sam flinches like he’d forgotten you were there entirely. Which, well, is unlikely, considering the fact that he’s still buried to the hilt inside of you.

“We’ve gotta go. Now. Apparently my, uh, alarm disarming skills are pretty rusty,” he stammers, the hand that isn’t covering his eyes reaching for the door. “Put your freakin’ pants on, and go. There’s goddamn cops outside.”

Well, shit.

If that isn’t just worst case scenario, you’re not entirely sure what is. 

He finally stomps out of the room, muttering an irritated “seriously!” as he goes, and the second he does, a long puff of air floods from your lungs in a ragged sweep. Every cell in your body is practically vibrating for you just crawl in a hole, and never return—but there’s another part of you that’s just pissed. Because Christ, after waiting so fucking long, is a little bit of relief really that much to ask for?

You’re busy wallowing in your newfound despair, attempting to shuffle your ass backwards to get up, when two warm palms plant firmly on your cheeks, tilting your face up to look at his. Sam’s eyes are wide, undoubtedly panicked, brows pinched so hard that a sharp crease has formed between them. 

“Fuck—‘m so sorry. Are you—you okay?” His thumbs swipe at the sweat beading at your temples, touch gentle now, fingers shaking where they cradle your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“What? I’m fine, Sam,” you grumble, but that sure as hell doesn’t ease the look of pure concern on his sweet face. Still, you push yourself back just a little more, and he takes the hint, pulling out so tenderly that you barely even hiss at the feeling. “…Physically, anyway.”

“You’re sure? I just, Jesus, just fuckin’ manhandled you, baby.”

Somehow, that makes you laugh despite everything. “Pass me my jeans,” you snicker, and he moves quickly, following your command without another word. His free hand fumbles with the zipper of his pants, and you hop off the table on wobbly legs. 

But that fire in your core?

Apparently, a two-week dry spell turns you completely insatiable.

Sam stands again, passing you your now wrinkled jeans. But instead of taking them back right away, your hand lifts, curling around his collar again, pulling him close until only a lick of distance remains between your lips.

“We’re not done,” you whisper, and God, you watch his pupils swallow all colour in his eyes in real time.

“…Later?” he purrs.

“Later.”

AN: So, I’d actually planned to post something else, and then got distracted and wrote this in a couple of hours. My bad. Needed something fun 🤣

I’m going to take this opportunity to apologize for my very, very slow writing skills… there is so much going on in my life right now, it’s driving me crazy, and I can’t focus on my word porn as much as I’d love to. But hey, gimme a couple weeks, trust the process!

Sam and you had been dating for a while now, a couple weeks maybe. It was amazing, you couldn’t possibly have asked for a better boyfriend. Sam is sweet, attentive, smart… Everything you could want in a man and more– you’re lucky, really.

It’s fairly ‘new’ so it hadn’t gotten much farther than making out and maybe some hand stuff whenever Dean left y’all alone in whatever shitty room you’re sharing for the week.

Tonight was no different. Dean had disappeared about two hours ago with some excuse about ‘following a lead’ despite very clearly heading to the bar. The cowboy movie the eldest brother had rented was still playing on the TV– mostly background noise given both of y’all are busy in your respective reading. Sam is sitting beside you on the bed, long legs spread awkwardly in the too-small mattress to hold up his laptop. You’re sitting crossed legged on the mattress, an old lore book on your lap which’s letters started blurring together about an hour ago. Your eyes skim over the same paragraph for what feels like the hundredth time before drifting sideways instead, landing on your boyfriend’s profile illuminated by the glow of his laptop– his brows are pinched together in concentration, one hand absently rubbing at his jaw while the other taps against the keyboard. His hair is messy from constantly running his fingers through it which Dean would definitely tease him for if he were here, making some comment about ‘needing a trim’ or something like that.

Cute. Annoyingly cute for a man his size.

Almost like he can feel you staring, Sam glances over, lips twitching instinctively upon catching you looking, his dimples showing. “What?” He asks, clearly amused.

“Nothing” You huff softly, it was half-defensive and half-fond at his boyish grin.

A quiet chuckle leaves him, warm and genuine as he closes his laptop– almost like he was waiting for an excuse to finally get a break from endless research. “You haven’t flipped a page n’an hour” He points out.

