lil-sweater-slut

[lil-sweater-slut]

(you are a) natural, baby - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Virgin!Sam Winchester/AFAB!Reader (vaguely s1 or 2) Tags/Warnings: blowjobs, deepthroating, Impala sex, whiny/submissive Sam (with hints of the opposite). nothing too insane. yk the deal. Word Count: 11034 Notes: hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. i've been. thinking about sam lately. and i MAY or may not have had the most vivid wet dream of my life... which may or may not have inspired this slightly........... enjoy! there will be a sequel btw ;) for plot's sake, yes, Sam is 23 and is still a virgin 🍾 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

You couldn't believe your luck.

You notched the car into park, lips parted in disbelief. Holy shit. Rain bore down on the car from all sides, making an already dark night impossible to walk in, nevermind drive. Baby—or the Impala, you corrected yourself, since Sam always poked fun at you for picking up Dean's little nickname—had puttered out her last huff of warm air a few miles back. That left at least another hour’s worth of driving until you were back to Dean, who was waiting back where your present job was. There was no way you could get back in this weather. It'd be past midnight soon anyway, so…

You played your fingers on the wheel. Bent over it, squinting at the rain. Slumped back in your seat. All the while, Sam watched you go through the motions passively. He already knew what you knew: you'd have to camp here for the night. Just the two of you. Alone.

The universe had done everything short of smashing you together like kissing barbies. In this week alone, the messy line of feelings between you and Sam had been tested at least a hundred times. It was obscene. Ever since Sam's twenty-third birthday, all the forces of nature had woken to remind you at every turn how stupid horny you were for him. Sam was no longer the beanpole you could easily throw while sparring; there was a man in your passenger’s seat, a good deal taller than you on miles and miles of leg, with handsome, veiny arms and a lap made for sitting in. Your childhood crush had been nursed so long that it'd grown into love. But now that you were a twenty-five-year-old, full-time hunter, there was little room for a childhood novelty. You had instead made space for a covetous, needy desire that the universe loved to throw in your face.

Monday. Sam had helped Dean out with one of the less-than-junk cars in Bobby's yard, bent up under the bonnet, sweat and grime making his tee cling to the landscape of his back. And Jesus, what a landscape it was… Sloped and firm with experienced, long-developed muscle. Tuesday. Dean got on the subject of blowjobs, and Sam immediately got off the subject. Significantly, you learned he's never had one. Your mouth watered just sitting next to him. Wednesday. You risked using the last towels in the pile for your shower, each just big enough to close and cover your modesty—if you don’t stand up straight. Sam caught you coming out of said shower. He looked, looked some more, and you sniped at him for it around the saliva building in your mouth. All you wanted to do was claw his jeans around his ankles and blow him until he forgot his name. Sam lingered like he wanted the exact same thing, and both of you pretended to ignore the tent in his pants. Thursday. Sam coached you in long-bowing. You stood just inches apart in an empty field, Sam's shoes between your in the grass, and you fucked up every damn shot because Sam's massive hands were on your waist and your hips and in your belt-loops. He'd lean in until he was almost kissing the shell of your ear and say, S’ alright. Just focus on your footing. You're doing great, even though you hadn't hit a single target. Friday. You, him and Dean left for a North Dakota case. You had to share a bed with one of the boys, and Sam reminded you what sharing meant the whole night, huffing soft moaning breaths against the back of your neck in his sleep.

You resist the urge to clamp your thighs together. It'd been freezing cold in your room and you’d been sharing beds since you were young; to have just your backs pressed together was impressive. At one point, you turned over and Sam stretched back to meet you, his warm spine flush to your chest without hesitation, flaying you instantly. He’d seeped back into the mattress as content as could be. You resisted the urge to run your fingers through his floppy hair, or caress the smooth strip of flesh that the seam of his shirt didn't cover. You failed at the first—but to be fair, Sam's hair was in your face and it was annoying you and you had to be close, because the room was so cold. And your hand just ended up there. And then it ended up under his shirt, your nails stroking his stomach, because Sam was a tease who'd dragged your arm around him in the first place. He'd been shaking, it was so cold. You couldn't just let him freeze. Regardless, it was hard to say no to him when he was smoothing your palm against his ribs like that.

“Think we can make a run to get the blankets from the trunk?” Sam invited. “I can do it if you give me the keys.”

You wanted to say more to that, but you settled instead on taking the keys out of the Impala and dropping them in Sam’s waiting hand. “Thank you,” you murmured, and Sam bobbed his head once before braving the weather.

He was gone for less than a minute, but the clinging silence that rang in your ears could’ve gone on forever. The rain pounded across the car with a vendetta, plunking off the metal and hammering over your empty parking lot just as hard. It raced down the glass fast enough to make the outside world a shimmering blue mirage. Sam’s figure was a darker silhouette closer to the glass, and you busied yourself putting a sweater on as he dove inside.

“Dammit,” Sam cursed. He knew better than to shake his hair out on Dean’s good leather, so he tossed down the blankets in between you—and there was a generous gap—to hunt around the backseat for a towel. The amber streetlights gave you just one glimpse of Sam’s rain-streaked face. It shouldn’t have flushed your belly with want as much as it did, but that’s half the reason you were in this mess.

“S’ bad out there,” you said, obviously. Sam agreed with a hum, and together you sorted yourselves for relaxing before you slept.

Before, you’d had the car on and the heater going, so you were mostly okay with your jackets tossed in the backseat. Sam had on a tee and a moss-colored sweater to keep him warm, and you had the thought of his firm muscle underneath those layers to keep you warm. Though more cold had seeped back into the Impala, you didn’t put on your jacket, toeing off your boots in the footwell. You piled on your blankets and curled up against the seat, Sam doing the same. He hadn’t put his jacket on either.

You shared a glance. Well, it was more like Sam was already looking at you and you caught him, flushing up to your ears. “There’s no way we won’t make it there til morning,” he said, “I’ll text Dean.”

“Good idea,” you agreed. You brought your legs closer to your chest, bumping Sam’s thigh with a stray foot. To your surprise, he glanced up at you at the contact, and again you found one of his coy glances. You couldn’t believe it. Was he...?

All four burners in your body flicked onto a simmer at the same time. You bit your lip, taking him in as he was illuminated by his phone’s screen, wet twisting curls of hair in his eyes. “S’ okay. I don’t think Dean will care, with how slow this case is going. Though I can guess why you’re so eager to get back,” you tested the waters with a sly smile. “That witness—Miss Checknik, she was really aiming to get you alone, huh?”

Sam was still raw from Dean pressing his buttons on this, so he was shier than usual when he mumbled, “It’s… not like that… I’ve never even done that before.”

“What?” you blurted. “Had sex?”

Sam’s gaze snapped up to yours. Around you the rain roared, but you still caught his subtle hitch of breath. His pause went on for another telling amount of time, until Sam’s ears were red too. “...It’s not like you have either,” he muttered.

This had to be on purpose. You tossed an arm over the back of the seat, knuckles against your cheek and a growing, sly smile on your face.

Sam sat up. “You’re kidding. Really?”

You slouched, huffing. “What, is that a surprise or something?”

“No,” Sam spoke a little too quickly, like he’d been thinking about it. He swallowed. “No, not at all. I was just…”

You wet your lips and let your eyes drift over him. Sam sat stiff in your passenger's seat, legs crossed a little too tightly, his hands folded together over his lap, hiding a building, jealous hard-on. A muscle jumped in his neck. The shivery warmth that reigned over you every time Sam entered the room conquered you again, watching him squirm, and you couldn't help but do the math. You could… you could make an offer. If he said no, that was fine. All you’d have to do was endure a night's sleep in the car with him then a few awkward days afterward—but you and Sam had done that dance a hundred times before, after kissing for spin-the-bottle or getting caught lusting after each other, so maybe this was it. This week had been filled with omens.

You went all in.

“We travel a lot and it relieves stress, so… I’ve picked up a few dates. Bar-flings, heat-of-the-moment stuff with hunters, every once in a while.”

You risked a glance at him through your lashes. Sam had inched closer to listen, just enough for you to notice, and was clearly trying to sculpt his face into something less interested—but his eyes were glazed and his attention was rapt. You had him right on the hook.

Sam swallowed. His voice was thick with arousal. “I, um, didn't know that was your thing.”

You shrugged, “I don’t enjoy it as much as Dean does, but yeah. The guys I pick up, I mean—they’re okay. Most can't find their way around a bra, never mind… well, y’know. You get what you can get. But the other parts, the fun parts of sex…” Even you were blushing at how dirty your smile felt. “I'm real lucky, Sam. Most girls don't get off making their partners happy, but I do. It's… made me real good.” You twisted so your chest was pushed toward him, feeling yourself ache in your jeans. You hushed coyly: “I’m told I’m a real natural with my mouth.”

“Really.” Sam repeated. He sputtered out a half-hearted chuckle. His cheeks had gone all cute and ruddy with a blush, exposing the lighter moles on his face.

“Really,” you promised.

The look on Sam's face went beyond teasing, now. You’d told yourself you were just messing around with him, but Sam was twitching in his seat, suddenly unable to sit right, and all the years of play-flirting had apparently stacked too high. Something hot and magnetic had brought you closer and closer together in the Impala’s front seat. Sam was frozen like he wanted to crawl out into the rain and disappear—always so shy, so easy—but something else rooted him to the spot this time. One more motion and you could close that measly gap blazing between you, get his skin pressed firmly to yours. Your arms and back and belly crawled with a phantom itch, and Sam's hands looked so perfect and big that you knew they could fix that feeling. Your mouth felt wet and lonely. Sam's was right there, panting as he waited for you to do something.

“Have you really never had sex before?” You filled Sam's flushed silence. You scrutinized him, brows furrowed with sympathy. “Not even a blowjob?”

Sam's whole body hitched like a slow to start engine at the word. He temporarily forgot himself, choking on his breath and roaming his sweaty palms across his thighs—uncovering, for just an instant, the outline of something firm and big in his jeans.

Still, Sam's eyes couldn't shake yours.

“Um, no,” Sam admitted. “Never had t-the… opportunity, I guess. Or the right person.”

“Would you?” You scrambled to let the words loose, then resettled in your seat, lounging back and stifling your excitement. Sam's dick. Sam's big, virgin dick in your mouth. “If the right person…” you gestured vaguely, like this was still at all a hypothetical, “gave you the opportunity?”

It took Sam a second, eyes flickering fast over your face beneath his bangs, but eventually, he gave a single short nod.

A nuclear reactor’s worth of heat sizzled up from your toes. It bubbled out of you in a pleased, purring sigh, and you could barely suppress your grin, your butterflies, your nervousness, when you crawled into the cold space beside him on the bench. You leaned in slow by his ear. Your nails played across his thudding pulse, his taut neck, spurring Sam’s breaths into gasps. At an agonizing pace, you dragged your soft nails behind his ear, to the tingling nape of Sam's neck, and relished in the feel of his flesh like a vampire as you stroked him there. The blunts of your nails scratched gently at his hairline. Sam squeezed out a soft moaning sigh, so sweet and trusting that you closed your eyes to soak in it all the way.

After a few strokes of your nails to Sam's shivering skin, you fanned your warm breath down his shuddering collar and barely kept yourself from moaning in his ear: “I’m real smart with my mouth, Sammy… I could make your first time good for you. Better n’ good, even.”

He sat there in utter disbelief. Sam breathed hard, and now that your hand was on him, his squirming had stopped. After a deep, weighing pause, Sam removed his hands from his lap and slid them down to his knees instead, tasting the growing appetite in his mouth.

“...What would it feel like?” The rasp in his voice made you instantly wet.

You flushed. “You want me to describe it to you?”

Sam gave a shy shrug of his shoulders, playing innocent, but that clever smile of his had been haunting you all week. He knew precisely what he was doing. “Never had one,” Sam reminded.

The car was suddenly boiling. You had kicked off your blanket a long time ago, and so had Sam, which left you in layers that neither of you wanted anymore.

“Well,” you breathed out, amused. You gave yourself room to undo your coat, and Sam hung on every motion, making each exposed inch of you feel needy and overheated. “I really only know it from the giver's point of view, but, um, it's really fun for guys. I'm sure you've heard other men talk about it before. Unwinds your whole body and blows your mind, done right,” you talked as you shed your coat. “If they made it sound easy to give a good blowjob, Sam—it’s not. You have to know what you're doing, how to read your partner… know what they like… luckily for you,” you hummed, “I've never had a complaint.”

Sam nodded after nearly everything you said, unsure where to settle his hands or what to say. He looked more demure than you’d ever seen him, and it was so cute to you it was almost unbearable. You could imagine him making that exact face at you with his wet dick pushing into the inside of your cheek—all bashful but desperate, hinged on your every word, your every lick. The thought of all the pretty sounds he'd make when you blew him left you on sensory overload, and the only thing that would fix it was Sam kissing you breathless.

It struck you that Sam was really gonna let you do this for him, after years of him caring too much about you to let you take care of him. You were left with a peculiar rush; Sam trusted you.

“Blowjobs are… all the good bits of kissing and jerking off put together,” you explained. You settled back where you’d been before, hanging on Sam's shoulder and talking filthy in his ear as he quivered with want. This time your nails drew circles on his collar, and Sam surprised you by squeezing his hand around your thigh to steady himself. You could've cum on the spot. A flood of heat burned down your gut and throbbed between your legs, soaking your underwear clean through.

You’d never stopped looking at each other, but your faces were closer than ever and the eye contact felt explosive. It was dark but for the streetlight, and quiet but for the endless rain, both aspects of life you saw every day—monsters in the dark and a storm banging on the car. But with Sam there, these everyday mundanes felt… romantic. Passionate, like the movies. His eyes were this beautiful, soft fawn brown. You couldn't wait to see that slip of color admire you from between Sam's thighs.

“The girl, she’ll…” your mouth flooded with drool. “I’ll get down on my knees for you,” you corrected, boldly.

Sam sucked in a shaky breath, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you rasped. “And I'll get nice and comfy there, because I'm gonna waste as much time on you as I can…”

Your hand graduated into his hair again, since Sam forgot how to breathe each time you did it, and with it occupied you lingered on his face. Sam looked piss-drunk with lust; his head was on a swivel, lolling in whatever direction you went, his lashes fluttering low on red-patched cheeks. “I'm gonna take my time getting your pants off, y’know, tickling your legs.” A particularly dirty thought occurred to you, and it must've shown on your face because Sam's parted lips opened further. “Maybe, if you wanted, I could do this little trick I learned with my teeth… open your fly that way. You want that?”

Sam's eyes flicked down to your mouth, thinking. “I do,” he bobbed his head, “I really do.”

“Okay.” You pet Sam's chest, and coupled with the attention of your nails in his hair, a moan seeped out of him, vibrating somewhere deep under your hand. You grinned a shark’s grin. “...Then I'd look at you like that, cause’ that's what I've been dying to do for ages, see you all hard for me and nobody else. You might kill me cause’ you're so beautiful, Sam. And I'd kiss you everywhere I could… all over your thighs, your hips, the muscles in your stomach, your dick… your cock.” A whine jumped out of Sam's throat. Just the word made your throat feel open. “When you're squirming and begging for me to pull you out, I'll take off your boxer briefs, too, the blue ones I know you're wearing—” You’d seen him in them that morning, when he'd crossed his arms and his shirt had rucked up enough to flash some belly. Sam huffed an embarrassed laugh, and you kept going. “I know exactly what I'll do when your boxers are off, cause’ I've been waiting years for it. M’ gonna take your dick in my hand and just admire it, feel how big it is, imagine what it'll be like inside me—” Sam cursed aloud at that, “—inside my warm, wet mouth. I've been imagining what it looks and feels like for so long, Sammy, I think I deserve to see the real deal. Don't you think?”

You ran a finger along Sam's collarbone, and he rolled into it, chasing the slightest touch of your hand regardless if it was on his dick or not. You hadn't even drifted below his belt yet, and Sam was still arching into your touch like it would make him cum. He nodded mindlessly, sweat and rain making his hair cling to his face. “God,” he swore. “You do, ____—you d’serve it so much… so much…”

You cupped Sam's sweaty, tacky jaw, and he sighed like you’d rubbed him through his jeans. You resisted the urge to do just that, asking, “Can I have a kiss, Sammy?”

Sam peeled himself off the seat and rolled into your arms. The hand on your thigh was joined by a second, bracing his huge, sturdy palms on your legs in a way that made you grateful you weren't balancing on them, and with his face nestled in your hands and his eyes all dewy for you, Sam kissed you. You knew that that was it—every time you found your way to a kiss with him, it was the final straw. You loved him. Sam kissed you like he loved you too, pecking you soft and light like you were his dream girl, like he only wanted to treat you gentle, since so often his hands were forced to do the opposite. Quickly, your fingers were in his rain-tangled hair. Sam drew back to groan and then angled his head, pecking you in deep and loving bursts until you were giggling at him. He kissed those giggles too, smiling into his dimples. Sam never failed to make your heart go rabid when he did that, kissing you good; you had seen him kiss other girls before, and he never seemed as skilled or intuitive unless it was with you. Something tirelessly drove him to impress you.

You urged Sam's back flat to the seat again. With your leverage returned, you cupped his neck, then his shoulders, slipping your hands into his shirt, first through his collar and then up his stomach, palms seeking and appreciative. His flesh was warm and his figure was firm or yielding in all the right places. Sometimes, when you sparred and Sam was on top of you, or when you shared beds and his back was pressed to yours, you got glimpses of what Sam felt like. But now that you were free to roam where you pleased, only one signal could make its way through your nervous system: he is so beautiful. You uttered this to him in a frenzy. Sam couldn't get any redder, but you could feel his skin get warmer yourself, could press your hands flat to it and feel the life underneath, which was all the response you needed.

You licked your way into Sam's mouth. He was pliant for you as you did, whole-heartedly enjoying the filthiness of your tongue lapping and sucking at his, even if it was new to him. You laved yours from his bottom lip, across his open, wet mouth and flat against his top lip, prying approving little sounds from him. Butterflies furled and unfurled their wings in your stomach.

When you finally freed yourself, you sucked down breaths open-mouthed and fell back on your haunches.

“That's how it's gonna feel on your cock,” you proclaimed, and swiped a line of spit off his chin.

“Yeah?” Sam panted.

You wormed your fingers under the seam of your tight tee and yanked it over your head, cursing at him in a wrecked whisper. “Yeah. Then I'm gonna put you all the way in my throat, every inch of you, lickin’ and kissin’ all I can get. And when you're ready to cum, m’ gonna play with you, n’ hold you in mouth and make you sit like that.”

Sam mewled, only making your craze to get your pants off even worse. “Why?”

“‘Cause you've tortured me, baby,” you swore. You rocked back onto your tailbone and wormed off your bottoms, sucking back spit at the sight of Sam puppy-dog-eying you and palming his dick—palming his dick because of you, because of your lacy black underwear and how it looked on you. You knew you looked hot. But Sam made you feel it, like you were a Victoria's Secret cover model, like you were the hottest girl he'd ever seen, naked or otherwise. And you were—Sam had never been with anyone else. “Look at me, Sammy. You've tortured me. Made me wait to kiss you and touch you like this for so long, I almost lost my mind. So you're gonna get a taste of your own medicine, just for a bit—and when I think you can't take it anymore, just like me, then I'm gonna let you cum wherever you want. On my face, my tits, on my stomach…” you choked back a wave of unbridled, insatiable want, groaning out, “...in my mouth… inside me...”

The low, guttural noise puttering out of Sam broke. He took you by the underarms and yanked you against him, genuinely hauling you off your ass with a strength you forgot he had, little pants and miserable snarling moans pouring from him. Your mouths slotted together hard and unprettily. It knocked a girlish laugh out of you—when Sam let you breathe between sucking your face off, anyway.

“You like that idea, huh?” You teased.

Sam dropped a hand across your temple. His hand was so big that it could cover the entirety of your face, or perfectly seal over your mouth. In ways no other man had ever done for you, he stroked your hair back all tender just so he could get a look at his girl. You nuzzled into the weight without any mind for where you were going, knowing nothing but Sam’s love and Sam’s chest expanding and shrinking between you.

Those big fawn eyes wondered up at you. “You’d let me do that? Already?”

“I’d let you do anything.” You dropped what remained of your filter. This was truly dumbfounding to him, apparently, because Sam sat there stupidly for a second with his mouth open. He snapped it shut as you neared your faces, making it even easier to press a kiss to the seam of his mouth. “Any other man would take advantage of that chance. M’ not stupid. But you’re the only one I can think of who’d… who’d,” you searched for the words, admiring Sam’s nosebridge with your thumb. He had such pretty moles. “You’d be good to me,” you concluded.

Sam blinked. “...I’d want to be,” he smiled, sounding dulcet. Again, Sam brushed back your hair. “I mean… Anybody who wouldn’t be good to you i-is… is an idiot.”

“Exactly,” you smirked. Slow and sultry, you pressed your nose and lips into the plush of Sam’s cheek and dragged, then a little more, just glimpsing the skin with yours. He was ready and shuddering when your lips were at his ear. “That’s why it’s you I’m thinking about when I’m fingering myself.”

Another weak sound wept out of Sam. Christ, the noises he could make. If your imagination had even come close to the real thing, you would’ve been this dirty-mouthed with him ages ago.

Sam cursed, “Jesus, ____.”

“It’s true.” You pressed this promise with a kiss into his cheek, then again, at his jaw, letting yourself sink into each one with boundless pleasure. Sam melted helplessly against you, ears perked. “Every day. Every time I took a shower, after sharing a bed with you all weekend. I was always soaking wet because of something you’d done hours ago that I just couldn’t shake, hot out of my mind…” you swallowed down another onslaught of drool. “I pictured you having a hard day, y’know, needing something to perk you up. I’d haul your jeans down and lick you all over like an ice cream cone.”

Sam’s whole upper body was blushing so hard now that steam floated off him. “God, me too.”

Your brows raised. “Yeah?”

He nodded himself dizzy. “That same thing. You having a hard day. I’d… I’d…”

You leaned in, blinking in shock. “How did you imagine it?”

“We’d be kissing.” One of his long, too-long-to-be-wasted fingers followed a thread of your panties. “On your bed, the Impala, wherever we could find. I’d lay back and… and you’d crawl on top of me…get your legs around my head—”

Sam’s hot, moist breath tickled your face. So close, with your lips wet from Sam’s kissing already, it was all too easy to follow along with his fantasy. Sitting in his lap in the backseat. Laying him down there, your palms flat and steadying on his chest. Curling your thighs around his face until his nose pressed up into you, then his mouth, slipping open, and his hot, silky tongue taking long drinks of you. The sensory ghost of it alone could’ve made you cum.

You blurted: “You’d eat me out?”

One man-paw of his smoothed down the planes of your back, palming big handfuls of your skin. Now, it was his turn to smile wolfishly. Sam confessed: “I’ve always wanted to.”

The admission temporarily launched you into orbit, and for a long time you hung there, clinging to him by the shirt, dully aware of the rainy smell of him and how hard your cunt was pulsing. Sam. Your Sam, sitting with these thoughts in his head. At the same time that you were pushing your knees together when he sat beside you at the dinner table, Sam was fantasizing about getting between them. The eroticism of it already had you close to edge. Anytime you’d ever been with him, at some point, Sam had to have thought about how his fingers would feel digging into your ass-flesh while he fucked you with his tongue, while you squealed his name, the flat of your toes curled against his shoulders. Uncensored. He could’ve revealed any fantasy on top of that, but he chose this one. The one that had him pleasuring you and fucking loving it. Sam didn’t just want you—he wanted the angle that could get him the most of you, the most exposed and honest position. You fucking loved him.

You were tonguing into his mouth before Sam could finish, both hands in possessive fists around his shirt. Sam started laughing, the asshole, but you persisted, closing him in with passionate dips of your head and kissing him senseless. Your hands feasted on him, clawing into his hair and down the back of his shirt and around again. Nothing was enough. You were convinced you wouldn’t be satisfied until you were Sam, or melded into him somehow, like chocolate chips in a warm pot.

“Thought about… tasting you n’ makin’ you feel good,” Sam hissed. “So good that you’d have’ta put your fist in your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. You’d put your hands in my hair a-and… and… shit, you’d taste so good. I want to taste you so bad, ____. Want you to—” he leached you into a long, surging kiss, purring deep in his throat, “sit on my face.”

You wrestled down a choked whine, which Sam swallowed. Every movement of his mouth went straight to your pussy, echoing there. Sam must’ve known this, because he kissed you exactly as he would between your thighs, all tongue and sucking lips, unbearably hot in comparison to your untouched cunt. You could almost feel the blazing front of his mouth bearing down on you there, his breath fanning over you and his tongue—god, his fucking tongue—flexing into your clit. You broke away.

Sam’s hands hesitated at the top of your back, then all at once took two whole handfuls of your ass, and pushed up with his hips to open your thighs for him. You let slip a helpless moan. His hands were warm and calloused and everywhere, except for the precise place you needed him most. But above all else, Sam was a selfless, loving man, so immediately he was moving to drag down your panties.

“Please,” he choked. “Please, ____, please, I can—I can do it for you—lemme do it for you, baby. Let me take care a’ you.”

“Sam.”

You pressed both palms flat to Sam’s chest in an order. Sam immediately stopped, though he did not look pleased about it. You took a breath to realize the pussy-eating fiend you were soon to have all to yourself, then stepped back to your initial focus. “You’ll have to wait. Want you first, pretty boy. Have you ever even done that before?”

Sam shook his head, sending his bangs fluttering around his face. He pouted. His hands coasted along your arms, dragging you down and into him still.

Bleeding with earnestness, he husked, “No. But I’ll learn for you. I’ll practice on you over and over again, til’ I’m better than anybody you’ve ever had that way. S’ all I want.”

You bit your lip and, god, was it impossible to say no to him.

“I'm all yours, Sammy. Whatever you need, you know I'll give it to you. But we’re gonna do this first, okay?”

You wanted his first time to be good, better than good, all because of you. You wanted to be his second time. His third time too, and every time after that. And if that didn't work out, then you hoped that every time he got a blowjob in the future, it was a good one. Even if it’d be downright pitiful in comparison to the way you were gonna suck his brains out now.

You reached between you and gave Sam's strained cock a generous squeeze.

Sam lost it. “Please, you, please please—” he all but sobbed. His hips rolled up and his knees snapped apart, making room for you, inviting you in, hands making marks on your arm in his scramble for touch. “Please. I-I need it, I need—I need you, god, I want to feel—”

You hung back, absorbing the result of your work. You’d barely touched him and Sam was already out of his mind. He'd had orgasms before—you’d heard him reaching them through the wall in the shower, and his desperate choking breaths were so hot that you had touched yourself right outside the door—but as good as they'd sounded, you were determined to blow them out of the race.

Sam started for his fly, which was your cue to step in. You waved his hands away, guiding them to his stomach, where they fisted in his shirt and drew it up over his sculpted naval. You shushed and soothed, “Sam, Sammy—s’okay, you're okay. I'll take care of you, alright? I'll start right now,” you peppered kisses on his face, bent beside him on your knees. “We gotta get the seat back. Help me?”

You pushed the Impala’s bench back as far as it could go, and you made sure to lay the backrest down a few more inches, too, so Sam could relax and you had a good angle on his face. He was equally considerate and folded up a blanket for you to sit on in the footwell. As soon as Sam sat up, you evaporated into his lap. You expected him to go shy on you again, but this time Sam helped you settle there, clenching his teeth and dragging his eyes up your figure. You stood still for the examination, and the longer it went on the warmer your flaming skin got. Both of Sam’s unreasonably big hands landed on your waist at the same time, and for a moment your roles reversed, Sam’s eyes smoky and heavy-lidded as he devoured the sight of you. You felt yourself throb pathetically in your panties. You were probably the first girl Sam had ever seen intimately; and, in true Sam fashion, he consumed the new sight, cataloging and learning things. A tiny whine slipped out of you when his fingers dug into your thighs, then again when Sam’s thumb brushed under the band of your bra.

“I'm all yours,” you reminded with a smile you hoped was confident. If it was, it was ruined by you shyly and awkwardly reaching for the clasp of your bra. “Whatever you want, Sam, I can do.”

He gazed up at you through his bangs, expression bleeding with love and boyish frankness. “What do you want?”

“To make you happy,” you answered, without question. “To make this night good for you, even if it's the only night we'll have.”

Sam shook his head, absent-minded. A slow, clever, panty-dropping smile developed on his face, something that was clearly common in the men of his family.

“You said that most guys you're with, like this…” he thought aloud. Sam brought you close to him, and when your shadow fell across him and you were nose to nose, he slid two warm fingers up your back and click—he was pulling your brassiere off your shoulders. “You said that most of them can't find a way around a bra, nevermind you,” he observed. “We're going to need more nights if I'm going to prove to you that I'm different.”

“Sam,” you whispered, “you were always different from them.”

You pushed him back against the seat, aligning his spine with it, and as soon as Sam hung his arms over his head you were kissing him wet and deep, both of your hands sliding and groping along the firm muscle of his raised biceps. Now only a flimsy tee stood between them, and you were as rude with it as you were with anything else keeping you from Sam. The long, muscular frame you’d been fantasizing about for years was exposed to you now, and you wasted no time getting acquainted with it. Only recently had Sam started to linger in wet t-shirts in front of you or guide your hands under his shirt as you cuddled—for longer, you’d had no clue what he looked like under his clothes. Dean got all the credit for being John's perfect hunter, but Sam had the perfect hunter's body, barrel-chested huge and wood-shattering strong.

You sunk onto your hands and knees, palming him, groping him, caressing him, outlining the lines of his muscles and his ribs with your fingers. Nobody could resist the temptation to kiss him all over, and in all fairness, you had promised. You dragged your mouth down Sam's chest, kissing the center seam of his body to his happy trail. You almost lost yourself pleasuring him this way; at the sound of Sam's deep breathing, you endured, hovering over your prize instead. You knew you must've looked beyond turned on: your dark eyes were wild, dilated and glittering with want, your panties were soaked through and your lip was almost bleeding you were biting it so hard.

“Fuck,” you cursed, settled back on Sam's thighs, “I've wanted to blow you stupid for years, Sam… it didn't matter what you looked like underneath here or not… but fuck, I feel like a schoolgirl, drooling over all these muscles. You used to be so lanky.”

“Hard to be healthy on the road,” Sam flushed. “We're fighting monsters every day, it’d be stupid to die to a heart condition…or… something.”

“Yeah,” you groaned before you could contain yourself, “but you're sure not making this crush I have on you any easier.”

Sam whispered, sounding coy as he plucked the waistband of your panties. There was that dimply smile again. “You got a crush on me, pretty girl?”

The next words poured out of you as sensually and devoutly as you felt them: “Yeah,” slow, you dismounted his thighs, folded your legs in between Sam's, and finally, finally, sunk on your shins into the footwell. “You wanna see what I do for the men I crush on, baby?”

“So bad. So damn bad,” Sam begged, and it was surreal to finally see what he looked like from this angle, since you’d been dreaming of it for so long. His head lolled back and all you could see of him was the sexy column of his throat and all the soft red lines you’d put in his skin there, just bright enough to see. His chin lowered so Sam could look at you, and sweet lord—there were those fawn brown eyes, drowning in the darkness and the black of his lashes. They boiled over with devotion and willingness and thirst, teased for far too long now. You almost felt bad enough to cut him some slack. But now you were here, with Sam's cock just inches from where it should be, and you couldn't just start going easy on him.

You did exactly what you said you would, so Sam knew what was coming. As promised, you hunkered down on the blanket Sam had folded, letting your knees settle comfortably on the floor. Then you started in on him. You played your nails across his legs, stroking the sides of his thighs, feeling how his pants clung to his skin. On his lap, it was impossible not to fantasize about Sam sitting you on one of his legs and inviting you to rut across his solid, powerful jean-clad thigh. It took a lot to make you feel tiny—but Sam did just that. Crouched down at his feet like this, Sam only seemed bigger and his body better built than usual. You pressed your cheek against his inner thigh and just basked in him.

Sam writhed having you so close to the source of his suffering. “Please,” he sighed below his breath.

“Please what?” You grinned, wolfish.

You turned inwards and kissed the inner seam of Sam's jeans, right on the denim path to his aching cock. Just inches from your face, angled down Sam's pantleg, was a heavy, massive tent more than the width of both your hands put together. Fuck, it'd been even longer since your last good blowjob than you’d thought it'd been. Just seeing the outline made your cunt pulse. Pressing your kiss-swollen lips to the denim above the head bolted molten hot desire straight to your core, and for Sam it was no less extreme, his hands curling into fists on his chest.

His eyes squeezed shut, and the little hoarse squeak that left him made you forget your gag reflex entirely. Sam moaned, “Please please please put me in your mouth—____, p-please.”

“I think you're a little ahead of me, Sammy…”

Your voice dripped with liquid sex. You steadied your hands on Sam's knees and bent forward again, nuzzling his cock with your nose and cheeks, glittering obsidian eyes devouring Sam's softest reactions. He was sensitive—even more sensitive than you’d been hoping for. Just the tiniest lick through scratchy fabric had his toes curling. Again, your nails scraped down his thighs. This time you leaned forward as the gesture drew back, bringing you up to Sam's happy trail. And man, happy it was–it was the centerpiece for miles of twitching, gleaming, sweaty muscle, soft-blended abs, hard-cut v-lines and all.

“Let's start by getting these tight, constricting pants off your first.” you smirked. “How does that sound? You must be uncomfortable, Sammy.”

He was, to the point that just the thought of getting them off had his hips arching toward you on the seat. Pitifully, Sam pleaded, “____. C'mon. Anything.”

“S’okay…” you whispered. You kissed the button of his jeans. “I'll get it off and you'll feel so good, darlin…”

Sam watched you from over his heaving chest, so hard that he was delirious, quavering miserably when your touch disappeared. His soft desperate gasps reminded you of the noises he made when he had dirty dreams sleeping next to you. The few times it'd happened, you just endured it until you drifted off to fatally horny sleep. But once it'd been your name he was sighing like that. It took every ounce of strength you had not to roll over and jerk him off right there. The scene was so vivid it was painful, and you could easily imagine yourself cuddling up to his back and stroking him sweet and slow half-out of his pajama pants, your cheek to his shoulder. Or even better, crawling under your shared sheets and deepthroating him awake. You wondered if Sam had ever heard the dreams you had of him. Or how many times you’d fucked yourself in the shower, imagining him reaming you into the tile like an animal. You had never dreamt of another man that way, or loved a different one so terribly that it made you reckless.

Sam watched you with wide, long-lashed eyes. Nobody else could look so innocent watching somebody get ready to suck their dick. Every time you glanced past his chest, you expected the perverted revelry you got from your other partners to reveal itself on his face. But, god. Sam. He basked in you, in your touch, arching up to meet your hands and worshipping your with his gaze. Love downpoured from every molecule of him. All his reserve had shredded away, taking any reason he had to hide right along with it. I love you I love you I love you, his body wept.

The second you got the fabric corner of his jean-opening in your teeth, Sam’s lips parted, and you remembered all the times you’d tie cherry stems in your mouth to impress him—how many popsicles you’d enjoyed all too slowly and vocally while Sam was watching. It took just one pull of your chin and his fly was off the button. One more and his zipper was in your teeth. You dragged down your head, sultry eyes never leaving his even when you got his fly open, and soaked up the look on Sam's face as he realized the kind of professional he was dealing with.

“...Wow,” Sam gaped. I've hit the jackpot, his wide eyes said.

“Up,” you instructed, and let your grin say the rest. Excitement was burning between your legs now. You tugged on his belt loops until Sam raised his hips, giving you the room to pile them around his ankles.

When you brought your eyes back up, your breath caught. Sam was hard enough to crack steel. You couldn't believe your own luck here. The boy you’d been head over heels for since before you could speak, the man you’d devoted half your life to, and he was so hot for you that he could hardly breathe.

“You don't know how long I've been fantasizing about this.” Your voice was almost too hoarse to hear over the rain, a prayer's voice. You drew yourself between Sam's thighs, and shaking from head to toe with hunger, you spread both palms over his hips and dragged your mouth up Sam's length in his boxers.

Sam had already given himself up to the pleasure. His nails seared into the upholstery, and he moaned, rocketing up, off his back, rocking into you already. The neediness of it burst another tank of heat and love and lust inside you—your Sam, above you, about to be yours, begging so pretty for you… Fuck, heaven would be boring in comparison.

“____, please, baby, please I need it,” he almost sobbed, “I'll do anything anything ____ I ju-just, I just want you. I want your mouth on me I wanna—god, please ____, how good you feel, I want it, please—”

“Anything you want, Sammy, you can have anything,” you soothed, muffled and slurred by your dragging kisses.

“M’ all yours, all yours, all this cock just for you, g-god yeah—your mouth ____ please I need your mouth—”

There was so much drool built up under your tongue that you had to swallow to speak—but you decided against it, saving it for your prize instead. You couldn't wait a second more. You were hooking your fingers in Sam's briefs before you could second-guess, before you could even think to judge if you should unravel Sam a little more—but he was there, bucking for you already, so there was no use waiting. He couldn't even lift his hips before you’d yanked his boxers out of the way. You felt him in your hand and all of it—the length of his cock, the weight of it, the fact that it was Sam, had you sinking into his lap like a priest into a sermon, flesh into the earth, and instantly you threw yourself into the task like you’d never done for any other man. This was for Sam.

You took in just a bit of him at first, enough to introduce him to the hot, velvety heat of your mouth and wet him with a single good suck. Sam's sob cut off with his breath. He was careful to treat you right, even like this. One of his hands had startled into your hair, the pleasure was so much for him. It never did anything more than jolt—he wasn't the type to just shove you on him, anyway. Your smile felt obscene with your lips slick and swollen around him; your tongue gave the lightest lap at the special spot under his tip, and Sam strangled down a filthy, whining mewl. His head was plump and comfortable on your jaw, so you gave it your first dose of attention, loosening your seal around it so you could share your drool with the rest of him. You hollowed your cheeks and brought him a little further into your mouth, shattering what remained of Sam's strength. He sunk back against the seat, exhausted, and watched you bracingly from above, sucking down breaths. Already, there was enough spit on him to make Sam's cock gleam like your lips. It clung to your chin and the tip of your nose in shining patches. Sam ran a hand through his hair and lazily studied you as you sucked him off, falling further in love with you by the second.

“That's it,” Sam cooed. He sounded broken and thready, but he insisted on curling your hair around his fingers, dizzy. “So good, ____—suck it, just like that, please, baby, j-just… ohh, fuckkk…”

Suck it, he'd said. You did as told. The command vibrated through your whole overshot body, and your throbbing, weeping cunt only felt emptier hearing the order. Sam filled up your mouth so well that your cheeks were puffy. He was the perfect size for you—a damn perfect masterpiece. His girth sat thick in your hands, veiny in ways that you wanted to feel with your pussy. Oral had always been enough before, but already you wanted Sam more than air, and more than that, wanted to blow him so good that he'd reward you for it. You tested out a few lower bobs, his cock slick and sticky between your fingers now, and every time you suckled on him Sam squeezed his eyes shut all pretty. The rain was dying out, so the liquid noise your lips made on him filled every crevice of the Impala louder than before. The pop of you slipping off his cock almost echoed.

“Tell me what you want,” you coached, your voice just as broken and hushed as Sam's. You couldn't even part from him that long, and dipped again to whorl your tongue around Sam's heavy tip. “Whatever you need, Sam,” you punctuated the reminder with a long, flat drag of your tongue from his base to the special spot under his tip, and beamed; Sam yelped. “I love it… I love,” you swallowed, “I love doing this for you.”

Sam worked his fingers into your untamed hair, and you did fucking love it. On the floor your knees were aching, but it and everything else was numb to the rolling glide of cock slotting into your mouth, of Sam reveling in your lips and tongue on him, watching you give it all just because he asked.

Sam’s knuckles caressed your cheekbone. “Wrap your lips around the head. Tight.”

You listened. He was more than comfortable on your jaw now, so your lips molded nicely to him, sealing and hollowing so he was even more snug in his new favorite place.

“Good girl,” Sam groaned, probably on instinct, but you stroked him faster for the praise, so he repeated it until his mind was muddy. “Lick the part unde—oh very, very good girl… I wish you could see yourself… I-I want…” he hissed in delight, “you look so pretty, ____… so pretty with my cock in your mouth, god…”

Holy shit. You had never really paid attention to that kind of talk before during sex, busied with the task at hand, but there was something euphoric about the way he said it to you now, your shy Sam, your Sam, his voice raspy, his pink mouth panting and open, his hands all over you, talking to you like he’d always wanted to say that. Your cunt ached.

With a deadly rumble spilling up from your chest, you slipped off his head and laved your gluttonous mouth down Sam’s soaking shaft, kissing, tonguing and sucking at whatever flesh you could find.

“Keep talking like that,” you begged into his base, breathless.

Sam listened. He cupped the sweat-slick nape of your neck, his hand easily broad enough to cover your back blade to blade, and in a messy, groping haze, dragged it up against your cheek. “Never seen you like this,” he purred, “eyes… all dark and… hot… lookin’ up at me… you’re so tiny between my legs like that.”

You couldn’t have restrained yourself if you tried. A weak whine seeped out of you. Sam’s thumb pushed into your cheek and you turned, lapping at it, then covering his hand with one of your own and searing kisses all over his palm. It was heavy and perfect for smudging your nose into. You sunk two open-mouthed kisses into Sam’s wrist where his bracelet was, then up his forearm, knowing only his body and how it could connect to your mouth. His pulse thudded furiously. Just as fast as you’d nuzzled up to him, you returned to Sam’s thick thumb, sucking it deep and right as he watched in rapture. The filthy delight written all over those mesmerized eyes had you praying to him.

“Wanna do this all the time,” Sam swallowed. He was all stream-of-consciousness now, too frenzied to filter himself. “Watch you suck me off… watch those perfect lips disappear around me, _____… y-you… oh, god, you are a natural, baby…”

His other hand, again, flushed your hair away from her forehead. All the love put into your face at once rooted you to the spot. It was miraculous, how special Sam could make you feel with just a few light touches. Bleeding with tenderness, he caressed your shoulders, your cheeks, your jaw, your hair, feasting on you as you had him.

Sam pushed the meat of his thumb into your swollen lip. “Open for me. Yeah… oh, yeah, let me watch you put it in…”

Your lips parted, mostly out of shock—when had Sam started thinking like this? A deeper part of your mind registered it all as innocent teasing, since Sam could never hurt or demean you; he was the basest definition of good to you. Regardless, you were more than willing to obey, and opened wide, tongue splayed for the heavy head of Sam’s dick. The extra kick of his pre-come had your toes curling every single time. But combined with Sam’s ruddy-cheeked, enraptured staring, just one touch to your clit would bring you over the edge. You forced your knees apart on the floor and held off. Just in case Sam intended to keep his promise.

The easiest way to put Sam’s dick into words was by comparing it to a warm, solid lollipop that took up your whole mouth, like the twisty kind from the carnival that eclipsed your whole face, chin to forehead. You’d been mourning Sam’s scrawniness after his four years away at college, but now you were nothing but grateful for the extra mass. Sam was really, really big. Bigger than anyone else you’d been with. He could’ve been any size and you would’ve been just as rabid for him, but there was something specifically hot about sucking him down as far as you could and failing to hit the bottom. It took effort to get there. You lazily pumped what you had left of his shaft, and in slow, deliberate surges of your spit-wet mouth, you earned an inch, then another.

Sam moaned so gutturally you felt it rumble under your palms. It was so Sam, in that it was like any sound you’d ever heard him make, sighing at a stupid joke, snarling during a fight, but this time it was him losing it because you were giving him a blowjob. Because you’d snuck away like idiot teenagers and you were blowing him good and filthy in Baby’s front seat.

“I-I thought about you all day,” he licked his lips, “all week, like this… it’s, you are so much better than I thought… m’ gonna make you cum so good for me.”

You wished that he could feel the way your cunt had fluttered at that. All you could do in answer was hum in approval, since you were so drunk off him, off the girth pressing against the start of your throat, that you couldn't even lift your head to speak. You did the opposite, pushing down and surging Sam's length in deeper and further than you’d gone before. The half-hour you’d poured into warming up for this was instantly worth it. You were by no means an amateur. Blowjobs, as a sexual activity, were with ease your favorite—but deepthroating was where your real talent lay. Wielding your skill, you relaxed your sore jaw and pressed forward.

The initial burn waited for you there, but Sam’s reaction was priceless.

Every muscle in his body snapped in, a taut coil broken in one motion. A strangled gasp broke from his throat. Sam's entire torso bore forward and his hips surged up to your face in a voiceless gasp, which you’d been expecting. You pinned them back down and dug for it, giving him no room to breathe, mashing your nose into his abs and hanging there, lingering, suckling, gagging, so all Sam could feel was the soft, hot, velvet pulse of your throat around his spent cock.

“I’m. I-I—”

You sucked harder, bringing a wave of spit with you, and closed a hand around Sam’s closest fist. Drool seeped over your knuckles. He spasmed. His voice tore, cutting off.

It was a little hard, but with practice—and you could practice on Sam for days, if that’s what it took—the ache would fade. All the pleasure was in the act itself, in your own slobbering sounds, the drool, and above all else the punch-to-the-teeth thrill it gave. Every inch of Sam’s pretty virgin dick was stuffing your throat. You could barely hollow your cheeks around him, Sam was so thick. His cock pulsed, once, then twice, then over and over. No other person in the world could claim him like you could, and no other person would ever have him like you had.

Sam came, and hard.

His thighs snapped closed around your ribs. He hung in place bent up over you, twitching mid-sob. Both of his hands snapped around your head, then his arms in full, scrabbling across your back, crazed, heaving, coating you entirely in the woody smell of him.

You flattened your palms to his thighs and drew upward. When it was just half his shaft in your mouth, so coated in saliva that you were connected to it in cloying strings, you persisted. The first spurt of him on your tongue detonated a ruthless orgasm deep within you on the spot. You latched onto him as it crested through you, digging your nails into Sam’s rolling hips, back and toes curled, pressing closer and swallowing the mouth-watering load you’d been dying to taste for years now. It came with its own gratified explosion of ecstasy. Your pussy sobbed, clenching without end, wracking your whole body with delicious waves of mind-whiting pleasure. The taste of him conquered you—fuck, he tasted perfect, salty and organic and human and Sam. It was a sugar rush of earthy sweetness that burned straight to your overwrought core.

You could’ve unburied yourself and let Sam finish anywhere, since he was already so mindless underneath your spell that anything would’ve pleased him. But there was something potent and intimate in being able to taste him. His body—every divine inch of it was yours, and a piece of him was filling an empty place in you.

You should’ve guessed by the size of him alone, but christ, Sam came whole glassfuls. His cum bubbled up into your mouth and spilled out of the corners of your lips, and you relished in it, drinking him down, whorling your tongue around his fleshy head, soaking up every second of your hard work’s result. The taste of him overwhelmed and surrounded you. The act did. It was in every facet a religious experience, angels singing, clouds parting, the sun glowing over them—all of it. Sam went down your throat piping hot, and you swore you could feel his cum gliding all the way to your stomach.

You slipped off him with a gasp. Hoarse, weak sighs huffed from your blazing lungs.

Slowly, as your orgasm ebbed further from your mind, your surroundings filtered back in. Peeling yourself away from him effectively rebooted all the systems in your body again. You could hear the rain bearing down on the Impala’s windshield overhead. Both of your palms were sticky and cloying with saliva. The whole lower half of your face, your abused lips, your aching jaw, your glistening cheeks, were slathered with slick. Your throat felt raw but recently balmed, like you’d swallowed a spoonful of honey to heal a soreness. Each of your knees had been stuck in place for so long that they were both numb, so the scratchy blanket beneath them seemed to ripple with pins and needles.

And Sam. Sam’s weight was braced in his hands, pressed flat to the dash, putting your face between the long bridge-arch of his shoulders. He’d collapsed around you in the footwell, shuddering and gasping for breath, and through the sea of endorphins and hormones, he managed to press his tacky forehead to yours.

You panted together; you inhaled and so did he, atoms apart, nearly mouth to mouth. Sam’s hot breath fanned across your face, cooling the saliva there.

It was something out of some old Italian sculpture, a Pietà, two nude figures entwined, expressing their love in form alone. You were collapsed on your knees, a worshipper gazing up at your saint. Sam was bent over you almost uncomfortably, every fiber of his body yearning for closeness, but close wasn’t close enough to you, his face smushed into yours and his jaw slack.

He looked nothing short of lovesick.

Hands shaking, you cupped Sam’s face. You pressed your thumbs into his warm, flushed cheekbones, then his dimples when he smiled dizzily at you, his girl.

You swallowed. “Did you like that?” You closed her eyes, hoping aloud, “...Did I… did I do a good job for you, Sammy?”

Sam surprised you. The haziness in his eyes cleared more and more with each inhale, until eventually, he was blinking down at you without guile. He burst out laughing.

“...There’s no way it was that bad,” you deadpanned. It didn’t hold for long, with him giggling over you like that. You fought against a mean, vibrant smile and its matching flush. “Alright, Sam, shut up! Quit laughing, you ass! What the hell did I—”

With the seat pushed back as far as it was, Sam had the room to get his hands under your arms again and drag you up onto his lap in one sturdy motion. Your shoulders quaked with laughter the whole time. Suddenly, his face and chest and throat were flush with yours. It was enough to drive a person crazy. Like before, Sam slotted your mouths together. The difference this time was that his cum was all over your face—but Sam could care less. You went from kissing him to gaping, since Sam dotted each filthy lick of your tongues with a heavy lap across your cheek or your chin. Tasting himself. On you. Fucking hell.

“Stop gawking n’ kiss me,” Sam insisted. He pawed at your back for emphasis, then your shoulders from below, adjusting your weight on his thighs since in your shock you’d dropped on him completely.

(And that was definitely a hard-on scooping against your inner thigh. Fucking fuck. Jesus Christ. Holy shit, Sam.)

“You were better n’ good,” he shivered. Filthily and innocently all at once, he grinned, “...I can’t believe… that was how my first time went. I can’t believe you… You, you just…”

He struggled for words. Eventually, Sam purred: “You are a natural.”

I love you, you almost blurted. You deliberately filled your lungs to calm yourself down. Your arms were around Sam’s neck and he was gazing up at you, brimming with satisfaction and gratitude and boundless, unhidden love. Dangerous territory. His taste had sunk thick and sweet on your tongue, so you both moan when you share it with him in a surging kiss.

“Anytime,” you rasped, maybe sounding a bit desperate. You were. Sam was everything you wanted in a thousand different ways, so you refused to let the moment go. In the black darkness, you laid kisses into him until your lips tingled. “I fucking—ugh. That was perfect. You were perfect. If… if you ever want me like that again—”

“I do,” was Sam’s immediate, unflinching answer. “But… I have a condition.”

He swallowed. At first, you figured he was nervous, and knowing it was his first time you doubted he wasn’t. But then Sam’s eyes flashed. Both of his enormous hands smoothed down your waist, kneading the flesh, squeezing you around the sides so his thumbs were in your belly, then his fingers were sliding flat to your hip and down. They plucked under the waistband of your underwear—the last and only layer between you.

“Every time you go down on me,” his hungry, sultry gaze devoured yours, “I get to practice on you, too.”

-

part two.

[lil-sweater-slut]

(you are a) natural, baby - p.2

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Virgin!Sam Winchester/AFAB!Reader (vaguely s1 or 2) Tags/Warnings: sex in the Impala, oral sex (f receiving), whiny/submissive Sam (with hints of the opposite), Sam being a pussy fiend, you get it 💅 Word Count: 16,202. Notes: part two, aka: THE GOOD STUFF. this bad boy has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. i thought it would be a fun little Halloween present while I'm between other projects :) pure sam goodness ahead, chaps ✨ enjoy! Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

"Every time you go down on me," his hungry, sultry gaze devoured yours, "I get to practice on you, too."

You adjusted your clammy hold around his neck, reminded of the emptiness between your legs. “Every time?”

“Every time,” Sam nodded. “But… mostly… other times, too. Any time. That I want. If you want, of course.”

You panted. “Yeah. A-anytime,” you echoed.

“S’ gonna be… a lot,” Sam warned. His chin dipped, stealing an open-mouthed, burning kiss against your quaking pulse. The sound his mouth made against your flesh was sloppy and hot in ways that would’ve destroyed anyone, but you most of all. “M’ not a quick study, ____. I’m gonna have to… take my time with you.”

“Uh-huh,” you squeaked.

Sam laved his tongue—which was ridiculously, pussy-wettingly broad—in one passionate drag from your collarbones to the center of your throat. “…I’ll have t’ be thorough. You know I only do things the right way, baby.”

Mindless, you squeezed your eyes shut. “I know y’ do,” you whined.

“You might have to coach me.” Sam pressed further, plotting open-mouthed kisses all over your pliant neck, just to make it clear the kind of things that tongue could do. “I wanna do it good for you…”

If you had the wherewithal to step back, you should’ve known that Sam was a quick study. A ridiculously quick study, since you’d had him under your spell for a little under an hour and he was already echoing back all the filthy things you’d said to him. He did learn fast. These next parts… he’d learn these very fast, too, even if you couldn’t keep up. The thought thrilled you. For once, a partner that could match you, surpass you. Sam being that partner… God. It wouldn’t have mattered if Sam was good—honest to God, it wouldn’t have. He could be the shittest partner on the planet, and you would still be here. But he wasn’t. What heroic, selfless feat had you accomplished to get this kind of good karma? To have Sam, and selfishly, for him to want you too?

Sam grinned up at you, feeling that same streak of luckiness. His accent was laden with sex, and hearing it in Sam’s voice—your best friend since childhood—when your head was (mostly) clear made you flush like a schoolgirl. It was every stupid high school fantasy come to life. Like the hot professor you had a crush on had asked to see you after class, but instead of boring homework talk, Sam had bent you over his desk and shoved his hands up your skirt like you wanted him to.

“Can you show me, ___?” Sam tilted his head until your noses were nudging, drawling into the immediate heat of your mouth, “How to make you feel good?”

You were so pumped full of arousal that you could hardly talk. You were aware again that you were topless, since the swell of your chest surged up against Sam’s, like the rest of you. He might’ve palmed you there if it wouldn’t mean peeling you off him, but it was clear that was all Sam could ask for—the shivering shape of you melted entirely against him. That was exactly the prize he’d carved out for himself. The bulb of Sam’s nose was smushed into your cheek and your breath mixed in the hair’s width between your mouths, which waited half open. Sam’s fingers sloped into the curve of your lower back, then up around your hips, tracing your waistband again and again. Jesus, he wanted it.

“You sure you’re a virgin?” You managed, laughing between pants.

Sam nodded, less bashful than he’d been when you’d poked him with that word before. He repeated himself: “But… you’ll show me?”

He was serious. Your legs were shaking without shame now, each tremor pouring straight into your helplessly wet core like you were sitting on a washing machine on its highest setting. You were sure you’d never been wetter in your entire life. It had left your underwear entirely, coating your inner thighs. Sam’s gaze never left yours if he could avoid it, yet you could tell that every fiber of his being was hyper-focussed on that space.

You still couldn’t believe your luck. You leaned back, just enough to get a read on Sam with your eyes instead of your hands, and tested.

“You really want this?” You resisted for his sake. “You don’t need t’ feel pressured or anything like that, okay? This is your first time. It should be about you. If you’re not 100%...”

Sam dipped his head in thought. When he came back up, his brow was set. “I want to try… And this is our first time.”

Your head shook of its own accord, mystified. You brushed your fingers over one of Sam’s dimples and downward, just feeling him, and the soft, yielding skin of your lover’s face. He gazed at you with big puppy eyes, mumbling, “How many times s’ somebody done this for you?”

“A couple,” you answered, purposefully bland. “Mostly, y’know, as a lead up to the big part.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. The big part. Like that,” he gestured at his lap, “wasn’t the big part. Right.”

You allowed yourself to be smug. “I told you, baby. No complaints.”

Sam kept looking at you with those big, pretty eyes, and with each passing second you felt more like an ice cube in a bowl of hot soup, dissolving completely and effortlessly into him. He nodded. “Tell me what to do.”

You let that request sizzle comfortably under your skin for a moment, before taking Sam’s face between your thumbs and greeting him with a sweet kiss. A deep, pleasured sound seeped out of him, and you deserved some kind of reward for managing to peel yourself off Sam just as he was humming in your ear like that. 

Maybe you're giving yourself away when you giddily order, “Let’s go to the backseat, huh?”

You helped Sam get his jeans back around his waist. This was accomplished with a generous amount of petting, from Sam and from you, squeezing him through his briefs and kissing him a little meaner than you should’ve. Now that you were permitted to touch him, nothing could stop you.

When you bend below the seat to pull the front bench forward, pouring heat across Sam’s lap and bringing your face close enough to nuzzle his dick, he flashes you a look that’s written all over with the bossy Sam you remember. 

Technically you could stay up front, but there were fewer controls to collide with and more space in the back seat. You enjoyed the thought of fucking Sam in the back of the Impala, too… The whole car rocking, the glass fogging up… Dean was going to kill you if he ever found out. A nonsensical part of your mind that had been spoiled too much today almost wanted Dean to know, just so everyone would. Just so it’d be in the air that Sam’s virginity had been taken, and you had been the one to do it.

“Think you can climb over?” You cleared your throat.

Sam waved for you to go first. You weren’t halfway over the bench, sweat-slick and nude but for petal-thin underwear, when Sam darted out the passenger’s side—into the furious rainstorm. Your back hadn’t even hit the other seat by the time Sam was back in the car, but still. The door slammed behind him, softening the sound of the rain. You shuffled up onto your elbows, cursing him, but Sam didn’t care one bit. Just two seconds outside had soaked him from head to toe. Rainwater twisted in his bangs and slithered in long lines down his back, dotting his shoulders. You hadn’t been too diligent putting his pants back on, so the droplets rolled over his hips and into the low waistband of his jeans too. You maneuvered so you were sitting on your calves in the back seat, and Sam paralleled you, wild and determined. He took up half the backseat with his legs alone.

“Don’t give me that look. It was faster,” he mumbled, smiling.

You played annoyed, but then Sam slithered in and kissed you again, greedy and desperate: conditions impossible to pretend in. You give up on scolding him. Getting your arms around his shoulders, you dragged yourself into his lap and struggled a bit on his slippery skin. He helps you the rest of the way. Sam goes the extra mile, too, putting all of your weight on his thighs and rolling his hips up. A little shock of pressure meets you once you’re seated on him.

“Sam,” you yelped.

“You like that?”

He asked as if you weren’t white-knuckling the meat of his shoulders, but you nodded anyway. Throatily, you managed, “Keep going.”

Sam does as told, stirring his bulge up between your legs, making your head loll back until your throat is vertical and you’re purring like a new sportscar. Tortured pleasure throbs up your body. After almost an hour of teasing, of getting off just watching him, even the smallest contact is explosive. You’re honest-to-god quivering. You huffed out deep, rattling breaths and kissed him until your lungs burned. He yields for you—he always does—letting your tongue lick hot through his parted lips. You want him like nothing else. Between your legs, yes, but kissing is closer and you throb every time he surges up in response. Sam is nothing but pretty, senseless noises. It devours you from the inside, how precious and perfect and everything he is, your Sam. Kissing him kickstarts a chemical reaction in your body unlike anything else you’ve ever felt before, soft and musical, like a field of a million fireflies blinking in a hundred ways at night. You rock your body into his and Sam responds every time, the push and pull of your hips rolling to a hypnotic tempo. The next time you withdraw from him to breathe, you stroke his face in both hands, your baby, and kiss him all over until he’s sick of you, kissing his cheek, his chin, his dimples, his jaw, his brow.

Sam had to close both eyes to protect them. “_____,” he whined.

“Quit complainin’,” you drawled, grinning, “let me be obsessed with you.”

Sam squinted, and even in the dark you could see how blown his pupils were. He smiled. “You gonna start kissing up my arm, now? Like in the movies?”

You, of course, took this as a request.

“Oh, cara mia… ”

Collecting his hand in yours, you turned inwards and pushed a deep, lingering kiss into Sam’s palm, then his wrist, looking up at him through your lashes after each devoted press. By the time you were in the middle of his forearm he was sucking in air through his teeth. He’d been playing, but it seemed to be really riling him. You gleamed with delight. You surged one into the center of his elbow, then his warm bicep and up, across his rain-slick shoulder and all the moles there. Sam’s chest heaved. The taut muscles in his arm twitched after each touch, sensitive after so much. Maybe you cheated a bit, skipping straight to his neck after that, but it was a miracle you’d held out any longer. You twisted and plotted open-mouthed, possessive, fervored kisses all over Sam’s throat.

“Oh god,” Sam shudders. His head thudded against the seat. “____. Please.”

The salty tang of sweat and the earthy touch of rain in his taste turned on your lewdest instincts, and all you wanted was Sam’s fingers on you. Inside you. Some part of him, any part of him. Your core blazed with an empty, bottomless feeling. You’d put yourself aside to give your all for Sam, but now the pounding neediness of your arousal was too strong to ignore.

You captured Sam by the wrists and brought his hold over your breasts, moaning, “Touch me.”

Sam gave you a wild look. His warm, huge hands sloped around your ribs and tentatively slid up to cup your tits in both palms. It wasn’t a forceful examination. It’s Sam, greedy and turned on, sure, but he’s nothing but gentle with you, squeezing you feather-light and testing the feel of you in his palms.

“I wanna—” Sam groans, going shy, “I wanna bite you. Can I bite you? Not hard, o-or—”

You're grinning before he can finish. “Fuck yeah.”

Sam goes for the closest thing, your jaw, breathing loud and shaky. Whatever it is about the sound that squeaks out of you unlocks some primal urge in him. Sam bites the meat of your shoulder, using just enough teeth to leave a mark. The stinging pressure is soothed immediately by his hot soft tongue in starved little licks. Sam's learned to just take—both of your tits are squeezed in big, calloused Kansas hands as you're nibbled on.

While you’re sucking new red patches into Sam’s spit-soaked throat, he gives himself one last second to soak in the feel of it before he nudges you away.

“Enough. It’s your—god, s’ your turn,” he insists. “C’mon. Let’s get these off. Please.”

Sam pets at your underwear. Wiping the spit from your chin, you tilted back in Sam’s lap, wincing at even that pressure, and thought. “Al-alright. But… but maybe I should start on my back.”

He pouted. “I wanted to—”

“I know,” you shushed, and grinned filthily over his ridiculousness. “I’ll sit on your face, I promise. But it’ll be better if we start this way, okay? You need to crawl before you can walk here, Sammy.”

You expected Sam to be stubborn as usual, since he insisted on proving himself with everything else. Your resolve was so weak-kneed for him that you probably would’ve let him. It was Sam, begging through sex-swollen lips to just let him fuck you with his mouth, which any reasonable person would’ve crumbled for. And your throbbing, neglected core made you more than reasonable. Instead, Sam went out of his way to surprise you for tonight's hundredth time. He wasn’t always stubborn. He could beg for you to suck his dick like no one else. And, he would forever be keeping you on your toes.

Sam kept you sturdy with both unreasonably huge hands clamped around your hips. Then, he turned up onto his knees, dunking you out of his lap and back onto the seat just hard enough to make you bounce. The Impala creaked in protest. When your spine was flat to the black leather, Sam slithered over you and uttered into your ear, sexy and starved:

“It’s Sam.”

You couldn’t help the grin that transformed your face. Or the senseless, merciless throbbing in your panties. Your hair was a mess around your head (or in general) because of him, and with how dark your eyes were, you must’ve looked a few steps away from rabid. Sam did; he panted above you, his seething, ravenous body hanging over yours like an predator over a prey animal. From this angle, the view of him was fucking spectacular. Sam was a wall of taut, sloping muscle covered in all these pretty little freckles. An old pair of jeans hung uselessly on his hips, open at the zipper around an ardent hard-on. Since all of that apparently wasn’t enough, your center was flush right up against it, so when Sam leans forward you feel—all of it, big and warm and iron-hard for you. Just fuck me already, you almost groaned.

You’d barely thought about your own body since Sam’s had captivated you so much, but it was clear he was just as consumed by you. Mouth watering, Sam dropped his hands to frame your ribcage and just looked at you, awed and enamored with what he was seeing. Who he was looking at.

You gazed up at him the exact same way, biting down a mean grin. “Sam, huh.”

He shot you a dark look, which was just hilarious, since he was still looking at you for guidance.

You reached up and slid your fingers into Sam’s damp, lush bangs, stroking them away from the gleaming eyes you loved. You teased, “That’s what you want me to call you when you eat me out, baby? Sam?”

Sam’s lids slid closed. You brushed over his brow with your thumb, maybe enjoying torturing him a bit too much for your own good. His silhouette snaked up to hang over you, and in the dark Sam oozed affection and love.

“My Sam?” You murmured, “That’s what you want me to scream, huh? When you get that pretty mouth between my legs?” 

A groan bubbled up from his chest, and Sam poured it into the valley between your breasts. In it was the result of more than an hour’s worth of ruthless, unsatiated teasing, plus at least twelve years spent with a painful crush on you. Before Sam did anything else, he removed his worst enemy from the equation. The skimpy black underwear you had worn were on you and then they weren’t. You opened your mouth to rib him for his haste and Sam was already there, kissing you into the seat so furiously the springs squealed. You squealed too, arching up and finding a broad, heated body layered over your own. The untouched backseat was freezing cold, which was just another reason to soak into Sam and Sam’s touch. Now entirely nude, it was painfully obvious how soaking wet you were. You should’ve been lightheaded with how much slick your body was making for Sam.

“S’ what you’re gonna be screamin’ when I make you cum,” he dared.

You did your best not to let the cartoon hearts floating around your head seem too obvious. “Show me.”

Sam hovered over you then, lips parted and eyes shining. “How do I start?”

“Okay, cowboy,” You adjusted yourself on your back, forgetting to tamp down the euphoric, thrilled energy that had already put you on cloud nine just laying there. You’d tried to put a lot of your own feelings aside for Sam, but now that he wanted them you could only willingly hand them over. “When you’re… doing this for somebody, you should—”

“No, no,” Sam shook his head. His bangs tickled your forehead. “I’m not doing this for somebody, I’m doing this for you.” Wetting his lips, he said, “Talk like it’s for you. Please.”

Your blush was not a horny blush or a drunk one, but a result of your stupid, inescapable crush on him. Holy hell. You might’ve been smiling. “...Okay. Sam. To start, just… kiss me all over. Anywhere you want. You don't always have ta’, but it's the warm-up before the—”

“—other big part?” Sam finished.

You nodded as casually as you could. “Yup.”

Sam raised a dry eyebrow. “Want me to kiss you like you kissed me?”

“You like me that much?” You joked.

Sam’s head tilted, eyes alight. “Oh, mon cher… M’ crazy about you.”

So maybe the two of you had watched too much Addams Family as kids, but if this was the result, you couldn’t mind if you tried. Your pounding heart could’ve burst, you loved him so much.

Sam proved what he said. Bent over you, he lingered for a moment, trying to decide where to start. He ended up in his new favorite place. Drinking you in with low eyes, Sam tipped your faces together and met you with a surging, devouring kiss. Instead of the possessive pawing or the filthy groping you had expected, Sam dragged just his fingertips over the slopes of your curves. The gentleness of it somehow gushed with intensity, so just the slightest touch from him had you hissing with want. His fingers were calloused. They pet from the dip of your collarbones all the way down to your belly button in the most sexually agonizing minute of your life, each inch of flesh enjoyed to the absolute fullest. You rolled your hips up, hoping and praying that he’d drag those fingers further, but Sam didn’t. Again: a quick study.

One long finger tapped the softest part of your belly. “...Can I bite you here?”

“Sammy,” you felt your eyes glaze with desire. “You can do anything you want to me.”

The line he’d drawn on your chest tingled hard enough to send every hair on your body on end, so Sam’s mouth—that hot, wet, gorgeous mouth, made to be between a woman’s legs—was a million times more intense. Sam took his time. He got comfortable, urging your thighs apart with his hips, then dutifully bent to kiss your collarbone. Those maddening hands traced down your ribs, then your belly. He applied just enough pressure to make lines in sand. Sam kissed and caressed you like he was sculpting you right there in the car, squeezing your clay-malleable body for its shape. Again, his soft seeping kisses were improved by needy bites.

You knew that you probably shouldn’t compare, but Sam was… Sam was leaps and bounds more passionate than any other partner you’d ever had. This confirmed it: you were madly in love with him, movie-in-love with him, which might’ve made you a bit biased, but it was true. Sam was fucking awesome. He felt fucking awesome. His soft lips seared down the center seam of your ribs with intent, smushing his nose and chin into your breasts, your belly, licking wide stripes over each hollow and nuzzling his face into you. Other men had done something similar, but none of them were him. So none of them had felt nearly as mind-whiting. Maybe it was because Sam had never done this before, but there was something different in how he went about touching. It wasn’t exactly methodical. He was trying to do a good job, but more than that he was trying to juice some real pleasure out of you. For Sam, the act of eating you out wasn’t an obligation. It was a damn pleasure.

You weren’t sure if you believed all the stuff they said about true love, but man, you hoped it would feel like the first time every time with him. Like it did now.

Sam shuffled forward to give the underside of your chin a brief peck, then turned both his hands onto your tits, kneading and appreciating them until you were making the same noises he’d been making earlier. You're drooling like a camgirl when Sam nuzzles his face between them. His eyes flick up to you once, turning audience into performer, and you're left wriggling and bucking when Sam bites the underside of your breast, crazed with an endless appetite for your skin. He really is a biter.

“So soft,” Sam husked. His eyes flicked up at you from below his bangs, instantly making you clench.

Your laugh tinkled like sleighbells. Your whole body blazed with light and energy in ways you didn’t know you could feel, all of it filling you in surging, boundless waves. And every bit of your reactions were so honest. It made you realize just how often you’d lied during sex, before. You ramped up the little pornographic sounds you thought boys liked, bucked when expected, and closed your eyes more. Sam coaxed those whiny little noises from you anyway. With his face smushed into your breasts and those fawn-brown eyes just craving you, you closing yours would be the dumbest missed opportunity of all time.

“Talk to me,” you gasped. “I love it when you— ah .”

“You’re beautiful,” Sam gushed, like he’d been waiting for permission. He gave your left breast one last kiss, then started to crawl down your body in earnest, shocking your system with anticipation. “So damn pretty. And so soft … Losin’ my damn mind, you’re so good, ____… Gonna fuck you with my mouth. Gonna fuck you so good.”

You whimpered, “Yeah, baby?”

He nodded messily. “Mhm. I’ve thought about it,” he sucked saliva back through his teeth, closing his eyes just to revel in the mounting excitement of it, “all day.”

Then Sam’s plush, wet lips pressed open-mouthed into your stomach, kissing your belly button then the skin below, bumping his teeth on you, making you writhe and mewl. He made all these desperate keening sounds into your flesh as he went. Coupled with his panting and his lips puckering and popping as he kissed you, you knew you were fucking done for. The second that tongue laved over you for the first time you’d be three miles over the edge already.

Now that he was so close to where you wanted, you got your fingers in Sam’s luscious hair and tried to reign yourself back. You were embarrassingly close and Sam hadn’t even kissed you there yet. The space between your legs was so desperate it was sore , this strange, hollow soreness that craved something thick to fill it end-to-end. It was damn evil. You didn’t have to rely on fantasy anymore when it came to what could fill you, but you resisted the urge, knowing exactly what it would do to you. One too-intense thought about Sam’s dick… his huge, filling cock, which had felt so good puffing out your cheeks… inside you, scratching that itch… satisfying that soreness in one great thrust… or a dozen… and you might die. You had to hold out. But Sam Winchester was about to eat you alive, so you stood absolutely no chance.

He waited for his next order. Sam must’ve been truly intent on destroying your psyche, since he scraped his nails around your hips and ass as he did. You couldn’t drag your eyes away from his face. Soft, hazel and mouth-frothingly ravenous, Sam’s gaze raked over you in long and possessive drags.

You suppressed the instinct to squirm with Sam watching you like that, directing, “Spread my legs more, then get them where you’re comfortable.”

He was listening before you’d even finished your sentence, bracing two man-paws over the swell of your thighs and pressing them apart. Wetness cloyed just inches away from his fingers. 

“God,” Sam sighed at the sight. He sounded awed, not fully believing his own influence over you: “You’re really, really wet. This whole time…”

You cursed with him, hissing at the freezing air on your exposed pussy. Sam tilted closer and closer to you, drawn in like a magnet, until his hot breath was fanning deliciously close to your core. You choked down a second hiss, wetting your grinning lips, “Yeah. I’ve been half-soaked since this afternoon.”

Sam’s eyes lit up with his scoff, delighted yet sympathetic. “Why? That’s almost half a day.”

“At the laundromat,” you confessed, “n’ we were washin’ everything… you just had that stupid thin t-shirt on and your jeans were so low I knew you weren’t wearing anything under em’… I wanted you to fuck me so bad , Sam, right then and there on the machines. Drag down my leggings and just wail on me…”

Sam’s patchy blush returned in full force. He ducked his head, huffed a breath in disbelief, and pretended he wasn’t entertaining the idea just as thoroughly. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you aren’t?” You snickered. You flopped backward, hair splayed out behind you and your hands lounging beside your face. “You can’t share a bed with me without practically shoving my hands down your pants, Sammy.”

“It was under my shirt,” he corrected, pinching the meat of your thigh where it was hooked around his. “And—it’s Sam .”

Even that felt shamefully good. You ground into the touch and played up an erotic moan for him, and of course, grinned like an asshole the whole time. “Mmmn, Sam . You don’t know what it does t’ me when you get all demanding.”

Sam dragged in a deep, sucking breath through his nose that almost failed to keep his restraint in check. His palm passed over his bulge in thought, instantly loading you with a truckload of adrenaline. Jesus—like a dog with the dinner bell. Instead of giving up and drilling you into the seats like a part of you wanted right now , Sam’s hands nudged your thighs apart again, patient, and spread your pussy open with his thumbs.

“Jesus fuck , Sam,” you choked.

“You’re so pretty down here.” Sam sounded amused. He makes pretty sound like purty .

“Thank you,” you panted, and somehow kept yourself from shoving Sam’s face where he was staring. “Okay. Okay. When you’re… doing this for a girl—” Sam’s eyebrow raised. “When you’re eating me out, there’s a couple places where it’s gonna feel really good. Like really good. That’s where you need to aim. I know all the tricks, so listen closely.”

Sam nodded, 100% serious. Because of course he was. Your chest felt like it was stuffed full of whizzing sparklers when you held eye-contact, and they went off all at once when Sam neared his face to your sobbing core. Your breath stuttered in your lungs. You realized you couldn’t explain it well enough with words alone, so you brought your hand off the seat and slid it between your legs. A pleased sound jumped out of Sam’s throat. And shit, did all that attention—your finger sliding over yourself, Sam’s thumbs parting you for him to see, and his focus rapt on your cunt—feel fucking great .

Wetting your lips and bracing yourself, you shyly found Sam’s thumb and pressed the blunt of it against your clit. “Right— oh , right here,” you panted.

You guided him around each part, explaining to him through clenched teeth and a little bit of humor. Sam was nothing but a devout student. You couldn’t lie to yourself: it drove you fucking insane, how dedicated Sam was to knowing how to make you feel good. It was so strange but so him—his brow furrowed and his eyes sharpened the way they always did when he was truly absorbing something, listening to you walk him through licking you open. He hung on your every word, storing the knowledge beside his laundry list of demonic omens or hexbag herbs. You were crazy for him. He was crazy.

“...and brace your hand right here when you’re ready.” You modeled for him where to place his palm, right on the height of your pelvic bone. “I might wiggle around, so you might have to—”

Sam was way ahead of you. He snuggled up between your legs, saddled the one closest to the backrest over his shoulder, and hugged that thigh against him. Then the whole breadth of his left palm clamped down on your twitching belly exactly where you’d directed, pinning you to the spot. You yelped. Sam’s smoldering cheek smushed into your inner thigh, and he simpered at you from his new comfortable nest. He blinked slowly on purpose, a cat expressing its love. After all the filth that you’d heard from him, nothing could change your mind that he was the sweetest, most basic definition of goodness there was.

Sam watched you with hungry, devouring eyes, and felt lust pulse in his cock when you smirked down at him. Your dark eyes glittered with challenge and fondness. “Samuel…” you warned.

“Shh,” he said, and did what he’d always wanted to do.

The first kiss of Sam’s mouth to your weeping pussy is… it is…

Your entire body pulls together, thread pulling two pieces of cloth into a single seam, toes curling, fingers knotting, jaw dropped, belly twitching, and back snapping up. The slow open-mouthed kiss finds a little suction around your clit, flooding Sam’s tongue for the first time. He basks in you—in your taste, your reaction. An onslaught of pure enjoyment envelops him, drinking you down. Sam’s brows furrowed up in ecstasy, and the bastard actually grinned into your cunt, satisfaction pouring off him in waves. You watched him and those low eyes watched you, already spellbound. This strange brand of utter happiness consumed his gaze, devouring you with his eyes—and you realize with burning heat crawling up your body that Sam just loved to watch you. He wanted to watch you squirm and twist up into him. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, just so he could feel the effect he had on you in real time. Your pussy sobs in bliss, pulsing and pulsing under painfully soft kisses.

“No wonder you’re so wet,” Sam rasps, “you’re already close, aren’t you?”

You conceded with a pathetic nod, breathing hard.

“All this just from blowing me…” Sam smirks.

That smirk opens up, and so do you—two licks and you’re his, all his, giving yourself over to him completely. Sam accepts you at his own pace. The abused blunts of his free fingertips just barely ghost over your open, trembling thigh, bewitching every cell in your legs. Somehow, the lighter he pets you the more intensely you feel it. Perfect ghostly tingles sizzle hot under your skin—the flesh of your pelvic bone, your core, following Sam’s touch. He’s examining you. Feeling you out. You realize that nobody’s taught him how to activate that sensory secret, so Sam is doing it purely because he wants to.

There’s a dim thought in your mind that the backseat of the Impala is pretty cramped with Sam bent over you like this, so you try to squirm back to give his poor legs some room. Your head doesn’t even glimpse the armrest. There’s a flash of vieny hands and a black jelly bracelet, then you’re ripped forward by both thighs down into Sam’s blazing hot mouth again.

“Sam!” You squeal a laugh. “Haha—ah, oh… ”

Sam remained devoted to your clit, kissing it with the same passion he kissed you. At first he seemed hesitant to go where his intuition was taking him, but you’d made it more than clear that his intuition could fuck you six ways to Sunday if he wanted, so Sam went with his gut. Now, with both of your thighs wrapped around his head, he was truly in his happy place.

Letting his mouth slip open, Sam splayed his tongue and shook his face back and forth between your legs. Your moans were helplessly involuntary. The sight of him alone was enough to make you question how real this was, but the pulses of slippery pressure surging up your cunt confirmed it. Some creature on your last hunt hadn’t missed their chance—meaning this, your highlight reel of reserve Sam fantasies, was your heaven. Sounded about right. You dragged your heavy head off the seat long enough to look at him, only to clench so hard that even Sam felt it. He beamed. Fuck, he was gorgeous. And Sam only looked prettier with your slick drooling down his chin like that.

He was so fucking good. So good. Inexperience be damned, this boy could fucking eat . Even better, he fucked you into a nice, warm, sloppy mess and gorged blatantly on the sight of you the whole time. 

When you mewled and begged, when your back cinched up, when your breasts rolled with your heaving breaths, Sam drunk you in. You were so sweaty that the two of you were sliding on the seats and you probably looked as pleasantly manhandled as you felt, but Sam loved it. Craved it. His eyes were glittering black slits beneath his bangs, just rushing with lust and overwhelming devotion. Laying in that backseat, you were the hottest woman alive—a statue of Venus come to life, plush, naked skin and all—because it was written all over Sam’s taste-drunk face. 

You couldn’t resist stroking your fingers through his sweaty, rain-curled hair, and Sam followed the motion to push a tender kiss into your clit.

Again, his strong, worn hands slid down to cup around the round bottom of your thighs so he could spread you with his thumbs. Sam made a gratified sound in the back of his throat. For a long time he just stared down at your open folds framed by his thick fingers, watching his spit sink into you and getting redder and redder by the second. This was what you meant, thinking his inexperience added something special to this. He had so little reference for what to do, so he acted on craving and instinct alone. And if his instinct was to slot his tongue into you and moan loud enough to shake the car at your taste, then… well…

“Soaking,” he muttered. Sam’s low, dark eyes glittered up at you, “You loved blowing me, didn't you?”

“I do,” you panted.

Sam brought your knees around the back of his head, then rasped: “Tell me how much.”

Perv. You tried to come up with something to say. Something more sexy than revealing, but it was impossible to think, breathe, or talk when Sam started flickering the tip of his tongue over your clit until his jaw was sore. What drools out of your mouth ends up sounding needy and clingy and possessive:

“I love sucking your dick, baby. F-felt so good… so good and big filling up my mouth, pressing into my cheeks… Chokin’ and gaggin’ on it… God. Fucking fuck , Sammy—”

He pinches both your thighs in one mean singe, but his eyes gleam with playfulness.

“— Sam! ” You correct yourself.

Satisfied, he resumes, nudging the long point of his nose into you just for the fun of it. Sam keeps tossing his head back and forth to feel your thighs around his face, and more than once he uses you as earmuffs to thrive in the crushing softness. You know Sam isn’t trying to coax any confessions out of you. All he wants is to make you feel good. But love glows from his eyes and his mouth and his hands. Sam full-on snarls with relish when you squeeze your knees and ankles together behind his head, so he could get anything out of you right now. All he’d have to do is ask: and you would answer in a heartbeat.

“I’m so… oh, fuck fuck fuck—m’ so happy m’ the only girl who’s blown you, Sam… I wanna be the only girl, I wanna be your only girl…”

Sam’s mouth pops off you in shock. He’s the prettiest silhouette, all gleaming spit-white outlines and red-patched shadows. Real horror drops like a rock into your stomach. Shit. You’d read into all of this wrong. Sam just wanted someone he could trust to do this for him, not some idiot crying over him for closeness.

He catches his breath.

“You can be,” Sam croaks, sweetly. “Y-you are.”

Happiness explodes in your chest, but you don’t trust it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees. He slides up your body all of a sudden, long limbs and bull-wide chest coming to hang over you. A big, dimply smile smushes into your cheek. “You’re my girl.”

Just like that. Oh my fucking god.

“I’m your girl?” You repeat, feeling stupid and crazily, madly, obsessively, fatally in love with him at the same time. He’s sober. He’s saying it to you like he means it. Definitely a heaven fantasy.

“Not like… you know. Mine . I don’t own you,” Sam flushes into your neck. He’s so shy . “But. Yeah, mine. My girl. If you… want that.”