“That I haven’t” You hum in response, closing your book and setting it down somewhere on the bed. “Became too much ‘bout twenty minutes ago” You burrow your face into his chest, easing into the familiar comfort of his warmth.

Sam doesn’t tease you– he could– instead, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer while pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Deserve a break then” His voice rumbles softly beneath your cheek, chest warm against yours. For a moment, neither of you move.

The movie keeps playing quietly in the background– muffled gunshots, old country music… But it all fades underneath the slow drag of Sam’s fingers up and down your back– comfortable, intimate. You tilt your head just enough to look up at him, chin resting against his chest. “You saying I worked hard?”

Sam huffs out a quiet laugh, dimples deepening. “Mhm– very demanding job, staring at the same page for an hour”

“Oh, shut up”

Your hand pushes halfheartedly at his face, but he catches it easily, large fingers wrapping around your wrist just to keep you close. The smile on his face softens, puppy eyes fixed on you. Not enough to make you uncomfortable– never that– but enough that warmth starts creeping into your cheeks under the weight of his attention, a nervous smile on your face. “What?” You murmur quietly.

“C’mere” The words are barely out before he’s leaning down to kiss you. Slow at first– lazy, warm, familiar– the kind of kiss that feels like being wrapped up in a blanket after a long day.

Somewhere along the moment, Sam’s hands gently coax you onto your back. His broad chest is now hovering over you, shoulders tense from holding his bodyweight up. One hand carefully slides under (his) your shirt, slowly easing it over your body without even breaking away from the kiss. He’s moving out of instinct now– fully focused on you and your body. His mouth trails from yours down to your neck, kissing his way down the sensitive skin while his thumb gently brushes your ribs. You’re completely lost in the feeling of him, solid and warm, his lips working that sensitive spot below your jaw that always makes you melt for him– legs opening to accommodate him between them and hands going around to clasp at his shoulders.

Your gaze is half lidded, lips parted in soft breaths while watching your boyfriend slowly kiss down your torso. Once Sam reaches your navel, he pauses– looking up at you with wide, pleading eyes– quietly asking for permission. “Mhm” You nod softly, fingers threading through his hair to brush it away from his face.

Sam doesn’t need anymore encouragement, quickly turning his attention back to the skin below him. He’s face to face with your clothed core, all his focus onto the lacy fabric. God. He hadn’t noticed the tiny bow on the front– how hadn’t he noticed that? A low, choked groan escapes him, eyes fluttering shut before reverently kissing it. His thumbs hook on the elastic, pulling it off your body– his mouth follows the movement, soft little pecks all over your legs before turning his attention back up to your core. You’re too distracted to spot how he pockets the underwear– not that you would’ve minded.

“God” He groans under his breath. It’s the first time he’s seen your pussy this close. He’s seen literal angels before– he’d still choose this as the most beautiful sight in the world– you. Spread out beneath him, glistening with need. “So pretty” He adds quietly, finally meaning down to lick a slow stripe up your folds.

“Shit, Sam–” You moan, thighs trying to clap around his head but your boyfriend’s hands are fast to hold them down, leaving you open for him.

He starts slow, long stripes of his tongue over you weeping slit– testing, assessing. Like everything else, Sam takes eating you out with attention to every detail, testing and pushing to see what things made you moan louder for him. Each sound, each sharp breath makes his hips subconsciously press down into the mattress– not out of greed– but purely out of overstimulation. The feeling of your legs wrapping around him, your taste on his tongue, everything is too much for Sam. God you were perfect.

“Need you, Sam– please” You protest in a needy moan, hips bucking up to meet his mouth in a desperate attempt to bring him even closer.

“What’dyou need, honey?” Sam asks, warm breath fanning over your core as he pulls back just enough to look up at your face. He’s wrecked– his pupils are blown, his hair’s a mess, there’s a patch of wetness surrounding his mouth.

You’re too far gone (and embarrassed) to voice exactly what you want, instead leading his hand to your entrance. The focused frown on your boyfriend’s face eases at the feeling of your hand on his, quickly understanding and taking over– one of his long fingers slowly pushing in. You have to hold back a literal sob– the stretch of your walls around him being overwhelming in all the best ways. He starts slow. Deep, careful curls of his finger before easing another one in.