You feel the dark car get darker, bathed in quiet, sacred night, so all you have left to see him by is your hands. Sam is miles of smooth, warm skin that smells of a buttery home that nobody could ever take from you. When you relax your legs by his hips and hug him against you, Sam drizzles himself over you like oil in a hot pan. He’s careful not to hurt you so the weight is nothing but good. You both linger there, pressing the tension and anxiety out of each other. His hard-on is trapped between your hips and his jeans, but instead of it being just arousing, there’s an element of plain intimacy there that you suddenly love. Sam’s close to you and you’re close to him. Maybe you’re as touch-starved as he is, because you’re just as quick to slide your naked belly flat to his and get your hands on him. It’s hard to pet someone all over and hide how in love with them you are at the same time, and you’re plain awful at it. Sam too.

“M’ all yours,” you find yourself saying, in disbelief. “You know that.”

Sam does that little breathless laugh you’re pretty sure you’re gonna hear a million times in those seven minutes before you die. He makes a soft rumbling sound as he rises onto all fours again, flushing all the blood in your body back between your legs. The blunt pad of his thumb brushes down to stir your clit, so you’re already pliant and boneless for him when Sam melts down to kiss your whining mouth. It’s a soft and open and wanting kiss, like usual, but you both linger in it for so long that it feels like the first time all over again.

You come out of the kiss giddy, over-teased, and flustered beyond your wildest imagination, so you blurt the first obscene thought that comes to mind. Just to throw him off, per routine.

Pushing your hips into his agonizingly slow touch, you purr, “You gonna fuck me, Sam?”

Sam blinks down at you, serene, and doesn’t change pace. He keeps one lazy hand attending to your sobbing, desperate clit. “Mn-mn,” he shakes his head, and there it is—the patented Winchester panty-dropping smirk, 100% effectiveness guaranteed. “I’m gonna make love to you.”

It is embarrassing enough how hard you throb at a promise so sentimental, so it’s downright mortifying that molten-hot butterflies explode through your crush-pumped body at the sureness in Sam’s face. Not fuck. He’s not going to fuck you—it’s clear in his eyes and the slow circle of his thumb how all that’s for later. Sam’s going to make love to you, because apparently he’s from the fucking fifties, and oh my god, he’s in love with you and he actually means it and you’ve been stupidly calling all of this a game.

Shyer than you’d ever been in your life, you murmured around a cheek-aching smile, “...I think I really want that.”

“So she can be shy with me.”

You gave his shoulder a playful little smack, which just spurs Sam into giving you the hottest, smuggest glare he can manage. With his big, rough thumb keeping you sensitive literally anything he does is fuckin’ life-alert worthy. It’s almost getting to be too much, and it shows in how you squirm into his hand harder than before. Sam coos.

“You’ll have to wait a bit to have me that way,” he apologizes, like that’s something to apologize for. “I still want you on my face.”

“M’ not gonna make it,” you swallow. Just the coarseness of his voice brings you closer. “Sam. It feels—nnngh. I-I’m not gonna…”

“Then I’ll make you cum twice,” he says, simply, and how were girls not crawling all fucking over him everywhere you went?

Sam replaces his thumb with his mouth, but not before sucking off your wetness like it’s melted ice cream. He is full of millions of these soft, tender, greedy urges he’s all too eager to chase, and it is stupid-hot.

Sam indulged one of those urges, pulling your folds open with his thumbs and filling them with his tongue. You shrieked. A happy hum sighed out of him. He was an excellent kisser, but, like always, he was even better for you, slurping and licking until you’re lightheaded. The delicious tension in your body ratcheted up and up toward that white-hot end, tearing straight for it on rumbling racecar wheels. Sam drew circles around your pulsing clit with his velvet tongue, then surged it hard into your weeping center, satisfying, for just an instant, the unforgiving emptiness there. Shit. Now he really knew where you wanted him. A long, savage whine hissed out of you. Fucking hell.

“Oh my god, please , Sam. More, please please please. Fucking—”

Your toes curled into Sam’s bow-taut back. He smushed himself in even harder, nuzzling his nose into you, stirring the bulb around your clit and god , tongue-fucking you in earnest. It was—holy shit, holy fucking shit, you couldn’t even think. All your body knew was open: your legs, for Sam, your body, for Sam, and your pride. You wailed and sobbed like no other man had ever made you before, reduced to shameless pleasure-drowned scraps. Every fiber of your useless, pliant form was heaved toward the center of the universe where your body met his, the black hole, the singularity, back bent, toes and fingers curled to a snapping point, Sam’s mouth oh god his fucking mouth —

“Tell me you’re mine,” Sam begged, licking and licking and licking until you couldn't think, “ Tell me .”

“I’m yours Sam m’ all yours m’ all fuckin’ yours—”

You were his. You came in great, crashing, seizing waves that rippled hot and harmoniously through your entire body, from the curled tips of your toes to your tingling scalp, so intensely—because you were Sam’s, Sam wanted you, he loved you—that you felt dangled over the most thrilling brink of your life. You’d cum enough times in your life to know it wasn’t possible to feel this good—slippery velvet heat good, oh god his mouth good—so it had to be some kind of magic, something close to death, to heaven, and Sam had killed you. If that was what was happening outside the planet-wide fireworks show sizzling and popping behind your closed eyes, you’d have everything you’d ever wanted and more. Sam keeps lapping between your legs a-and what a way to go it is, because you know, instantly, that no other man could even nudge you in the direction of the orgasm Sam had just brought you through. No one else could ever compare. The moment when it all will slow, you’re sure that you’re never going to be the same person again. You’re his. The words sing through your whole fizzing, flashing spirit.

After what felt like hours of delicious, mind-blowing, heart-stealing pleasure, you curled back into the ice-cold relief of the Impala’s leather and gasped for your life.

Sam was still going. His tongue never stopped, scooping in to taste the fruit of his labor. He slurped your orgasm down like he’d been chasing your peak just as fervently as you had, like it was his favorite part of his fantasies and the real slippery wetness of it was a million times better. You keened. Sam persisted. You squirmed away, groaning at the overload of soft tongue and deep hot breaths on your core. Your sex wept for mercy. Sam had reduced you to a weeping, twitching, floundering mess, yet he still wanted more—and you were dying to give it to him, but it was too much to o much too m—

“Sam,” you choked.

It took a push to the face to get through to him, and even then, Sam retreated with a soft mournful sigh. Jesus. He was obsessed with you. You wanted this, him, the aftertaste of him in your mouth, to never fade. So the feeling is definitely mutual.

The air in the Impala cloyed with sticky sweet warmth, coating the windows and the seat with the smell of you and him. Your throat ached from hoarse moaning. Slowly, your soul started to sink back into your body, reminding you again of your situation. A tacky layer of sweat clung to your skin. Your toes and your belly and the muscles of your legs were raw from clenching so hard, and Sam was blowing hot breaths across your tummy as he gathered himself. His damp hair tickled your hip and jesus , your slick was all over his face, smeared down his chin and his nose and his lips most of all. You realized that happy tears had made tracks down your temples. Sam must’ve realized this too, because he rushed to peel himself off your soaked and sticky inner thigh to scoop you up.

“Honey…” he cooed.

You reached out for him and Sam lifted you up himself, completely changing the bloodflow in your body by seating you on his lap. His whole figure was blazing hot, and watching you cum because of him was definitely not helping him cool off. It was an emotional orgasm as much as it was a physical one, so nothing stopped you from rolling your fingers through his floppy bangs or burning kisses into his grin or digging your nails into his firm back. You could feel the raised scratch marks there, bright red and drawn like wing scars down his shoulder-blades. His skin felt ridiculously nice smushed around your own, and Sam was so big and huggable that you disappear in his arms.

“You did so good , Sam,” you croaked, and didn’t bother to wait until you’re not kissing him to talk. “So good. So fuckin’ good. Never came fucking harder in my entire life —” you seared a kiss into his pink mouth, “—holy—” another, “—fucking—” and a third, even deeper, “—shit.”

Sam met you halfway for each, but the moment your assault was over, one big hand supported your jaw as he plants a sweet, slow, sappy one on you that makes you wonder just how necessary condoms are, anyway. He’s laughing to himself the whole time, gleaming with mole-speckled pride.

Draped in his arms like a damsel, you drawled, “You’re a damn natural.”

“You know that after one round?” Sam smirked. He was all too aware that his lips were all glossy from tongue-fucking you, and he licked them without shame when he offered, “I dunno. Maybe I should give it a second go, just to be sure. What do you think?”

Your pussy is raw with millions of zinging overstimulated pulses, but the question buries you under a cement truck’s worth of pure want. 

“...Mmm, I guess you’re right. Better get a bigger testing pool here, Sammy.”

The force of your high is still pulsing in your core, so when Sam growls at you through a laugh, bangs astray, drops onto his back and snaps those man-paws you love around your waist, you throb hard enough to stop your heart. Sam’s hands are beautiful and sinewy in all the right ways, so you can’t help but submit when they, coupled with Sam’s arms, bodily haul you onto his face. You pant, giggle, and try not to crash face-first through the window by catching yourself on the armrest. Sam helps to brace you with a hand curled around your hip and another surged up the flat of your back.

Your thighs aren’t even settled on your calves when his tongue slips into the clutch of your pussy again. The squeal that shocks out of you makes Sam chuckle. (Which you feel up close and personal). His first suckling kisses are so perfect, you swear you could split the leather armrest with your nails. Tense overstimulation ratchets your cramped limbs to a snapping point, until Sam’s insistent lapping draws you… slowly… into rampant pleasure. Your joints melt into the inside-going-out burn just under your skin. All your worries about choking him dissolve like salt into water; the next rapid flicks of his tongue underline in red, please don’t be gentle .

And fuck, does he look sexy suffocated by your cunt like that. Your thighs swell around his face so prettily, and he’s already so invested that you can’t see his mouth or nose—just feel them all wedged up against you. He closes his eyes to savor that first taste of you again, giving you a flash of soft dark lashes on cheeks flushed hot enough to melt ice. His happy groan vibrates right to your core. Sam is already intimately educated in ways to drive you crazy, so he returns to them straight away. He licks you soft between your folds then darts his tongue hard into your center. If he wants to make you gasp a certain way, he knows where to lay open-mouthed kisses. But above all else, Sam fucks your clit good and sloppy, whorling and flicking his tongue in all the right ways. There's a dim, pussy-throbbing idea in your mind that if this is Sam on round two, you hope you survive this to see round fifty. Or round one hundred. Fuck. You were his.

Silently, you pray to the universe that someone won’t walk past and think you’re being murdered. Heavenly, loudly, hands-to-the-glass murdered.

You burst into tears, it’s so hot all at once. There are big hands kneading you all over and lips sealing warm and familiar around your clit right away—it’s fucking maddening. Dots start to fuzz in the ends of your vision.

Hoarse, you plead, “H-holy, holy fuck, Sammy, please.”

“So sensitive for me,” he hushes. It’s more than true; he parts your soaking folds with one big lave of his tongue, instantly making you sob.

When you’re not being eaten out like a four-course meal, you’re a tough, unshakable hunter, so all this whining desperation makes you yearn for a bit of leverage. Scrambling for something to say that will affect Sam how he’s affecting you, you hiss through a sultry moan and look him straight in the eyes: “Imagine how sensitive I'll be on your cock, Sam.”

Sam smiles dirtily. “I have been.”

An unbidden mewl seeps from your mouth just hearing that, confirming, once and for all, that you’re done for. It's half a moan of pleasure and half a moan of indignation. Of course Sam is better at this than you already. Of course he, of all people, can make you miserably horny with just one sly smile. Fuck him. Hopefully.

For your own survival, your brain filters out everything but him for just an instant. Your own fiery arousal fades to background noise, so you’re left swamped by the sight of him, lips puffy from kissing, his chin glittering, his brow furrowed into cute little creases, the light playing on the low slits of his green-brown-whiskey eyes. Nothing but bliss glowed from his face. Two coarse palms surge down on your trembling hips, pushing your pussy onto Sam’s velvet-wet mouth. You couldn’t escape if you wanted to. He has to be an angel, because these feelings gushing from your vessel are too good to contain or understand.

It was so fucking much but somehow, to your most primal instincts, it’s not enough. Dire need exploded through your every pore. You forgot about holding yourself up straight and root both hands into Sam’s thick, sweaty hair, flushing your blazing cheek and nose against the cold window in the process. Hoarse, ragged moans poured from your mouth. The instant you started to roll across his face, a harsh, lewd noise escaped Sam and he followed those magnificent instincts straight to your next climax. His lips parted and then his whole mouth splayed open, giving you something to rock properly against. Take it, his eyes urged. Take what you want from me.

You do. You roll and grind on his tongue until your pulse is throbbing in your cheeks and echoing in your ears, until Sam’s fingers are bruising your thighs, until he’s just as wild-eyed and lust-crazed as you are, chasing the circle of your hips. Looking down, all the pictures and white noise floating around your mind coalesce into the realization that you’re riding Sam Winchester’s face. A flood of heat burns through your sopping core. If he’d made a mess of you before, then you made the same of him now, your bodies meeting with obscene shlicks and slurps that Sam revels in. He groans like an animal with each slide, only adding to the filthy music.

“ C’mon,” Sam swallows.

The next peak comes even faster than the last, slamming your accelerator hard, tearing faster, faster, faster through you, the dial inside you climbing higher with every mewling breath. And just like before, you’re brought to a place that no other man could even hope to take you. Your sobs were interrupted by a sharp gasp of pleasure. Sam is big, safe, enveloping arms and loving hands and fuck—fucking hell, that perfect tongue, just as wet as your sex, flickering so fast over your clit you swear he’s vibrating. Y-you can’t… god, you can’t even think. You’re so close, so close—so close for Sam, fucking fuck—

“—am Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam please please Sam please— ”

Just as that thrilling rush of throbbing, ecstatic pressure punches through you, Sam takes over, riding you through it. He coasts your hips over his face, sealing his mouth around you and just going for it. Your mind—explodes, just as sweetly as the first time. It does always feel like the first time with him. With Sam taking care of you, your hands scramble for purchase on the sex-fogged window but miss terribly and you end up flushed to it by the forearms, huffing brainless, helpless, wordless nothings into the glass. Your thighs quake, your toes curl, your hips ache, every molecule of tissue in your feeble body surged toward him in ecstasy. Perfect rippling pulses hammered between your legs. You were there.

“Sam,” you sobbed, “Oh god, Sam.”

You came with a voiceless wail. Sam was still his insatiable self, drinking up your slick until you’re squirming and spent. He learned to let you go eventually, as much as it dissapointed him. When he does you feel the outline of huge handprints bruised into your hips, and combined with everything else, with the sticky spit in the creases of your thighs, with being in love with him, you knew if you looked him in the eye right then you could cum all over again.

You do anyway. Sam is already smiling up at you, sex-dazed and shining with spit. There’s so much of it—that special concoction of your slick and his saliva—that it drools down his neck and glitters on his cheeks. He sucks your taste off his swollen lip like it’s the last cool drink of water he’ll ever have. Your fingers had made his hair into a crazy, sultry mess, and behind his bangs, his dark eyes are charged with something hot and powerful. To make matters worse, Sam knows how devastatingly sexy he looks. Between sharp gasps for air, he swirls his tongue across his chin to get another taste of you, and when you’re sitting thick and good in his mouth, the fucker grins. A sly, unsubtle grin. This is everything he’d ever fantasized about.

He’s gonna be the fucking end of you. God.

“You did so good,” Sam murmurs, like you’d been the one to dig in and do all the intense, mind-whiting work. He swallows. ‘Cause he’s only on round two, and nothing in this world could slow Sam Winchester down.

Holy fucking shit. You pressed your forearms into the stinging-cold window to remind yourself that all this was real, then made an attempt to roll off him. It ends before it even starts.

Sam, your quick study, realizes that he’s fucked your legs numb, and helps you unsaddle his face—not before stealing one last kiss between your legs, though. A thready cry squeaks out of you. He coos you through it, and knowing Sam, he is more than willing to have you again, so you’re only half-surprised when he guides you to lay down beside him instead. Big, sweet hands thread through your hair. Sam’s sex-rasped voice satisfies the greatest itch in your mind, and you can hear it through his chest where your cheek is lazily smushed on his skin. Without looking you know that those lanky legs are bent up uncomfortably against the opposite door, so you scooch up and roll Sam onto his side to face you. Because he’s still sensitive, considerate Sam, who can apparently eat pussy for ages, he tries not to suffocate you between him and the seat. You really want him to. After a bit of lazy adjusting and prying your hot skin off the leather bench, you’re sandwiched happily just like that.

And while you’ve shared a bed with Sam before, not once had you even had a taste of what it’s like to snuggle with him. No gap is spared when he closes in, so you’re pressed together in every possible way—your belly against his toned stomach, your face into his cheek, your legs smoothed between his. There’s so much skin and muscle and Sam that you just drown in it. The best part of it is easily his arms. You don’t remember how Sam got one smushed around your head, but his bicep is the perfect pillow and his hand curls around to run his fingers down the side of your neck. His other arm has you in a comfortable vice, hooked around your waist, and for no reason at all his palm comes up to spread between your shoulder blades. Just one of his hands feels like it could cover your entire back. Fucked out as you are, just the notion makes your core feel tight and hot. 

Your first dose of clarity after Sam has tongue-fucked you into not one, but two full-body orgasms, drops the most glorious realization on you of all fucking time: all that? All, what? Two hours of being all over each other? That was just the fucking foreplay.

Into your cheek, Sam whispers, “Th’nk you. M’ real glad it was you, _____.” His whole body swells up with easy happiness, and he teases in a sigh, “My girl…”

Your mind floats back into your body as he says this to you, soft and loving in your ear. Sam keeps going, mumbling about how much he appreciates you, how grateful he is that you’re his first time, and all you can do to keep yourself from blurting out three dangerous words to him is kiss him. Sam moans. You get your fingers into his hair and sear your lips to his, over and over again until Sam’s tilting so far into it that he’s half on top of you. Each kiss is barely a kiss at all, open-mouthed and mostly tongue. It was your turn to be a quick study: when his need for air hits a breaking point, you let him go and drag your tongue from his chin to his jaw, tasting yourself on him with a giddy moan.

Sam stutters your name.

“Too fuckin’ good to me, sweetheart,” you curse, hoarse, “Can’t even—nngh, can’t even think, you made me cum so good.”

Sam hums. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. So fuckin’ good,” you repeat. Riding a wave of possessive desire, you plant a sloppy kiss on him and gush, “You’re all mine. Gonna hoard you like gold, Sammy.” Cupping his jaw in your palm, you hiss for the second time, “Wanna be the only girl you fuck like this,” you pop off his mouth to gasp, “wanna shout in the fuckin’ street that I took your virginity.”

He starts laughing, which dissolves into a deep, bassy moan when Sam meets your next kiss. Coy, he grumbles behind a smile, “Haven’t taken it yet.”

You slither the flats of your hands down on his chest, which is a bit of a squeeze, but feeling the heft of his pecs in each palm is easily worth it. “Then get on your damn back already so I can ride you til’ I pass out.”

Sam groans at the thought. “You’re so vulgar,” he blushes.

“Sammy,” you say near his face, smirking. “You’ve got no idea the kind of dirty shit I’m keeping myself from saying right now.”

His face makes an interesting journey from horny to hornier. “...Well. C’mon. Don’t leave it to my imagination.”

That invitation just begs for you to drool out every disconnected filthy thought you’ve ever had of him in the past year. A buzz of embarrassment seats itself in your gut, but it sits in the skyscraper shadow of your post-three-orgasm arousal, which conquers everything in a hundred-mile radius. You’re easily convinced.

“I’ve had the stupidest, biggest crush on you for the longest time, Sam,” you said. “And since you’ve got back from Stanford, s’ gotten a million times worse. Half the reason m’ so fuckin’ turned on right now is because this is you, not anyone else. Every time I’ve touched myself in the past year, I’ve thought of you, of that fuckin’ horsecock in your pants, of you splitting me open til’ I’m ruined for any other man. I wanna fuck you so hard that we break the shocks on the car and have to explain it to your brother. Wanna fuck you so hard we pass out. But the dumbest, hottest part of it all is that you don’t want to fuck me, you want to make love to me, and I’d totally let you just cause’ you’re you.”

He sucks in a breath.

Sam covers his face, eyes gleaming with love and boiling hot flattery,  “You’re—y-you’re shameless.”

You’re kissed so hard that you think you see stars. In agreement, you sigh, and Sam swallows that too, his kiss wet and devouring. “I love it,” he swears.

Sex should be a pretty passionate activity, but Sam turns it into something beyond. He reduces your body to it’s rawest, most honest instincts, so it’s more than easy to lay out all your feelings on a platter for him. A set of calloused fingers splay around the hinge of your jaw, and Sam’s thumb pushes up your chin so he can take his time with you. The jet-engine lust pumping into the kiss slows. He takes it somewhere else, somewhere you’ve never been with anyone before. Sam punctuates his ragged breathing with sweet, chaste kisses, dipping his head so your lips brush together feather-light, your noses bumping.

“In fact, ‘got a big crush on you too, pretty girl,” Sam husks. His fawn-brown eyes are blown black, like a doe’s. “...You wanna see what I do for the women I crush on?”

Your cheeks hurt from sly smiling. “Funny. You Winchesters think you’re so clever—” 

His hand scrambles across your back, cupping your ribs, then skipping all pretense and shooting straight for the bend of your knee. You assume he’s just aiming to get you closer when he needily jerks your leg over his hip—then the full shape of Sam’s thick, panty-dropping hard-on grinds between your legs, crystal-hard and eager in his boxers.

“Sam!” You squeal.

He’s harder than a guy has ever been for you, and so, so much bigger. Sam’s dick makes a huge, handsome outline in his ridiculously tight jeans.

“Can’t wait any longer,” Sam confesses, shaking all over with restraint, “want you—now. Right now. Please—_____—please please please—”

That desperate, gluttonous emptiness from before rules over you again, and your brain is so fucked out and needy and desperate already that just the thought rearranges the atoms in your body. Having Sam inside you. Before, it was just some fantasy—pasting a Sam mask over sensations that other people had given you. But Sam wasn’t the guy who’d taken your virginity or the others that’d followed. Regardless if it’s the same equation as always, it will be Sam pounding you into the seat and it’ll be Sam losing the rhythm of his thrusts as he cums inside you. He’ll make the prettiest noises buried in you to the hilt. He’ll fuck you—make love to you—good and right. The emptiness in your core is so all-consuming that your muscles twitch and tremble of their own accord, and only Sam, your Sam, could fix that.

The hand by your face gathers your hair out of your eyes and groups it in one fist, not quite pulling, but holding, as Sam starts to saw himself against you recklessly. “Can I?” He slathers your abused throat with kisses, “Please, _____ please can I—?”

“Fuck yes,” you gasp, sinking your nails into his shoulders. “Fuck me, Sammy, baby, god fucking drill me through the seat—”

“Show me how,” Sam demands, wiped of all shame, and holy mary mother of fucking god is it the sexiest thing he’s ever said.

You order him onto his back, and Sam, your dutiful student, immediately listens. He adjusts so his head is propped up on the armrest, reminding you of his fixation with watching you during sex. Each new thing you discover about Sam’s sexual tendencies flies straight into a special locker in your mind, safe where you can (hopefully) revisit them. He’s a whiny, noisy bed partner. His appetite for cunnilingus is bottomless. He feels even bigger than he looks, especially when you wobble up into a kneel on either side of his shuddering thighs.

“Gonna ride you,” you tell him, swallowing down the rush of drool that follows the idea. “You're gonna hold my hips to keep me steady, ‘kay? Pull n’ push with me.”

The thought of any pushing or pulling at all in your position makes something deep in your hollow gut blaze. Twitching with desire, Sam nods. His palms have this coarseness from labor that feels way too sexy on your waist.

Sam squirms under your shadow. His legs are too long to lay vertically along the seat, so they prop up a bit behind you to give your back a comfortable rest. Sam’s blush has graduated in rosy patches down his neck, and holy shit you’d almost forgotten about the freckles underneath. They’re sprinkled all around Sam’s big, trusting doe-eyes and spiral down the center seam of his body. If you think about Sam’s muscles—the miles of tension-squeezed abs and corded ribs, the… fuck, the heavy rise and fall of his pecs… and just… everything, you’ll probably forget a couple of important phone numbers. His chest is peppered with moles too. But in the process of riding his face and sucking his dick, you’d painted Sam’s whole torso with pinkened nail marks. They’re scratched down his abs and pressed in little crescents along his hips. His back being flat to the seat means nothing. Some of the lines there, the epicenter of your marks, creep over his shoulders. No wonder he looks so pleasantly lovesick. You’d really made it clear that he was yours.

He outlines one precious keepsake with his finger as you hang over him. It feels good, being in control again. You’d forgotten Sam was a virgin, since God didn’t give skilled mouths like his to just anybody.

Balancing yourself with a hand on the ceiling, you throw him your sexiest grin and wiggle your hips for him, “I look pretty like this?”

“As a picture,” Sam rasps, fondly.

“Hold that picture in your mind a second, then.”

Halfway between awkwardly bending over the front seat to dig around for the condoms Dean must keep in here, you realize how unsexy you probably look. Then one of Sam’s hands drops onto your thigh, lazily hooked around it for no reason other than to touch you, and you stop worrying altogether about any problem you've ever had.

“Holding…” Sam murmurs, tapping your leg.

After a bit of fishing around the glovebox, you uncover an untouched condom. You turn the wrapper over in your hand, checking it for punctures, and once you’re sure it’s safe, your libido shoves your brain aside and takes the wheel.

You could be sexy about it. You could pounce low on him, ass in the air, and take your time pulling his jeans off til’ he’s truly starving for it. But Sam already is—he’s so desperate to feel you that he keeps rasping it, over and over. Please _____ inside please please, he chokes. Hours and hours of his sweet soft pleading has made you just as rabid, so you tear the condom open with your teeth and jerk his jeans and boxers down in one tug. Your free hand is trembling so hard that you’re thankful Sam lifts his hips to help. His cock slips free and arcs up toward his navel. It’s flushed and handsome, just like before, and seeing it instantly makes the ache in your core fucking starve. The itch crawls within you, fierce with need.

Sam takes one look at you eyeing his cock like that and drags you down to steal a dizzying kiss. His hand covers the whole back of your neck. You get one deep, shattering taste of him before you’re reminded how insanely lucky you are.

“M’ not gonna last, seein’ you on me like this,” he warns the second his lips pop off yours, “Please, _____—”

“Shh, baby,” you soothe. Sam lets you push yourself up again. “Let me go first. I promise you’ll get your chance. Just enjoy yourself, huh?”

“Hard not to.”

Sam slumps back, relieved. His hands slump similarly on your thighs, wasted by exertion, but his eyes gleam with trust and humor and lust in ways that you’ll never forget. The familiar sparks of a Sam rush roll through you, happily married to feelings so new they’re still pounding hard through your chest. He’s gazing up at you and all you can think on loop is, I’m his girl. I’m his girl cause’ he wants me to be his, cause’ he’s thought about it before, wanted me before.

Your legs are jelly. But you’ve never needed anything more than you’ve needed him right now, so you haul yourself up onto your shuddering knees, notch the condom around Sam’s flushed head, and drag it down with you as you saddle him—

—filling yourself with Sam’s cock.

You’re so wet and so needy for him that you just slip right on, almost to the hilt. You settle on him completely when your fucking legs give out. Because. Holy shit. Holy fuck—fucking. God. Holy fucking shit.

Sam’s ragged chant of your name becomes a belly-deep groan. 

Stars spin behind your eyes. Jesus, it’s a stretch, but he more than prepared you for it. The pressure is too blinding for you to blink your spotting vision clear. You’re thrust full-throttle into your other senses instead, which are flooded with nothing but your singularity, the center of your universe, Sam, Sam, Sam. The burn of the first push is barely a thought in the sloppy pile of feelings, pictures, and undeniable want that he’s reduced your mind to. Fuck, does he fill you good. Fuckin’ perfectly. You think your weight drops all the way on his lap, but there’s so much to take that you can’t be sure. His breath catches. His hands claw, scratch, grope around for your hips. When he finds them, you’re ground down on him deep, and—and—gggoddd, that itch. A genuine wail sputters out of you. The spot deep within your core that’s been dying to be just fucking reamed explodes with slippery pleasure. And Sam is so absolutely massive that he brushes up into it with every breath, making you sob with want before either of you even moves.

You bite down on your knuckles, keening, “Sam.”

So full. So full of Sam’s cock. Holy fuck.

Below you Sam is flushed scarlet, his head lolled back, his dark lashes squeezed shut against every perfect rippling pulse squeezing around him. Rough gulps of air drain into his chest. You balance both palms flat to it and dizzily glance between you, where your cunt has greedily swallowed every inch of him you can get. The massive length of him looks like it's disappeared, but for… f-for you, fuck, it's done anything but, twitching in you and filling you snug as a glove. Smaller guys were usually easier to track inside you, so you figured it'd be twice that with someone as big as Sam. He'd be so big that you couldn't not feel every inch of him. Instead, you're turned into a star, a mess of heat and light and energy radiating around a single point too powerful to feel through mortal senses. There's no separation between what's you and what's him. He becomes you. 

Sam stares at the spot where you're stretched tight around him, transfixed and panting and hornier than he's ever been in his entire life. Gazing at him in a haze, you remember what you’d planned to do.

You could sit there until the car was rusted and the asphalt was gray instead of black, just breathing, and with every breath soaking up each twitch and flutter Sam gave you. He moans and shuffles his legs further apart like he’d kill for the same thing. But as fucking delectable as it would be to just grind yourself down on his willing cock forever, Sam deserves more than that his first time. If it was someone else in your position, you’d hope they’d give him a good time—but this responsibility was yours, and you were determined to prove that not one other person in the history of dick-riding could blow Sam’s mind like you could.

“Gonna move, Sammy,” you warn him, and he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even snipe at you for the nickname.

Squeezing him inside you, you caress the hands on your thighs and follow them down to Sam’s shoulders, really kneading him, feeling him, with your hands. The lightest of touches has him squirming with need, so a few piercing clenches one after the other makes him groan open-mouthed. It’s when you lean some of your weight onto your toes and tilt yourself off him that Sam’s breath stalls. He finds it again the moment you drop yourself back on those last few inches, gasping as you start a pattern. Elastic pleasure pools fiery-hot down your inner thighs. You could feel the rolling pulse of Sam's cock as you rocked on his lap, the throb of it filling your whole sparkling body.

Sam curses. “G’nna cum s’ deep inside you, baby…”

You don’t know how it’s possible for him to make you any wetter, but he manages it. Again, you see-saw off and on him, “—shit, s-so deep,” Sam snarls. His neck chords with handsome muscle. Slow pulls turn into rocks. “So deeeeep—”

The pleasure is incomprehensible, whiting out all other pitiful, useless sensations. There’s nothing else but him and his big hands on your back and the curve of his dick swelling thick and hard between your quaking legs. There’s a big difference between him and the other men you’ve had, and already you know exactly what it is—the feeling of him is going to sit hot and satisfied in your gut for damn weeks. Tomorrow you’re going to feel so thoroughly fucked and empty that you’ll never think of anything but Sam ever again. You bite down on your lip and add a little swish to the end of each bounce, and sure enough, Sam chokes on his last groan.

“You fill me up s’ good, Sammy,” you rasp, curling your fingers on his twitching stomach.

“Mm-mm. S’ you,” he echoes, swallowing, “god, s’ all you. Takin’ me perfect.”

He is so fucking wonderful. When you rake your palms down the soft yielding flesh of his middle, Sam’s head thrashes back and he clamps down hard on his tongue, whimpering and keening through his teeth. You get enough leverage on your hands to really start screwing yourself down on him, and every drive is a full-body taste of silky throbbing euphoria. There’s no plan beyond fucking him senseless, yet your hands and your mind are more connected than ever. Fuck, he’s perfect pinned down like that, your brain thinks. Your hands hear this and suddenly you’re pressing Sam’s wrists into the seat beside his head—

“Yes!” He squeals.

Over an hour of foreplay has rid Sam of his last shred of embarrassment. His face, upturned and so pretty that way, advertises a swath of open throat for your taking. His bangs are a sweaty mess all tangled up in his face too, but you can’t get your fingers through them without sacrificing the fuckin’ renaissance painting underneath you. He drapes himself out for you like a girl, his jaw slack and his wrists daintily posed beside his face. 

He is so, so generous and just as smart, since the second he realizes how you want him Sam gives you exactly that. 

His wrists pry free from yours with embarrassing ease. You don’t waste a second sealing the fingers of one hand around them both, and from there it’s just instinct to slam Sam’s bound hands overhead and kiss him stupid. His excited squeak melts from your crown to your toes, adding this electric edge to the mind-numbing heat exploding inside you. This is only the second time you’ve ever felt it, but Sam is long enough to jumpstart the sparkling glittering radiation feeling that makes your pussy see stars. The sharp percussive mewls jumping out of you spiral into something purely animal. When you finally get to brush back Sam’s rain-tangled hair, the dirtiest, happiest grin is waiting for you there.

“____—yes, yes oh my god  ____ yes —” Sam drawls between searing kisses. His head lolls at each vicious bounce.

“So noisy,” you grin.

Sam melts at this small praise, as well as your next kiss. “You like it,” he dizzily smiles.

Of course. Clenching on him hard, you drop into a few mean, fulfilling grinds and tease into his sensitive ear, “Love it when you won’t shut up, Sammy.”

Sam laughs, and despite your experience, you’ve never made a guy laugh during sex, so. Wow. You only have a bit to enjoy it before Sam’s getting his revenge. You feel him plant his heels in the door and then—oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, he’s slamming up into you, the huge line of his cock sawing without end against the spot tha—t-that… the spot… Your whole body explodes with happy flashes of light. It spurs from you the filthiest, most obscene kinds of moans a man has ever made you make, almost weeping for joy at the perfect velvety pressure flash-flooding your cunt.

“So noisy,” Sam husks back.

That’s the last thing he says for a while, because everything after that dissolves into delectable broken noise. Since he knows you love it so much, Sam chokes and moans until he’s out of breath and slack-jawed. His face fixes up like—well—like he’s being ridden all the way to Texas, sweaty temples lolling against his raised arms. You usually fixated on your partners during sex like this, but only because there wasn’t typically much on your end. Now there’s so much packed into every acute shift that you take it greedily by the handfuls. It’s the sloppiest, hottest, most delectable sex of your entire life. Sam’s brain apparently remains intact despite the nuclear meltdown sizzling through you both, because your low bounces start to be met by fierce upward twists of his hips. New colors join the stars spinning behind your eyes and your pussy throbs with new intensity.

“Mnmmn yes yes yes fucking yes—” you rattle in a sob.

And when your lungs are empty Sam’s still cork-screwing hard against that raw bundle of nerves inside you, stealing the rest of your breath so you’re left hanging there with your mouth open, thunderstruck. For a few breathless beats all you can hear is the percussive wet pull of him plunging into you. He seethes in absolute delight, back curling, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen Sam enjoy something that much. Somebody. You.

A few more heavy grinds and you know you’ll be done with. Your legs burn thigh-to-toe with weighty exhaustion, and even the sweaty muscles in your belly are knotted to a breaking point. Sam’s losing his patience. Most of his writhing is playful, until his wrists really start to twist in your grip for freedom. It would be easy to give Sam what he wants, especially when that means immediately being flipped over, spread apart and fucked senseless, but your tank’s not empty yet.

With the last of your strength, you slam Sam’s hips down onto the seat to keep him in place. (So full so full so fulllll.) A good rippling squeeze lets you feel just how deep he is. He’s not trapped a second before he’s trying to earn back enough room to meet you bounce for thrust. But, again, Sam is a damn genius. You sink him into a kiss that leaves your ribcage singing with love and stir your hips around his lap, murmuring between breaths, you’re perfect Sammy. Every starved inch of him calms for just a moment. When the tension roped in his wrists relaxes, you release them, and Sam melts into everything you give him: the slow, soft kissing, your hands caressing from his forearms to his triceps to his chest, and the heat of him radiating inside you in more ways than one.

On the next circle of your hips, you see it on the horizon: the finish line. Your whole body sings with the urge to fuck yourself on Sam til’ you’re spent, and orgasm number three has made your already thin self-control grow microscopic. Sam takes one look at you, crawling inside and out with fever, and asks to take over.

“Baby,” is all he says, pleading. His voice is so stringy with worn patience that it cracks.

“Yeah,” you rasp. “Please.”

On top of being beautiful and smart and patient, Sam is incredibly merciful. Instead of ruining your life by pulling out and leaving you empty as he fucks around positioning you, Sam sits up, shifts you into the safe bowl of his lap, and lays you both across the slick seat while you’re still connected. Then he does what your Sam apparently does best, and makes love to you.

There’s no shyness this time. Sam greets you with a happy, sloppy, moaning kiss that fills your gut like fire. He drapes over you like a new sky, too broad and big for his own damn good. Then he fills you like fire, until you're a pathetic, keening mess greedily writhing down on the cock you're already full of. Riding him had put into perspective just how long he is, while this position made it jaw-droppingly clear how thick. And vieny. And perfectly curved. One little jostle rubbed all the happy places in your pussy that made your brain melt out of your ears. Sam hasn't even started and the fabric of your reality is already twisting and unknotting. You're drooling and your hair is a nest and your lipgloss smeared off ages ago, dried on Sam's throat and probably Sam's dick, but you can't be bothered to care. One broad palm rakes soft down your belly. Sam coos as he pushes into you, murmuring apologies like you’re not spreading your legs for him as wide as they’ll go. He loves you.

“Always wanted this,” Sam prays, and decides at that moment, for no tactful reason, to start petting your swollen clit with his thumb. “Always wanted you.”

“Mmnn—mee too,” you hiccup. “Ssso muh—much, baby.”

The swath of hot-hot skin previously only available to your hands squishes you against the leather head-to-toe. Sam's arms tremble just trying to hold himself up on his hands, so he gives up all together and smushes himself all over you, especially where it really matters. His hips stir in and in and thank god they never stop. It's almost embarrassing how easily you disappear in Sam's shadow, until you think about it a little harder… get that image of yourself absolutely dwarfed by Sam's back, or Sam's hands, or Sam's fingers… Sam's huge cock… and suddenly... Something deeper than your gut tells you to dig your nails and knees into him for dear life, and that instinct finds its ground fast.

It only takes a few experimental drags for Sam and Sam's sexy ragged breathing to get you where you need to be. With his face nestled in your neck and the powerful line of his body curled over you, he has room to get a hand splayed on your bare thigh—pinning it back for himself—to fuck you honest. You think/hope/pray that Sam is winding up to do just that. He pulls out in a way that makes you both take in a breath, then sinks home with the kind of thorough, aching, agonizing focus that makes you sob openly in the backseat. Because he's well and truly evil he nuzzles in close to your neck with noisy kisses as he goes, and never once closes that perfect mouth.

“So tight,” Sam groans. “Take the whole thing so good,” he praises, genuinely impressed, and you can't help the tingly pride that sits hot in your gut when he says that.

“I do?” You ask, just because you're a cocky asshole.

Entertaining your cockiness, Sam thinks for a minute. “Yeah,” he breathes, then suddenly all that delicious heat sitting pretty inside of you draws out in one pull. Sam shushes your frustrated whining and drawls a single request: “Feel it again.”

At first you're not sure what he means, and no one can exactly blame you, since that's what Sam Winchester and three orgasms can do to the human psyche. He's also fucking pulled out of you, which you rightfully react to like he's just dropped you naked in the Australian wilds and flown off. You haven’t been lonely and empty for more than a second when Sam returns every inch he stole. His bulbous tip spoons through your folds, and everything after that is filling, surging, slick velvet heat so stellar your limbs go numb.

“Hah—ah—hoollee—holy shit,” you stammer.

“Feel it?” Sam hums.

Brain melted, you answer, “Feeeel—?”

“This, _____,” Sam replies, all sweet and patient.

Knowing exactly the kind of puddle he’s reducing you to, Sam does it again. He pulls out fast and sinkssss in, slow and hot while making all sorts of pretty sounds. This time he kisses you as he blows your mind. Considering how Sam’s already mastered staring hungrily at your cunt stretched tight around his base as he sinks in, it’s an uncoordinated kiss. All of his student ambition has been poured by the truckload into fucking you��and reminding you that he is.

“You n’ me,” he whispers, starry-eyed. “Perfect fit.”

In a daze, your hands clamber for something to cling to besides Sam’s poor, abused back. They end up smoothing soft and needily through his silky hair, so it’s a matter of circumstance when Sam starts pumping his hips and you pull so hard that he howls with pleasure. A very happy circumstance. 

Somehow, Sam is lucid enough to still be thinking about the how in all of this. He tests. Slow, stomach-deep, thorough thrusts that blend into wild snapping ones that jellify your surviving senses. Because he apparently doesn’t understand that fucked-out squeals of his name mean harder, Sam asks:

“Want me gentle?” He mumbles pretty against your cheek. “Or more?”

“Plea— please sah—Sammy,” you sob into his hair. “Please go harder. Hard s’ you want. Won’t hurt.”

“Mn—m’ not gonna—can’t hold—” Sam chokes, and whatever he’s trying to say dissolves when he shamelessly licks open your mouth. You’re lovingly kissed, put nose to nose with him, and made victim to Sam’s warm whiskey eyes—

—then you're fucked inside out.

Before you can even suck in a full breath, you’re being deliriously pounded into the trench you and Sam have dug into the seat. Viciously, beautifully pounded, too-good-to-make-noise pounded, arms-locked-still pounded, jaw dropped and toes curling. The kind of sex that’s born from years of wound-up, silent frustration that erupts all at once. Sam’s fingers curl into your thighs like he needs this. Every stroke is life or death, consuming him with an insatiable, maddening craving for more more baby closer s-squeeze me harder so fuckin' pretty n’ warm . Thready sobbing gasps punctuate each thrust, but you're too busy being disassembled atom by erotic atom to know if it's you or him. His dick starts to blaze deliciously hot inside you, closer, closer…

Sam’s teeth snap together. “Oh shit oh shit yes—can’t—get—enough a’ you.”

Your hands are jostled back down to his shoulders, and you feel like if you don’t hold on you might be drilled straight through the crust of the earth. The second you sink your nails into Sam’s back, that’s it. Something in him splits, then his hands are clamping down under your thighs and you’re being bent in half. Knees to your chest, hips curved up, pussy spread for him—everything. Every one of his breaths is coarse with a throaty whimper. He could’ve given out ages ago, but Sam just keeps going, hips pistoning, nails digging, until sweat is beading down his flushed neck and he’s panting with his tongue splayed like a dog. Your ass is going to be all sorts of colors tomorrow morning.

Of course, it’s when you can’t feel your legs and your blazing lungs stop working that the whole Impala starts to rock. The leather seat squeaks on beat and the carriage bounces harder and harder on its shocks. You swear the damn car’s going to flip when Sam’s thrusts stutter, losing their tempo. Sam twists his hand to get two fingers rubbing like lightning at your clit and you’re gone, too exhausted to do anything but cry, blissed-out tears pooling in your collarbones.

“Sammy please,” you weep.

He pants, “Gonna—gonna—”

You're pretty sure that's when the orgasms start. Maybe it’s not just one of them, but a million little zinging ones blending together in one deliciously long stroke. Slick is rolling down your ass and Sam’s cramping thighs, and his voice is muffled in your neck, cursing filthy half-words like he does in your fantasies. You melt helplessly at the seams through it all, clenching on him without end. Sam moans hoarsely through his broken voice and fills you for good. The last of his weight comes crashing down on top of you, beautifully squishing you between a swath of broad chest and the seat. Pinned down, fucked open, and flattened to the leather, you try to stay conscious as Sam’s climax wracks through his whole body—and yours, fused to him in a sloppy puppy-love kiss. Together, your finales hit a fever pitch too fantastic for mortal bodies to handle. It sings through you to him, where Sam’s skin meets your skin, his lips to your lips, the two of you ringing like bells until finally, finally, finally they coalesce into the same vibrating frequency. You’re him and he’s you and holy fuck, Sam Winchester just made stupid, crazy love to you. 

Two heaps of clay, you collapse into each other. Sam’s mussed hair tickles your neck where he’s gulping down deep, rattling breaths. It’s the first thing you notice when you regain your sense of what-fucking-dimension-am-I-in. Each filling inhale presses you down a little, and god should it not be as awesome as it feels. A couple more minutes and Sam could easily suffocate you, which is why you don’t move, content to die as you lived: utterly obsessed with him.

Somehow your brain is still capable of drawing connections to your body, because your fingers are curling into the soft tuft at the back of Sam’s neck of their own accord. An obscenely happy cocktail of endorphins throbs between your spent legs and swirls around in your brain, blissed out. 

Sam pets your waist with just the tips of his fingers. After a long, euphoric sigh, he murmurs with a dizzy smile, “How’s my girl?” 

You’re too out of your mind to speak. All you can think to do is throw your arms around his neck, and Sam, your genius, just gets it. With a lazy pull of his hips, his warmth leaves your very happy core. That itching sense of emptiness starts to ghost through your system the moment he’s gone, though, and you can’t help but sigh at yourself. This is not over. You’re never gonna get enough of him.

Sam handles the condom, then, to your delight, returns to his earlier spot cuddled up between your legs. This time, he’s brought blankets with him. In moments (that fly by even faster in your cum-drunkness), you’ve got a fluffy one propped up under your head and a big, warm body at your front, who squeezes you closer the same way he had before. Sam doesn’t wait a second to squirm his arms under and around you. He gets you all wrapped up in an cozy embrace, only to be consumed by cuddles himself. Greedy and unafraid, you haul the other blanket over you both and hug Sam tight enough to squeeze out a few giggles. 

“That was—” Sam starts, grinning all handsome and sleepy-like.

“Wait, shh,” you stop him. “You hear that?”

Sam tilts his head to listen. He studies you, intent, his whole face swimming with satisfaction. “Huh?”

You twist up in the mess of blankets to kiss Sam’s ear, snickering to yourself. “S’ your brother, revving a chainsaw,” you tell him, dryly, “cause’ he’s gonna fuckin’ kill us for doing this in his car.”

Sam’s eyes drifted peacefully shut. Since he is forever out to get you, one pretty hand of his smooths between your own. He confesses, grinning, “____. Not even that could ruin this for me right now.”

You can’t help it. He flushes your whole body with love in the dumbest way. In a moment of glorious, beautiful weakness, you brush the hair from Sam’s face and murmur, “Guess you are a quick study, then, Sammy, cause' that's how I've felt this whole time…”

-

taglist: @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel

[lil-sweater-slut]

How to make “(y/n)” into your actual name on websites

Ok so I’m not sure if everyone else already knew this and I’m just late to the party or something, but there’s a Google Chrome extension Word Replacer II that lets you set text replacements so specified strings of text on any website you visit will be automatically replaced, which is AWESOME for readers of “character x reader” fics because it lets you read this:

as this:

except with your actual name instead of (Y/N)/Jackrrabbit.

Here’s how to do it:

Keep reading

[lil-sweater-slut]

༉‧₊˚. 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 || 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

― pairing: sam winchester x plus size!reader

― summary: sam winchester was never comfortable with pda, but while on a hunt, sam is shaken with the harsh reality that he's needy, and the only person that can fix it was you.

― warnings: kissing, making out, dry humping, marking, teasing, needy sam winchester.

― wc: 1288

⋆ a/n: more old writing sigh, but i guess i can say i kind of like this one but i kinda didn't know a lot about sam's character when i wrote this because i was only in the earlier seasons then, but now since i've watched the show three times, i feel like i can say that i know his character like the back of my hand!

masterlist | AO3

You had no idea what was up with Sam that day, but he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. He wasn't usually a PDA type of person, opting to keep the kisses pg, meaning only cheek, temple, or forehead kisses. You had no problem with it, because if he wasn't comfortable with doing it out in the open or if he was afraid it would make him look unprofessional, you had no reason to try and push him to do anything he didn't want to.

When the affection happened in private, it just made it all the more special, both of your senses heightened and a lot more pleasurable when you two made love.

You never usually joined the brothers on hunts per Sam's request, only staying behind in the hotel room to offer some emotional support afterwards; but this time, you felt like going on an adventure. Dean was more than happy to humor you, but Sam was a bit more skeptical. He knew that you were your own person, that he truly had no say over what you did, so all the hunter asked was for you to stay close to him; easy enough, right?

At first it was a little difficult seeing how there were many places you three had to go, and it was giving Sam some anxiety, not only that, but he was feeling a type of way that he couldn't put his finger on. He thought it may have been is psychic abilities, but one touch from you and his skin lit on fire, he instantly knew that he was horny. When he got into your shared hotel bed together, his crotch pressed into you full rump, it took every bone in his body to not jump you right then and there, to keep his wondering hands placed tightly in yours.

You could sense something was off with your lovely boyfriend when you had gotten into the Impala, and instead of Sam sitting up front with his brother, he chose to sit in the back with you, one hand on your thigh. You found it a bit strange, but nonetheless welcomed the out of the blue affection. But you didn't welcome it when all of you split to go investigate different parts of an abandoned house, Sam hot on your heels.

As you were turned around, you felt Sam wrap his arms around your waist, his head buried in between your shoulder and your neck.

"Sam?" You questioned, the energy detecting device in your hand slowly lowering. He dragged his large hand down your fluffy stomach, resting it over the zipper of your pants. "Sammy?" You asked again, but this time your voice was higher pitched. He always acted this way when he was needy, but it was never out in the open like this, not when somebody could easily walk in and see your compromising decision.

"I just— I just want you so bad. . . I don't—" Sam rambled, pulling down the zipper of your fly. "You couldn't wait to do this?" You breathed, your head slightly tipping back. "Why did you think I picked the farthest room in the house?" Of course he lead you hear with an ulterior motive, why wouldn't he? He was smart, strategical, and you'd be lying if you said that you were tempted to give in.

"Sam, we can't, I'm sorry." Your hands fell over his sneaky one's, pulling your zipper back up and placing his hands back on your waist. He audibly groaned when you turned around threw your arms around his neck. His pupils were blown out, his expression was that of a kicked puppy. "Baby, you know that I want this as much as you do, I always will, but not in public." You sighed, pushing some of his hair out of his face. "I know. . . Can I— can I just kiss you?" He asked, his hands sliding lower before resting on the swell of your ass.

"Dean's gonna be real mad that we haven't got anything," You teased running your fingers through his hair, but you showed no hostility as his lips ghosted over yours. "It'll only be for a couple of minutes. . ." He mumbled, pressing his lips onto yours. It felt so great to kiss you, like your touch was slowly extinguishing the fire that had been burning in his stomach for the past two days. He couldn't help that his palms gripped your ass aggressively, rubbing you crotches together. You moaned quietly into his mouth, Sam hiking up your thigh so that he could get a better angle. His growing erection was pressed against your heated cunt, the friction driving both of you nuts.

"You said only kissing. . ." You breathed against his lips, arousal becoming more prominent in your panties. He only groaned in reply, his head tipping back so that his neck was exposed to you. You attached your lips onto is most sensitive spot located just under his ear, Sam bucking his hips against you. You were muting yourself by making marks that wouldn't easily be seen, but Sam was forced to bite his lower lip to silence himself. The worst part about doing this in not only a potentially haunted house, was that it was extremely empty, sound basically bouncing off the walls. You knew Dean would never allow Sam to live this down if he were to catch the two of you.

The tingling sensation of an orgasm was barely in your grasp, but it was enough to detach yourself from his neck and collarbones, only placing a kiss there which your lipstick left a mark.

"Sam, ____?" Dean called out. "You guys got anything?" Your eyes widened as you pushed Sam off of you, giving him a look of apology. "Uhh— no, there's nothing here!" You shouted back, licking your sleeve and wiping the makeup off his lips. "Alright well I explored all of downstairs and most of the upstairs and I got nothin', so I think we're done here." His voice was a bit closer, but now by a lot. "Okay! So are we gonna go?" You asked, straightening up Sam as he stood there with a stupid smile on his face. "Yeah! I'm goin' to be in the Impala, so you guys better hurry up!" He concluded, his voice growing fainter as he walked back down the stairs."Sam," You growled, "I'm going to kill you." You glared, now wiping off your lips for any smeared product.

"I'm sorry honey, I got a bit carried away." He apologized, but he didn't even sound remotely sorry. You just scoffed, grabbing your things with the intention of leaving. "Sure." He only laughed, following close next to you. "Don't act like you didn't like it," He teased. You only rolled your eyes, but it provoked a small grin on your lips. "Well I hope this'll sedate you until we get back home." You poked, both of you now walking down the old stairs. "Maybe, but seeing how your butt is looking in those jeans, I may be tempted to do it again." You groaned, "I'm going with Dean next time."

As you guys were about to get into the car, your eyes landed on your lipstick mark that you had placed on the side of Sam's neck. You felt your stomach fall into your ass but it was already too late, Sam had gotten into the front seat of the car while you got into the back anxiously. You watched Dean look at Sam's neck before smirking wolfishly, making eye contact with you in the rearview window.

"Looks like you guys got a lot of things done." He said, his voice full of amusement.

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[lil-sweater-slut]

ring ring

kinktober, day nineteen

a/n: this idea wasn’t originally for these two, but damn if it doesn’t fit super well 

summary: “you know, Sam is gonna notice if I’m gone for too long…”

warnings: bf!dean winchester x reader x sam winchester, smut, dubcon, established relationship, love triangle, phone sex, mutual masturbation, toys, dirty talk, having a huge crush on your boyfriend's brother, cheating, kissing, pussyjob, allusion to sex, slight orgasm denial, slight edging

word count: 2483

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Dean,” you raised your phone up to your ear and peeled your eyes away from the heavy tome cracked open on the table before you, “hi!”

“Hey beautiful,” his deep timbre rumbled warmly, “how’s it going over there?”

“Oh, you know,” you peeked over at Sam who glanced from his similarly hefty book, “slow,” you watched his eyes flicker back down to the page as he got the gist of the casual call, “it’s a lot of research to get through…” shooting your chair back, you stood up, absentmindedly pushing it back into place as you asked, “how about you? Are you still on the road?”

“Nope, I just got here a few hours ago,” your vision lingered on Sam’s long fingers as they ghosted their way down the page he was reading, “I was just about to go over and check the place out,” your teeth tensely seized your bottom lip as you slowly whirled around and took a few paces away. Picking up on your silence, Dean gently poked, “what?”

Hand apprehensively tapping against your thigh, you lowered your voice to admit, “I just don’t like the idea of you being all the way up there on your own…”

“I’m barely a day’s drive away,” you heard him let out a soft sigh. 

“But what if something happens?” your feet carried you out into the hallway, the younger Winchester still visible to your wandering eye.  

“Babe, I can take care of myself,” he pointed out with a small chuckle. 

“I know that…”

“I’ve checked out hundreds of things by myself, this time is no different, it’s just a little ghost, I’ll be fine,” he reassured you. Spine melting against one of the cool walls, you watched as Sam’s hazel glare locked on you as it so often did, effectively causing goosebumps to erupt, ones that didn’t fade in the slightest as Dean then cheekily enquired, “is it because I can’t take care of you from all the way up here?”

Breathy chuckle rolling off your lips, you averted your gaze and humoured him, “well you said it, not me.”

“Who says that I can’t?” you could practically hear the smug smirk through the phone. 

“Dean,” your head shook lightly from side to side.

Letting out a groan that made your cunt clench, “love it when you say my name…”

“I am supposed to be doing research,” a laugh bubbled out through your groan. 

“So, take a break.”

Casting one last glance back at the tall man sitting at the long table, you couldn’t help but give in with a playful, “I hate you.”

“Sure, you do,” he chuckled sarcastically as you scurried into your room just on the right, “was that the sound of a door closing?”

“It was,” you then purposefully flopped down on the mattress loud enough for the frame to creak, “and that was the sound of me laying down on my bed.”

“Atta girl,” he practically purred, “what are you wearing?”

“You are so cliché,” you giggled, staring up at the ceiling. 

“Oh, come on, you love it.”

Exhaling slowly, you counted, “t-shirt and a pair of jeans.”

Humming contently, you then heard him suggest, “why don’t you take those pants off for me?”

“You know, Sam is gonna notice if I’m gone for too long…”

“So? He doesn’t need you to babysit him. Just stop thinking about the research for a bit, just be here with me, relax, you clearly need it.” 

Exhaling slowly, you unbuttoned your trousers and wiggled them down your legs, “alright,” you kicked them to the floor at the foot of the bed, “they’re off.” 

“Are you touching yourself?” his deep voice tickled your ear and shot straight down to your core. 

“Not yet,” your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. 

“Good, don’t. Not until I tell you to, okay?” 

Halting your hand in its tracks, it clenched into a fist as you chuckled, “you’re such an ass.” 

“I know, but I’m an ass who can make you cum straight into next week,” he bragged as you reached up to readjust the pillows, mushing them perfectly under your head, “Y/n, relax, shut that beautiful brain of yours off a second and just do as I say, promise it’ll be worth it,” 

“Fine, I promise I won’t,” you exhaled with a light eye-roll, “are you touching yourself?” 

“Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?” you suddenly noticed how ragged his tone was, “I just have to think about you and I’m fucking throbbing, baby,” you heard him spit in his free palm before sloppy strokes began to echo through the receiver, a melody alone that made you note just how torturously the ache between your thighs was, “shit,” he groaned shamelessly, “I wish it was you touching me… you fucking playing with me, teasing the shit out of me like you do when you’re sitting on my face… leaking down on my tongue… creaming from just a little kiss…” 

Bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you breathed, “Dean…”

“You know what I was thinking about just before I called you?”

“What?” your airy answer rushed out quicker than you’d like. He certainly had you hooked now… 

“That time in the car…”

“Which one?” you let out a light laugh. 

“That first time in the car. You remember how impatient you were? Couldn’t even wait till we got back to the motel.”

“I wasn’t impatient,” you defended, “you were just a tease.” 

“I was a tease? You were the one who climbed into my seat.” 

“Well, you were the one who invited me into your seat.” 

“Yeah, I was,” you didn’t have to see his face to know the huge smirk that had bloomed, “but it worked, didn’t it? Your legs didn’t stop shaking till the next day…”

Eyes lightly rolling in your skull, you tried not to give him the satisfaction of knowing the immense power he had over you, “you will never let me down for that, will you?” 

“I still remember what it was like hearing you moan for the first time… shit,” he brazenly let you hear every last lavish jerk he let himself relish in, “it was so hard not to burst right then and there… I had never heard anything as hot as that before…”

“Dean…” you whined, hips gently rolling though not giving any relief whatsoever, “can I-… can I please touch myself?”

“Why?” he teased, not slowing his own pleasure down one bit, “is this turning you on? Are you getting wet for me?”

“Dean,” you sounded downright pathetic at this point. Yet another thing for the memory banks that he could mock you endlessly about. 

“You didn’t answer my question, sweetheart,” he croaked, “reach down and feel for me, but don’t play with yourself, just feel…”

“You are so mean…” you grumbled light-heartedly as you finally slipped your free fingers below the waist of your panties. 

“Is that a yes?” he challenged. 

“Yes, yes, I’m really fucking wet,” you admitted begrudgingly, nearly whimpering as you retracted your hand, a sinful sheen now glazing the skin. 

“Good,” he crooned conceitedly, “now lift up your shirt and play with those tits,” though it wasn’t the place you longed to caress, you still rushed to fulfil his request, “what I wouldn’t give to touch them right now…” your breathing grew more ragged as your hand switched from one to the other in a lewd little massage, “they’re so fucking perfect… so soft, so pretty,” you gave the pebbly nipple right above your heart a harsh pinch, just like how Dean’s greedy fingers liked to do it, “and when you’re lying on your back and I thrust up into you just right, the way that makes them jiggle?” your cunt clenched at the image, “fuck… hypnotize me, why don’t you? Call me your slave because I’ll follow you anywhere…” dizzying breathes flowing from your lips, your boyfriend was only silent a second, enjoying what little you gave him before he finally said, “hey, baby?” a fuzzy hum immediately rushing out of you, “be a good girl and play with that pretty little pussy for me, yeah? Make it feel real good…”

You might as well have been set aflame with turned on you were. It almost felt like you electrocuted yourself when you finally rubbed your aching clit. 

“Fuck, Dean!” your form thrashed atop the bed. 

“Lower the phone, sweetheart. Let me hear how wet that pussy is,” to which you briefly brought it down to catch more of the lewd soppy sounds echoing throughout the room with every needy caress, “christ, I wish I was there with you…”

Yanking your panties off completely, kicking them to the floor, you swiftly slid two fingers into your quivering hole, “I wish you were here too,” but the petiteness of your fingers caused you to let out a desperate whine, “fuck, Dean, I-…”

“What?” by the sound of his condescending tone it was obvious that he already knew the problem, “what’s wrong, baby?” 

“I feel so empty…” you nearly cried as your fingers pumped and pumped but just couldn’t get deep enough to scratch that itch. 

“Oh, are your pretty fingers not long enough? Not big enough to stretch that pussy out the way that she deserves, huh?”

“N-no.” 

Completely entranced by the melody his own efforts emitted, he promptly muttered, “do something for me then, yeah?”

“Huh?”

“Stop touching yourself.”

“What?” your movements slowed, but didn’t halt completely, “no, no!”

“Stop touching yourself and go get the toy in the bedside table,” painstakingly snatching your glistening digits back, you scurried over the mattress to the table on the right side. Ripping the drawer open, you couldn’t get your hands on the realistic-looking silicone fast enough, “you got it?”

“Yeah,” you crawled back to your previous spot and laid back down. 

“Good. Now give it a little kiss before letting your cunt feel it,” you brought the tip of the dildo up to your lips, giving it a gentle little lick before filling up your mouth more, “be nice, treat it like you’d treat me.” 

After releasing it from your peck with a pop, slobber clung to it as you lowered it down between your trembling thighs, “oh my god,” your eyes fluttered as you slid it inside, “Dean!” 

“That what you needed, babe?” you heard him chuckle. 

“Yes, fuck, it feels so good!” squeezing your eyes shut, you pumped it lavishly, “I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna last with this.”

“Hold on, just a little bit longer, can you do that for me?” 

“Dean,” your plea came out as a moan. 

“Fuck, you sound so hot,” he panted, “don’t cum yet, baby, not yet,” obviously being painfully close himself, “shit, I wish I could see you right now, laying there, in your bed, fucking yourself for me, dripping all over those sheets,” your nails dug into the flared base of the toy, “I can’t wait to get home, baby. Feel that pussy clench around my cock again, maybe even keep that dildo close by to plug up your other holes… fucking hell, you wanna cum with me?”

“Yes!” you cried out. 

“Then go ahead, be a good girl and cum all over that toy,” removing your grip on the silicone, you briefly drifted your fingers up to give your clit the attention it was screaming for. 

But just before you were about to dance your digits back down to give the toy one last pump, it began to move on its own. Snapping your eyes open, you saw none other than Sam, grip firm on the base as he ploughed the dildo in and out of you, giving you exactly what you needed, “oh my god,” your eyes grew wide as they locked with his, though your fingers couldn’t seem to quit their needy circles over your puffy pearl, “oh my god,” holding his piercing gaze, you tumbled over the edge, “fuck!” 

Hearing your boyfriend swiftly follow suit, you just kept blinking back at his brother as he slowly pulled the toy out of your clenching cunt, “fuck, that was so good, baby, shit, I came so much over here.”

“Mhm…” you distantly hummed, chest heaving as you watched Sam swipe a finger over the toy, collecting some of your juices before swiftly letting his tongue have a taste.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to get back home to you.”

“Y-yeah,” Sam’s eyes stayed locked with yours as he popped his finger back out, “me neither…”

“Just a day or so more and I’m all yours,” your hazy gaze fluttered down to spot Sam’s girth, freed and throbbing. 

“See you then,” you distantly spoke before hanging up and letting your phone drop to the mattress. 

Like a crack of thunder, before you even had time to register what it was that you were doing, the two of you clawed the other closer and locked your lips in a fevered kiss. Nails nearly digging through his clothes, it didn’t take long before your fingers enveloped Sam’s cock, the weight making your knees wobbly. 

 But just as quickly as you had collided like magnets, that’s how fast you pulled back again, “Sam-, shit…” palms planted on his chest, you shook your head in an effort to clear it, “this is bad, we can’t do this…”

“Don’t say that,” he plucked up your chin, “don’t fucking deny what’s going on between us, what’s been there since the very beginning.”

“But, what about-”

“I don’t give a shit about that,” both his hands came up to cup your face, “do you want me? Do you want me as much as I want you?” 

Blinking back at him, all you could do was wistfully tilt your head instead of uttering the truth, “Sam…”

“Because if you don’t, if you really don’t, then tell me to walk away and I will,” he slowly inched closer, a hand drifting down to grasp his cock to tease you with the tip that was already so desperately nudging against your core and getting soaked in your want, “tell me that you don’t want this, that you don’t want me…” he parted your petals with his dick, “tell me and I’ll go away…”

Breathlessly, blinking back into his dark gaze, instead of finding the words, you simply pulled him back in and gave him a kiss as confirmation.

A string of saliva still connecting your lips, his nose ghosted against yours as his teasing grew more confident, “you want it, huh? Tell me that you want me.”

“I want you,” you finally uttered after ages of suppressing the fevered desire. 

“Tell me again,” he nearly growled, catching your weeping hole at every electric flick through your folds. 

“I want you, please fuck me.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[lil-sweater-slut]

click - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (circa season 1) Tags/Warnings: cabin-in-the-woods moment, fluffy bestie banter, virgin reader, first time sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, and of course, Sam is a pussy god, as per usual. Word Count: ~20k (shhhh don't talk about it i have a problem) Notes: that's right, i make moodboards now bitches. these photos were collaged by my wonderful commissionee @daffodil-mania, who asked for: ""a reverse (you are a) natural, baby? where sam is the reader’s first time + a smutty cabin in the woods-type situation." Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

“Okay, okay,” you thought out loud, thinking hard, “my turn—if you could have anyone as a dinner guest, alive or dead, who’d you pick?”

A few paces ahead of you, Sam hummed in thought. His puffy winter coat made the outline of him against the swirling snow thicker, and if it was possible, taller, a menacing wall of deep blue between you and the woods. Something hiding out here and spying could even mistake Sam for something scary. Luckily, you weren’t that stupid.

Sam, for the millionth time in the last minute, checked that you were where you were supposed to be. (Two immediate steps behind him. Or he’d die). Looking back at you made the wind mess up his hair every time, and every time Sam tucked the same two strands behind his ears again. Like the shy girls in rom-coms did. Truly, monsters trembled at the sight of him.

He geeked at your question, but managed to play it cool: “Gandhi. Feel like he could teach me something. We’d probably like the same food, too, so it’d make for a good dinner.”

“Oh yeah, he was a vegetarian, right? You two could have a nerdy little salad together.”

Under the soft swell of the wind, you thought you heard Sam laugh, but it picked up in loud gusts at times that swirled skirts of untethered snow around your ankles. Well, your knees. The snow was tall enough here to seep into your boots. You’d given up totally on finding your own footing and started walking in Sam’s tracks, which were wider than yours almost all the way around. You told yourself that this was to confuse anyone tracking your prints in the snow, but really it was just fun to compare your shoe size to Sam’s. This set the walk back to the cabin at a snail’s pace. But with the way this conversation was going, you didn’t exactly mind freezing your ass off.

John had left his boys yet another unfinished hunt to distract them. Sam and Dean, tired of being distracted, changed tactics and split up. Dean was following a lead in Montana that could actually take him to John, and you and Sam were tying up John’s loose ends in upper Washington. The two of you had spent the last three days researching bloody disappearances in the area. An area in the thick of its snowiest, blurriest season, mind you, miles from anything but one of the Winchesters’ off-the-grid apocalypse shelters. This wasn’t how you and your mother had operated when you’d hunted together, but. Things changed. Parents disappeared.

Sam seemed to be shoving himself through John’s absence as best he could. You got smiles out of him here and there, but especially today, playing question games to pass the time mapping the woods and putting down traps.

“Gandhi was a fruitarian,” Sam clarified. He shielded his face from the snow by hiding in his collar, so you may have misheard when he added, “So, yeah. Him or my mom.”

Months ago, a mention of Sam’s mom would’ve shocked you into a full-on coma. He kept her memory even closer to his chest than Dean did, in some ways, and either brother even sneezing in the direction of their storied past had been a once-in-a-lifetime event. Before this hunt, that is. Now you couldn’t get Sam to shut up. Either the isolation had made him lonely or something else had pushed him to trust you, because the last two days had been spent this way—trudging through snow and spilling your guts about everything under the sun together. Sam loved to read and watch documentaries, he was fascinated by astronomy and meteorology and organized crime history and Native American folklore, and, hey, big surprise, reading. You’d never heard him talk about anything with so much passion. You hadn’t heard that passion in your own voice since before you’d lost your mom.

Still. As comfortable as you suddenly felt with Sam, you were sure to tread lightly. You risked a glimpse at his broad, snow-dusted back. “Mary would be nice too. Maybe you’d get to try some family recipe she’d make or something.”

“I think I remember my dad tellin’ me once that she hated cooking, actually, but m’ not sure,” Sam said, a bit of humor in his voice.

You thought of the soup Sam had turned to lava over the wood stove that morning, and grinned, “Yeah, I think you got that from her.”

Keeping casual eyes on your feet, you tried to see how fast you could get your boot through each foothold in the snow. Sam would make deep gouges in the powder with his longer strides. Crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch. You’d clear them three in a row, sometimes four, then stop short a step behind Sam and wait for him to make more tracks. Like hopscotch, almost. Every once in a while a huge gust of wind would force Sam to stop, and without a word he’d form a wall between you and the blast. You’d learned pretty much everything there was to know about Sam these last few days, but out of all his best dorky qualities his chivalry was your favorite.

“S’ not that I hate cookin’, I just suck attit.”

And the accent. The accent was gold, when the pretty drawl of it crept through with Sam’s boredom.

A little further and the spindly, snow-heavy trees parted for the lake you and Sam had been using to navigate. On your first day scouting you’d noticed how the icy surface had frozen like a misshapen heart, and since then Sam followed the point of it back to your cabin every night. Southeast of it was the abandoned mining facility that’d swallowed three people whole, and to its far right was where three more had disappeared. Your guess was a couple of territorial tree nymphs or werewolves, and Sam was betting on a Winter Hunger. The loser would take the first shift driving down to Montana.

Seeing the lake, Sam starts to arc your march around the edge, his sharp eyes on the treeline across the ice. The wind was stronger with room to run over the lake, but you reminded yourself that being a little cold was the gentlest way to die out here and forged ahead. Besides, most of your body had gone stark numb miles back. When you remembered how bad your cheeks were stinging, you’d bring your scarf tighter around your face and watch Sam, his long legs cutting easily through the snow.

The wind cooled down to a whisper. You reminded him, “Your turn.”

You’d reached a point where coming up with good questions had become harder than answering them, so Sam took a bit to stew on something good. There’d been a silent agreement on who was responsible for which kinds of asks. You would probe Sam with the deepest, most personal shit you could come up with, and after he explained what his life’s accomplishment was and what friendship means to him, Sam would go, uhhhh, what’s your favorite color? He was definitely the smartest shovel in the Winchester shed.

“How about this,” Sam cleared his throat. “Would you ever wanna be famous?”

You must’ve made a noise that gave away your surprise at the quality of his question, because he made a snooty sound back that had you seriously considering shoving him in the snow. You put your hands on his shoulders and everything, but where there should’ve been normal guy shoulders there were buff guy shoulders, which wouldn’t budge an inch. Sigh. What a lousy, muscly jackass.

Sam planted his feet, whining your name. “C’mon. Answer.”

“I’m thinking!” You laughed, and pushed with your legs until Sam tilted forward into his next step. It took a moment for you to keep your hands to yourself. “Okay. In this hypothetical world, what am I famous for?”

“Supermodel,” Sam answered right away.

You splashed a little snow at his jeans, deciding to save your funny feelings about his answer for later self-reflection. “Dude. Be realistic.”

At this, Sam snickered, and even with him facing forward you could imagine the dry sloping smile pressing into his dimples. “Okay—across the whole entire world, you’re famous for cooking the perfect soup in a can. Like, in ways no one can even imagine, that’s how good. You make millions of dollars off it and become a household name. Would you want that?”

“God, no,” you wuffed out, immediately sending Sam into a fit of giggles. “Are you kidding me? All those strangers knowing me, not giving me any privacy? And don’t even get me started on all those soup-hounds throwing themselves at me for my soup-money.”

“I guess that’s true. You could never marry for love, 'cause everybody would just want your soup,” Sam mourned. Another great Sam quality: he was excellent at going along with a bit. “You’d just have to live with brief soup-flings for the rest of your life.”

You thought about what a soup-fling could entail for all of one second, then burst out laughing, warm clouds of it spiraling into the air through your breath. The shoulders of Sam’s coat shook with glee. It was funny for a few more beats until it warmed into something that was light and airy, something you hadn’t heard from Sam since you’d met him. He had the sweetest laugh. It made your damn teeth rot.

“Y’know, speaking of flings,” you hollered over the hissing wind, “I have no idea how your brother does that shit.”

Dean was safe and familiar territory; he was the centerpiece of everything you had in common with Sam, so your conversation circled back to him plenty. Every conversation you’d had with Dean orbited around Sam some way, too, so you’d come to expect it. You’d never seen two brothers care about each other as much as they did. Which was hilarious, since the moment one of them got you alone all they did was bitch. Dean’s been driving me up the damn wall. Sam keeps stickin’ his nose in my business. Neither of them had ever had a trusted third set of eyes before, or at least one who understood that their complaints were overshadowed with love. John had been someone to look up to, to emulate and impress, but you were a fresh outlet available for family baggage. The boys were your outlet for bitching too, since it was understood that your bitching also came from the heart.

“A girl in every port sounds fun in theory, but I feel like I’d get sick of it fast,” you confessed.

The snow underfoot began to crunch harder with each step, packed down into a firm sheet. Soon Sam’s prints were so shallow that you could see the tips of your boots again. Taking the chance while you had it, you fought against the snow to walk side-by-side with him, then fought again to match him stride-for-stride. Sam’s poor face had been pounded with so much snow that his bangs were soaking wet, but he still managed a half-frozen smile seeing you next to him.

“And, I dunno. I think I care about hurting people’s feelings too much to just…” you gestured stiffly, “head to the next town after sharing a night with someone.”

“Same here,” Sam sighed, then gave a very subtle cough as a sign to shift gears: “But, uh, I think it’s kinda a stress relief thing for him.”

You probably should’ve guessed that Sam wasn’t the fling type, since you’d been there every time he’d shied away from Dean’s plans to pick up girls, but the idea… sat there. Staring at you. It’d be stupid-easy for Sam to live that lifestyle. Dean had his own notions about what girls were most into (bad boys, leather jackets, you know), but you happened to be certified in what girls were into, and you had it on good authority that Sam was a total dreamboat.

You nudged Sam with your shoulder, coaxing him open with a well-placed smile. This was unearthed territory. “Not your thing, huh?”

The snow had pinkened Sam’s face enough as it was, so what he was capable of on his own was downright impressive. Even his ears went red. “Uhh,” he chuckled, too skittish to look you in the eye. “No, not really. I’m. I, uh, I’d rather get to know her first, y’know. Before we’re intimate. And hopping towns doesn’t exactly give you the time to do that.”

Yup. Total dreamboat.

“Oh, so that’s your plan, asking me all these personal questions.”

Sam controlled his sputtering by pressing his lips into a firm, flat line, which refused to indulge your silly flirting. “You’re a jackass,” he said, and the growing smile in his voice betrayed just how little he thought that was true.

When you were done laughing at your own joke, Sam guessed, “So that’s not your thing, either? One night stands?”

You were having fun—pulling Sam’s leg, for one, but also talking to him in general, so the truth glides right out of your mouth.

“Wouldn’t know. I’ve never had sex.”

Sam had left his filter two states behind on the drive up, so he doesn’t even think to cap his disbelief. He scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

His mortification with himself makes contact two beats later, and while you’re smirking and floating unbothered across the snow, Sam nearly goes belly-up falling over himself to apologize.

You soak up his groveling until Sam’s embarrassment hits a breaking point, then, in your humblest and kindest princess voice, you say, “It’s cool, Sam. No worries. I’m not at all offended you think it’s weird I’m a virgin.”

“I don—I-I don’t think it’s weird,” Sam stressed, going a little wild in the eyes. “It’s great! …I mean, not like, great, I just mean. It’s not a bad thing or anything.”

You meet his awkward silence with a smug, pleased one of your own. Sam’s smart enough to realize he’s stumbled into your trap, but not quick enough to find an escape, so he sputters for a long time and falls back on his third option.

“I’m just wondering,” he winces, knowing his question is stupid, “why are you still a virgin?” You’re about to laugh in his face, but the earnestness in Sam’s voice makes you hesitate. His question is a genuine one. “...That sounds awful, m’ sorry. But, c’mon. You’re smart enough to know how pretty you are. Charmin’ enough to use it, too. I mean, I’d…”

He caught himself. “—Anyone, would, uh…”

Sam didn’t finish his thought. He changed his grip on the shotgun swinging from his hand, self-conscious, and cleared his throat.

Well. That wasn’t obvious at all. No way in hell you were leaving that alone.

“You’d what?”

Sam didn’t say anything. He just tucked his hair behind his ears again, too shy to say what he was thinking but bold enough to let it be spoken in his silence instead. And it was a very, very telling silence.

Your brain scrambled to cram as much as possible into the blank Sam had left. There was so much potential in that one little word. I’d…

I’d understand if someone wanted to have sex with you.

I’d have found someone by now, if I were you.

I’d have sex with you.

I’d take that opportunity, ______, if I could.

Hm. Okay. Okay, huh. There weren’t a lot of people in the world capable of making you question your life decisions so quickly, but of course, this was Sam. His silence persevered. Your train of thought became an internal trainwreck.

A few opportunities had cropped up over the course of your life—third dates with guys that hadn’t totally sucked, a few handsome barflies—but nothing had… clicked. Because there was supposed to be a click, right? Before sex? Some compass in your body, moving you in a certain direction? You hoped to drift toward something that fit better than a stranger, but like Sam had said, that level of commitment wouldn’t be waiting for you out on the road. You could hook up with civilians or hunters as you pleased, but just the thought made your chest ache. Real connection wouldn’t be waiting for you in the back of a truck or a sleazy motel. Hunters lived short lives, sure, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be a hopeless romantic.

You’d held onto that notion for a long time. Someday, something would click, and it’d be worth the damn wait.

Now, Sam was here, blinking coyly at you through his bangs, keeping you close to him, listening when you spoke. Click, goes your brain. Like a gear notching into place. He has those mossy, sensitive eyes that pry right open just for you and the prettiest rasp to his voice. Click click.

“C’mon,” Sam coughs. “Cabin’s just ahead.”

I’d… Sam had said, and left you to fill in the blanks.

_

The next day, both of you were proven wrong. You found out the hard way that the disappearances weren’t caused by cannibalistic spirits or werewolves. After getting mauled by living hills of snow and almost swallowed by an avalanche, you and Sam got the very subtle and not-at-all-lethal impression that you were dealing with an insane case of cursed ground. (Cur-sed, Sam had said, because he was fancy.) It took some on-the-spot ritual work and a day’s worth of walking to bury hex bags in the right spots, but by dusk you were alive and comfortable back in the cabin.

“I say we stick around for one more night—make sure this place is clean,” Sam suggested, shaking himself out on the welcome mat. When he shucked his coat off, the silky interior and the back of his shirt were dark with melted snow.

You glanced between Sam, who was blue at the edges, and the shifting tides of flakes on the wind outside. If you stared long enough the whole mountainside seemed to come alive in the dark.

“Uh,” you told him, “are you sure? If we got even one of those spells wrong, what’s stopping this thing from burying the whole cabin?”

But Sam had already thought of that, like he’d already thought of everything else. He rose from where he’d been kicking off his boots to give your icy hands a quick, warming squeeze. “I got it covered. Go—get a fire started, and fast.”

Since you were still riding the wave of adrenaline that’d kept you alive against moving, living forces of nature, you were already following Sam’s orders before he’d finished saying them. He didn’t act hardly as hurried. Being soaked and half-frozen was apparently second nature to him, since he navigated uninhibited through the duffle of ingredients you’d unloaded on the cabin’s floor. Your fingers were so numb that it took three tries to scrape some fire out of your matches, and by then Sam was already tying off his millionth hexbag of the day.

You didn’t regain your senses until a few minutes later, which passed as slow as hours did. Somehow in that sliver of time you’d hauled more firewood inside, hurried it into the fireplace, lit it, helped Sam bury the protection spells around the yard, raced back inside, and laid all your wet clothes out in front of the hearth. The second the doors were locked, your high started to tank. Sam was talking.

“—will last us through til’ tomorrow. Then, in the morning, we can use the spell to see if the land is purified. It might even be a good idea to check with the dowsing rods, too. If this ground is as cursed as we think, the hexbags will be just fine, though, so you don’t have to worry. You listenin’?”

Sam was a big, fuzzy-edged shape sitting criss-cross on the ratty rug a few paces from the fire. His silhouette was outlined by it in handsome shades of gold and honey-white, ‘cause of course he was the kind of movie beautiful that suited romantic fire lighting. Like, really romantic. Your brain had been baking in the panicked sludge of fleeing and hunting all day, but even it was capable of looking at that image of Sam and going, Uh, yeah. There’s something going on here.

For the last few days, the two of you had purified the ground of the cabin, too. It was the most telling relic of Sam and Dean’s life with John Winchester: rationed, unglamorous, and harsh. John was usually an out-of-bounds subject for the boys, but Sam had spent the last few days describing him at length. He was paranoid and obsessive—hence the cabin’s military rations, hidden weapons, traps, metric fucktons of salt, and next to nothing else. John hated any music and technology post-1980—hence the cabin’s record player. It was the only source of entertainment on hand, and the same three records only lasted so long. Even as hunter’s hovels went, this one was impressively oppressive.

Sam, plagued by abysmal hunter-kid memories of being stuck out here, had warned you about it ahead of time. You’ll get bored and miserable. He’d said that and you’d thought to yourself how hard it would be to get bored and miserable around Sam, who mystified you just sitting there. Still, you splurged on some big fluffy blankets, the shittiest and cheapest chess set you could find, pillows, and s’mores. Not exactly the John Winchester essentials, but. Just in case.

Stuffing the footwell of Sam’s stolen truck with cozy bullshit had been worth it in the end, purely because you wouldn’t wish the sleeping situation in the cabin on your worst enemy. There was a single, boxspring-less bed crammed in the bedroom’s corner, with a blanket too pitiful to put into words. It only had one pillow. This pillow also happened to be of unknown origin and age, and you were only brave enough to touch it because you’d worn your big girl pants that day. Sam had banked on the two sleeping bags he and Dean had left there as kids, but they were unfortunately still kid-sized. The two of you would’ve been forced to share body heat under one petal-thin blanket. Now, loaded up with massive, fuzzy comforters and heavy quilts, the two of you were happily sharing body heat under enough blankets to drown in.