It doesn’t take long for you to start moaning for him again, your hips pushing down to meet each thrust like you can’t bear the thought of being empty. Sam’s tongue starts lapping at your clit, lips wrapping around it with maddening pressure. Each suck of his mouth is accompanied by him humping the bed– shameless groans and moans escaping him and vibrating against you. “M’gonna–” You try to warn him, but Sam simply hums against you. Apparently already knowing your body better than you. He simply doubles down his efforts, each curl of his fingers pressing deeper inside you while he keeps making out with your clit. If you knew any better, you’d say he’s enjoying it just as much (or more) than you are– but you’re too busy coming undone to notice it.

Sam works you through it, drawing it out as much as possible. Slowly thrusting his fingers in and out while peppering soft kisses to your thighs. He waits until your breathing evens out before slowly pulling his digits out of your pussy, sitting back on his heels to taste them– eyes closing in bliss with a shameless groan.

“Sam–” You protest in embarrassment– though your attention is pulled elsewhere when you notice the damp patch on the front of his jeans. “You didn’t” Your voice is etched with awed disbelief, a whole new wave of arousal flooding down to your core.

The room suddenly felt stuffy, his heart and mind were racing, making him feel dizzy. He sat back down on the bed; his elbows found support on his knees as his hands clung to his head trying to calm the rushing thoughts. You had been acting so perfectly normal. How was that possible? Maybe you liked him better with no soul. If he had no soul, he probably wasn’t his broken, tainted self. Maybe it hadn’t meant anything to you other than a good time he had definitely been the one to offer. Or worse; maybe you regretted it.

Sam risked another look at the objects in his hands. You didn’t even know he had taken those pictures, or your underwear. He wondered what else he had done that he didn’t yet know about; what kind of monster he was when his conscience wasn’t there to stop him from just taking what he wanted. Surely, he wouldn’t have forced you; you would have killed him and so would Dean. Besides, you seemed to be enjoying yourself in the dream’s he’d had. You had clung to him, whimpered his name, asked him not to stop. God, just the memory of how soft and warm your skin felt was enough for him to lose himself in a spiral of despair. It was entirely too much; the mix of guilt, shame and persistent need. He didn’t know what to do, how to deal with what he now knew, and he wanted more than anything to know the full extent of what he had done.

There had to be more, something he didn’t know yet, so he searched his mind and the memories he now had access to, trying to find anything else. He did what he shouldn’t have; he tried to remember. Sam leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes, allowing his mind to roam the memory of you freely for the first time. Slowly, the gaps started being filled, and new moments revealed themselves. The first thing he remembered was you, bent over a table, showing him and Dean something, and how the thoughts he had repressed for years suddenly rose in his mind. Dean scolded him, told him not to go there, but when he saw the way you looked at him fresh off the shower, a hunger took over him, and he knew he had to have you. He navigated through the tortuous recollection of teasing you for weeks, revelling in how flustered he made you, until that night when he first tried to kiss you. You had told him no; told him to go find someone else.

The next scene was familiar. It was the memory from when you had gotten hurt on a hunt and he patched up your leg. Sam noticed how nervous you were, how you tried to avoid his touch, until you finally realized you had no choice but to let him help you. You were vulnerable, and instead of taking care of you, helping you feel safe, he took the opportunity to tease you, to see how far you’d let him go. He remembered whispering in your ear; pouring the shower gel over your chest, and despite the guilt and disgust he felt at himself, he couldn’t help the way his body reacted. A groan escaped him, and he could feel tears build up behind his eyelids. The words you had said to him burned into his mind. “We can’t. I can’t.” You couldn’t. “You’ll regret this when you get your soul back.” His fists tightened, leaving half-moon marks on his palms.

He had asked if you wanted him as much as he wanted you, if you wanted him to kiss you, and you had said yes. How could he live with himself knowing there had been so many no’s before those yes’. You could be lying; you could be scared to say no because you had no idea what kind of monster he had become. But then, he asked if you wanted him to touch you, and you hesitated. A wave of relief washed over him when what followed was a question, and nothing else. “You want Sammy, don’t you?” His heart was pounding in his chest, and it nearly cracked his ribs when you answered yes with tears in your eyes. All he could do was watch himself and pray he hadn’t hurt you as the hazy dream he had had before became a clear memory. He recalled everything through gritted teeth, his body at war with itself between sadness, disgust, lust, anger, frustration; too many emotions to name. It was like everything he should have felt then was flooding him now. That night, you had asked him to stay after, and he left without saying anything.