Sam had insisted on making a bed for himself on the floor the first night. You’d let him, purely because he was pouring on the chivalry by the truckload and you were too grateful to know what to say. Any plans to argue were pinned down by that stern, unguarded stare. S’okay, I’ve been sleepin’ like this since I was little. Just a few minutes sinking into your snug nest made you rot with guilt. Being on the road with the boys put you in a bed with Sam plenty of times, and though the quarters were a bit tighter in the cabin, the cold was sharper too. You confessed your guilt to Sam the next day, and after the usual research marathon that night you felt his weight fill the untouched side of the bed.

Okay, Sam had caved. But—you’re sleeping on the inside, by the wall. I’m a lighter sleeper. That way if somethin’ comes in, I can protect you.

Hearing that, you’d grabbed his wrist and pulled it over your side. You’d kept one hand fisted around the knife under your pillow and the other folded over Sam’s hand, as if to say, I can protect you, too. Sam must’ve understood, because he’d pressed his cheek against your shoulder blade and succumbed to sleep. The rest of the week was spent like that, Sam herding you against one side of the slim bed with his legs and his arms and his sleepy-soft breaths. Though the bed was toasty and the contact was a one-stop sleeping pill, you stayed up with your knife for company. Sam deserved to feel safe while he slept.

You didn’t get that often as a hunter. Especially the touching part. Touching of any kind only really happened when you trusted someone, and trust was earned on the road with all the ease and painlessness of pulling teeth. In Sam’s case, he was an untapped well for little doses of affection. The moment that line was crossed, the second you’d taken a hit in his place for the first time, the second you’d torn your own clothes to wrap his wounds, Sam was open to you. He would never reach for your hand first (not if he was still Sam, who thought he didn’t deserve it), but you could reach for his and he would take it without question. You could pull his arm around you and Sam would wrap it tight, pressing his nose into your back. There was an exchange that occurred. He trusted you to give him something he was too proud to ask for and you trusted him to let you in, the two of you careful not to break the magic.

While he poked at the fire and lit candles, you flitted to the other room to scoop up a blanket to wrap yourself up in. The constant back-and-forth insanity of the day had made you too nauseous to eat, but you knew your stomach needed something. Preferably something sweet to trick you into feeling rewarded. Military rations really weren’t your thing, so you opted for the pomegranate Sam had avoided to keep his research papers clean.

He’d been going through your plan for tomorrow, right. “I’m listening, Sammy.”

When you circled back to join him on the rug, you opened up an arm of your blanket-cape for him. Sam, without comment, ducked under it, and you shuffled around for a minute to give his broader shoulders some fabric to work with. “All we can do for now is wait,” he told you, “so… whaddya wanna do?”

You put a bowl down in front of you and started splitting the pomegranate with your knife. “Chess again?”

Sam’s lip slanted in a frown. All his energy for smart stuff had been spent on the hunt today, so you weren’t all that surprised at his reluctance.

“Cards, then?” You guessed. Beads of rich red fruit started to fill your bowl, which Sam didn’t hesitate to sneak a hand into.

“There’s only so many rounds of Go Fish a guy can handle losing, _____,” Sam teased.

It was true. You’d obliterated him every round so far, the poor bastard.

Sam leaned into your side, filling your peripherals with his know-it-all smirk. “Unless you—”

“We’re done playing poker,” you said, having suffered your fair share playing against him. The emptiness of your wallet must’ve reflected in your voice, since Sam started snickering into his lap—and yeah, maybe the whole cute-shy-guy routine had worked on you, but knowing Sam he’d find a way to sneak the money he’d won out of you back into your bag. He was sweet that way. Evil, but sweet.

“Okay,” Sam wet his lips and wracked his brain. “...I could read my book to you. It’s the one I was telling you about—”

“—with the corrupt cops in L.A,” you filled in. Separating the pomegranate seeds from their core was bloody work with your knife, so when the natural halves of it were happily in the bowl you picked the rest apart with purple-stained fingers.

“Uh-huh. And we’re at a part I think you’d find pretty interesting, all the crazy trial stuff.” Sam shrunk into his shoulders a little bit, then added in a quiet voice, “If you, y’know. If you want.”

Hmm. You swiped the book from Sam’s other hand, the planes of his fingers making brief, electric contact with yours. A sharp flash of heat whipped through your belly, sizzling through your nerves. It took a bit for you to refocus, but the pause made you look like you were some deep scholarly person really inspecting the back cover, which Sam seemed to appreciate. You took care not to get any fruit stains on the pages. When you turned to pass it back to him, Sam was rubbing his bruised knuckles into his sleepier eyes. How he could keep reading after staring at nothing but old newspapers all week, you had no clue.

You reeled the book back toward you. “...How about I read it to you?”

Sam froze, considering this. He considered it so long that you could watch his cheeks color in real-time, the same red they’d been in the snow, until he broke out of his trance and managed a warm, surprised sort of smile.

“Okay,” Sam melted.

“C’mere, lawboy,” you decided on a whim, and pat the top of your thigh. True to form, Sam took his permission and ran with it, twisting shyly to lay on his side and prop his cheek on your leg. “Lemme impress you with all the big words I know how to say.”

Sam chuckled, and it was the kind of laugh that told you just how many weird law words were about to trip you up. It was also the kind of laugh you could feel, rumbly and real through your leg, which was. It was. It was something. He got comfortable, curling a lazy arm around your knee and using you as a proper pillow.

You really should’ve put more thought into having Sam this close. Like, really should’ve, since he’s so big and warm that it has you running on nothing but instinct, and your first impulse having Sam in your lap is to go straight for that gorgeous hair.

You take the lock Sam’s been messing with all day and tuck it behind his ear, just because his head is there and you need a damn place for your hand to rest. Right. A deep and draining sigh airs out of Sam’s nose being touched like that, and you start to wonder if this was something he’d masterminded. He seeps into your lap like he’d been chasing this all day, all week, and something about it makes you feel special in ways no one else could manage.

You open to the page Sam left off on and start to read. Sam doesn’t move an inch, laying statue-still in your lap. He only moves to sneak pinches of pomegranate seeds. Stiff as he is, he’s there, the furnace you’ve relied on for the last few days to keep warm. You get through a few chapters this way, Sam pausing you every ten seconds to explain something or hum or snootily translate some lawyer-speak for you. The whole time you do an excellent job of keeping your hands to yourself. Ever since Sam’s comment from yesterday, the little pieces you’ve gotten of him have made you greedy. Click.

The fire and the candlelight create a perfect bubble of heat on the otherwise icy floor, so it doesn’t take long for Sam to go from resting in your lap to downright oozing across it. From your point of view he’s nothing but a mop of shining hair and a big hand curled around your knee. His presence seeps into you as much as his warmth does, and after so long it’s almost overwhelming to taste someone else’s vulnerability this way. Click click. You’re reminded of how much you care about Sam, and how long it’s been since you’ve been allowed that. There was something about him that would always be worth protecting. Maybe it was how fucking good he smelled.

“Doctor Janen’s contributions to the investigation, especially her knowledge of luminol, were,” you trailed off, “were…”

Sam’s breathing had evened out in your lap. Or, you thought it had, until his posture shifted under the sweater he was wearing. He rolled out of your lap and onto his hands with a reluctant groan. Tired as he was, Sam was always capable of being a smartass. “D’you know what luminol is?”

“Yes, detective,” you scoffed, maybe a teensy bit disappointed that he’d left your lap. The outline of his touch on your thigh burned like a heat beacon. “Should I go back and read the last few paragraphs, or was that you just pretending to sleep?”

Sam rubbed at his face, like it was possible to physically scrub the sleep from it. He sat up next to you, blinking slowly to get his bearings, and for no logical reason your heartbeat built to an ear-ringing throb in your chest. You were completely alone with him. For once, you had Sam all to yourself. Soft shadows kissed his arms and hands and neck. He was made up of nothing but full endless sloping lines, a charcoal sketch come to life.

“I was restin’ my eyes,” he sassed. “We should stay sharp through tonight, though. Stay up. I can take the first shift, since you’ve taken the last three.”

You didn’t miss the little nod to your sleeping habits. Which meant Sam had also laid awake long enough to know you hadn’t fallen asleep until late, which meant he’d laid awake next to you. In bed. Thinking with that big brain of his. It made your own big brain run around in crazy circles, chasing whatever conclusions he might come to.

You stole a glance at the nearest window. The salt lines were laid neatly on its sil, on the off chance boarding up the glass turned out to be useless. “That’s okay. I’m not exactly tired yet.”

Sam popped a few pomegranate seeds into his mouth, humming in thought. “Then it’d probably be smartest to keep each other up.”

“Samuel!” You gasped. He froze mid-chew, confused, and remained confused until you started poking him and laughing. “I’d expect a line like that from your brother, but never from you.”

You were a tease-first-ask-questions-later kind of person, so you understood Sam’s particular brand of banter and how he liked to respond to yours. Typically, you’d annoy him with a playful little taunt and Sam would let you know you were funny by calling you a jackass. You waited for Sam to hear your line and brush you off as an idiot. Instead, he did something much more interesting: he got defensive.

“I meant stay up like, like talking,” he sputtered. “I would never—y’know. I wouldn’t. Do, uh. Do that. Why don’t we keep up our question game from before? It’s, it’s your turn, right?”

“Okay. What was your first time like?”

Well. Shit.

This was the fastest question that either one of you had managed to whip out all week, and that fact hung so obviously in the air that you could feel it between you and Sam on the floor. It dropped so hard in the middle of the conversation that it shut you both up, silencing Sam’s sputtering and veering your train of thought to a shrieking, sparking halt. Sam was smart. His big brain would put together—had probably already put together—that you’d thought about asking him this. He might even be smart enough to intuit why you’d been itching to bring this subject back up, and for the first time in your life you prayed that Sam was the dumbest, most thick-headed man to ever hunt with you.

He did a great impression of someone less clever than himself. “Like. The first time I…?”

You chewed a few pomegranate seeds. “Uh-huh.”

“...Right.” Sam registered. He conveniently decided to fixate on the fire instead of you, which should’ve helped your sanity, if that was even possible anymore. The bulb of his nose and the swell of his lip curved just perfectly in profile, made even prettier by the firelight. God.

You panicked. “If that makes you uncomfortable—”

Sam swallowed. “No, no. You’re okay. Just thinking.”

You bit down on your tongue. Oh, awesome. Thinking! Exactly what I want you to be doing right now!

Sam swiped two sweaty, corded hands down each of his thighs. Tucked his hair behind his ears. Made your belly flutter and twist like a huge gust of wind going through a spring-fresh tree.

“I was seventeen,” Sam cleared his throat. “We were in Utah—well, I was in Utah, Dad and Dean were… Whatever. But I was sort of, um, on this rebellious streak at the time.”

You lazed back on your hands. “So, in hunter-kid terms, counting the days til’ you’re eighteen and packing your rucksack?”

An abrupt laugh barked out of Sam. His gaze loitered on your face with renewed comfort, remembering, again, that you’d both hidden your acceptance letters where no parent could see them. This was another Sam-move you knew the steps to.

“Yeah,” his eyes glittered. “Exactly.”

(The day you met Sam, the one reference you’d made to your associate’s degree had him crossing his legs under the table. He’d asked in a husky, tight voice what you’d gone to school for. Just hearing the words folklore and mythology had the guy close to pitching a tent.)

Sam managed to take his eyes off you. “But, uhm. There was this girl at school my Dad had ordered me not to hang around, so… I hung around. After a school dance. In her car.”

You were a very mature adult who was not at all jealous of a teenage Utahn, and thus sculpted your face into something playful. “Dirty,” you snickered. Sam’s light smile was encouraging, so you said as an afterthought, “Sounds like a squeeze, though. Don’t know if I’d want my first time to be in a car.”

“Especially in a tiny, cramped Nissan,” he agreed, chuckling. The smidgen of regret in his voice shouldn’t have made you feel like you’d earned a point against Random Utah Girl, but it did. You scolded yourself for it (your imaginary point gripped in one fist).

It was now Sam’s turn to ask a question, and he asked it fast. Impressively fast. “Okay, so. No car. Where would you want your first time to happen, then?”

Though you were an absolute animal when it came to Go Fish, your empty wallet was proof enough that you were a lousy poker player—due to an even lousier poker face. Hearing Sam’s question, it did you no favors. Even before you’d formed any thoughts about… everything, your body knew its answer, pointing every delicate nerve in your body toward the open doorway to the cabin’s bedroom.

You flicked a glance at the warm, intimate darkness waiting for you there.

It was only a second. But that one look was enough. Your hand was exposed, and Sam, by comparison, was an excellent poker player.

In a rush, you scrambled to put some distance between yourself and your obviousness. You winced. No way out. “Uhh, anywhere cozy. For the first time, I dunno if I’d wanna be cramped in a closet or something, no matter how sexy it may be. Is it lame to say… a bed?”

Sam hummed. As you’d talked, he’d become more and more relaxed in front of the fire, lounging on a propped-up arm and picking out of the fruit bowl. There was a long silence from him that could’ve been the weighted silence before a judge’s verdict.

…You’d never seen a judge draw his hand up to his mouth, suck pomegranate juice from the pads of his fingers, then pull off them with a noisy pop, but. But maybe they took a different approach at Stanford.

“It’s the standard for a reason, right?” Sam shrugged, amused.

He pushed the bowl across the floor with his wrist instead of his spit-slick fingers. It made a hollow scraping sound that brought your head back to the conversation, thank god, since the last seconds of your life post-fingers-to-mouth action had been spent elsewhere. The specific “elsewhere” that entailed Sam’s thick-knuckled fingers and Sam’s pretty pink mouth. You’d had the occasional intrusive thought about men creep up on you before, but the tricky part was that those thoughts pushed their way in. They jolted into your life then jolted back out.

Single-handed, Sam had hooked you, reeled you in, and pulled you “elsewhere.” Keyword: pulled. Not pushed.

…Then… maybe… pulled you again. And pushed you back. And again. Pulled out, then pushed in. Pulllled out slow, only to ssssink back in, deeper than before. Pulling and pushing with rhythm. Pulling, pushing, faster, deeper. Making you gasp and yelp his name, his fingers—Sam’s fingers—digging into your waist, your belly—

Click. Click click click click click click.

“_____?”

You’re so self-conscious you think you could feel the individual atoms of your body clanging against each other. “...Uh-huh?”

It’s your turn to ask a question next. But Sam breaks the rules and speaks first, since he knows exactly what he wants to ask you. He glides up onto one hand, his whole body a twenty-page study of lanky coyness, and tilts in close to you.

“If you could lay it all out—the timing, the place, the person…” Sam’s face glittered with a poker player’s curiosity. “What would your perfect first time be like?”

Or: Give me the manual, and I’ll follow it.

Your mouth was watering. It was one of a million things making it impossible for you to speak right now, including the sudden, nigh-unbearable heat of the room under your collar, and, oh right, the metric fuckton of slick soaking your underwear. The speed at which your arousal hits you is enough to make you dizzy, and in the haze you swear you start to hear something. Click. Click. Click click click click click click click—

Fuck. Sam is waiting for an answer. Fuck.

“I guess I’ve never thought about it before.”

Which was a blatant lie, since you’d spent the last ten minutes thinking of nothing else. Sam either sensed you weren’t telling the truth or was looking for something more, because he let you linger in your own answer, prying the rest out of you with his hanging silence.

Really, you should’ve been tougher, but the first long breath without anything from him shredded your strength. You caved and filled the quiet.

“I mean,” you toyed with your hands in your lap. “No matter what, I’d want it to be special. Bein’ out on the road, marching around, that’s not really a luxury we’re allowed to have. It’s like you said yesterday. I wanna be with someone I’m connected to, and I don’t think that’s gonna be in the back of a bar or—”

“—in a stranger’s bed,” Sam softened with understanding. “Yeah.”

“Yeah.” You echoed. The fire crackled and popped, loud enough that you could use the sound as an excuse to look elsewhere. “And if I happened to find that person, they’d have to be in the life. We can only trust other hunters, nowadays.”

Sam snorted. “If we’re lucky, maybe.”

It disappointed you how much you had to agree with him. There used to be a sense of mutual understanding among the hunters you’d met, but something had shifted since you were little. The world was a much scarier place, and the hunters that’d survived to see it had darkened to meet it. You’d dodged all shades of skeevy, selfish people before you’d landed in the Impala’s backseat. Even Dean and Sam had colored the list of hunters you’d been warned to avoid. Of course, every inch of it had turned out to be triple-hand gossip. Maybe you were quick to judge or the boys were just good seeds in a shitty crop, either way, ending up with them was the kind of good luck that beat the devil.

You’d never had the chance to tell Sam that before.

“I dunno. Not to go all mushy on you, but I do feel pretty lucky.”

Sam indulged you with an inviting tilt of his head, impressed that either one of you had a sliver of luck between you. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. This last year, before I joined up with you n’ Dean, there wasn’t a single living soul out there I thought was worth putting my faith in,” you said, easing your mushy confession onto him under the guise of fact. Sam couldn’t digest it any other way. “I’m really grateful you changed that for me. It feels—it feels good to trust people. To feel like somebody knows you.”

Sigh. The side of your personal bubble filled with nothing but Sam started to seep with quiet, disbelieving fondness, and you could tell because Sam was giving you the eyes. The eyes. The ones that people brought out their wallets for and sent girls like you into romantic psychosis.

You dared to face them head-on, which was a reckless idea (probably brought on by romantic psychosis). Sure enough, his gaze was big and soulful and heart-rending. Sam was sitting so close now that you could almost soak up his body heat. The biting wind wormed its way through the thin walls and the fire was fading with it, but Sam oozed magnetic warmth by comparison. Stuff-your-face-in-his-neck kind of warmth.

“Do you feel like…” Sam rasped. He brushed the flats of his knuckles down your arm, breaking that final touch barrier. “...like I really know you?”

Your entire nervous system implodes with fluttery feelings. It’s just two fingers, brushing soft down your arm through your sweater, but. It’s confirmation. It’s Sam’s yes, I want this, and it puts into perspective how the two of you have spent the last week: alone together. Curled as one shape in bed. Talking just loud enough for only the other to hear, and never an octave higher. Never more than a few feet apart. If you reached for Sam first you knew he’d accept your hand, your boots in his bootprints, but when he coasts his palm down the swell of your shoulder it’s him reaching out for you.

You reach right back. You curl a hand up to cover his hand with yours, those big doe eyes asking that same question on repeat. Do you think I know you? Do you trust me? Do you want this?

“All I’ve got is me, you, and Dean. And it wasn’t him that I told all my deepest hopes and shittiest moments to,” you laughed. “So…”

Every other time you’ve hit this point, you’d been distracted by the logistics and the math of sex—protection, chemistry, the when and how, and the consequences of both. It’s not gonna hit you until two days after this moment, after Sam has you as many times as you want in the plush cabin bed, that there was no math with him. Just want. Just things sliding into place. Click click click.

“So…” Sam’s face tips even closer. Your head fogs with the heat and smell and presence of him, mesmerized.

He puts it all together for the two of you: “Your perfect first time would be with a hunter, somebody in the life that you trust. Somebody who could make you feel special. Somebody who really knows you.”

You smirk before you can stop yourself. “Do I need to drop any more hints, Sam?”

Damn, could that boy put a fireworks show to shame. He lit up. Sam’s shoulders did this really cute boyish swell and his lips parted, telegraphing with every piece of himself, Oh, you really want this, you really want me!

You’d never seen him wear that kind of happiness before, and it made sense why. Thank god the two of you were off the grid out here, because you didn’t doubt that Sam’s smile could pop every lightbulb in the entire country.

Sam aimed a bubbly laugh at his lap, embarrassed. “I don’t think I’m getting the full picture,” he tried to flirt, “a few more, maybe?”

So, getting less and less subtle as you went on, you explained to Sam the hypothetical author of the night of your life. He’d be sweet. Polite. Smart, too, but not the type to rub it in your face. (This made Sam laugh). He’d be gentle and considerate and frankly fucking awesome, but not so shy that he couldn’t give you a wild time.

When he was blushing so hard you stopped needing the fire for warmth, you sprinkled one last handful of flattery on him. “And, jesus,” you whistled, “this guy I’m picturing? Total dreamboat. So pretty it makes me wanna write dumb songs about him.”

Predictably, Sam got so flustered that he went back to futzing with that same strand of hair by his ear. With the touch barrier between you broken, your mind buzzed with a million different ways to reach out and feel him, to draw him in, and all those ideas coalesced seeing Sam’s hand come up to his cheek. Before you lost your resolve, you stroked the messiest portion of his bangs behind his ear for him. Sam melted. He liked to do that around you.

“Now I’d just sound arrogant if I assumed that it’s me,” Sam snorted.

You pressed the flats of your knuckles down Sam’s warm, smooth cheek. “It’s you. It’s been you for a while, actually.”

The easy, loving contact dazed him. Sam’s eyes fluttered closed, and a short, shaky breath puffed out of him in one bracing go. It was clear that he hadn’t been touched this way in a while. He sat there absorbing your touch for a long time, a cat resting his head in the full scope of your palm. You turned your body to face his and Sam’s gaze, which was layer after layer of hazels no artist could mimic, opened for you.

You thought about saying something cheesy like, wow, ain’t I lucky, having the whole world in the palm of my hand, but Sam was much faster (and much, much cheesier).

A leather-tough hand scooped around the back of your neck. The touch was fucking-christ-big and god, so was he, the line of his thumb to his wristbone as long as the length of your neck. You knew this because that’s exactly where Sam placed it, stroking your chin with his thumb. Prickling chills tickled up your legs. He scrutinized you—and you say scrutinize loosely, since the Sam-equivalent was gazing into your face like a fatal decision was held there. Your mental yes, yes, I want you was so loud that Sam could’ve psychically heard it. If he did, it was enough to make his pupils become huge pools of want.

“C’mere,” Sam grinned.

You laughed. “M’ practically nose to nose with you, Sam, I don’t have any further to—”

The rest of your teasing was lost to a louder yelp. Sam scooped his arms around your middle and. And hauled you. Into his lap.

His—lap.

There was no way to survive this landing. You were plopped right on top of his barrel-wide thighs, your every sense instantly stuffed full to bursting with every wonderful thing that made Sam himself. A steam of woody body wash and aftershave put you under his spell. Two massive hands soothing down your back glued you happily in place. Sam’s warm chuckles seeped through his chest and into your hands, because, oh yeah, you were allowed to touch him. And there was so much of him to touch now, too. The entire front of your body was cozily smushed up against his firm, longer frame, filling your hazy vision with the soft shadows on his throat and collarbones and those fucking dimples. What the fuck.

“Is this okay?” Sam asked you.

The only time you’d been permitted in another person’s space like this was to hug them. Overwhelmed with choice—you could kiss him, touch him, run your fingers through his hair this close—you defaulted to what you knew. Sam hesitated, but with a breath, the coil of his body unwound and the two of you slid together with a satisfying smush. (Or maybe a click).

Oh my god that’s good, your senses wailed, but all you could manage with your face muffled in his neck was, “Warm. Sooo warm, Sammy.”

“Is that a yes?” He hoped.

You pulled your face out of his shirt to sigh. “The biggest yes of your life.”

Sam gleamed. Being so close to the source of all happiness on earth (the toothy grin he was biting back for your benefit) should’ve instantly pulverized you and every other hot-blooded being on this side of the planet. It should’ve. But your soul was still ringing around in your feeble body, and sure enough, your calves were still snug around Sam’s thighs like they’d been before. You’d survived being inches away from Sam’s face while he smiled all shy for you, and succeeded in feeling only a teeny bit like a pile of smoking ash because of it. For a second you tricked yourself into thinking you could survive him.

That is not the case.

With impeccable timing, Sam kisses you. Just a brief, firm peck on the mouth. Testing the waters. The waters that are now a fucking ocean in your underwear, thank you very much. It’s only a two-second kiss, but the instant Sam’s lips pop off of yours an embarrassing happy squeal follows him out. Definitely not the suave reaction you were expecting from yourself. Sam just laughs, which translates as a sexy hum under your free hand.

“That was cute,” he whispers, eyes crinkling.

“Shut up, Sam.”

He hums, still brimming with that big spoiled grin. He takes you by your prickling arms and starts to pull his hands down them, again and again, squeezing the anxiety out of you in huge handsy swaths. You feel a bit better about being such a nervous wreck. His hands are trembling too.

The first kiss was good. Really good. Wetter, warmer than you were expecting, but so fucking—good. His mouth was soft and stained by the pomegranate, but, oh no, you’re already forgetting what it was like to taste him. It’s so tempting… to just… lean in…

He’s just as tempted. Sam meets you in the middle for a second kiss that he finds so satisfying, so right that this deep rumbling moan purrs right out of him. The pink swell of his lips are, of course, pressed hot to yours, filling you head to fucking toe with that single bassy note. You gasp through your nose—because nothing is worth breaking his kiss. Not a desperate breath of air, not an uttered word.

Sam kisses you with his hands as much as he dazzles you with his mouth, laying heavy touches down your back, then your waist, then your legs, inspecting and absorbing. You’re hardly as methodical. He is a wonderful beach and it’s your first time seeing the ocean. You take the biggest fistfuls of him that you can, feeling the silky sand of him slip between your greedy fingers.

Sam is apparently into being your metaphorical beach, since after he’s done melting your brain and your underwear in the most intense make-out session of your life, he pulls away to speak.

Sam rasps. “Can I take care of you?”

It takes you a moment to respond, because. Well. A, that’s the sexiest way someone has asked to have sex with you, no contest, and B, you’ve been waiting this whole time for the moment where you don’t want this anymore. With other men, your body had just never found the spark that should’ve been there. Was this time different? Had things click click clicked into place?

You take a step back to put this in perspective for your future self. As vividly as you’re able, you think about having sex with Sam. You visualize Sam’s sharp eyes, his naked back, the cut of his hips, all of it, as he fucks you straight through the shitty mattress in the cabin’s bedroom. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his—of his fucking paws, essentially, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls. You think about it some more. How Sam would moan, how his lashes would screw shut in ecstasy as he filled you. You keep thinking about it. When your mind starts to deviate toward the filthy, thick sound of him… o-of Sam plunging into you over and over again, smushing you under his weight… uhm. Uh.

Yeah. Yeah, this is everything you fuckin’ want.

It takes conscious effort for you to close your gaping mouth, then pry it open again to blurt: “Please, yes.”

A tiny piece of his posture relaxed in relief. Sam smushed a cute, giddy peck into your cheek, reminding your entire tingling nervous system that there was a really sweet guy underneath the deadly-efficient hunter you knew.

“Okay,” he beamed, and shyly tipped his head toward the bedroom. “Shall we?”

You feel like you should be doing more than being demure and nodding a lot, but Sam doesn’t seem to mind. After you climb out of his lap and find your footing on your jellified legs, he unfolds off the floor like bucks do, knowing on instinct how to conduct the body he has so much of. The fire’s sleepy and weak in the hearth, and with it dead, Sam is the new center of heat in the room. He takes your hand and just touching the middle of his palm spurs shivery warmth down your legs. Now, you’re all too aware of Sam’s proportions—how encompassing his hand feels, how easily his shoulders fill the doorway to the little bedroom. Feeling mature, you fill the next room with bright giggles. You see in real-time how Sam melts at the noise.

Like you have the last few nights, you each scoop up a candle and find a place for it amidst the hunter clutter. It takes a beat to find your way through the dark. The space is just big enough for the slim bed pushed snug into the corner, and already you know from experience how you and Sam fit into the nest of blankets and pillows. (Hint: extremely well).

Sam uses his candle to light a few others on the bedside table, keeping a free hand stretched toward you to reserve his spot as your only hand-holder. You drop your candle on the dresser and consider the only thing next to it while you wait for him. The Winchesters had three vinyls total for their ancient record player, and seeing it unused and wasted in front of you, you have a stroke of romantic genius.

The second you drop the needle on the first jazz record and turn back toward the cozy, honey-lit room, Sam’s there, sliding into your open arms to plant a kiss on you. And another. And another. And another, coaxing little happy sighs from you. They’re such deep kisses that you dip back with each one, until the curve of Sam’s towering body is diagonal over you and you have to clutch his shoulders to stay standing. Both of his rough-sawn hands cup the scoop of your back to support you. All your daydreaming about him had convinced you that he’d be a head-to-toe brick wall, but Sam’s teddy-bear soft instead, the gleaming skin you have access to yielding and plush. His lips most of all, puffy pink and shining.

Sam persists, pressing closer, kissing you deeper, panting under his breath. Whatever it is about the happy sounds you make wake up something dark in him. There’s a tight, delicate rhythm he likes to follow, and the more of Sam you get the less of it you see. That straight-arrow persona is there, and then—poof! Sam’s tongue is laving wet and hot and perfect across your parted lips, ruining your underwear in one fell swoop.

He tilts in to start sucking on your tongue—

“Fuck, Sam,” you choke out.

The situation in your panties graduates to unbearable levels. If you have to makeout with Sam fully clothed for even a second longer, you think your core will enter a full reactor meltdown. You try to get the words across, grabbing helplessly at his sweater and whining, but Sam interprets it as something else.

“Everything okay?” He worries.

Dazed, you nod more than you need to. With your eyes open and his face in full view, you’re hit with a spark of self-consciousness. Sam fills the bedroom with easy conviction, owning his desire in a way you’ve never really been capable of. You don’t exactly have the experience to blow his mind or anything. Why would he want this if there was so little in it for him? Sam wasn’t a selfish guy, but… To you, your eagerness starts to feel more like greediness.

You shift from foot to anxious foot, shrinking in place. “...Could you, um? Walk me through it? How we’re gonna…?” You swallowed the frog in your throat. “Sorry, that must seem stupid.”

Leave it to him to make something stupid into something ridiculously, fatally sexy.

“S’okay, don’t be embarrassed. It’d…” Sam wets his lips, looking for the words. A quiet, dirty-minded smile plays across his face. He decides, “It’d be my pleasure.”

His touch moves away from your back, and you’re about to mourn the loss of it until Sam’s hands start to play with yours, twisting them around in his own like a schoolboy. He closes the space you’ve timidly left open between you by pressing your chests together. It’s a small gesture. But this is Sam, so your face is in smolders on that alone. (…And you’d just been french kissed, to be fair).

“Okay. Uhh,” Sam fumbles. He stops to consider his approach. As in, the approach he’ll take to seducing you, as if you aren’t seduced on a level incomprehensible to humankind.

You can’t help but laugh at how much Sam-math must be happening in his head, and Sam laughs too. Sam keeps laughing, until it warms into a handsome, knowing hum, and suddenly he’s laying your hands on his belt and tickling your ear with the hot fan of his breath. You squeak, sensitive, which tempts him into breaking character.

Sam reigns it back in, then whispers.

“When you’re ready… m’ gonna get you out of these clothes.”

The deliciously big set of hands on your waist sidle up under the open strip of skin below your shirt. Just one of his fingers is brave enough to sneak up to draw circles against your tummy. It’s the slightest taste of what it’ll be like to have those hands all over you, sweat-slick skin-to-naked skin, which is just enough to make your appetite for him boil in your gut.

“And I know you’re gonna be freezin’, we both are, but I promise you’ll get real hot real soon. Cause’...”

The bulb of his nose (and the ghost of his smile) brushed your cheek, then down, and the explosive fluttery feeling already lighting up your belly pitches into a whole fireworks show.

“...The minute I see you lying all pretty on your back for me…”

Sam tips in to lay a kiss on your throat. A slow, open-mouthed kiss, suckling soft on your skin.

“...In our bed…”

Our bed, he says. That choice of words alone implies so much. If the two of you sharing it before didn’t count, then Sam was about to make it your bed.

“I’m not stopping til’ you get every single thing you want,” Sam purrs. His kisses become blatant licks, the whole of his capable tongue drawing wet lines on your throat. “Til’ you’re damn spoiled.”

What. The fuck. The universe could dissolve into mist and you would be too turned on to care, tethered to the last atoms of the earth by your hands on Sam’s belt. You gape up at him. Sam, the evil genius, smirks right back. When you’d said you wished your first time could feel special, you hadn’t exactly been planning for Sam to follow that direction to the damn letter. He makes it sound like he’s going to bend to your every whim, and knowing Sam...

You swipe at your face to check that you’re not drooling. “I’m—I-I—you’re—” while you’re sputtering, he swipes a dab of spit off the other corner of your lip. “—Suh-Sam.”

Screw it. You drop both hands on Sam’s chest and twist your fingers in his shirt, forcing the words out in choppy pieces. “I’m not as experienced as you. But I really, really… want this. To be—to be good for us. Wanna give you everything you want, too.”

Sam makes a flattered, yet sympathetic face. “Oh, baby, don’t think about me—”

“—I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Now, it’s Sam’s turn to forget how to speak. Finally.

You wind your fingers into the tuft at the back of his neck, enunciating, “How… do I make this good for you?”

“You’re already here. That’s all I need,” Sam gushes, falling back on his tender chivalrous boyfriend routine. It’s really sexy. Almost sexy enough to work. He tucks back his signature lock of unruly hair, blushing from his ears to his neck.

Well, stream-of-consciousness hasn’t failed you yet.

“Uh-uh. We’ve been alone together in this teeny cabin for a whole week. There’s no way I’m the virgin, but you’re the one without the dirty fantasies.” You take a long squinting look at him to divulge any loose secrets. Thumbing Sam’s hip through his shirt, you press, “Tell me. C’mon. You want me to blow you? Pull your hair? Or do you, I dunno—wanna bite me? Pin me down?”

You can track the second Sam starts breathing harder, but somewhere between then and now his eyes have glazed over with dangerous desire.

Sam clutched fast at his shrinking sliver of self-control. “Okay,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere. So… if it feels right, and it’s not embarrassing, it would be… I’d, I’d love it if you…”

“Got super noisy?”

After an intensely bashful pause filled with quiet music, Sam nods, hiding behind his bangs. Knew it. He always got so squirrely when you did your oh-I’m-so-cozy moan snuggling into bed at night.

Teasing him any more would definitely be poking the bull. But is it fun to poke that bull? Absolutely. Especially when Sam starts to unbuckle his belt, his whole body crawling with the urge to throw himself at you.

“Alright, I can do that. But how noisy are we talking? Like, normal enjoying myself kind of noisy, or best-sex-of-my-life noisy?”

He gets this nasty, disbelieving smile on his face, and it’s your last warning before—

Snap. Sam’s restraint splits in two. In an instant you’re captured by the underarms and Sam, who’s honest-to-god grinning/snarling about how you need ta’ be taught a lesson on leavin’ well enough alone, flings you onto the end of the bed. You land with a shriek. Then a second, louder squeal, as Sam takes your pantlegs in his fists and whips them clean off.

The next precious moments are filled with all sorts of lessons. For one thing, it takes a lot of force to tear pants off a person. By happenstance, you’re dragged a whole foot further down the bed and right against Sam’s lap. You also learn that pants are connected to underwear, so following that math, it makes sense why your panties are now royally rearranged on your hips. These two factors are too convenient to not be planned on Sam’s part. You’re reminded, again, that Sam is a genius.

You also remember that you’ve never been pantsed before. With and without the sexy context. Keeping that in mind, you, like any other person in your delicate situation, snap your legs closed on instinct. Not because you don’t want Sam there—holy shit, do you want him there—but because he happened to tickle you in the transfer from floor to bed, and you’re not about to let him pounce on you and tickle you to death.

This really works out for you in the long run, since having your legs closed means that it’s inevitable Sam will have to open them.

You’re laughing so hard that your sides have locked up with stitches. Sam pretends he’s not just as amused by kneeling up on the bed as grouchily as possible, ripping his shirt off, and… and, uhm… scooping his huge palms under your knees, and… yeah. He doesn’t have to do any pushing past that. Your legs just fall right open for him, and Sam wiggles in between them where he belongs.

Nothing in this entire world could prepare you to have Sam this close, so the idea that you could even cope with being absolutely towered over by the indecent amount of ab he possesses is fuckin’ laughable. Who the fuck let him have abs? For the health of all people attracted to men on this planet, who taught Sam to work out?

Your giggling trails off into mesmerized, panting silence.

“How noisy?” Sam scoffs, chuckling mean and deep in his chest. “How noisy? I’ll give you a hint how noisy you’re gonna be—”

He falls forward onto his hands, effectively blanketing you in a swath of flushed-smooth, freckly skin. There’s not a thought in your mind about how cold this room is in comparison to the last. Your hands smooth over the planes of his cheeks on instinct, and Sam follows the touch into a soul-shattering, full-body, toe-curling kiss that melts both your bodies into the homey center of the quilts and comforters. His nose squishes into your cheek and a long, satisfied groan bubbles out of him. He barely pulls his lips from yours when he hisses—

“...I’m gonna fuck you til’ you’re hoarse.”

What in the ever-loving fuck.

I cannot put into words how much I want you to do that, you want to say, and it’s true, since you end up making the world’s neediest gasp of glee instead. You’re not pleading up into his face for a full second before Sam gets your message. One can only guess what he’ll do next. (Hint: Sam cannot take in a full breath without kissing you first).

All week you’ve been toiling away to earn tiny pieces of the Sam puzzle. The picture you’ve built so far is, frankly, a touch-starved animal, who will wait at the heels of the first trusted person willing to provide. You kiss Sam once and he’s so damn grateful that he’ll multiply it by five. You get adventurous with your hands, squeezing and appreciating Sam’s flushed-smooth back. Because he’s Sam, returning the favor takes precedence over his beloved activity, and your kiss is forced to break so he can sit up and touch you proper.

Well. If any of this can be considered proper, that is. And if there’s one word to describe what Sam does to you with his hands, it’s improper.

“Still ready, _____?” He asks.

You bite back your inner worries and taunt him, “Been ready.”

He splays his fingers on your belly and is so transfixed by its softness that he stoops to smudge a kiss above your belly button. You do your best to pretend it doesn’t tickle, which is the opposite of what Sam wants. He gives your sides two quick pinches that have you squirming and squeaking under him, too shy to keep your eyes open. You’re embarrassed about the girly sounds he gets out of you until you risk a look at his face—plum red, dizzy, and glazed with fond desire.

Sam wasn’t kidding. He does want you at your noisiest.

This brings your horniness to a whole new level, turning the airy fluttery feeling expanding in your belly into the opposite: an emptiness, a vacuum, and one that desperately needs to be filled. Sam seems to do nothing but fill things. The doorways he stands in, the beds he kneels on, the snuggly center of your embrace. Naturally, this makes you insane. His hands fill up the most—big swaths of your belly, your shirt—your bra.

They push the band of the hunting sportsbra you’re wearing clear over your tits and out of his way. Sam rumbles in approval.

You stop your hands from twitching up around your naked chest, now hyper-aware of how much your breasts rise with your breath. Sam breathes you in. His gaze is soft beyond imagination, which makes the whittled-down shards of fear inside you seem even sillier than before. Either he reads your mind or he’d predicted you’d be mousy (and christ do you hope it’s the latter, since that means he thought about this already), because Sam plucks up your closest hand and presses it flat to his happy trail.

“Don’t be nervous,” he soothes. “Touch me too.”

The thought alone explodes you into steam. But you’re no quitter, so you roll with the invitation, stroking the soft pads of your fingers along the line from Sam’s naval to his ill-fitting jeans. He’s not flexing for you, so you get to feel him as Sam really is: butter-smooth and blanket-soft. Without his belt there’s a precious gap hanging between his hips and his waistband. It’s just big enough for your hand to fit inside.

You’re not brave enough to take that final plunge until Sam twists down to kiss your chest. His mouth burns scorching hot on your breastbone, and as he curls over your body, his hands on your belly slide up to take two needy handfuls of your tits. In the same motion you fit your hand into Sam’s jeans and squeeze and—ohhh fuck, you wind in as one, sharing a perfect bow-taut moment of hissing pleasure.

Sam pressed his face where he was kissing, deflating on top of you with a long, seeping, “Shittt.”

Okay. On top of feeling good, sex could be a fun little puzzle to put together. Sam urging his hips into your hand was one piece, and if you put it in the right place (i.e: touched him like that again), he’d be all yours. You do. You cup him through his boxers and follow what you feel, and what you feel is. Fucking. It’s. I-is it supposed to be that big? And, and holy shit, is he hard.

Sam. Sam’s big, thick dick in your hand. You’re gonna be wet for damn weeks.

Stupified, you blurt out, “Do you always get this hard?”

Sam cracks a wry grin, his eyes lidded. “Mm. It’s definitely you. Bein’ stuck out here with you.”

He drops a kiss on the seam of your ribcage. Then lower. And lower, leaving shiny wet circles along your tummy. “Makin’ me crazy… sticking by me every second, pressing yourself into me in your sleep. Lookin’ at me like—like that.” Just thinking about it made Sam shiver. “You turn me on like nothing else. Just last night, even, right here in this bed—I must’a stopped myself from rolling you over and tasting you a hundred times.”

The urge was so vivid for him that Sam’s mouth must’ve been watering, since he sucks the spit back through his teeth before he starts to kiss your belly in earnest. Just that sound burns with lust. Sam wants it, wants you so bad he’s shaking, his hands trembling under your thighs as he slithers down to lay between them. His kisses grow fiercer, open-mouthed and sucking the closer he gets to your panties. Kitten-soft moans start to sneak into the cycle of your panting.

“Don’t think I’m gonna be able to stop myself this time,” Sam husks.

You let him know just how comfortable you are with that by curling your legs around his back. Then his shoulders. Then Sam’s ears, and at that point he’s singeing spit-damp kisses inside your thighs like the world’s most faithful servant.