It had clearly been a while between that day and the following memory; the room was different. Another set of words were seared into him. “You left. (…) when you get your soul back, you’ll hate yourself for it, and me for allowing it.” But it wasn’t true. He could never hate you; especially not for something he had done, and you had clearly tried to avoid.

He had dreamt of other women before, ones he didn’t know, and he realized he must have been remembering random hook-ups he had. What he didn’t understand was why he was remembering that now, until he heard the loud sound of a slamming door and the memory evaporated. You had left because of him, because he was arrogant enough to bring someone to his room and have them shout his name knowing full well you were next door.

The next thing he remembered made him sick to his stomach. It was a feeling; the one he felt when he saw you at the bar flirting with some stranger. Sam didn’t remember ever feeling like that, so angry, so possessive, and it disgusted him. He then broke into your motel room and waited, like some abusive creep, and when you fought, he had the gall to wonder why he couldn’t shake off the need to have you, like it was a nuisance to him. God, it was all so obvious to him now. You were ingrained so deep into him you had taken root in his very bones; the loss of his soul wasn’t enough to be rid of you. His breaths were quick and shallow; sweat beads formed at his forehead, and he was somewhere between unconscious and fully awake.

You were angry at him, and worst of all, you were hurt, and he had just made it worse. He had you pressed between him and the wall, and he could hear all the horrible things he said to you. “If you wanted to hide your feelings you should have done a better job. (…) You shouldn’t have made it so obvious.” Feelings. Obvious. It was so much worse than he thought. Sam hadn’t just used you; he had found out how you felt and used that, too. All the love you had shown him in all these years, the respect, the way you seemed to see through him every time and never ran from what you found; he had thrown it all away. He broke your heart like it was fun to do. And in the end, you were still so brave, still did what you had to, because after he said those words you told him to leave, and that knife he had given you for your birthday once was against his neck. She should have cut my throat; should have killed me on the spot. The last thing he remembered was leaning further in and mocking you.

He woke with a loud gasp, tears already falling from his eyes. Suddenly, he screamed and thrashed, knocking over the lamp on the bedside table. The air didn’t seem to want to stick to his lungs, leaving him dizzy and gripping the sheets as he knelt on the floor, sobbing and trembling.

You heard the sudden scream and the noise coming from Sam and Dean’s room, and immediately grabbed the key they always gave you. Without another thought, you ran next door, barefoot, in nothing but your oversized T-shirt.

“Sam?! What’s going on?” There was worry in your voice as you put the key to the lock. When the door swung open, you saw him on his knees next to his bed. You could see he was shaking and breathing heavily, and immediately ran to his side. “Oh my god, are you okay?” He wouldn’t stop crying and was struggling to breathe; his face was lowered to rest his forehead on the edge of the bed. You knelt beside him and placed your hand on his back, rubbing small circles over it to try to calm him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m here, just try to breathe.” Those sweet words and the way you spoke them made him release a loud sob, before he finally turned to you, revealing his reddened face and tearful eyes.

“I remembered.” He sniffled as you moved your thumb to his cheek to try to wipe some of the tears away.

“Remembered what?” Although you spoke gently, your brows were pinched together, confused by his statement.

“Everything.” His voice broke as he spoke. “How can you even look at me?”

Your hand fell from his face. The moment you had feared so much had arrived. It had been foolish to think it never would. “I-I’m sorry, Sam.” Your hands settled on your lap, tightly wrapped around each other. Just as he was finally able to catch a proper breath, your apology and the glassiness of your eyes left him baffled.

“You’re sorry?” Sam stood up and paced behind you, panting, making you turn to face him. “Look at what I’ve done; what I’ve put you through. For God’s sake, I hounded you for weeks, I-“ He choked on the words. “I used you! Then I-I fucked someone else where I knew you could hear and chased you down when you left!” He stopped for a moment, bringing his hands to his face and trying to breathe so he could at least speak. “I was a monster to you. How - How can you even stand to be near me?” You froze for a moment; the only sound in the room was his laboured breathing.

Finally, you stood up to sit on the edge of the bed. Silent tears fell down your face, and you leaned your head down, unable to look at him. “I promised I’d be here when you got your soul back. No matter what.”

“Wha- When?” His eyebrows stitched together. “I don’t remember that.”

“It was before… whatever you remembered.”

“You knew I didn’t remember, and you stayed anyway. Why?”

“When Dean called, I didn’t know you wouldn’t remember. All I knew was I had made a promise and I would keep it… even if you did remember everything, and hated me, and told me to leave.” Your elbows rested on your knees, and you covered your face. “When I realised you didn’t remember, I was just so happy to have you back I- I didn’t want to think about what I had done.” You took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m so sorry, Sam. I know I shouldn’t have said yes; it wasn’t right.”

He knelt down again, this time in front of you, and gently grabbed your wrists to remove your hands from your face. “Why would I hate you?” How could you blame yourself for something he did? Worse - how could you put all that responsibility on your own shoulders when all he did was hurt you?

“Sam, I was so selfish. I had my soul; there was no excuse.” You sniffled. “I knew it wasn’t what the real you would have wanted. I knew you’d regret it.”

Sam let go of your wrists and fount support in your legs as he sat on his heels and leaned further against you. “My only regret is how much I hurt you.” He let his head fall and buried his face on top of your thighs. “God, how can you ever forgive me?” Turning his head to the side, he let out a small sob. Your hand combed through his hair, and your thumb stroked his cheek, resting there.

“It wasn’t you, Sam. Not really.” He raised his head to look up at you with those wet puppy eyes of his, and you felt his grip on your legs tighten.

“I’m so sorry. I-I wish I hadn’t pressured you to say yes like that.” Despite knowing how you felt at the time, Sam didn’t want to assume you still felt the same after all that had happened. You had never given any sign that you wanted to be more than his friend, which probably meant you didn’t. Clearly, you had more respect for your friendship than he ever did.

“I wanted to say yes. I just –“ You couldn’t tell him. Not like this. Not when he was drowning in pain and guilt. If he knew how you felt, he’d just feel worse.

“I know. I remember.” Warmth crept up your cheeks.

“How much do you remember?”

He gulped “All of it.”

Your eyes widened. “Then- you know-“

“Why you didn’t want to say yes to me then.” Of course he knew. That’s why he was taking it so hard. He knew he broke your heart, and he was about to do it again. “You can’t even begin to understand how sorry I am. I know I’ve ruined everything, and it’s probably too much to ask, but- I don’t want to lose you. You mean too much to me.” He was clinging so hard to you it would hurt if you didn’t want him even closer. “If you ever consider forgiving me, staying my friend - my best friend – I promise to spend my life making up for what I’ve done.” Silence hung in the air.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you spoke. “What if I can’t be your friend?” His grip loosened completely, and his eyes became glossy again.

He hung his head and retracted, sitting back on his heels. “Then-“

“You said you know how I felt, but you don’t. You don’t understand. I never thought we – this – would happen.” You gestured between the both of you. “And I was fine with it.”

“I’m sorry – I-”

“You were gone. Dead. And then you came back, and I was so relieved, so happy. I had never felt more grateful for anything.” You gripped the duvet, trying your best not to cry. “Then I found out you had no soul, and I had to live and hunt with a half version of you.” Sam watched you; his brows pinched with pain. “It was so confusing. He looked like you, sounded like you, knew me the way you do. But he wasn’t you.” Your eyes couldn’t hold the tears in anymore, and when he saw them fall, Sam forgot everything, and instinctively moved to wipe them away from your cheeks. He was so close to your face now, you could feel his scent. “I was weak. When he – you – began to touch me, tried to kiss me, and that night when I got hurt – It was like a sick joke. I loved you so much. I missed you. I just wanted you back.”

“Shh, you don’t have to explain.” Your eyes were closed. You could feel his thumbs rubbing your cheeks, his forehead leaning against yours, and it only made you ache more.

“You – he – knew exactly what I wanted, and I caved.” You sniffled. “I laid our friendship to waste just to have a fragment of you. Even though I knew I shouldn’t. And it was never enough. Because what I’ve always truly wanted was all of you; this you.” A small sob escaped you. “I still do.”  You confessed. His eyes had been shut as you spoke, but they opened at your admission. You felt him pull away, and when you opened your own eyes, his gaze was fixed on you.

“Sweetheart –” He gave you a sad smile, which was interrupted by a huff and a roll of his eyes. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot. I ruined everything because I never told you – I never understood – it was so much more than just wanting to touch you.” Whereas his breaths were accelerated, yours had stopped all together. “I didn’t lie that night, in the shower. It didn’t start when I got back from hell.” For the first time that evening, the pink blooming in his cheeks wasn’t caused by crying. “I didn’t – I don’t want someone else. I did dream of you. For the longest time.” A smile crept up on him; warm and loving. “I still do.”