Nobody but him had ever touched you there. You choke out his name on short, needy breaths. It’s like you’re filling a meter. With enough please, Sams, you hit his limit, and he stops rubbing his face into your soft under-thighs long enough to hook his fingers around your waistband.

You’re treated to the Sam Winchester specialty. He bats long lashes at you over dark, sensitive eyes, and rasps, “Am I okay to…?”

You’re so horny that you start spurring Sam closer with your heels. “Fucking yes.”

This is the A+ answer. Sam doesn’t even wait to get your underwear all the way down your legs, yanking them out from under you and ducking straight below the bridge they make. Just seeing your pussy makes him swear. You’re so swollen and slick and his mouth is so close, so close, but Sam decides to taunt you, blowing across the spit cooling on your belly instead. Heat oozes in hazy lines from his body. From his hands. By comparison, the night has leeched the warmth from the room and you’re cold enough to get goosebumps.

“Please please please, Sam,” you hiccup, “need it. Need you. Need you t’ warm me up.”

“My poor girl,” Sam coos, brows drawn with playful sympathy. He starts to rub some heat back into your freezing legs, tilting closer, closer. “I know just how to help.”

You let your head flop back as you take his cheesiness in, laughing. That’s not exactly a line you’d expect from him. Before, though, you would’ve never pinned Sam as the kind of guy to clamp your knees against your chest, drop his head between your legs and fit his mouth on you, slurping noisily on your slick like he’s eating the juiciest fruit of his life—

“—f-uuuuckkk Sammy yes yes yes—”

Indescribable pleasure pops and sizzles along your weeping core. It’s so fucking—fucking yes all at once that you clap down both hands to white-knuckle the top quilt and howl. Sam sets to work. He covers your entire pussy with his mouth, swallowing you fucking whole, apparently, since you’re the most delectable thing he’s ever tasted. You have to be, with Sam groaning and cursing all fierce and hot between licks.

“Fuck. That’s it, pretty girl,” Sam coaches. He slurps loud and obscenely on your clit, swallowing down the results with a shiver of ecstasy. “Shit, just like that. You’re so good at this already. So good at taking it, ______. Never should’a made you wait.”

But all that must not count as getting a full taste of you, since Sam deviates, splaying his tongue flat and wide to rake it against you top to bottom. His tongue almost drools with liquid heat. At first you’d been disappointed you couldn’t see him over your legs, and now, you’re grateful for the mercy. Seeing Sam like that…

Sam licks you open until there’s no breath left in him. He goes until his jaw is sore and your slick is rolling off his chin in sticky rivulets, wetting the bedspread. He goes and he keeps going, worshipping your slippery-wet cunt between huffy moans.

You make a pathetic attempt at giving as good as you’re getting, but what should be a sexy zinger actually comes out as, “Sam, I-I—oh, god—Sam—!”

After that, your ability to form words joins your other higher brain functions in the endless sparkling expanse of white in your mind. Sam stirs a single long finger through your sopping folds. The stimulation alone has your hips twisting helplessly up to his face, on top of the rapid flicks of his talented tongue, but it’s the easy pressure of Sam’s thick finger filling you to the knuckle that actually earns a scream.

Not your average horror movie scream—an honest, enthusiastic, belly-deep cry that jerks in your chest like a sob.

You can pinpoint the precise moment that Sam realizes you’re a screamer; he hum-laughs to himself where he thinks you can’t hear.

“Next time,” (oh my fucking god there’s a next time), “‘won’t make you wait a minute, baby. Gonna give you everythin’ you want. I’m real sorry, darlin’, do you forgive me? Forgive me for not fucking you the second we were alone?”

You’re too busy having actual, real tears of desire cake your cheeks to string together a better answer than a moan. Holy shit.

Sam gives your pussy two deep, loving licks, each hot enough to send you into a coma. “Say it,” he utters, teasing, “say you forgive me.”

“I forg’ve you,” you croak.

“Forgive who?” He presses.

“I forgive you, Sammy.”

“That’s my girl,” Sam husks the promise between kisses to your clit, “So good to me. So sweet.”

Somehow, this is just as life-altering for him as it is for you. Long, flowing crests of pleasure seep hot through your system, winding tighter, tighter, tighter, twitching in the muscles of your stomach and almost cramping in your curled toes. The taste of you is so rich that Sam’s back quakes with euphoric shudders, trembling deep under the skin where he’s too far gone to rein back in. Sweaty locks of his bangs flutter as he breathes. It’s the only sign he’s breathing at all, really, what with him eating you out like he’s fuckin’ starved.

Sam gives a few good twists of his finger deep in your pussy (which doesn’t even graze how deep he might be with his cock). When you’re a puddle on the mattress and used to him, Sam withdraws to studiously coach you, “Deep breaths, ______.”

It takes a moment for the words to register. Once they have, you wind down long enough to measure your crazed breathing into even strokes. The ceiling overhead swims with dancing candlelight shadows and floating cartoon stars. Sam lifts his head to see for himself that you’re following his instructions, and after he’s done falling in love with the sight of you, Sam fills you up with two digits instead of one.

“A-ah!”

Just like before, they’re thrust in to the hilt at once. The throbbing, aching, leeching core of your arousal positively explodes, the urge to be filled finally touched. Sam’s responding bassy groan vibrates all the way up your body. The length and thickness of his fingers is put to immediate use, stretching you out with long knuckling gestures. You’re so unimaginably wet that your pussy just pulls him right in.

There’s a pause where you wiggle down onto his hand and brace yourself for the next brain-melting touch, and true to form, Sam sails straight over your grandest expectations. He’s quick to find the silky heart of arousal in your core again. You only know it by reputation, not experience, so when Sam presses into it with two soft fingerpads the pitch of your wailing jumps up ten octaves. Suddenly the pleasure is hot hot hot inside-going-out.

Sam tilts his head to one side and finds the gall to ask you: “How does that feel?”

(He just wants to hear you say it.)

“So good,” you weep. “Please please please gimme more, Sam, please—”

“It’s gonna be okay, _____. I’ll make it all better…”

Only then does Sam’s tongue get back to work, and—and holy fucking shit, he swoops in to steal the gold, demolishing every other name in the pussy-eating game. Sam wins. Sam fucking wins.

If this is just how his fingers feel…

Sam’s grin takes on a confident gleam. By coincidence, it’s around then that you remember that he’s psychic.

Somewhere between licking you into the next dimension and, oh yeah, Sam licking you into the next dimension, he’s pinned your thighs to your chest with a firm hand under your knees. You squeeze that hand for all you’ve got, every feeble atom in your body scrubbed raw with perfect pulsing desire.

To think, you’d spent this whole time getting off with your hand. A fucking hand. A few fingers! Sam crooks his in a way you’d never even hoped for on your own, finding that fluttery, twitchy spot inside you and working it for all it has. You’d asked for more and he gives you more, thrusting two fingers in at a brutal, even pace—again and again and again, til’ you’re thrashing up and off the mattress, wailing, your whole body a fist cramping shut around him. You snap in so tight toward him that you shove your face into your knees and cross your ankles tight behind Sam’s neck, keening, the fire knotted in your body devouring whatever fuel he’ll give.

Sam’s skill with his hands made you feel like an amateur in your own department. But his slick velvet tongue on your slick velvet pussy, taking slow sucks on your clit that turn into big broad licks, licking you up, licking you into his mouth whole, made just the thought of masturbation fucking laughable. I mean, c’mon! What the fuck are you supposed to do after this? Pop into the bathroom to use the showerhead, when Sam and his insatiable appetite for pussy are sitting right in the next room? Why even bother fantasizing about him and dicking around with a vibrator when nothing would ever compare to the real thing, shoving his parched panting mouth between your legs in an addict’s haze?

Still lapping up your dripping core, Sam pries his free hand from your grip. You’re pretty sure you have the right to whine in protest. Without his leverage for support your weak thighs collapse straight open, and for all you know the gates of heaven had parted to reveal god’s most beautiful angel. Sam is the picture of filth. His pretty pink lips are sealed around your cunt, his nose is all cute and smushed into your pubic bone, and you watch in time with every dirty lap as his jaw rolls handsomely under his skin.

The look on his face is unfor-fucking-gettable. In fifty years, sixty years, seventy, you know this memory will still live inside you, since no man has ever looked at you that way before. You weren’t sure it was even possible. Hazy euphoria radiates in unending rays from Sam’s face. He wants you. He trusts you. He is written all over with warm, intent desire, satisfying himself on you.

“Stay still,” Sam asks, politely.

Politely, you slap back against the bed and moan out, “Mhhmm.”

A new kind of mischief flashes across his face. You would’ve never pinned Sam as the type of guy to thrive with an audience, but now that he knows you’re watching, he falls seamlessly into a performance. His act is a three-parter.

While keeping his pace with his fingers, Sam starts by sliding slow off your pussy and spitting on it even slower. Whatever hazel leftover in his eyes has been swallowed totally by glittering, black delight. The muscles is his arm bulge and cramp fucking into you so hard. Pleased with himself, Sam dips down, dark eyes disappearing under his bangs, and makes a show of pointing his tongue to flicker across the raw nerves of your clit.

There’s more after that in the finale of Sam’s act, but the constant, brutal winding toward your release has taken its final toll. You have no fucking clue how you’ve survived this long. The overpowering squeezes of arousal inside you become full-body, wracking pangs. The sweaty trembling scraps of your soul leftover from Sam’s work throb and throb until they’re a blinding star. At the center of it, your core, tight and hot and so loved by Sam’s mouth. The searing pleasure becomes explosive. Apparently, the noisy, pitchy moans waking up the mountainside are coming from you, as you claw to get Sam even a molecule closer—closer, closer, closer—s-so close—!

So…

Close…

And you’re there. In the shimmering, divine realm Sam has made just for you; the realm your meager hands could never bring you to, and the realm you’ll be chasing still for the rest of your life. It becomes blatantly obvious in the next blissful minute that you’ve never cum before. Not for real, at least. This was a real orgasm, flashing through your spirit and flowing hot and beautiful through the numb ends of your body. You wail through it like it’s real, that’s for sure.

Your pussy clamps down around Sam’s fingers in waves of slippery pressure, and he revels in every second of it. You’re fucked through it. Kissed through it. He keeps up his pace and smushes his face in close, and that’s when you realize, oh fuck, Sam is going to drink your glass empty. The soft scooping of his tongue ramps up and up and over, til’ the edges of your vision start to spot and your muscles are too tight to unknot and it’s all too much.

“Sa—Sam—”

Just that word has him off you. You think Sam draws back and away, but that’s just a guess, since the wires between you and the outside world have been fucked stupid. Even the language has been licked and lapped out of you.

“Sam…”

You feel… like soup. Wet all over and hot hot hot. Filling the shape of the bed. You make an honest attempt at communicating this to Sam as your soupy mind’s way of telling him how satisfied you are, but. Your pussy gives a delighted, distracting throb that melts you into the top quilt all over again. Wow.

Just. Wow. You marinate in the aftershocks for what feels like ages, speechless.

Down by your legs (so that’s where he went!), Sam peels his heaving chest off the bedspread. Right. If you couldn’t breathe, he definitely couldn’t either. He gets up on all fours and crawls towards you like a guy in an RnB music video, all sexy moving arms and hips. It really shouldn’t be as appealing as it absolutely is. Starry-eyed, you open lazy arms to him and haul him down the second he’s close enough. He falls on top of you with a happy oomf. He’s long and smooth and wonderful, making you sigh when he snuggles in.

A few sparkling millennia go by laying in bed with him, toying with his hair and giggling dazedly to yourself. Sam hides his blazing face in your neck and murmurs something.

You’re buzzed by the skin-to-skin contact and cum drunk, which puts everything he says into fuzzy empty speech bubbles. The low, shy rasp of his voice tickles your neck. You try again.

“...Uh-huh…?”

“Was, uh, that too intense? Or…?”

The question floats around in your head for a while, bumping into things and spinning in zero gravity. Finally, the lights in your ship start to come on, and you pull what Sam said out from space.

“Look at me a minute.”

Sam does, curious.

“How’d,” you struggled to find your breath, “how the hell’d you learn t’ do that.”

And suddenly, Sam’s high school shyness is on a man’s face, and that man licks your slick off his lip and suppresses an evil grin. “I have, y’know. A thing about it.”

“A thing?” You echo, laughing with him. Maybe if you said it again it wouldn’t blow your mind as much. “A thing. Try an addiction, Sam, holy shit.”

In a few days, you’re gonna have to act normal around him in a room with his brother, while Sam uses the lips he defiled you with to talk, drink, and smile. Fuck. For the rest of your life, you’re gonna have to sit beside him at the dinner table and remember how he told you had a thing for eating pussy. A thing.

Glowing with innocent humility, Sam pawed up onto his hands, rolled onto his side, and positioned himself like a pin-up girl inviting you to bed. When he was done broadcasting with his entire body how much he wanted you, Sam shrugged. “I dunno… I just love to do it.”

(Being stunned silent by Sam tally: one million and three.)

He’s not real. There’s no way he’s real. You grab around for some part of him to pinch, and though Sam’s indignant yelp sounds authentic, you’re unconvinced. They had to have cooked him up in a lab somewhere.

This earns you a deep, fond Sam laugh. He gives your closest hip a playful pinch too, and after a brief tickle-fight that you miserably lose, Sam tilts his lips toward yours and husks, “Roll over that way and c’mere.”

With nothing else to do but submit happily to Sam’s will, you follow his hand and tilt in toward the wall. “You are something else.”

You’re joking, but you can also kind of feel it. Sam slings his arm over your ribs to pull your back flush to his chest, and already you melt into each other, settling back into the hollows you made in the blankets the night before. This close you can feel the magic in him. Sam oozes with cozy bonfire heat, his body laying sure and protective against your body, the last dregs of hunt anxiety in him gone. You feel the worn-soft denim of his open jeans as Sam’s lap wiggles down to scoop under you. A map of what’s ahead.

He teases a hand down your ribcage, thumbing sweetly at your belly. Sam tilts his head forward for a kiss, and unable to resist him, you meet him in the middle for one that turns into two, then three, then a swath of obsessed pecks. He must have a thing about kissing, too.

Sam pulls back to study you. With less confidence than you’d expect, he asks, “You wanna keep going?”

Just the teeniest motion of your head has Sam swooping for the chance to kiss you again, but you stop him short and twist to get a better look at him. In a high, maidenly voice, you play at being confused. Your poker face is still awful, so you have to hide your massive grin behind the invisible handkerchief you’re clutching.

“Keep going? My, a gentleman like you… an unmarried woman like me… what else is there to do, Samuel?”

His week being teased by you at all angles has forced him to evolve. Sam forgets altogether about indulging your bit and upgrades straight to more wonderful, ticklish manhandling, wiggling an arm between your vulnerable side and the bed to practically throw you back where you belong. You squeak and sputter between laughs, pretending your skin doesn’t explode with goosebumps at his touch.

When his massive palm is spread over your breastbone, Sam hoists you back against him, rolls in to threaten squishing you with more plush muscle and manly weight, and snarls in a way that ruins your metaphorical panties all over again.

“Uh-uh. Don’t play. You know exactly what m’ gonna do to you. Do y—?”

Sam stirs up his hips as he talks. All the snooty teasing left in your tank evaporates in one fell swoop, feeling the delicious outline of his dick swelling against you. Okay. You’re woman enough to admit that does it for you, and you really, really don’t want to wait anymore. Sam is an unbearable tease who will drag this out forever. You take matters into your own hands. Or, really, you put them into his.

…You prop open your closest leg for him, bent at the knee.

“Aw,” Sam rumbles, “didn’t even have’ta ask.”

You don’t hide your mean little grin. Sam, of course, kisses you into oblivion just seeing it, sliding a coarse hand under the silky, sensitive flesh behind your knee to keep you open for him. The ashes of your last climax are still simmering with heat, but it’s Sam’s kiss and his touch that reignites you totally.

It’s a bit of a twist to lean back and kiss him, but Sam’s height is made for this: his bulge swells right under your pussy, and he has the room to lean in close to your ear and purr—

“Take it out.”

Sam is asking you to take out his dick. You know that, yet you imagine yourself a month from now, unsure of which weapon the boys are comfortable letting you borrow from the Impala’s trunk. Dean’ll tell you, oh, the machete’s fine. Then Sam, with glittering eyes and full knowledge of how he’s torturing you, will nudge his chin toward the trunk and utter that phrase. Go on. Take it out. Knowing exactly what you’re thinking, and when, and how. And how deep and how hard.

It takes some shuffling and some curling, but you manage to work Sam’s jeans and boxers down his thighs. Just the sound of his zipper makes your mouth water. He hisses soft by your ear at the chill of the room, but in your hand Sam’s dick is body-hot by comparison. And. And so… s-so…

You scoop your palm around the shaft, squeezing him, feeling him. Through your back you feel Sam curl in and shiver, rumbling in approval. Your cheeks feel like they’re cooking by the candlelight just going for it, but your curiosity wins out—or, more accurately, your fucking awe. Because. What the fuck. You’ve never exactly seen a dick in person before, but you’re not naive. Sam is big enough to split you in half, and—and it just kind of pisses you off, because not only is he big, his dick is pretty, too. He has a pretty dick. Just cause’ being smart and empathetic and all that other bullshit didn’t make him sexy enough. God.

You nuzzle your cheek into Sam’s and he drops his lazy temple against yours. The two of you lounge there, heaving like peeping toms, as you both take in how sexy his cock looks leaking against your belly. Laying between your legs. It’s goddamn photo-worthy. Then, the angle your hand is taking slow, experimental pumps of him… accidentally… grinds Sam’s shaft between your abuse-swollen folds. He’s already twisting to moan into your mouth when you start to rock along him in earnest. You take a fistful of Sam’s hair and ride him for all he’s worth, dragging your sopping wet cunt across his dick until he glistens.

For three blissful seconds Sam locks you against his chest and grinds with you, making it instantly clear why people always use the word friction with sex. The push and pull of it has you whimpering loud and high against Sam’s mouth. And, thank god for him, because when your head starts to fog with visions of being filled raw, Sam pulls away from your kiss and recollects his control.

“Condom,” he gasps for breath, “we should. Probably. Yeah.”

“...Right,” you cursed. Your high school sex-ed teachers would not be proud of your lack of forethought, but it’s impossible to have any kind of thought in this situation, period.

For example: Sam tilts away to fish around in his duffle bag beside the bed, and, unfiltered, your mind taps its fingertips together and cheerily hopes, maybe Sam will be so rough the condom breaks.

Woah there, girlfriend, your reason butts in. But it doesn’t have anything else to say, since you start picturing how Sam’s cum would look oozing out of you, and. Um.

“You almost sound disappointed,” Sam jokes, digging for his wallet.

You snuggle down into the blankets and pretend you’re not hiding your face. “A little bit,” you confess, chanting the word responsible over and over in your head for good measure. “How much am I gonna feel you?”

Sam finds the condom and rolls back into your bubble. He turns in to kiss your shoulder, and you can feel his smile when he tells you, “You’re gonna feel every bit of me. Every inch… every stroke… I promise.”

He is so determined to assuage your worries that he holds the condom where you can see it, turning it over (between those long, long fingers) to make sure it’s punctureless and new. The little foil packet has XL printed on one side, which both adds to your sexy thoughts and pulls you out of them. Sam really is that big. He knows it, too, which is probably how he reads your nervousness.

“We’ll take it slow,” Sam promises, voice honey-sweet and quick to reassure you. “S’ big, yeah, but I’m gonna do everything to make you comfortable, kay? And if you wanna stop—”

He cares so much, you realize.

“Sam?”

He looks into your eyes like he loves you, and utters, “Yeah?”

“Thank you for making this good for me,” you say.

Sam melts. He doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, and you let him know it’s okay with a softer, warmer kiss than the others you’ve shared. You take in the shape of his face, the subtle freckles on his cheeks and nose, how the candlelight shadows sweeten Sam’s gaze. It slams on top of you how there’s nobody in the whole world you’d rather be doing this with, and in one puff your anxiety is in the wind.

You wrap your fingers around Sam’s wrist and flirt, “...Can I put it on you?”

Sam nods, eyes lidded. You’ve never exactly had to open a condom before, so you’re careful to pry the foil open with your fingers. For whatever reason you hadn’t figured it’d be lubed, but it makes fitting the ring of it around Sam’s tip and sliding it down his shaft a bit easier. A soft happy groan escapes him. They keep escaping him as you pump his cock in languid twists of your hand.

Sam nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades, whisper-rasping, “Would you like to…? It’ll be less scary that way.”

You really, really would. Before you make your move, Sam adds, “But, uh, before you put it in—want you to look at me.” He wets his lips with his tongue. “Wanna see the look on your face when I fill you up.”

Well, fuck. You tilt your face against Sam’s, nose to nose with him and warmed by his breath, and feel the slow ripples of heat in your belly roll into long, growing waves. Sam slides a hand back to the silky underside of your thigh and props you open for him. When you line Sam up, you start with the tip, not pressing, just stroking, feeling him against you. A satisfied purr drizzles out of your mouth to Sam’s. So far, your chosen pace has been “just go for it,” and since it hasn’t failed you yet—

—you go for it.

Sam’s bulbous cockhead dips between your folds to find your hole. A desperate, keening yes squeals out of you. You’re spit-wet and absolutely caked in slick, so there’s no hitch when you pull Sam in, just a hot, sudden fullness that seems to go endlessly deeper and deeper. The fit is so fucking snug. Snug like he’s made for you. Snug and perfect and stinging, made easier by Sam’s soft huffing coos. Look at you go. Makin’ this look easy. You looked so pretty when I ate you out, baby, but I knew you’d look even prettier taking my dick. So eager, Sam says, and he’s right. Your wetness is just begging to swallow him whole. Just being stuffed with half of Sam’s cock has you sucking down air, so the final surge to bring him to the hilt pries a genuine, hoarse cry from your belly. Sam shoves his face in your hair and groans, the sound catching on the snarl between his teeth.

Together, you orbit around the throbbing core of pleasure between you, suspended in the moment.

Sam is a wind-up toy, springs tightening with every vicious squeeze of your pussy. His mouth has made you soft, slippery, and swollen, so the firmness of his cock is different but stellar. This close, in such an intimate position, you can feel his heartbeat in more ways than one, and it surrounds you and fills you so effortlessly that you can only assume it’s your own. He touches your body like it’s one he just stepped into, feeling you from a new perspective for the first time. Sam fixates on your tummy, too, and you find out why when he presses down under your belly button—feeling the thick swell of him under your skin, deeper than anyone else could ever go. He gives you a turn too, pressing your hand down in the same place. It sends electric blackouts of lust through your system that demand to be fucked brainless.

You start to wiggle in his grasp for more, stirring your hips down onto him and choking out his name. Sam is already responding: your open leg is scooped into the crook of his arm and drawn tight to his chest, spreading you open as wide as you’ll go. His hold cants up your hips in a way that lets his cock hit just that much deeper, and that’s all you need to dash your head against the pillows and mewl for your life. Two rough fingerpads slip back into the sopping wet home of your clit and stir against it at a pace brutal enough to cramp. Between Sam’s fingers and the thick drag of his cock against your soft walls, you’re desperate for something to hold onto. You latch onto Sam’s wrist for dear life. Then starts Sam’s pulling and pushing in brief, filling strokes, rocking, driving you fucking crazy, making you need him to fuck you like you need air. He was deep to a point that you swear you could feel him in the back of your throat.

“You want more?” Sam asks, and if it weren’t for the breathy rattle in his voice he could’ve sounded innocent.

You nod until your head is close to rolling off. “Yes, yes Sammy please.”

Sam grins. You feel it for an instant, then his cheek pulls away from your back and all you have left to read him by is the needy, carnal noises he’s making. All at once he’s drawing out further than he had before. You’re almost empty for a whole sob-worthy breath, which Sam makes up for with every ounce of his being.

For what has to be three glorious hours, Sam leans back to fuck you in powerful, even strokes, filling you to the brim every time, and filling the room with the thick, wet sound of his cock pounding into you. You repay him the only way you can, and—get—noisy.

You moan. You wail. You mewl, pretty much every time Sam’s hips snap up into your ass. You pant hard through it all, begging him in soft whines to f-fuck me, fuck me, p-please, Sam and to go deeper, baby—uhnn, more more more…! From there you’re on autopilot, letting loose even the most primal noises that Sam gets out of you. He is very, very good at his task, so you color the room with every erotic syllable under the sun. A porn studio would hire the two of you without even entering the room. Sam especially, but you might be biased since every time you sigh his name he drives in a little harder.

Indescribable pleasure follows even his tiniest movements. You absorb every pump with nothing but desperate enthusiasm, spreading your legs further, curling your back, and digging your fingers into the cushions for any sort of leverage at all. Just a few minutes pass until your limit is a trembling boulder of knots in your gut, but still Sam’s nowhere near finished yet. Slick coats your thighs and Sam's cock, you cry at every thrust, your body twitches and shudders all over, but he's still not there.

He slows. The brush of his lips against your ear and the wisp of his breath set your nerves on fire. “You’re gonna finish first, but tha’—that’s okay, baby,” Sam reassures, and works your poor swollen clit even harder, choking a string of thready moans from you. “Wanna feel your pretty pussy cum all over my dick.”

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

(Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and wonder where the hell he got that dirty mouth from. Somebody needs to clean it out with soap.)

It’s as Sam’s laying sloppy kisses on your throat that his prediction comes true. The tissue in your body pulls taut, winding tight, tighter, curling around the epicenter of pleasure, toward him. You expect Sam’s thrusts to take a fierce turn. Instead, you’re treated to the same thorough, determined pace that got you here in the first place—the same pace that is currently jellifying your insides and reducing you to tears on this teeny bed. If the percussive slapping of skin on skin wasn’t enough to wake up the entire planet, then the vicious slam of the bedframe putting a new dent in the wall would certainly do the job. Somehow you hear it all past your pulse thundering in your ears. The arm hooked behind you to rake a hand through Sam’s hair bobs with each thrust, and your leg trapped in Sam’s hold bounces on beat. All you can do is scrape out broken gasps, until the tossing waves of heat and lust and power twisted in your belly have built too high—and all things that go up must inevitably come crashing down.

“That’s my girl,” Sam slurs, squeezing your tits in both hands. He rolls his hips into you and coos, “Just like that… take what you need, baby, it’s okay…”

Like last time, Sam fucks you through it. You’re scooped up in his arms and squeezed tight, tight enough to be drawn into Sam’s body and absorbed. The hot, gorgeous drags of friction against the sensitive walls of your cunt slow, but Sam never draws out, burying himself deep and soaking up every wild clamp of your pussy. There’s something fucking spectacular about having something to clench down on. Sam is that perfect something, vieny and thick and still fucking hard.

You cum on him in long rippling rushes of wet heat that feel downright unrealistic, otherworldly—exaggerated, maybe, by the fact that you fucking—black—out!

It must only be a few beats later that you come out of it, but the fact remains that Sam Winchester made you cum so hard you passed out, and you’re going to have to live with that for the rest of your life. You’re already starting to realize that Sam is the best lay you’re ever going to have, period, and the dull happy throb of your orgasm hasn’t even left your body yet. Sam hasn’t even left your body yet.

Wait, fuck. He’s still hard.

…This could be. This could be very good.

Fueled by hormones, sweat, and adrenaline, you pull off him and roll the rest of the way onto your belly. During all the crazed fucking, you and Sam had migrated halfway down the bed. You crawl to the top as sexily as you’re able, stuff your cheek against the closest pillow, and wiggle your cum-soaked ass in the air just for him, open for his taking. Your face could start the whole bed on fire, but you feel more alluring than embarrassed.

“C’mon, Sammy,” you taunt, and throw him a mean grin, “gimme the big finish.”

Sam sucked in a deep breath from his nose, probably preying for strength. A dirty smile touched his face. “You’re… you’re amazing, _____.”

Feeling like it, you turned your face over onto the other side of the pillow and tempted him with another mesmerizing ass wiggle. Sam was up on his knees in an instant. You should’ve known that Sam, the addict, would instantly take the chance to shove his face between your legs. The only warning you get is his massive hands clamping down on your calves to hold you still, then a hot, silky tongue swipes once through your folds for a taste. You haven’t finished squealing when Sam’s weight saddles up behind you, and the heavy shape of his cock starts to rut between your legs.

“Sorry,” Sam hums, not sorry at all, “Needed a taste of you.”

Stars above, he doesn’t hesitate to get handsy with you, too, taking two broad handfuls of your ass-cheeks. Your ass sits so nicely against his hips that you start to wonder if soulmates are real. Because Sam must be yours, fitting into you like a key and teasing you open like a master lockpicker. Once you’re where Sam wants you, he bobs your ass back until his tip has room to part your folds, and after that you’re both brought home into sparkling, slippery, blinding pleasure. He digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you right on him, filling your pussy to the hilt, like always. Key. Lock. Click click click.

“Yes,” you and Sam hiss together.

“Fuck,” Sam adds. “You should see yourself like this. You look so stuffed, baby, squeezing down on me.”

“Feel so stuffed,” you flirt back, wiggling into him.

This angle is different than the last, exaggerating, as Sam immediately starts in on his pace from before, how thick his cock is. He curls his fingers around your waist and beats in hard, pulling on your still-sparking overstimulated wires from last time. Every joint in your body locks ramrod straight, overwhelmed with brief flashes of too much too much. Your pussy clenches helplessly around him, but Sam brings you over it with a few well-placed stirs of his hips. In no time you’re mewling for him like you were before, emboldened by your first round.

You get your nails into Sam’s sculpted ass and drag him deeper, faster, urging him on the end of a moan, “Fuckin’ take it, Sammy—mhhnn, take what—what you need, Sam, yes, so good—”

This is exactly what Sam needs to hear. You’re scooped up around the middle, just like before, and Sam crushes his face into your back, spooning you close as he brings himself closer and closer to where he needs to be. Your hands can’t get enough of him, smoothing down his vieny arms and squeezing his hand against your belly. The picture the two of you must make is obscene on unimaginable levels. Sam, latched onto you like a parasite and reaming you for his release. You, smushed under him and loving it, digging your ass up into him for more. All the sweat-twisted blankets shoved to the floor. Sam’s hips canting your thighs apart. The worn-smooth slope of his palms, squeezing your tits and your tummy and your waist in achy handfuls.

Finally, Sam’s hoarse choked panting cuts off with a sharp breath. His hips putter into you for the last time, then still. Sam spills into the condom, shuddering against you from head to toe, and slowly… the two of you collapse into each other… panting and panting until your breathing syncs up. Sam’s chest goes up. You suck in a breath. His chest goes out, and you deflate right with him.

He doesn’t get up and you don’t ask him to. As the haze of sex starts to clear from the room (as much as it can, anyway), the chill of the mountainside creeps in behind it, and the hottest thing around for miles is easily the giant, naked Sam Winchester in your bed. Wrapped up in him and as warm as can be, you wonder if he’s as close to passing out (again) as you are.

But no. Suddenly, Sam’s up on his hands, and there’s only two possible reasons why.

“Didn’t get to kiss you as I finished,” he complained.

Smushed into your pillow, you tell him, “I think you have two addictions.”

Regardless, you roll onto your back so Sam can lay one on you. Since your soul is officially back in your body, you’re more aware than ever of the aches and bruises you’ve earned, not to mention a few sets of pomegranate-purple fingerprints. After a few stunning kisses from Sam, you’re still not sure that all of that actually happened. You touch his face and pinch his cheeks plenty of times, but all he does is look at you extra dreamily. Still doesn’t seem real.

Of course, being a gentleman, he decides to prove it to you.

“Speaking of my other addiction…” Sam lays a playful hand on your belly, “I know I wound you up a bit back there. Can I take care of you one more time? Please?”

“Hmm…” You pretend to think, grinning to yourself. “Man. I just can’t say no to you, Sammy…”

_

Two weeks later, you’re crammed in a teeny car instead of a teeny cabin, riding down a back road in rural Texas the Dean way—blowing by road signs at sixty miles an hour, windows down and music up. Sam’s shotgun. You’re content to sit behind him, catching his eye in the side-mirror as he pretends to hunt around newspapers for a new case. His hair flutters in the wind, outlining his face in the most enchanting way.

“I don’t know how the hell the two of you stayed up there the whole week!” Dean hollers over his Lynyrd Skynyrd tape, which he could turn down whenever he wants to. He throws you an unenvious look from the driver’s seat, “You must’a been bored out of your fuckin’ gourds!”

You’re honestly surprised that Dean didn’t automatically assume sexy shenanigans occurred at the cabin. Sam doesn’t move to answer, deeply engrossed in his reading. Where Dean can’t see, you curl your fingers into the hair at the back of Sam’s neck and caress his scalp, which earns you a look that promises that sexy shenanigans can happen anywhere. They can happen in motel rooms. Click. Even Impalas, when Dean’s gone. Click click click.

You shrug at Sam’s brother, shouting over the music with an unsubtle grin. “We entertained ourselves!”

_

Tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration

READ PART TWO.

[lil-sweater-slut]

closer than friends

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: season 1/2 era, friends to lovers, sweet love confession, Dean being Sam’s wingman

A/N: my first supernatural fic is finally here!!! It’s been a long while since I’ve had the motivation to write, and I’m so glad I was able to get this out and share it. Please reblog if you enjoy!! <33

"How many times are you gonna shift in your goddamn seat, woman, jesus christ." Dean glances over at you from the wheel for the fourth time, watching you rub your eyes and knock your shoulder into the side of the Impala's door again.

"It's not my fault the passenger seat isn't made for comfortable napping, Dean."

You hear Sam chuckle from over your shoulder; this makes you look back to find him comfortably nestled into the corner of the backseat with his sweatshirt tucked in the crook of his neck so he can lean against his door without discomfort.

You huff, "I don't want a word from you."

"Says the girl who called shotgun and fought for the front seat all morning."

"What did I just say?"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Okay, knock it off. We're finding a place to sleep tonight."

While Dean focuses back onto driving, you try your hardest to find a suitable position that would allow you to sleep for awhile up until you guys made it to whatever hotel you were staying in for the night. You'd like to blame the Impala for your sleep deprivation, but you've slept in it before just fine, so you know the car isn't the problem. Even though you're going on just over 36 hours of no sleep, your mind won't shut off. The events of the case you were working on for the past couple of days play like a movie in your head, reminding you of how it ended over and over again.

You swallow quite harshly, and shift in your seat again. Something soft smacks the back of your head and you whip around to see what Sam's hit you with, but it's just his sweatshirt, and he's already leaning against the side of the car like he was before, almost as if he hadn't moved at all.

You mumble out a quiet "thank you," and you don't bother to even listen for any sort of reply before you're stuffing his sweatshirt underneath your head and forcing yourself to go to sleep. It's not long before you hear Sam's soft breathing from the backseat signifying that the boy has finally fallen asleep himself. You almost gave up until you saw Dean turn down his music just a little, side-eyeing you as he looked between you and the road.

"Is that better?" He asks.

"It was fine before."

"I'll keep it like this anyway."

You hum in response, and he goes back to humming his own tune to follow along with the music. With Sam's soft breathing in the back and Dean's low humming, you finally find something else other than your mind to focus on, which ultimately leads to your eyes lulling shut and you drifting off to sleep.

When your eyes start to peel back open again, the car is stopped and there's light rain patter on the wind shield. You lift your head causing Sam's sweatshirt to lightly fall into your lap, and at the same time the door opens revealing a slightly wet Sam waiting for you.

"C'mon, we're here."

"Slow your roll, Sammy, I just woke up." Your head lolls back onto the seat, and you let your eyes close once again, forgetting about Sam who's standing in the rain waiting for you to get out.

"Alright, let's go."

You shiver and grumble a slight protest as you feel his cold hands slip underneath your body to grab you and pick you out of the Impala. He knocks the door shut as he cradles you close to his chest as to not drop you, and as he locks the car. Your ear stays smushed against his front as he carries you, allowing you to feel the soft pitter patter of his heart beating in his chest.

"What time is it?" You mumble sleepily.

"Close to ten."

"That's it?"

"Yeah." You nod, not replying this time so you can nod back off in his arms. You're back to being fast asleep once again by the time Sam reaches the room Dean picked out for you, and he tries tucking you into your bed as gently as possible so he doesn't accidentally wake you up. In the short process you only mutter something unintelligible to Sam's ears as he finishes pulling the blankets up, so he ignores it and kisses you on the forehead, bidding you a good night before he retreats back to the room he's sharing with Dean for the night.

It's much later when you're rudely roused from sleep by a nightmare; you sit up straight in the bed with your hands by your sides clawing at the sheets, your eyes wide and unfocused, much too scared to figure out where you are or how you've gotten there. It takes a second to realize you're in a motel room, and now, the sheets that were once neatly laid over your body are haphazardly thrown towards the end of the bed, practically hanging off and hitting the floor. You take a shaky deep breath in and out, taking your trembling hand and placing it over your heart in an attempt to regulate it.

After a couple minutes your breathing is sort of back to normal, but your shakiness hasn't stopped. At that point, you're aware you won't be falling asleep again anytime soon, so you sit up further and throw your legs off the bed to go and find something to busy yourself with. In the corner there's a chair that you notice has your bag on top of it, and there's a small table next to it with a notepad. Your curiosity pulls you towards it, and when your feet reach the table, you're able to make out Sam's sloppy handwriting.

If you need us. - S

Next to the writing is a key card, which you can obviously assume is the one to their room. You pick it up and turn it over a few times, debating on whether this dream was something worth needing them for. In your head, needing was the same thing as bothering and it was never used as a positive term. But you know that if you spend another minute in that bed you might actually start crying and drive yourself crazy over the dream, so you take your chances and hope one of the boys will let you sleep in their bed or at least talk to you for awhile and get your mind off of it.

When you open the door and step outside, you become acutely aware of the cold air on your arms and legs rather quickly, and you begin to wish you were wearing a sweatshirt instead of one of Sam's shirts and a pair of shorts. The chill encapsulates you, making you hasten your step towards the room down the hall with the number specified on the key card. Once you make it to the room, you're pushing yourself up on your tip toes because, despite your sock covered feet, the ground is still horridly cold and you're hoping to get off it as soon as possible. Although, you find yourself unable to let yourself in once you find yourself standing in front of the door. You give it a good five minutes before you work up the nerve to finally pat the key card on the handle to allow yourself in the room. Once you've pushed open the door a crack, you're able to perceive a bed-side lamp turned on, and Sam leaning against his headboard next to it.

His head snaps up from his book at the sound of the door being pushed open, but he relaxes when he realizes it's you.

"Hey," he says softly. He's in the brown sweatshirt you were passing back and forth earlier, and he's weirdly still in a pair of jeans, but at this point you're used to seeing Sam and Dean wearing their jeans to bed.

"Hi," you respond back, even softer.

Sam likes to think he's pretty good at perceiving your body language, especially after knowing you for so long; so when he notices your trembling hands, your flushed cheeks, and your frantic eyes, he knows that you've had a nightmare.

He's not gonna ask why you're there since he knows why, so he only pats the side of the bed next to him and asks, "You wanna' join me?"

You're quick to nod your head and cross the room to join him, and it's only then when you're on the bed that you notice Dean isn't in the other one.

"Where's Dean?"

"Oh, he left to drive around. He's probably at a bar, or sleeping in the car somewhere." He says casually.

You hum, "Couldn't sleep?"

"Neither of us really could. He asked if I wanted to come with, but I didn't really feel like leavin'." Sam left out the fact he didn't want to leave you here alone, since he doesn't like leaving you anywhere by yourself. Dean doesn't either, but he doesn't get fussy over it like Sam sometimes does when you fight them on it.

"I can't either," you say quietly.

With some of your hair dangling in your face and your flushed cheeks, you look sort of delicate in Sam's eyes. You look sad, but when you look at him you have a gentle smile covering your lips, and when you look away your mouth curves downward again, only slightly, to where you might think he won't notice, but he does.

Sam's always stayed observant of you, even when you think you're the one who takes all the mental notes of him.

He reaches out, lifting the hand closest to you and letting his palm rest gently on top of your shoulder.

"You okay?" He almost looks like a puppy when he asks, and it's pitiful. For you mostly because he's cute, but why should he look like that when you feel like you're gonna start crying any minute.

You don't even want to answer because if your mouth opens you're either gonna say you're fine, or words describing the terrors you experienced in your sleep are going to come pouring out of your mouth and you won't be able to stop until you're a sobbing, pitiful mess and you could not handle being that way in front of Sam.

You couldn't.

But looking at him looking at you so fondly, it's like he's trying to tell you he'll comfort you the only way he knows how and he's gonna fix all your problems with a touch or two alone. Like the way he wants to hold you will melt all your fears into nothing and the way he wants to kiss you will make you forget any of it even happened. His eyes speak more than words could express in this moment and you don't even care if you seem desperate, or needy, or anything really. You allow yourself to fall forward into his awaiting arms, and when your head meets his chest, you can't help the first sob that escapes your lips.

You sound so tired, and the way that you're crying so harshly makes him feel like you're tearing yourself apart inside, like each breath is ripping off another piece of your heart.

"Honey..." he breathes out gently, wrapping his one arm around your neck and his other only comes up about half way so he can hold your head close to him under his chin. You've fallen completely into his side, your head against his chest and one leg practically in his lap, but he doesn't seem mind. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You consider it for a moment; you probably would feel better opening up to him about the case you just worked, considering he was also there and knows how hard it was, but you also know opening up to Sam makes you feel close to him. Intimate almost. You’ve never been one to share your thoughts or feelings generously, and you think that must have just came with the messed up childhood, since Sam and Dean are pretty much the same way. But as the years went on, the boys got much better at opening up to you than you did them. Although, if there was anyone that could get you to talk, it was Sam.