 “Sam…” The two of you stood there, facing each other, as breathless as if you had been running. All other words evaded you; the only thing you remembered was his name. He was so close, you couldn’t help but look down at his lips, and when he noticed, he looked back at yours. It seemed like you were both stuck, looking between each other’s eyes and lips. Another word came to you, lighting up in your brain. “Please.” Your voice was barely audible. You were already so close; a simple movement of his head would have brought his lips to yours.

“Please what?” It was a plea for reassurance. Sam’s mind was a whirlwind, and he didn’t want to risk doing the wrong thing.

“Kiss me.” He was so nervous he could hear his own heartbeat become louder as his trembling hand caressed your jaw, before he pressed a finger to the bottom of your chin, lifting it slightly. Your movements were slow, tentative, like you were both scared it was all a dream and needed to make sure it was real. As soon as your lips touched, though, it was like muscle memory. The kiss quickly deepened, and you pulled him flush against you by the collar of his T-shirt. A small sigh escaped you and, at the sound, something took over Sam. The soft tip of his tongue brushed against yours, and he pulled you as close to him as he could. One of his hands held the back of your head, while the other gripped your thigh, and he gently laid you back further into the bed, where he rested on top of you. He was so lost in you, he didn’t even realise what he had done. You opened your legs further so he could slot himself between them, and when you felt him press against you your hips moved involuntarily, making you whine. The feeling made him moan, but it pulled him out of his trance. Suddenly, he was off you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to – we don’t have to.”  You grabbed the fabric of his shirt to stop him from getting up completely.

“Sam.” You pulled him closer, and he let himself hover above you. “Please.” Taking his hand, you slid it down your torso and dragged it over your underwear. “I want to.” He shuddered when he felt a wet patch on the fabric, and his fingers twitched automatically, pressing lightly against your core. You let out a small whimper at the movement. “Need you, Sammy. Please.” The plea made him groan, his head dropping lower. When he had no soul, he had wanted to hear you beg; teased you endlessly just to make it happen. Now, here you were, pleading for him to touch you without provocation.

There was a struggle happening within him between the instinctive guilt and shame of wanting you like that, and the acceptance of his own feelings and desire. He wanted you more than anything, but he needed this time to be different. There could be no doubt in your mind about that. “I promise I’ll stay.” There was a sadness in his voice. As if the memory of his regrets was still present.

“I know you will.” You caressed his cheek and pulled him in for another kiss. This one burnt like fire, all consuming. His hand traversed your body like it was discovering it for the first time, squeezing gently what he learned were his favorite parts. In the midst of the kiss and the soft touch of your skin, he felt himself getting drunker on the taste and feel of you. Sam was breathless, and he had only just begun. You weren’t faring much better. Each time he gripped you, or when his tongue brushed against yours, you found yourself whining.

“Fuck.” He broke the kiss and stood up, panting. “I’m sorry. I just need to see you. Please.” His pupils were blown, hair tousled, lips kiss-swollen. Although this was technically not your first time, there was something about him that made it feel like it was. Even he reacted as if everything was new, and to him, it was. Although his body already knew you, his soul had never seen you like this, never touched you, never kissed you.

“Can I see you, too?” You didn’t know why you felt so flustered asking that question; you had obviously seen him before. But you couldn’t help it.

“Of course.” He conceded, removing his clothes, leaving only his boxers. You kneeled on the bed to face him; your hand running over his toned chest, down to his navel. The touch alone was enough to make him sigh. As soon as he saw you reach for the hem of your shirt, he stopped you. “Let me.” His gaze pierced into you as he slowly removed your shirt, broken only when it slid over your head. “God.” He exhaled. Just like that time in the shower, he twitched when he looked down at you, and oddly enough, it made you giggle. “What?” He asked, worried.

“Your reaction. It was the same as the first time you saw me.” Sam didn’t remember that particular detail.

“I know it’s probably going to sound weird but – it feels like it’s the first time.” His hands held on to your waist.

“It doesn’t.” You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck. “It feels like the first time for me too.” With that, your lips found each other’s again, and Sam laid you back down on the bed. His big, heavy hands moved slowly through the newly exposed skin as he left a trail of nips and open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

“You’re so soft.” He grumbled, squeezing your hip before grazing his tongue over your collarbone. “God, I want to kiss you all over.” His body and mind were fighting between the desire to have you completely right then and there and savouring you properly. The way you gripped his hair showed you were having the same struggle. His lips latched to your nipple just as his hand moved down to remove your underwear in a swift motion. A loud moan slipped from you when you felt the cool air touch between your thighs; contrasting with the warmth of his mouth on you. He stayed like that for a while, revelling in the small sighs he ripped from you as his tongue and teeth explored every inch of your chest.

You tugged on his hair a little tighter to pull him up for a kiss, making him groan against you. “Sammy, please.” The breathlessness with which you said his nickname almost made him lose his mind. “Touch me.” Your own hand slid down, his muscles contracting reflexively under the graze of your fingers until you reached the band of his boxers. When you finally touched him over the fabric, he whimpered louder than he meant to.

“Baby, you’re gonna kill me.” Sam was already embarrassingly close, but he wasn’t ready to be done. He nipped at your soft skin, unable to contain his hunger, and slid down your body to slot himself between your thighs. Your legs were propped up, and he leaned against one of them to watch you closely. His fingers brushed softly over your mound down to the source of your arousal as he laid kisses to your inner thigh; eyes never leaving your face. That barely-there touch made goosebumps erupt in your skin and mellow sighs slip from your throat. “You’re so beautiful.” He punctuated the compliment by finally touching you where you wanted him most, drawing small, light circles that made your sighs turn into moans. Eventually, his gaze descended, switching between where he was touching and the skin he was kissing. He slowed down for a moment, caressing your lips and the juncture at the beginning of your thigh, which made your head fall back into the pillows with a whine that was both protest and pleasure. “I’m sorry, angel, it’s just – I can’t believe I actually get to touch you.” Another kiss to your leg was accompanied by the most lovesick puppy eyes you had ever seen on him.

Your cheeks were on fire, and you didn’t know what to say. “Fucking hell, Sam. If you keep saying stuff like that you won’t even need to touch me to make me cum.” He tittered at your very unintentional blurt, revealing those sweet dimples you adored so much.

“That definitely won’t do.” He said, bringing a finger to your entrance and slowly teasing it. The feeling made your eyes flutter shut with an exhale.

Your reaction to his touch drained the cockiness straight out of him. His lips parted slightly as he watched his fingers go into you with ease, and he was left in complete awe when he looked up to see your face. You fisted the sheets as you felt his fingers curl inside you, rubbing, almost as if by instinct, against that spot that made a coil tighten in your lower belly. As your moans got louder, he felt himself melt against you, biting your inner thigh to stop his head from slipping straight to your core.

“Mmph. Can I please taste you?” He muttered against your skin. The need was almost too much, his eyes scrunched shut and his brows were stitched.

“Mm-yeah.” You could barely speak between the sounds he was pulling from you; the pressure inside you building up gradually.

As soon as you gave him permission, he dipped down, covering every inch of you in kisses as his fingers curled going in and out of you. Your breaths became deeper and longer, with exhales that ended in moans. His tongue lay flat against you, swiping up and down a few times before it pointed to focus on your clit. “Ah- Sam.” You called, gripping his hair. Sam’s eyes were fixed on the way your face scrunched up in pleasure; how your lips became more vibrant the closer to the edge you got.

“You look so fucking pretty with my mouth on you.” The vibrations of his murmuring rippled through you right before you felt his lips latch onto you, making you cry out.

“Fuck!” The coil was about to snap; he could feel it in the way you tightened around his fingers. You couldn’t keep your eyes open at this point and were doing your best not to snap your legs closed around his head.

Sam could feel your thighs begin to shake. He saw the way your breaths were ragged and closed together, the way your belly contracted; the sound of your moans and cries of his name only adding to the overwhelming pleasure he got from seeing you like that. His hips moved of their own accord in tune with the movement of his fingers and tongue, trying to relieve some of the pressure that kept building under his boxers.

“That’s it, angel. Want to feel you cum on my tongue.” The band snapped with a force you had never felt before. Every muscle in your body contracted, to the point your loud moan became completely silent. It felt like being electrocuted from the inside out, exploding into the longest, most absolute bliss imaginable. He rode you through it, gently but surely, helping to ease the comedown from such a high, long-lasting peak.