Today, you decided, would not be one of those days.

You shake your head, "I'm okay, I'm okay. I'll be fine." You know by his soft sigh that he doesn't believe you, but luckily he doesn't push it. "Can we just stay like this for a little while?" You whisper shyly, despite knowing he wouldn't say no to you.

"Yeah," he strokes your hair softly, "Yeah, of course."

You lay comfortably against him as he slowly but surely calms you down, holding your head and rubbing your arm gently as you let out sad little sniffles. Once you've relaxed, you murmur something into his chest that he thinks might have been a thank you, but before he can ask you've already fallen asleep.

About an hour later after the two of you have fallen asleep, Dean unlocks the door and enters the room slightly shitfaced but more so tired. He freshens up in the bathroom so he doesn't wake up feeling even worse in a couple of hours, and he doesn't even notice you're there until he's trudging out of it, eyes wide and feet frozen to the floor as he takes in the image of you and Sam cuddled up to each other in Sam's bed. He manages to put his fist against his mouth just in time to cover up a surprised laugh, taking in the sight of his little brother in the same bed as their best friend.

"This is gold." Dean smiles mischievously, pulling his phone out of his pocket to capture the moment. "Just friends my ass." He mutters.

...

"Dean, if I have to hear you say that girl's name again one more time, I'm going to chop your head off. I don't care how good she was at su-"

"Alright, alright, let's quiet down shall' we?" Sam pats your shoulder and looks around the cafe to see if anyone heard you bickering with Dean about last night's one night stand. Dean laughs loudly as he lets himself into the corner booth that the three of you chose while you were walking in.

"What, you nervous someone's gonna hear us, Sammy?"

"It's 8 in the morning, Dean. Let's be a little respectful."

You hide your giggle, "Yeah, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes, glancing at Sam as he ever so casually throws his arm over the back of the seat behind you, looking at the side of your face to see if you've taken notice. You're picking your nail, completely oblivious. He almost rolls his eyes again.

"Well," Dean straightens up, "Let's see what we have on the menu today."

"Don't act like you're not going to get the same exact thing you get every day," you comment, not even looking up from your nail.

"What's with the attitude, sweetheart? Didn't sleep well?" Sam's smile quickly turns to an annoyed frown as he makes eye contact with Dean, silently sending him daggers to keep his mouth shut.

You squint your eyes at him and open your mouth to come back with a retort, but the waitress walks up before you get the chance to say anything.

"Are y'all ready yet, or would you like a few minutes?" She asks kindly.

"Can we have a couple more minutes?" You say, since the three of you haven't even taken a look at the menu yet. She nods and retreats, leaving you alone with the boys once again. Sam and Dean grab their menus and you quickly realize there isn't a third, so you go to call the waitress back, but Sam nudges you just before you do.

"It's fine, just share mine." You huddle close next to him, resting your chin on your hand as you survey the food options as Sam does the same. He's so close his hair just so slightly grazes the skin of your cheek. Dean raises his eyebrows when he notices Sam's leg has started bouncing and he covers up his laugh with a cough just as he did last night, busying himself and acting clueless as the two of you look up at him.

"You alright?" You ask jokingly.

"Yup, totally fine. You guys ready yet?"

"Yep. How about you, Sammy?" He clears his throat and doesn't say anything, but he nods his head in response, which has you eyeing him weirdly. You choose to ignore it and let Sam order for you while you kick Dean under the table to stop being flirty with the nice waitress, and he only winks at you before he gives his order too.

When the waitress departs from your table, Dean lets his eyes follow her just for a second before he's turning back to the two of you, and he gets this questioning look on his face when he realizes the two of you are blankly glaring at him with the same narrowed eyes.

"What," he throws his hands up in defense, "I can't admire a good-looking woman?"

You and Sam glance at each other with a knowing glance right before you look back at Dean and say, "What's with you today? Why are you acting so..."

"Strange." Sam says. He leans forward on the table, "Why do you look like you're up to something?"

"Huh? Me?" Dean points to himself, "I'm not up to anything. I'm just being plain old me."

"Yeah, sure." You laugh him off and start a side conversation with Sam that has the two of you forgetting about Dean for the moment. Dean always knew Sam liked you; it's so obvious, at least to him. But he wishes he'd realized before how clearly obvious you are too. He doesn't know if he wants to throw up or throw a party.

...

A couple weeks later

"One or two rooms?" The lady asks.

"One please." Dean replies, handing the lady one of his debit cards that probably had some weird made up name on it. When Dean turns around with his debit card and the key in hand, you and Sam are looking at him weird like a couple of toddlers.

"Really? One room? Since when have we done that?" You questioned.

"Since you and Sammy boy over here started sharing a bed every night. I'm not gonna pay for two rooms when you don't use yours." Dean quickly catches on to how he's embarrassed the two of you so he adds, "and besides, I'd rather you stick with us anyway. Keep the team together." He pats your shoulder with a smirk and leaves the two of you behind. Sam spares a glance at your face and he's a bit surprised to find that you're just as taken aback as he is, but you don't say anything and you follow Dean rather quickly.

The three of you head back to the Impala to grab your bags before heading to the room, and when you go to take out yours, Sam slides in front of you and grabs his in one hand, and yours in the other.

"Sam." You say impassively.

"Yeah?"

"I am fully capable of grabbing my own bag."

"Oh I know. I'm just getting a quick work-out, since you know, your bag is like 50 pounds from all the clothes you carry.

"It is not, I barely bring anything with me!"

"You might be right, but if I may ask, how many of the shirts in here are actually mine?"

You pretend to think, "Um, probably like two. Maybe three."

A wide grin spreads across his face as he laughs at you, "Now you're lying! Half my wardrobe is in here!" Sam pushes the cracked door open with his behind and holds it open for you, standing to the side with his foot on the door. Dean's bag is at the end of his bed and he's already crashed on the bed nearest to the door.

"Hey, it's not my fault your clothes are more comfortable than mine! I don't know who decided that men deserve softer clothes."

"Well, in that case," he dropped the bags, "be my guest."

"Oh, how sweet. I like how you think you had any choice in the matter."

"Haha, very funny. Do you want the first shower?"

"You can take it, I had it the other night. Besides, I need to figure out which shirt I'm stealing tonight. I was thinking of the blue one, or actually, maybe the green-"

"Oh my god, I'm leaving." He rolls his eyes, but you can see the amused smirk on his face as he heads to the bathroom, and gently closes the door behind him. You giggle to yourself as you pull out his blue shirt from your bag and a pair of pants since it's a bit chillier tonight.

He's out of the shower pretty quick, and when he emerges from the steamy bathroom, you're next to Dean's bed whacking him repeatedly with a pillow.

"I told you to stop snoring!" You yell at him.

"Hmph, stop hitting me, crazy woman!" He mumbles sleepily at you. You stop hitting him when you notice Sam watching you, and he wants to laugh at how cute you look, like some kid who's got caught doing something they're not supposed to.

"What, he was bothering me."

He smiles, "I don't doubt it."

He doesn't realize that you froze mainly because he came out in a pair of sweats and no shirt, with his hair dripping wet and a towel around his shoulders. Dean peaks his eyes open and grumbles when he notices the way you're looking at him. You hear Dean, which breaks you out of your temporary trance.

You drop the pillow and give him a sheepish look, "I'm gonna- I'll take my shower now." You nod, promptly leaving the room after you grab the clothes you had set out on your bed. Sam watches you leave, more than a bit confused might he add, suspicious of the way your mood had suddenly changed. Once he hears the water running and the curtain pull back signifying you're in the shower, and can no longer hear him, he settles on the bed and asks Dean a question.

"What happened?"

"You happened, you idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. I'm sick and tired of watching you two pine after the other when you clearly love each other, so for gods sake- no, my sake, tell the girl you love her and get on with it!"

Sam's face is hysterical, and if Dean weren't so tired right now he'd be laughing, but he's exhausted in more ways than one, so all he can do is shut is eyes and hope his little brother makes a move on the girl who's been his practically since the day they met her.

"D-Dean... I can't just-"

"Yes you can, and you will." Dean finalizes. "At this point I'll just do it for you. It's unbearable." Sam huffs loudly, flopping back onto the bed.

He lays there and stares at the ceiling for awhile until he hears his brother's soft snores coming from the other side of the room; when he sits up and runs a hand through his hair, he hears the shower turn off and your light humming become more audible.

He takes a final deep breath just as you walk out of the bathroom with your hair combed nicely and your warm pajamas, perfectly ready for bed. Not exactly ready for your best friend to confess his undying love for you. He wants to crumble at the sight of your smile.

"You okay?" You ask gently. "You look a little pale."

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he waves you off, "When am I not fine?"

You laugh softly, "Do you want me to answer that?"

"Actually no." He gives a soft laugh of his own before his eyes land on his brother again, thinking over the words that were spoken to him just minutes prior to you walking out of that door. You were so near, so close to their conversation, and you have no idea. He can't help but think that maybe you'll be taken aback, shocked beyond belief, or traumatized enough to the point you yell at him and leave him for good. Or, maybe... possibly... there's a small chance you do feel the way that Dean says you feel, and in just a few moments the entirety of your relationship will change. Well, no matter what it'll change.

He just hopes it's what he feels it might be.

Sam's face snaps up to you quickly, like he's just had a sudden thought, and his eyes hold yours for a beat too long before he asks, "Can we go outside for a second?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He gets up and takes long strides towards the door, you just a foot behind. He opens it and leaves it open for you to slide through, and he's standing there with his hands in his pockets facing away from you. You give him a questioning glance, but he doesn't see it.

"You have the key?" You query.

"Um..." he pulls out the card in his hand to make sure and you giggle at him, but he just nods, putting it back in his pocket, gulping strangely, "Yeah, I got it."

"Okay." You whisper softly, closing the door quietly behind you. You're silent for a moment, giving him a second to see if he'd speak first, but he doesn't. "You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm in love with you."

Not even a beat later, those words exit his mouth, and everything changes. The atmosphere that was once light, comfortable, and knowing, has shifted to one of fearful eyes, harsh breaths and unspeakable tension. His hands, once unafraid to grab hold of you, now remain glued to his side, flexing and itching to reach forward and touch your skin. His heart is beating so fast he feels like it's getting torn out; each individual piece of it being sliced and picked carefully from his chest as if he were on an operating table.

He can't tell if the look on your face is fear or shock. Probably both. But he doesn't know if it's good or bad and it's scaring him.

"Say something." He breathes out, with a drop of desperation.

Your mouth, hung open for a brief amount of time, now closes, and you gulp just like he did before he uttered those five little words.

"What did you say?" you murmur, looking like you just got pulled from space.

He repeats himself. "I'm in love with you."

You don't say anything again, but he continues.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to say that." He interrupts himself with a laugh, a scared, almost detached sounding laugh, but one nonetheless. You stare at him as he goes on. "For weeks I've had these moments where I look at you and all I can think about is telling you how I feel, but then some part of me ruins it and then I forget about it until you do something again that makes me want to say it again."

"Which, I swear is every two seconds because all you have to do is look at me with those eyes and all I want to do is grab your face and tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me and how I can't stand sleeping next to you one more night without you knowing that I can't sleep without you anymore. I need you by my side, tucking your head under mine. It's not that I can't because I could, but I don't ever want to again. I could live a hundred lifetimes, all of them with you in them, but if you weren't mine, if you were someone else's, I wouldn't dare live another."

When he notices the tear streaking down your face, he finally reaches forward to hold your cheek in the palm of his hand. Your own comes up from your side to grip tight onto the wrist that's holding your face, and he can tell that you've noticed he's shaking.

"Sam..." Your voice comes out unsure, "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?" He questions you, giving you an incredulous look. "Sweetheart, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

You're holding onto him so tight, he just knows what you're going to say next.

"I love you." You thought it would come out a whisper, but it sounds stronger than you expected. You close your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. "Oh, Sam, I love you so much."

His smile is brighter than a thousand suns, and his forehead drops against yours, staying there as you breath the other in; this new confession bringing in a wind of fresh air that has you feeling like you've both earned a pair of new lungs.

"I thought you might say that." He utters quietly, making you laugh and hit his chest lightly.

"Oh, shut up. Then why were you so scared, dumbass."

"I was confessing my love for you, either way I'm gonna be nervous!"

You smile cheekily, "Your love for me..."

"Don't act like you didn't know." His other hand comes up to hold the other side of your face, tilting your head up more to see you clearly.

"Maybe. But I had my doubts too." You confess.

Sam shrugs, "Well, without Dean I probably wouldn't have said anything for another decade, so-"

Your mouth drops open, "You finally gained the courage because Dean forced you to?" Sam stays still as you gape at him, and he smiles nervously.

"Does it help if I was thinking about it first?"

"Oh my god." You groan dejectedly and drop your head forward onto his chest. He holds the back of your head as he shakes with laughter.

"Okay, okay, be mad at me, whatever. Am I getting my kiss now?"

"Who said you were gonna get one at all?"

"Don't mess with me."

"I wouldn't dare."

...

The next morning, Dean groggily peels his eyes open to the morning sunlight peeking out of the curtains, and grumbles, questioning the time. It's around 8 am, which surprises him because he would have expected you or Sam to have woken him by now. At the thought of you guys, he turns over and manages to find himself alone in the dingy motel room. The bed covers are torn from the top of the bed, more settled towards the end of it, showing that you guys obviously slept in it, but there's no sign you or Sam are even still here.

Suddenly, he hears the low growl of his Baby pulling up outside, making him swing his legs out of bed and trudge over to the door. He swings it open, getting ready to yell at the both of you for going anywhere without him, even if it was breakfast, but his eyes widen and his jaw drops at the sight he's seeing.

You and Sam are standing close together near the trunk, leaning against the side, but mostly the other. Sam's hand, that isn't holding the grocery bags, is holding your hip, and you're looking up at him with a mischievous look in your eye. Sam says something which conjures up a giggle out of you, which then has Sam smiling brightly at the sight of you. He leans down and kisses you straight on the lips, holding you there for a moment before he pulls away to catch his breath. Both of you stand there, unaware of Dean's eyes on you, but neither of you would even really care if you did.

Dean's shocked expression turns to one of accomplishment. He nods, satisfied, and smiles like his brother just did. He sighs.

"Kids."

[lil-sweater-slut]

closer than friends

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: season 1/2 era, friends to lovers, sweet love confession, Dean being Sam’s wingman

A/N: my first supernatural fic is finally here!!! It’s been a long while since I’ve had the motivation to write, and I’m so glad I was able to get this out and share it. Please reblog if you enjoy!! <33

"How many times are you gonna shift in your goddamn seat, woman, jesus christ." Dean glances over at you from the wheel for the fourth time, watching you rub your eyes and knock your shoulder into the side of the Impala's door again.

"It's not my fault the passenger seat isn't made for comfortable napping, Dean."

You hear Sam chuckle from over your shoulder; this makes you look back to find him comfortably nestled into the corner of the backseat with his sweatshirt tucked in the crook of his neck so he can lean against his door without discomfort.

You huff, "I don't want a word from you."

"Says the girl who called shotgun and fought for the front seat all morning."

"What did I just say?"

Dean rolls his eyes, "Okay, knock it off. We're finding a place to sleep tonight."

While Dean focuses back onto driving, you try your hardest to find a suitable position that would allow you to sleep for awhile up until you guys made it to whatever hotel you were staying in for the night. You'd like to blame the Impala for your sleep deprivation, but you've slept in it before just fine, so you know the car isn't the problem. Even though you're going on just over 36 hours of no sleep, your mind won't shut off. The events of the case you were working on for the past couple of days play like a movie in your head, reminding you of how it ended over and over again.

You swallow quite harshly, and shift in your seat again. Something soft smacks the back of your head and you whip around to see what Sam's hit you with, but it's just his sweatshirt, and he's already leaning against the side of the car like he was before, almost as if he hadn't moved at all.

You mumble out a quiet "thank you," and you don't bother to even listen for any sort of reply before you're stuffing his sweatshirt underneath your head and forcing yourself to go to sleep. It's not long before you hear Sam's soft breathing from the backseat signifying that the boy has finally fallen asleep himself. You almost gave up until you saw Dean turn down his music just a little, side-eyeing you as he looked between you and the road.

"Is that better?" He asks.

"It was fine before."

"I'll keep it like this anyway."

You hum in response, and he goes back to humming his own tune to follow along with the music. With Sam's soft breathing in the back and Dean's low humming, you finally find something else other than your mind to focus on, which ultimately leads to your eyes lulling shut and you drifting off to sleep.

When your eyes start to peel back open again, the car is stopped and there's light rain patter on the wind shield. You lift your head causing Sam's sweatshirt to lightly fall into your lap, and at the same time the door opens revealing a slightly wet Sam waiting for you.

"C'mon, we're here."

"Slow your roll, Sammy, I just woke up." Your head lolls back onto the seat, and you let your eyes close once again, forgetting about Sam who's standing in the rain waiting for you to get out.

"Alright, let's go."

You shiver and grumble a slight protest as you feel his cold hands slip underneath your body to grab you and pick you out of the Impala. He knocks the door shut as he cradles you close to his chest as to not drop you, and as he locks the car. Your ear stays smushed against his front as he carries you, allowing you to feel the soft pitter patter of his heart beating in his chest.

"What time is it?" You mumble sleepily.

"Close to ten."

"That's it?"

"Yeah." You nod, not replying this time so you can nod back off in his arms. You're back to being fast asleep once again by the time Sam reaches the room Dean picked out for you, and he tries tucking you into your bed as gently as possible so he doesn't accidentally wake you up. In the short process you only mutter something unintelligible to Sam's ears as he finishes pulling the blankets up, so he ignores it and kisses you on the forehead, bidding you a good night before he retreats back to the room he's sharing with Dean for the night.

It's much later when you're rudely roused from sleep by a nightmare; you sit up straight in the bed with your hands by your sides clawing at the sheets, your eyes wide and unfocused, much too scared to figure out where you are or how you've gotten there. It takes a second to realize you're in a motel room, and now, the sheets that were once neatly laid over your body are haphazardly thrown towards the end of the bed, practically hanging off and hitting the floor. You take a shaky deep breath in and out, taking your trembling hand and placing it over your heart in an attempt to regulate it.

After a couple minutes your breathing is sort of back to normal, but your shakiness hasn't stopped. At that point, you're aware you won't be falling asleep again anytime soon, so you sit up further and throw your legs off the bed to go and find something to busy yourself with. In the corner there's a chair that you notice has your bag on top of it, and there's a small table next to it with a notepad. Your curiosity pulls you towards it, and when your feet reach the table, you're able to make out Sam's sloppy handwriting.

If you need us. - S

Next to the writing is a key card, which you can obviously assume is the one to their room. You pick it up and turn it over a few times, debating on whether this dream was something worth needing them for. In your head, needing was the same thing as bothering and it was never used as a positive term. But you know that if you spend another minute in that bed you might actually start crying and drive yourself crazy over the dream, so you take your chances and hope one of the boys will let you sleep in their bed or at least talk to you for awhile and get your mind off of it.

When you open the door and step outside, you become acutely aware of the cold air on your arms and legs rather quickly, and you begin to wish you were wearing a sweatshirt instead of one of Sam's shirts and a pair of shorts. The chill encapsulates you, making you hasten your step towards the room down the hall with the number specified on the key card. Once you make it to the room, you're pushing yourself up on your tip toes because, despite your sock covered feet, the ground is still horridly cold and you're hoping to get off it as soon as possible. Although, you find yourself unable to let yourself in once you find yourself standing in front of the door. You give it a good five minutes before you work up the nerve to finally pat the key card on the handle to allow yourself in the room. Once you've pushed open the door a crack, you're able to perceive a bed-side lamp turned on, and Sam leaning against his headboard next to it.

His head snaps up from his book at the sound of the door being pushed open, but he relaxes when he realizes it's you.

"Hey," he says softly. He's in the brown sweatshirt you were passing back and forth earlier, and he's weirdly still in a pair of jeans, but at this point you're used to seeing Sam and Dean wearing their jeans to bed.

"Hi," you respond back, even softer.

Sam likes to think he's pretty good at perceiving your body language, especially after knowing you for so long; so when he notices your trembling hands, your flushed cheeks, and your frantic eyes, he knows that you've had a nightmare.

He's not gonna ask why you're there since he knows why, so he only pats the side of the bed next to him and asks, "You wanna' join me?"

You're quick to nod your head and cross the room to join him, and it's only then when you're on the bed that you notice Dean isn't in the other one.

"Where's Dean?"

"Oh, he left to drive around. He's probably at a bar, or sleeping in the car somewhere." He says casually.

You hum, "Couldn't sleep?"

"Neither of us really could. He asked if I wanted to come with, but I didn't really feel like leavin'." Sam left out the fact he didn't want to leave you here alone, since he doesn't like leaving you anywhere by yourself. Dean doesn't either, but he doesn't get fussy over it like Sam sometimes does when you fight them on it.

"I can't either," you say quietly.

With some of your hair dangling in your face and your flushed cheeks, you look sort of delicate in Sam's eyes. You look sad, but when you look at him you have a gentle smile covering your lips, and when you look away your mouth curves downward again, only slightly, to where you might think he won't notice, but he does.

Sam's always stayed observant of you, even when you think you're the one who takes all the mental notes of him.

He reaches out, lifting the hand closest to you and letting his palm rest gently on top of your shoulder.

"You okay?" He almost looks like a puppy when he asks, and it's pitiful. For you mostly because he's cute, but why should he look like that when you feel like you're gonna start crying any minute.

You don't even want to answer because if your mouth opens you're either gonna say you're fine, or words describing the terrors you experienced in your sleep are going to come pouring out of your mouth and you won't be able to stop until you're a sobbing, pitiful mess and you could not handle being that way in front of Sam.

You couldn't.

But looking at him looking at you so fondly, it's like he's trying to tell you he'll comfort you the only way he knows how and he's gonna fix all your problems with a touch or two alone. Like the way he wants to hold you will melt all your fears into nothing and the way he wants to kiss you will make you forget any of it even happened. His eyes speak more than words could express in this moment and you don't even care if you seem desperate, or needy, or anything really. You allow yourself to fall forward into his awaiting arms, and when your head meets his chest, you can't help the first sob that escapes your lips.

You sound so tired, and the way that you're crying so harshly makes him feel like you're tearing yourself apart inside, like each breath is ripping off another piece of your heart.

"Honey..." he breathes out gently, wrapping his one arm around your neck and his other only comes up about half way so he can hold your head close to him under his chin. You've fallen completely into his side, your head against his chest and one leg practically in his lap, but he doesn't seem mind. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You consider it for a moment; you probably would feel better opening up to him about the case you just worked, considering he was also there and knows how hard it was, but you also know opening up to Sam makes you feel close to him. Intimate almost. You’ve never been one to share your thoughts or feelings generously, and you think that must have just came with the messed up childhood, since Sam and Dean are pretty much the same way. But as the years went on, the boys got much better at opening up to you than you did them. Although, if there was anyone that could get you to talk, it was Sam.

Today, you decided, would not be one of those days.

You shake your head, "I'm okay, I'm okay. I'll be fine." You know by his soft sigh that he doesn't believe you, but luckily he doesn't push it. "Can we just stay like this for a little while?" You whisper shyly, despite knowing he wouldn't say no to you.

"Yeah," he strokes your hair softly, "Yeah, of course."

You lay comfortably against him as he slowly but surely calms you down, holding your head and rubbing your arm gently as you let out sad little sniffles. Once you've relaxed, you murmur something into his chest that he thinks might have been a thank you, but before he can ask you've already fallen asleep.

About an hour later after the two of you have fallen asleep, Dean unlocks the door and enters the room slightly shitfaced but more so tired. He freshens up in the bathroom so he doesn't wake up feeling even worse in a couple of hours, and he doesn't even notice you're there until he's trudging out of it, eyes wide and feet frozen to the floor as he takes in the image of you and Sam cuddled up to each other in Sam's bed. He manages to put his fist against his mouth just in time to cover up a surprised laugh, taking in the sight of his little brother in the same bed as their best friend.

"This is gold." Dean smiles mischievously, pulling his phone out of his pocket to capture the moment. "Just friends my ass." He mutters.

...

"Dean, if I have to hear you say that girl's name again one more time, I'm going to chop your head off. I don't care how good she was at su-"

"Alright, alright, let's quiet down shall' we?" Sam pats your shoulder and looks around the cafe to see if anyone heard you bickering with Dean about last night's one night stand. Dean laughs loudly as he lets himself into the corner booth that the three of you chose while you were walking in.

"What, you nervous someone's gonna hear us, Sammy?"

"It's 8 in the morning, Dean. Let's be a little respectful."

You hide your giggle, "Yeah, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes, glancing at Sam as he ever so casually throws his arm over the back of the seat behind you, looking at the side of your face to see if you've taken notice. You're picking your nail, completely oblivious. He almost rolls his eyes again.

"Well," Dean straightens up, "Let's see what we have on the menu today."

"Don't act like you're not going to get the same exact thing you get every day," you comment, not even looking up from your nail.

"What's with the attitude, sweetheart? Didn't sleep well?" Sam's smile quickly turns to an annoyed frown as he makes eye contact with Dean, silently sending him daggers to keep his mouth shut.

You squint your eyes at him and open your mouth to come back with a retort, but the waitress walks up before you get the chance to say anything.

"Are y'all ready yet, or would you like a few minutes?" She asks kindly.

"Can we have a couple more minutes?" You say, since the three of you haven't even taken a look at the menu yet. She nods and retreats, leaving you alone with the boys once again. Sam and Dean grab their menus and you quickly realize there isn't a third, so you go to call the waitress back, but Sam nudges you just before you do.

"It's fine, just share mine." You huddle close next to him, resting your chin on your hand as you survey the food options as Sam does the same. He's so close his hair just so slightly grazes the skin of your cheek. Dean raises his eyebrows when he notices Sam's leg has started bouncing and he covers up his laugh with a cough just as he did last night, busying himself and acting clueless as the two of you look up at him.

"You alright?" You ask jokingly.

"Yup, totally fine. You guys ready yet?"

"Yep. How about you, Sammy?" He clears his throat and doesn't say anything, but he nods his head in response, which has you eyeing him weirdly. You choose to ignore it and let Sam order for you while you kick Dean under the table to stop being flirty with the nice waitress, and he only winks at you before he gives his order too.

When the waitress departs from your table, Dean lets his eyes follow her just for a second before he's turning back to the two of you, and he gets this questioning look on his face when he realizes the two of you are blankly glaring at him with the same narrowed eyes.

"What," he throws his hands up in defense, "I can't admire a good-looking woman?"

You and Sam glance at each other with a knowing glance right before you look back at Dean and say, "What's with you today? Why are you acting so..."

"Strange." Sam says. He leans forward on the table, "Why do you look like you're up to something?"

"Huh? Me?" Dean points to himself, "I'm not up to anything. I'm just being plain old me."

"Yeah, sure." You laugh him off and start a side conversation with Sam that has the two of you forgetting about Dean for the moment. Dean always knew Sam liked you; it's so obvious, at least to him. But he wishes he'd realized before how clearly obvious you are too. He doesn't know if he wants to throw up or throw a party.

...

A couple weeks later

"One or two rooms?" The lady asks.

"One please." Dean replies, handing the lady one of his debit cards that probably had some weird made up name on it. When Dean turns around with his debit card and the key in hand, you and Sam are looking at him weird like a couple of toddlers.

"Really? One room? Since when have we done that?" You questioned.

"Since you and Sammy boy over here started sharing a bed every night. I'm not gonna pay for two rooms when you don't use yours." Dean quickly catches on to how he's embarrassed the two of you so he adds, "and besides, I'd rather you stick with us anyway. Keep the team together." He pats your shoulder with a smirk and leaves the two of you behind. Sam spares a glance at your face and he's a bit surprised to find that you're just as taken aback as he is, but you don't say anything and you follow Dean rather quickly.

The three of you head back to the Impala to grab your bags before heading to the room, and when you go to take out yours, Sam slides in front of you and grabs his in one hand, and yours in the other.

"Sam." You say impassively.

"Yeah?"

"I am fully capable of grabbing my own bag."

"Oh I know. I'm just getting a quick work-out, since you know, your bag is like 50 pounds from all the clothes you carry.

"It is not, I barely bring anything with me!"

"You might be right, but if I may ask, how many of the shirts in here are actually mine?"

You pretend to think, "Um, probably like two. Maybe three."

A wide grin spreads across his face as he laughs at you, "Now you're lying! Half my wardrobe is in here!" Sam pushes the cracked door open with his behind and holds it open for you, standing to the side with his foot on the door. Dean's bag is at the end of his bed and he's already crashed on the bed nearest to the door.

"Hey, it's not my fault your clothes are more comfortable than mine! I don't know who decided that men deserve softer clothes."

"Well, in that case," he dropped the bags, "be my guest."

"Oh, how sweet. I like how you think you had any choice in the matter."

"Haha, very funny. Do you want the first shower?"

"You can take it, I had it the other night. Besides, I need to figure out which shirt I'm stealing tonight. I was thinking of the blue one, or actually, maybe the green-"

"Oh my god, I'm leaving." He rolls his eyes, but you can see the amused smirk on his face as he heads to the bathroom, and gently closes the door behind him. You giggle to yourself as you pull out his blue shirt from your bag and a pair of pants since it's a bit chillier tonight.

He's out of the shower pretty quick, and when he emerges from the steamy bathroom, you're next to Dean's bed whacking him repeatedly with a pillow.

"I told you to stop snoring!" You yell at him.

"Hmph, stop hitting me, crazy woman!" He mumbles sleepily at you. You stop hitting him when you notice Sam watching you, and he wants to laugh at how cute you look, like some kid who's got caught doing something they're not supposed to.

"What, he was bothering me."

He smiles, "I don't doubt it."

He doesn't realize that you froze mainly because he came out in a pair of sweats and no shirt, with his hair dripping wet and a towel around his shoulders. Dean peaks his eyes open and grumbles when he notices the way you're looking at him. You hear Dean, which breaks you out of your temporary trance.

You drop the pillow and give him a sheepish look, "I'm gonna- I'll take my shower now." You nod, promptly leaving the room after you grab the clothes you had set out on your bed. Sam watches you leave, more than a bit confused might he add, suspicious of the way your mood had suddenly changed. Once he hears the water running and the curtain pull back signifying you're in the shower, and can no longer hear him, he settles on the bed and asks Dean a question.

"What happened?"

"You happened, you idiot."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. I'm sick and tired of watching you two pine after the other when you clearly love each other, so for gods sake- no, my sake, tell the girl you love her and get on with it!"

Sam's face is hysterical, and if Dean weren't so tired right now he'd be laughing, but he's exhausted in more ways than one, so all he can do is shut is eyes and hope his little brother makes a move on the girl who's been his practically since the day they met her.

"D-Dean... I can't just-"

"Yes you can, and you will." Dean finalizes. "At this point I'll just do it for you. It's unbearable." Sam huffs loudly, flopping back onto the bed.

He lays there and stares at the ceiling for awhile until he hears his brother's soft snores coming from the other side of the room; when he sits up and runs a hand through his hair, he hears the shower turn off and your light humming become more audible.

He takes a final deep breath just as you walk out of the bathroom with your hair combed nicely and your warm pajamas, perfectly ready for bed. Not exactly ready for your best friend to confess his undying love for you. He wants to crumble at the sight of your smile.

"You okay?" You ask gently. "You look a little pale."

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine," he waves you off, "When am I not fine?"

You laugh softly, "Do you want me to answer that?"

"Actually no." He gives a soft laugh of his own before his eyes land on his brother again, thinking over the words that were spoken to him just minutes prior to you walking out of that door. You were so near, so close to their conversation, and you have no idea. He can't help but think that maybe you'll be taken aback, shocked beyond belief, or traumatized enough to the point you yell at him and leave him for good. Or, maybe... possibly... there's a small chance you do feel the way that Dean says you feel, and in just a few moments the entirety of your relationship will change. Well, no matter what it'll change.

He just hopes it's what he feels it might be.

Sam's face snaps up to you quickly, like he's just had a sudden thought, and his eyes hold yours for a beat too long before he asks, "Can we go outside for a second?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure." He gets up and takes long strides towards the door, you just a foot behind. He opens it and leaves it open for you to slide through, and he's standing there with his hands in his pockets facing away from you. You give him a questioning glance, but he doesn't see it.

"You have the key?" You query.

"Um..." he pulls out the card in his hand to make sure and you giggle at him, but he just nods, putting it back in his pocket, gulping strangely, "Yeah, I got it."

"Okay." You whisper softly, closing the door quietly behind you. You're silent for a moment, giving him a second to see if he'd speak first, but he doesn't. "You okay, Sammy?"

"I'm in love with you."

Not even a beat later, those words exit his mouth, and everything changes. The atmosphere that was once light, comfortable, and knowing, has shifted to one of fearful eyes, harsh breaths and unspeakable tension. His hands, once unafraid to grab hold of you, now remain glued to his side, flexing and itching to reach forward and touch your skin. His heart is beating so fast he feels like it's getting torn out; each individual piece of it being sliced and picked carefully from his chest as if he were on an operating table.

He can't tell if the look on your face is fear or shock. Probably both. But he doesn't know if it's good or bad and it's scaring him.

"Say something." He breathes out, with a drop of desperation.

Your mouth, hung open for a brief amount of time, now closes, and you gulp just like he did before he uttered those five little words.

"What did you say?" you murmur, looking like you just got pulled from space.

He repeats himself. "I'm in love with you."

You don't say anything again, but he continues.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to say that." He interrupts himself with a laugh, a scared, almost detached sounding laugh, but one nonetheless. You stare at him as he goes on. "For weeks I've had these moments where I look at you and all I can think about is telling you how I feel, but then some part of me ruins it and then I forget about it until you do something again that makes me want to say it again."

"Which, I swear is every two seconds because all you have to do is look at me with those eyes and all I want to do is grab your face and tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me and how I can't stand sleeping next to you one more night without you knowing that I can't sleep without you anymore. I need you by my side, tucking your head under mine. It's not that I can't because I could, but I don't ever want to again. I could live a hundred lifetimes, all of them with you in them, but if you weren't mine, if you were someone else's, I wouldn't dare live another."

When he notices the tear streaking down your face, he finally reaches forward to hold your cheek in the palm of his hand. Your own comes up from your side to grip tight onto the wrist that's holding your face, and he can tell that you've noticed he's shaking.

"Sam..." Your voice comes out unsure, "Are you sure?"

"Am I sure?" He questions you, giving you an incredulous look. "Sweetheart, I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

You're holding onto him so tight, he just knows what you're going to say next.

"I love you." You thought it would come out a whisper, but it sounds stronger than you expected. You close your eyes, letting out a sigh of relief. "Oh, Sam, I love you so much."

His smile is brighter than a thousand suns, and his forehead drops against yours, staying there as you breath the other in; this new confession bringing in a wind of fresh air that has you feeling like you've both earned a pair of new lungs.

"I thought you might say that." He utters quietly, making you laugh and hit his chest lightly.

"Oh, shut up. Then why were you so scared, dumbass."

"I was confessing my love for you, either way I'm gonna be nervous!"

You smile cheekily, "Your love for me..."

"Don't act like you didn't know." His other hand comes up to hold the other side of your face, tilting your head up more to see you clearly.

"Maybe. But I had my doubts too." You confess.

Sam shrugs, "Well, without Dean I probably wouldn't have said anything for another decade, so-"

Your mouth drops open, "You finally gained the courage because Dean forced you to?" Sam stays still as you gape at him, and he smiles nervously.

"Does it help if I was thinking about it first?"

"Oh my god." You groan dejectedly and drop your head forward onto his chest. He holds the back of your head as he shakes with laughter.

"Okay, okay, be mad at me, whatever. Am I getting my kiss now?"

"Who said you were gonna get one at all?"

"Don't mess with me."

"I wouldn't dare."

...

The next morning, Dean groggily peels his eyes open to the morning sunlight peeking out of the curtains, and grumbles, questioning the time. It's around 8 am, which surprises him because he would have expected you or Sam to have woken him by now. At the thought of you guys, he turns over and manages to find himself alone in the dingy motel room. The bed covers are torn from the top of the bed, more settled towards the end of it, showing that you guys obviously slept in it, but there's no sign you or Sam are even still here.

Suddenly, he hears the low growl of his Baby pulling up outside, making him swing his legs out of bed and trudge over to the door. He swings it open, getting ready to yell at the both of you for going anywhere without him, even if it was breakfast, but his eyes widen and his jaw drops at the sight he's seeing.

You and Sam are standing close together near the trunk, leaning against the side, but mostly the other. Sam's hand, that isn't holding the grocery bags, is holding your hip, and you're looking up at him with a mischievous look in your eye. Sam says something which conjures up a giggle out of you, which then has Sam smiling brightly at the sight of you. He leans down and kisses you straight on the lips, holding you there for a moment before he pulls away to catch his breath. Both of you stand there, unaware of Dean's eyes on you, but neither of you would even really care if you did.

Dean's shocked expression turns to one of accomplishment. He nods, satisfied, and smiles like his brother just did. He sighs.

"Kids."

[lil-sweater-slut]

[lil-sweater-slut]

The most valuable chart…

[lil-sweater-slut]

Ah yes spooky season is officially here. God I love kinktober 🧡🖤😫

All The Better To Eat You With

Kinktober 2022 - Day 1: Predator/Prey with Doctor Stephen Strange

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Summary: After seeing you wearing the Cloak Of Levitation, Stephen wants to play Little Red Riding Hood and Big Bad Wolf.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - roleplay, dirty talk, swearing, pet names, rough sex, biting, oral sex, spanking, hair pulling, creampie, vaginal sex, costume kink, innocence kink

It started as a joke. It was around Halloween and you were trying to figure out a costume. You were joking that if he just let you borrow the Cloak Of Levitation you could be Little Red Riding Hood. The Cloak flew onto your shoulders happily and you posed as you batted your eyelashes animatedly. Well now he couldn't stop thinking about it. Now he couldn't stop thinking about you, all innocent and sweet, with him as the Big Bad Wolf. 

So he bought you a little present. A short skimpy red and white checkered dress with a matching red cloak. He also found the red spike heels and pair of white thigh high stockings you wore with your naughty nurse outfit. He then laid it all out on the bed with a note and waited for you to find it. The only thing he wrote on the note was "Are you afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?"

He had purposely made sure to explicitly tell you, several times, what time that night he would be back from Kamar-Taj. He knew there was no way you wouldn't find the outfit and the note. He could only hope you would want to play along. He also may have dropped a couple hints the night before about having a new roleplay idea for you two to try out. Opting only for a sly "you'll see" when you asked him what the idea was. 

When he got back that night most of the lights in the Sanctum were out except for a few smaller ones here and there. It was also a little too quiet. He dismissed the Cloak Of Levitation from around his shoulders to go do whatever it was that it did as he began to look for you. The shadows and general darkness of the Sanctum made him feel like he would already be sneaking up on you. His heart starting to beat just a little faster in anticipation.

Turning the light on and walking into your shared bedroom he saw you were nowhere to be found. Looking to the adjoining bathroom he saw the door open and the light off. Clearly you weren't there either. He looked back at the bed and noticed the sexy little costume he had picked out for you was missing as well. 

Just then he heard the click of your heels echoing from the hall as you walked towards the bedroom door. A wicked smile crossed his face when he realized he had walked into his own trap. He waited to turn around until he heard you address him. Your voice was purposely low and timid.

"Excuse me sir, can you help me? I was walking through the woods and I seem to have gotten terribly lost. I'm all alone and frightened."

He slowly turned to face the threshold, letting his gaze fall to the hardwood floor as he did. Slowly pulling his eyes up to rake over every inch of your form still slightly silhouetted in the shadowy hallway and your face hidden under the hood of the cloak. All except for your cherry red lips that is. A growl already forming in his chest and fighting the urge to pounce already. It was clear you wanted to drag this out and he was perfectly okay with that.

His eyes darkened and he stood up a little straighter as he started to fall into the role of predator. His wicked smile suddenly changed to a warm one and he extended one hand towards you without moving from the spot he was standing in, beckoning you farther into the room. 

"Of course I can help you. Come in out of the dark sweet girl. Come closer. I won't bite."

You shyly clasped your hands in front of you and walked towards him. Keeping your gaze cast down until you were in front of him. He reached out and lowered the hood on your cloak to reveal your face to him. Not groaning in desire took more effort than he thought it would. Seeing you look up at him through thick black lashes and pouty red lips. The low pigtails you wore tied up with checkered bows that matched the dress were the details that nearly broke his resolve. 

He let his fingers tug lightly on the end of your pigtails creating a faux little scared jump and gasp from you. He took a step even closer to you making the height difference between you as noticeable as possible. Tilting his face down toward yours, inhaling your scent deeply through his nose. Afterwards he took a step back and clasped his hands behind his back as he started to circle around you. His steps were slow and deliberate.

"Well well, what is a pretty little thing like you doing out here all alone? You know  all sorts of big bad creatures lurk about in the woods, just dreaming of getting their teeth into a delicious little morsel… like you."

He paced around you one full circle. Punctuating the very last part of his statement by placing a finger under your chin and tilting your face up to his. Leaning in close enough that you could feel his breath against your lips. He then continued stalking around you. Finally coming to stand directly behind you. Standing close to your back but making sure not to touch you.

"I was trying to find my way to my grandmother's house, but I must have gotten turned around. I'm so glad I found you to help me. I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you." 

He chuckled darkly in your ear as he drug the back of one hand up your arm. He was just close enough you could feel the edge of the short flouncy skirt you wore rub against the bulge he was now sporting. He let the hand that moved up your arm loop around to pull at the bow holding your cloak on. Untying it and letting it fall to the floor in one swift motion. 