When you finally settled, trying to catch your breath, he hugged the thigh he was leaning into and reached for the hand that had been gripping his hair and was now resting on your stomach. “God, you were so perfect.” He looked at you, smiling in awe; his chin still glistening.

“Me?” You huffed, looking up at the ceiling, unable to even let out a proper chuckle. I didn’t even do anything.

“Yeah.” The way he said it, so loving and sincere, with a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, made you sit up with a solemn look. He mirrored your movements and stood back, observing you, until you were on your knees. You reached for him, placing a hand on his cheek, and he immediately pulled you into his lap.

“I love you.” The words brushed against his lips just before you kissed him, coming as naturally as if you had said it a thousand times before. Sam couldn’t help the whimper he let out at your words. His grip instantly became tighter, as if he were trying to meld together with you. You had said it so easily, unprompted, of your own volition, sealing them with a long kiss that told him to keep them – that you didn’t need him to say it back; because that wasn’t why you said it. It only made him love you more.

The ache for you was becoming unbearable. His hands gripped your hips, and you couldn’t help but roll them, feeling how hard he was. His brows pinched in pleasure as he ground himself against you, feeling your lips against the column of his neck. It wasn’t long before his boxers were soaked in you, the friction and kisses only making you wetter. You saw Sam’s pink cheeks, his desperate breathless look, and realised he was waiting for you to tell him if you wanted to go further.

 “Sammy.” There it was again. It was like you knew what saying his nickname like that did to him. He’d give you anything you asked if you just called him Sammy with that sweet, sighing voice of yours. “Need you inside me. Please.” In an instant, he picked you up, pulled his boxers off, and you were back down, drenching his cock even more. Your nails scraped his back at the feeling of his head rubbing against your clit. Neither of you could take it anymore, but you were the one to finally make the move that pushed him into you. A harsh groan came from deep within his chest at the squeeze he felt as he sunk further in. When he finally bottomed out, you both let out long exhales. He could feel the way you fluttered around him, adjusting to the other-worldly stretch you seemed to have forgotten. Sam waited patiently, taking deep breaths to keep himself from moving. You experimented with small movements at first, ones that gradually punched the air out of his lungs. Soon, the roll of your hips became deeper; the position creating the perfect drag of his length against your clit as he went in and out.

Soft moans filled the room as you moved together in tandem at a slow but steady pace. He used one of his hands to grip your flesh and aid your movements while he laid feverish kisses on your lips, jaw, and neck. The movements slowly became harsher and somewhat faster, but your need to feel each other kept you from racing to the finish line. Despite that, the more he felt how wet you were and how much you clenched around him, the more Sam’s ability to hold off his orgasm faded.

“You feel so good, baby – ah – I don’t think I can last much longer.” He admitted through heavy breaths, kisses, and whimpers.

“It’s ok.” You held his chin and looked into his eyes. “You already did so much for me.” A moan interrupted you. “Ah – Thank you f-for – ah – making me feel so good.” Your eyes squeezed shut at the building pleasure. It seemed you were getting close too.

Sam held your face, pulling you in for another kiss as his grip on you tightened and he took control of your movements. “You do - so much more - than that for me.” It was getting harder for him to speak too. “I love you, too, angel.” His face scrunched up in pleasure, and you could feel his hips begin to stutter. You hadn’t expected him to say it back, especially not at that moment. He held you flush against him as he came, and the mix of his words with the feeling of him pulsing inside you, filling you with his warmth, brought you over the edge.  You gripped the hair at the nape of his neck with one hand and scratched at his back with the other; crying out his name.

It felt like you had fused together in that moment, and when you finally came down from your highs, he held you tight and laid you back on the bed with him. Just like the first time, he stayed inside you; lightly rutting into you whenever he felt you clench around him.

“You didn’t have to say it.” You whispered against his cheek following a soft kiss.

Sam turned to you; his thumb caressing your face. “I wanted to.” His lips reached for yours. “Just like I want to stay here, with you.” You couldn’t help but smile. Eventually, he did leave you for a moment; to get a warm wet towel to clean you up so you could sleep comfortably. Once he was done, he settled in next to you, pulling you into his arms and a deep sleep; not even thinking that the following morning, Dean would come in and find you sleeping naked together.