"Why what big hands you have." 

He pushed one shoulder of your dress off before responding. 

"All the better to touch you with my dear." 

His hands found your hair again and he pulled. Turning your head to the side to face him.

"My what big eyes you have." 

He made a show of lasciviously peeking down the front of your dress at the swell of your breasts on display. 

"All the better to see you with my dear."

He moved to start kissing and nipping lightly at your neck. Subtly signaling you what to say next. 

"My what big teeth you have."

Stephen bit into the flesh of your neck hard enough to leave a nice dark mark before gently lapping at the same spot to soothe it. Placing several long kisses sucking at the same spot. Making sure it would bruise. You had a feeling you would be covered in marks before the night was out. He let his hands come to rest on your hips as he answered.

"All the better to eat you with my dear." 

Suddenly he jerked your body back by your hips and held your body firmly against him. His hips pressing forward extra hard. His erection straining against his pants now tightly pressed to you so you could feel it. He growled in your ear as he let his hips rut against you a few times. 

You tried to put on an extra air of innocence and surprise as you said your next, and what you knew would be the final, of your observations.  

"My what a big cock you have!"

His fingers gripped into your hips even tighter as he started manhandling you so you were stumbling towards the bed while making sure he didn't actually let you fall in the process. He stopped at the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around you. One hand wrapped tightly around your stomach, the other moving to grope and grab at one breast. He had started attacking your neck and shoulder again. Taking a few moments to indulge his hunger before you could feel him smile against your skin. Letting his arms relax he pulled back.

"All the better to fuck you with my dear." 

He roughly pushed you down face first on the bed taking you by surprise. Before you could react he had flipped up the skirt of your skimpy costume and sunk his teeth into the flesh of your ass cheek. You yelped in response and then had to cover your mouth to not break character with a loud laugh in response. 

"Maybe you aren't such an innocent little thing after all. Sweet good girls aren't supposed to like getting bitten by the Big Bad Wolf. Makes me wonder what else you'd like me to do."

He climbed on top of you and pressed his weight down to hold you flat against the mattress. His lips flat against your ear as he seemed to taunt you about your body's response to him. Your hips trying to arch and push your ass up into him. Encouraging him to keep going.

He lifted his weight up just long enough to bring his hand down firm against your other ass cheek. Using the same hand he rolled you underneath him to lay you on your back before pinning you down again. His hands on either side of your face as he captured you in a hungry kiss. All teeth and tongue as he devoured you. Leaving marks all over your neck and chest. 

"Want me to eat you little girl? I'm going to pretty girl whether you want it or not. I'm going to devour and ruin every fucking inch of you." 

He pulled the top of the dress down under your breasts and started biting at them too. His large hands grabbing at them and pinching at your nipples with his nimble fingers. Your back arching hard as you moaned loudly beneath him. He growled in response, an animal smile staring down at you. You were both practically panting. 

He crawled down your body and started pushing the fluffy skirt of your costume up around your waist. Exposing the tiny white lace g-string you wore underneath. He licked his lips as he ran his hands down over your hips and onto your sex. Letting the pads of his fingers explore the soft delicate lace, trailing them down over the crotch of your panties. 

"So pretty, so delicate. Just like you." 

His hands slid out onto your inner thighs and he shoved them open, pinning your legs to the bed. Lowering his upper body and making a show of inhaling your scent. Sticking his tongue out and licking over you through the fabric of your panties. Stephen was loving every second of this. Indulging all of his senses in your body. Letting his animal urges take over like never before.

He started to pull at the lace fabric with his teeth, being careful to avoid biting the sensitive treasure that lay beneath them. The treasure he wanted to desperately get to. Managing to grab the fabric between his teeth and start pulling it away from your pussy. Dragging your panties down your legs. Stopping once he had gotten them lowered to your knees. Moving to tear them to shreds to get them off your body completely. Lowering his face back to eye level with your pussy again once he was done. 

"Just as I thought. Definitely not an innocent little girl lost in the woods. Good girls don't get all wet like this for the Big Bad Wolf."

A growl came from deep in his chest as he began licking at you. One long lick up your wet slit with his tongue flattened and wide, covering every bit of your cunt that he could in one single torturous slow motion. Then he went to town licking and sucking at you ferociously, like he was starved. He was now pulling high pitched squeals from you with every move he made.

You were getting so loud you moved to cover your mouth for fear you would end up with America knocking at the door. You could feel Stephen's piercing blue eyes looking at you from between your legs. He pulled his mouth off of your pussy just long enough to scold you for hiding your noises. His fingers coming up to stroke at your already swollen labia as he did.

"I don't think so little girl, don't cover that pretty little mouth. I want to hear you scream. I made sure there's no one nearby to rescue you or interrupt my fun. If I see you trying to stay quiet again I'm gonna stuff that sweet mouth full of my cock." 

He then bit the inside of one thigh as he slid two fingers into your pussy and started thrusting them hard and fast. The squelching of your arousal driving Stephen to latch his mouth back over your clit as his fingers started curling upward against your sweet spot. Immediately he felt your cunt starting to squeeze and flutter at his motions. He had you hurtling towards a screaming orgasm. Your back arching off the bed. 

A final growl from your lover sending a vibration through your sex that made the muscles of your entire lower half tremble uncontrollably. A new flood of slick coating Stephen's fingers and face as his movements continue without ceasing. Pulling every second from your orgasm as he could. His name falling from your lips over and over in broken cries and gasps. 

As soon as you had stopped shaking, before you could process what was happening or that Stephen had moved from between your legs and was now kneeling on the bed with his pants undone, he flipped you over onto your stomach and pulled your hips up so your ass was in the air. He held onto your hip with one hand and grabbed both your pigtails in the other, yanking your head up to look at the reflection of the two of you in the mirror across the bedroom. 

You looked completely debauched. Mascara running and dark tinted tears staining your cheeks, lipstick smeared. Your bare breasts pressed into the bedspread and your bare ass visible in the air over the top of your head. Your sweet fluffy red and white dress now a crumpled mess at your waist. The white lacy bands of your thigh highs framing Stephen's body kneeling behind you. He smiled and taunted you through the reflection as the tip of his cock slid through your sensitive folds.

"Look at that. Look at how pretty my little slut looks. All sweet and ruined by me, but I know you want more don't you? You know I want more. Be a good little slut and beg me for it, and you better make it good." 

He pulled your hair a little bit harder and slapped your ass with his other hand before even giving you any time to beg, making you moan and making your pussy clench. Your voice came out desperate and pleading when you began to answer. Almost ashamed at how needy you sounded.

"Please fuck me. Please please please. Need it so bad. Need your big cock sir. Need you to fuck my tight little pussy with your big cock. Fuck me hard and fill me up please."

Without looking away from your reflection he let his hips push forward just a little as he held your body in place, pressing just the head of his cock inside you. Giving you just enough to tease you. Repeating the motion a couple more times before stopping and staying still with just the tip of his cock inside.

"Is this what you want? You want my cock? Good little girls don't want to get fucked by a big scary stranger's cock. I just felt that hungry little pussy of yours squeeze me tight. This isn't a good girl's pussy, this is a slutty pussy. You know what kind of girls have slutty pussys? Let me hear you say it. Tell me what you really are, just for me." 

You were a moaning mess trapped playing his game. You didn't care. You wiggled and writhed trying to move your hips anyway you could. Trying desperately to get more of him. You couldn't take much more teasing from him. You needed him inside you.

"I'm a little slut, just for you. Your little slut Stephen. Your little whore. Please fuck me like the little slut I am. Please, sir." 

He tutted at your begging and shook his head. Letting his free hand drag up your thigh raking his nails against your skin before gripping back onto your hip again.

"Such a desperate little thing."

Without any further warning he pulled your hips back roughly and slid his cock all the way inside you. He set a quick harsh pace using your own movement as leverage to make his own thrusts deeper, pounding into you. A squeak pulled from you everytime he bottomed out and his balls slapped against your clit. The bedframe rocking under the force.

Your senses were in full overload by the time Stephen started speeding up. Growls and moans falling from his lips as his eyes dropped to watch him bury himself inside your cunt. Seeing your tight hole cling to his thick cock each time he pulled back. Little praises falling even though he knew you were far too gone to hear them.

"Such a perfect cunt. So tight and wet. You take my cock so fucking well. Love this little pussy so much, swear I could spend all day fucking you and you'd love it. My little cock slut loves to be filled. I'm getting close, baby."

He let go of your hair and brought both hands to your hips, your upper body falling down onto the mattress. You looked at the mirror to see Stephen completely lost in the moment. A light sheen of sweat covering his sculpted chest. His head dropped back and his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth gritting together as he chased his orgasm. You had just enough mental presence left to know just what it would take to push him over the edge, knowing the feeling of him cumming would take you with him.

"Fuck yes daddy, give it to me. Fill me up! Cum in my little pussy. Not just your cock slut, I'm your little cum slut too. Need you to fill my slutty pussy with cum. Please, please, please!"

A renewed vigor in Stephen's eyes as he slammed into you harder and harder with every thrust. Even after your face fell down flat into the mattress you could tell the moment right before he filled you, his cock swelling even more before you felt it start to pulse and spurt inside you. The sensation of his thick warm cum filling you making your cunt spasm in response. Your body trying to milk every last drop of cum from him. 

Both of you whined and groaned as your bodies pulled every bit of pleasure from the other until your nerves were on fire. His upper body collapsed down onto you as you huffed and puffed. He mindlessly started placing kisses on the back of your neck and whispering little gasps of overstimulation whenever your pussy would flutter around his now softening cock. Eventually you both fell onto your sides still holding each other tight.

With a wave of his hand, Stephen made both your costume and the rest of his robes disappear before maneuvering you both to lay comfortably on the bed. Covering you both up just enough to stay warm. You both lay there catching your breath and coming back down from your highs. Stephen surveyed all the marks he left on you. Nothing too bad but there were a lot of them, he made a mental note to ask if you wanted him to heal any of them or at the very least get you some arnica gel for them. In the meantime he would just lay there with you until one of you felt the urge, or regained the ability, to get up.

Suddenly you started giggling, only to dissolve into full on laughter after a moment. Stephen pulled back to look at you. His eyebrows were furrowed and he was very clearly confused as to why you were laughing so hard. Finally you calmed yourself enough to talk.

"I can't believe you bit my ass!" 

"Well I was the Big Bad Wolf, & you are a very delectable little treat, sweetheart. If you want I can go get you some ice for your ass if I bit it too hard?... Okay, that's a sentence I didn't think I would ever say." 

You both dissolved into laughter at that. You waved off the idea of the ice, it wasn't that bad. It had just been a hell of a surprise. He did feel a little proud as he surveyed the rest of the marks he had left. Knowing that you would only let him mark you like that. That it meant you were his. He started lovingly rubbing over the spot he bit trying to soothe away any soreness as you both started to settle in. Falling asleep with his hand still resting over the bruise that was forming on your ass.

--------------------------------

The next day you hadn't thought to cover up all the bruises and bites for your fairytale inspired romp. Usually you didn't worry about sporting all sorts of hickeys and love bites. At least not where they were easily visible. So needless to say when you brushed your hair back and America caught sight of a successive line of purple bruises down the side of your neck her shock took you by surprise. 

"What the hell happened to you?! You look like you got attacked." 

Suddenly realizing what she had seen, what you had forgotten to cover, you had to scramble for an excuse. You and Stephen were practically her parents. So you couldn't exactly tell her the truth, you didn't want to scar her for life, but you didn't exactly want to lie to her either. Especially with Stephen and Wong in earshot. You would never hear the end of it. So you did what you thought anyone in your position would do. You answered half into your coffee cup while hoping she wouldn't ask anymore questions.

"It's umm… a wolf bit me."

From the other room where Stephen was, where you knew he was listening, you heard the clattering of things being dropped. You were gonna be in trouble for that little comment later, but oh it was gonna be such a fun punishment. Of course you both had to survive Wong before that. 

--------------------------------

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[lil-sweater-slut]

If your requests are open. Could we see a Dr. Strange tracking your fertility cycle? Maybe some breeding kink? If not that’s okay. Thank you!

Man On A Mission

Smut - Explicit content - NSFW - 18+ only!

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Once Stephen Strange set his mind to something he was going to get it done. Why should getting you pregnant be any different?

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) - 18+ ONLY - heavy breeding kink, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, pet names, language, very romantic cheesy mushy Strange too

I felt odd finishing this after SCOTUS dismantled Roe. I want to make it very clear in this story pregnancy was a choice they both made together. Neither the government, nor a partner, should regulate a woman's body & force her to carry a pregnancy she does not want.

You had discussed it, after everything that had happened, you both decided that you wanted a family. You wanted a child together if you could have one. You didn't want to get obsessed though, so you had decided to leave it to chance. If it happened it happened.  If not, you two always had America.

Well you had decided to leave it to chance. Stephen had different plans. He was going to make sure it happened. He was going to make sure he got you pregnant as soon as he possible could. The idea of you carrying his baby triggered an irrational need in him. He needed to breed you. The thought of it alone could get him hard. 

There was something so erotic about everyone seeing your swollen belly & knowing he had fucked you full as many times as it took to get you that way. That he had filled you with his cum until you were leaking. That you craved to feel him cum inside you. No, that your body had begged for his cum, & your pussy had milked his cock dry over & over.

So he started tracking your cycle to figure out when you were most fertile, when you were ovulating. It took a couple months to pin it down. To get the dates just right. Between using an app on his phone & the marking you always put in your day planner when you started your period he was able to pinpoint the dates before long. 

He had studied up on what positions would aid in conception too. Both missionary & doggy style could let him cum in you as deep as possible, the deeper he came in you the closer his sperm was to your cervix. He also knew that if you came around the same time he did your body would naturally pull his cum in deeper. 

So when he got the little notification on his phone that you would start your ovulation cycle the next day he got straight to work. He wanted everything to be perfect. He planned to spend as much time balls deep in you filling you up as many times as he physically could. 

First thing was to get everyone else out of the Sanctum. Wong was easy enough. He knew that look on Strange's face & he had no desire to walk in on you 2 mid-romp again. He confirmed he would stay at Kamar-Taj until he was told it was safe. 

America he just downright bribed. Peter he threatened. Both of them could occupy themselves doing teenager stuff or bothering the other Avengers. He knew for a fact that Sam "New Cap" Wilson was in town, & Peter had taken a shine to Bucky. Unfortunately Bucky didn't have the same shine but he appreciated the attempts by the spiderling to get him up to date on pop culture. 

With the Sanctum cleared out he needed to prep your bedroom next. He wanted to turn it into a virtual oasis. He found the softest sheets & fluffiest blankets. Candles & soft lights, your favorite flowers. He went the whole 9 yards. Massage oils & flavoured treats to rub on & lick off each other. Lots of pillows all over the room. He knew if your hips were elevated with a pillow it was supposed to help conception too.  

Even the dinner he prepared, well he ordered & someone else prepared, was full of aphrodisiac foods. The evening would be completed with chocolate covered strawberries, whipped cream, almonds, & of course a little bubbly. 

He was sure of it. Tonight was the night he was gonna get you knocked up. So he wanted it to be special. He wanted to make sure he wooed you & bred you in one suave date night. That would hopefully turn into a date weekend of him pumping load after load into you. Just to be sure.

Needless to say you were shocked when you got home. You knew something was up, he never went this over the top even when you first started dating & he was trying to impress you. He tried his best to stay coy about his motive. Saying he just wanted to treat the woman he loved to a special night. 

It wasn't until you had made it to the bedroom that you figured out the real reason for all the romance. You went to the bathroom to slip into the new lingerie he had picked out, it was a sheer red babydoll that feel just below your ass & matched the color of his cloak. He did have good taste & knew your body so well the fit was perfect. 

As you were changing you remembered the ovulation test kit you had bought together on a whim after you first discussed having a baby. Sure enough it said you were in your fertile window. You couldn't help but chuckle at how slick Stephen thought he was. 

You emerged from the bathroom trying to look as innocent as possible hiding the test behind your back. You bit your bottom lip as you walked towards him with any extra sway in your hips, his pupils now blown wide in lust. He had already stripped down to his underwear & you could tell by the way the fabric was starting to strain that he was already half hard. 

Just by the sight of your breasts through the sheer cups he could tell he had nailed the timing. Your breasts were slightly swollen & your nipples flushed slightly darker, both signs you were ovulating. He groaned as you got closer, already imagining how you would look swollen with his child. 

As he laid him down on the bed & crawled up to straddle him you managed to keep the test concealed in your hand. He was too busy focusing on other things. You gave him one more chance to tell you on his own why he really did all this.

"Seriously Stephen, why did you do all this? You know I was already gonna fuck you anyway." You both laughed as you exchanged kisses. You loved teasing each other & you both had the same sarcastic sense of humor. 

"Is it so wrong I just wanted to spoil you a bit? Show you how special you are." 

It was a very sweet sentiment, & you did love when Stephen bared the sensitive side of his personality, but you also knew it was partly bullshit. Time to call him on it. 

You started pressing his down his neck, mixing in little licks & bites as you moved to his ear. His hands were massaging your ass & slowly grinding your hips against his hardening cock. You sucked on his earlobe for a moment, then pulled your lips away just enough to whisper in his ear. 

"Are you sure it doesn't have anything to do with me being fertile? With you wanting me to make you a daddy?"

As you finished your question you blew on his ear & ellicted a loud moan. His hips thrusting up of their own volition, pretty much answering for him. You sat up straight & kept rolling your hips against his. The friction of him hard against your clit was too good to stop.

"Ah ha, I knew there was something. Well then you will be pleased to know that I remembered we had this." 

You pulled the small plastic stick up & held it in front of you. He recognized it immediately, & he quirked up an eyebrow waiting to hear whether you were ovulating. 

Several weeks later you were having what you referred to as your "family breakfast". It consisted of all the members of you odd little adopted family who made the Sanctum their home in one way or another. It was you & Stephen, Wong, America, Peter, & even the Cloak of Levitation. Sometimes Shawn & Katie would join too, or Ned & M.J.  

You smiled down at him, "Well Doctor Strange, you have some work to do tonight then. I don't want to leave this bed until you've gotten me pregnant Doctor."

He quickly & flipped you over onto your back, positioning himself on top of you with your legs around his waist. He grabbed the test from your hand & threw it over his shoulder before leaning down to focus his attention on your neck & chest. Biting & kissing at it as he kneaded the soft flesh of your side with his other hand.

In between deep passionate kisses he smiled against your lips & said, "well sweetheart, good thing that was already my plan." 

His tongue tangled with yours as your bodies started to move in sync with each other. Your hands running up & down his arms & his back as he teased & tickled your breasts with his tongue & fingers over the lingerie you wore. Eventually sliding the straps down & off of your arms. 

He let the scruff of his goatee scratch across your nipples before taking his time with each one. His tongue lapping & the swirling around them as he felt them perk up. He stopped to blow on one of them, making you gasp in return. 

Sliding your hand down to cup his bulge he ground down into your hand & growled. You stroked him through the fabric of his underwear a few times before dipping your hand under the waistband & letting your fingers tease at the warm flesh of his cock. Running one of your fingers up one of the thick prominent veins on his shaft. You could feel yourself getting wetter as you thought about him inside you. 

He suddenly pulled your hand off of him & pinned it on the pillow over your head. He brought his face close to yours & you could feel pieces of his thick dark brown hair tickling your forehead.

"Wanna know one of the ways I can tell you're fertile right now darling? Because I can smell you are in heat. I can smell how wet you are, how bad you want my cock. I know you are practically dripping through those panties already." 

He reached down & pulled your panties to the side & ran his middle finger up your slit feeling the arousal that had collected for him. He brought his hand back up & showed you the slick glistening on his fingertip. Practically purring when he took the finger into his mouth & sucked it clean.

"Your pussy tastes even sweeter when you're fertile too. As much as I want to bury my face in your pretty pussy & make you cum on my tongue tonight you only get to cum on my cock. You are gonna be my good girl & let me fill your pussy up over & over to knock you up aren't you?"

You whimpered & shook your head yes as you spread your legs wider underneath him. You wanted him inside you so badly. You started to pout when he simply chuffed at you. You noticed his voice had gone gravely when he spoke next & you knew he was just as desperate for you.

"Uh uh, I wanna hear you say it sweetheart. I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. What do you want me to make you?"

"Want you to fuck me Stephen, knock me up. Want you to fuck a baby into me. Make me a mommy. Swear I'll be your good girl. Need you Stephen. So bad."

"That's my good girl. Now hold still." 

He sat up on his knees & grabbed another pillow from across the bed. He had you lift your hips, you thought to take off your panties but he stopped you before you could lower them & placed the pillow under your hips instead. He snapped the elastic of your panties back into place before taking off his underwear. 

He held his hand to you for you lick & then took his long thick cock in his hand. He knelt between your legs stroking himself a few times as he readjusted your panties so they were pushed to the side. He admired your soaked cunt in silence for a few seconds.

God he was a beautiful man. Lean but well muscled. The fact that he was a genius & a little superhero made him the whole package. Plus he had an amazing package, & he knew how to use it.

He started rubbing the head of his cock through your pussy lips paying extra attention to tap at your clit whenever he would slide himself back upward. Studying the way you tried to move your hips just right to let his head slip inside you. 

"There's one more thing baby, okay? The panties stay on for a bit, because I know you wanna stay nice & full in between rounds right? To help make sure you get pregnant. Just in case that pretty pussy starts leaking it will stay covered in my cum."

He positioned himself at your entrance & slowly pushed his cock inside you. The stretch felt so good as he set a slow steady pace. Thrusting a little deeper each time he pushed forward. You both moaned the first time he bottomed out. Instead of thrusting again he stopped & let you grind against him from underneath, finding the perfect angle so his pelvic bone rubbed against your clit. 

Once you had found the right spot you gave him a little squeeze to move again. He started slowly, fucking you deeply & tenderly as he placed his forehead on yours. Your arms looped around his shoulders & you held him tight. 

You stared into his ocean blue eyes as he whispered to you, "fuck! I love you so much." He lowered his lips to yours & kissed you with such devotion it took your breath away. When his lips finally broke from yours you moved just enough to whisper, "I love you too", back to him.

Then a particularly deep thrust pulled a pornographic moan from you & you felt a new gush of arousal flood you. The sensation spurring him to start fucking you harder. When he started thrusting hard & fast enough he could hear the squelching of your wet cunt around him. Something snapped in his mind at the sound. 

He remembered he was fucking you with the purpose of getting you pregnant. He dropped his head into the crook of your neck & his hips started slamming down into yours. An animalistic growl coming from him each time you mewled in pleasure. He still made sure to keep the extra roll forward in his thrusts to make sure you got the stimulation you needed to cum too. 

He could feel you getting close. Your walls starting to pulse & clench at him every few thrusts. He pulled back onto his knees & pulled your legs up onto his shoulders before leaning forward & folding you in 2. Positioning you so your pelvis tilted back & he could get his cock even deeper. 

You both started lavishing filthy praise on the other. Encouraging each other.

"Oh fuck! Stephen right there. Don't fucking stop!"

"Don't worry sweetheart I'm not stopping until you're knocked up remember? Can't wait for everyone to see your pregnant belly & know I did that." 

His possessive side sometimes took over in bed & you always liked to tease that particular nerve when it did.

"Want everyone to know you fucked me full Stephen? Tell everyone you're the daddy. Tell them that you just couldn't stop fucking me until you bred me?"

That phrase sent him absolutely wild. He was on a hairpin trigger ready to cum & he knew you were too. He reached between your bodies to flick lightly at your clit. 

"Fuck! Say that again baby. Fuck, beg for it!"

"Yeah you want to breed me Stephen? Fucking breed me. Fucking breed me daddy!" 

As you felt him fill you up the sensation of his cum shooting deep into you sent you over the edge. Your cunt clenching & pulsing as he shot rope after rope inside you. 

Eventually you both came down & you started combing your fingers through his hair as you lazily kissed each. He released your legs so they could sit more comfortably around his waist, but he kept himself positioned inside you & on top of you. 

"You know I think I'll just stay like this until we're ready to go again. Just in case. Make sure I keep everything inside you."

You eventually lost track of how many times he fucked you that weekend. By the time you realized Wong, America, & Peter had returned to the Sanctum you were having a hard time walking & Stephen was smiling so big you thought his face would break. 

Now you just had to wait, & maybe keep trying. Even if you weren't ovulating it was awful fun practice, especially with a partner you loved so much who loved you more than anything in return.

--------------------------------

It was the one time of week everyone made a conscious effort to have a normal meal all together. No magic, other than the Cloak, & no superhero stuff. Just normal conversation & silliness. It was a mental respite for everyone.

The 5 of you had all gathered in the kitchen. Wong was finishing the cooking with America's help. Peter was animatedly telling a story to Stephen, & the Cloak was draped around Stephen's neck in the form of a scarf. 

You stood at the counter observing everyone & honestly getting a little misty eyed. They were a bunch of weirdos, but they were your weirdos & you loved them all so much. In the moment your overwhelming emotion didn't seem odd to you until America saw you wipe at your eyes & asked if you were okay. 

You assured her that you were fine. There was just something in your eye or maybe your allergies were making your eyes water.

After a moment you realized America was still eyeing you, & everyone else had gotten a little more quiet. You turned back to her with a confused look? 

"Okay, what's up? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Oh no it's nothing. You just look really pretty today. Did you start using a new foundation or something? You look all glowy." 

You shot Stephen a sidelong glance out of the corner of your eye & before you could register what was happening he had already grabbed your hand & started pulling you out of the room behind him. The echo of the 2 of you laughing carried on as you both ran up the stairs to your bathroom. 

The 3 people left in the kitchen all had small grins on their faces. Already looking forward to having a new member to add to their weird little family. They all moved to sit around the table making sure to leave spots for you & Stephen, even though they knew they probably wouldn't see you for a while if the test was positive. 

They knew it was when the Cloak of Levitation came flying through making excited little swirls & flutters in the air before landing in one of the empty spaces at the table. Stephen had kicked it out of your bedroom so you two could celebrate alone.

America cleared her throat & held out her hand across the table looking at the 2 men expectantly. Both Wong & Peter pulled out $20 bills handing them over to the girl somewhat grudgingly. 

As she went to put the money in her pocket with a satisfied grin on her face she paused & asked, "Wanna go double or nothing on the due date?"

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Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @maskmare931 @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @gwephen @sinceimetyou @possessedjoker @coeurgrenaty @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies @cute-angi @mochacake2016 @prix19 @alexfanficnook @anotheroddfish @mando-is-the-way @xourownsidee @baes-x @dreamingsmile @negar77rd @imaginesfreetotake @wolfatheartandsoul @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rougepetale @ppatricia34me

[lil-sweater-slut]

Chris Evans at the Los Angeles premiere of Lightyear, 6/8/2022

[lil-sweater-slut]

NSFW Alphabet

Sinister Stephen Strange

As usual, ignore spelling & grammar errors. I will fix them as I find them.

Back to "You Belong To Me" series masterlist

Smut/Explicit content - 18+ only!

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He is surprisingly tender after sex. Having been alone in his wasteland of a universe he has been deprived of human contact & of touch. He wants you to love & need him as much as he loves & needs you. He wants you to want to stay in his collapsing universe with him. So he kisses you all over & nuzzles into you. Whispering sweet praises & declarations of devotion into your hair or your skin, slightly unhinged as they may be. He takes care of you & works to soothe any aches or pains you may have from the rough way he fucked you. You drift off to sleep with him holding you close & telling you that he will never let you go, you will be his until the moment the universe crumbles to nothingness. Whether you want to be or not, & heaven help anyone who tries to interfere.

B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

You love his eyes, the same thing you loved about every Stephen you had met. His eyes spoke volumes even when he only verbally spoke a few. All of his emotions & moods could be seen in the way his eyes changed if you knew what to look for. When you first met this Stephen, Sinister Strange, his eyes were dull & cold. As you began to care for him & your relationship grew, a warm sparkle returned. The Arctic blue oceans you saw thawed & turned to a bright Caribbean blue that you knew well. 

He loves all of you, but he may have an extra little soft spot for your hands. He cannot describe how his heart skips a beat when your fingers touch his skin. How he felt the first time you touched his cheek. He feels safe when he is in your hands. He loves all the angelic & sinful ways you touch him, & he can't remember how he survived so long without them. He knows he wouldn't be able to live without your touch now if he were to lose it.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Yes. Anywhere & everywhere as many times as he can manage. He lives to claim your body. Marking you with his cum both inside & out. His mood & possessiveness determine whether he cums inside you, on you, or both. When he is feeling his most possessive he will cum on your stomach or tits & then work to rub it all over your body. Wanting to cover every inch he can with his seed. Not that anyone ever stumbles into his world, but if they do he wants it to be known that you unquestioningly belong to him. Sometimes he will make you keep as many loads inside of you as possible, just so you can feel him dripping out of you throughout the day. Even randomly wanting you to show him & prove some of it is still there. If it's not he's going to have to fill you all over again. He loves to cum on your face, watching it drip down onto your chest. With one hand tightly gripping your hair so you have no choice but to take it. He makes you beg for it, because just knows that deep down you want it, no you need it. You need to feel him mark you. To be a debauced little cumslut desperate for him. Only for him. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Before he brought you here, to his universe, he would spend hours on end watching you. He would watch you do mundane things like read or watch TV. He would watch you when you were with your friends & make sure no harm came to you. He would watch you with your Stephen, seething at the man every time he even so much as held your hand. His favorite thing to watch were your most intimate & private moments. He tried to memorize the pathway each drop of water would take down your body when you were in the shower. How you would always apply body lotion in the same order, from bottom to top, although he liked watching you work in thick body butters more since they took longer. Massaging it into both legs, first right then left, before smoothing it over your hips & breasts. Finally your arms, finding it cute you always went left first than right in a complete opposition to your legs. The pinnacle was when he would watch you touch yourself, laid back & spread out on your bed totally bare. He could practically feel the way you drug your fingers over your body, barely even making contact, dragging his own hands over himself pretending it was you. Your moans & gasps actually for him. By the time he could hear the way your fingers slid in & out of your dripping cunt he would be on the verge of cumming, but he always made himself wait until he saw you cum wanting to climax with you even though you had no idea he was watching.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He has experience from before get a hold of the Darkhold & causing the incursion in his universe. He had his own Christine before, & many of the same romantic & sexual experiences as your Stephen. However he has been obsessed with you since the first time he saw you, forgetting the idea of possibly being with anyone else, & since the incursion he has been alone. So when he finally gets his hands on your body he is ravenous. He employs every trick he has to pleasure you, & may have even scoured the library for anything else of use he could find. He is determined to be the best lover you have ever had. Especially since he will be your last lover too.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

He loves seeing your bare body twisted into all sorts of positions, but he has a particular soft spot for positions where he can hold as much of your body as close as possible. Whether your back is pressed to his chest or your foreheads are pressed together he wants to feel every inch of your skin against his. So he can kiss, & lick, & bite at your neck or your shoulder while he is stuffing you full of his cock. He wants to be able to whisper in your ear, to tell you to beg for your release, as his fingers start to brush between you against your clit. To feel your small delicate frame under his larger one, pressed tight into the mattress as his hip slam into yours from behind using every bit of energy he has to try to communicate how much he needs you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

The man is not goofy ever, & most definitely not goofy during sex. If he is ever humorous it is a dark humor. In general he is intense. He lost his sense of lightheartedness a long time ago. While his hard edges do soften with you, & in time maybe his more intimidating ways will begin to dissolve, he will always be a cold dark version of the Stephen you originally knew. That Stephen could be ornery, sarcastic, goofy on occasion, & even playful. All of those emotions are foreign to this Stephen.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Considering both the hair on his head & his goatee are a bit disheveled & unkempt I think it's a safe bet to say it's probably a bit wild down there. When the universe is collapsing & you spend most of your time obsessing over finding a way to be with your lost love, trimming & styling isn't much of a priority. Not to mention that he is literally the only one there until he steals you away. So he's basically au naturale. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

It's a very different kind of intimacy. He's very intense & his emotion runs deep. He is obsessed with you in every definition of the term. Deep down even he isn't sure where his love for you ends & his obsession for you begins. He does know that he will put everything on the line for you & he will go to great lengths to prove his love to you. He will make romantic gestures, still the suave Doctor Strange under his more sinister exterior. Bouquets of bright flowers appearing randomly around the Sanctum for no reason. Preparing elaborate meals for the 2 of you. He was a big fan of lighting absurd amounts of candles around the room before having his way with you if he was feeling a little extra dramatic. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Now that you are with him, & the fact that there isn't a lot else to do in a universe on the edge of self destruction, he uses any & all sexual energy with you. He has his fantasies in the flesh right in front of him. Before he managed to steal you away from your universe, he would masturbate while watching you. Imagining his own hands were yours. Imagining how you would look on your knees for him. How good your tongue would feel licking up the pre-cum from his sensitive dripping tip before dragging it up & down his shaft. Moaning at the taste of him in your mouth. The ways you would beg him to fuck you. When he would watch you in the shower or when you touched yourself he would think about how it would feel when he finally got to fuck your pretty little pussy. How tight, warm, & wet you would be as he stretched your perfect hole. He knew his hand couldn't ever begin to compare to how your cunt would feel wrapped around him, but until he could have you in his bed it would suffice with his imagination.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

He has a huge breeding kink. He loves claiming you & marking you. What better way of claiming you is there than getting you pregnant & having you give birth to his children? He also knows that if you bear his children you will have no choice but to stay there with him. He wants to keep you pregnant & watch your belly swell with his offspring. Always wanting you full with a piece of him. So anyone who dares come into his universe, his domain, will know right away that you are his. His perfect little wife & mother to his babies. He knows you will be such a good mommy. He can’t wait to watch you care for them & nurse them, perhaps he’s even fantasized about you wanting to take care of him & nourish him with your milk too. It would be a truly intimate gesture shared between the two of you. Letting him have you in a way no one else had or would ever have you. If you were ever to beg him to put a baby in you he might lose the little bit of sanity he has left, he wouldn't stop until he fulfilled your wish. Everytime he comes inside you he watches it start to leak out of your pussy & makes a little wish for his seed to take root. He isn’t worried though. If it doesn’t happen right away he knows he can always use a spell to make sure it does. You will be a mommy in no time, & he can't wait to be a daddy.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Given that his universe is fracturing & disintegrating there aren't a whole lot of places for him to have his way with you other than the Sanctum. He can keep the building somewhat protected with his magic, so he knows you will be safe there. Inside those walls, or what remains of them, he has fucked you on every surface he can. He does have 2 favorite places though. The 1st being the bed you share together. When he is with you in that bed he can pretend everything is normal, & the universe is as it was before the incursion. He can let go of the guilt, the anger, & the obsession. He can just be a man in the arms of the love of his life, he can be happy. He also loves taking you on the floor of the library. He would occasionally surprise you by filling the room with candles & spend hours ravishing you. Here he could let his presence overwhelm you, let his passion for you swallow you up whole. The lengths he went to to find you visible, written in the damaged walls & the debris cluttered floor. It was just you & him with nothing, not even bedsheets, to come between you there. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

His motivation is you, pure & simple. You were his motivation for everything. Your smile, your touch, your voice, your kiss it all inspired him & drove him wild. A simple touch of your hand on his neck was enough to send his mind reeling with thoughts of making you claw at his hair while he devoured you. A single kiss could quickly turn into a heated make out session. He wanted you all the time, & he has no problem letting you know that. Luckily that is the one upside of residing in a universe partly destroyed by an incursion, there was never anyone else around to interrupt him when he decided he needed to fuck you for hours on end.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Even the possible suggestion or mention of you ever being with anyone else sends him spiraling. He rages at the thought of someone else touching, kissing, or fucking you. So once you belong to him he would never even consider a threesome, swinging, or watching you with someone else. You really should be glad he didn't rip your original Stephen limb from limb simply because he had the audacity to touch what was never his in the first place. He also doesn't want to really hurt you. He may tie you up & get pretty rough with you sometimes, he loves leaving marks & love bites on you, but he would always stop what he was doing if you were really in pain or upset. He wants you to love him, not fear or hate him.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He loves both giving & receiving. He can't remember anything that felt better than your lips or tongue on his cock, or anything prettier than you on your knees between his legs smiling up at him. He craves the taste of you though. He would die a happy man if he died with his face buried in your pussy. He will wake you up in the middle of the night because he just needed the taste of you on his tongue. Needed to feel you cum on his fingers & against his lips. He loved the days where he could smell & taste you all day long, your nectar still clinging to his facial hair. Sometimes he could cum just from eating you out. He'd randomly grab you wherever you were & pull you down to the floor, frustration on his face if you didn't interpret his intent fast enough & position yourself over his face. It would end only when you unable to stand back up & your voice was hoarse from how loud you were moaning his name.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Can be fast or slow depending on his mood, but it's never going to be soft. That word is just not in his vocabulary. It always feels like he's trying to fuck his way into your soul. He's always got to be as deep as he can because he felt so empty for so long & now all he wants to feel is you. He isn't always rough, but he's always intense. If he is feeling rough it's all about marking you as his. Biting & leaving all sorts of marks on your skin. Rough always equals fast, but fast does not always equal rough. Sometimes fast is out of neediness. That he just has to have you & it has to be now. If he is trying to give you every bit of pleasure he can he will always go slower. Dragging out every thrust & kiss.

Quickies do not exist in this man's universe. If he is going to fuck you he is going to take his sweet time with you, wringing every ounce of pleasure from you he can. Even when he tries to be quick about it his lust overwhelms his intentions & one short round turns into 2 or 3 instead. On the rare occasion you can lure him into a supposed quickie as soon as he leaves you he comes back for more. Grabbing you up into his arms & saying that he has spent far too long without you already.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Well he did basically destroy his own universe so he could have you. So risk is a very relative term now in his world. He has no problem trying new things sexually with you. He wants to keep you happy & he figures one way he can do that is to find every way to make you orgasm that he can. Any position you want. Any surface in the Sanctum you want. One risk he won't take is to let you venture very far outside of the Sanctum even with him at your side. It is far too dangerous. Not only because of the incursion, but because he would be less capable of protecting you if any outsiders came to hurt you or try to take you from him. You are far too valuable to him to risk, but he will risk everything for you.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He can, & will, gladly spend hours with his cock buried inside you pulling deliciously dirty noises from you. Your whimpers & moans were the most beautiful music he had ever heard. His aim was always to make you cum as many times as he could before losing his control & letting himself cum. His  meditation & magic helped him last as long as possible. Some nights he would even call on small amounts of dark energy to help him fuck you until you couldn't speak, needing to prove his devotion to your pleasure. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He hates the idea of anything other than him bringing you pleasure, but he can see the value in employing the use of a vibrator or even a dildo to play with you. You are only allowed to play with them with him though, never by yourself. Even you aren't allowed to play with his pussy without him being there to enjoy it. He has 2 favorite times to use the vibrator on you. The first being mid-fuck right as you are getting close to cumming. He'll slide the vibe down between your bodies letting it massage your clit while he keeps thrusting into you. The buzz he felt in his own shaft was stimulating for him as well, but watching & feeling you shudder & convulse around him made the small device worth it. The other time he loved using it was when he was eating you out & particularly hungry for you. A few surprise vibrations on your clit or along your pretty pink pussy lips would make your juices drip in excess. All the more for him to lick up & enjoy. The dildo he got you was a magically created exact copy of his cock. This he liked watching you use on yourself, to show him how much you wanted him & how you wanted him to fuck you that time. He would sit at the foot of the bed & watch how your pussy would stretch & needily grip the toy. His cock starting to ache when he would hear the squelch of the dildo sliding in & out of your hole. Teasing you to make you beg for him. "That toy fills you so well doesn't it, kitten? Still don't think it stretches you open quite as much as my cock does. Show me how much you want the real thing. Fuck your little pussy like a good slut & then you can have my cock. Here my love, why don't you suck on me while you fuck yourself with that toy? Get me all wet & ready for you."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loved to tease you. Specifically he loved to make you beg. You couldn't be too upset at being in his universe with him or missing your Stephen too badly if you were constantly begging him to either fuck you, let you him, or for him to cum. That seemed like perfectly sound logic. So he would edge you & tease you right up to the point of crying. If he was eating you out he would be latched tight sucking on your clit letting you nearly him before he would pull away & start lightly licking at it or pull his mouth off of you completely. He would chuckle darkly as he ran 2 finger tips up & down around your entrance & over your lips, pressing down slightly to feel how tightly he managed to engage the muscles in your pelvic floor. If he was ready to fuck you, he would drag the head of his cock up & down your slit until he heard you whine, then he would start to thrust just enough to give you the tiniest stretch. Not letting his cock go any deeper until he could feel your hips start to buck against him trying to pull him in. If he was feeling nice, that's when he would start really thrusting. If he wasn't he wouldn't thrust farther in until you literally begged in words. Usually something along the lines of "please Stephen, I need your cock. Give me your cock. Please, please fuck me", was what he was looking for.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He's somewhere in the middle. He is rarely silent, but he's not one to bellow orders or dirty talk non-stop. He makes lots of little groans & growls, more animalistic than pornographic sounding, but he can say the dirtiest things in a tone of voice that could make a nun sin. His voice is like velvet in your ears. A low vibration pulling at his vocal cords when he gets really turned on. He loves giving you praise & watching you keen at being told you're a good girl. He also loves to tell you exactly who you belong to & call you degrading things. The swing from being called a good girl only to be told you're his filthy little cock loving whore leaving your brain, & any restraint you may have had left, melted beyond recognition. They are all done in a surprising loving tone, almost a sing-song hypnotizing rhythm. 

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

Can get really subby on rare occasions, when his memories & dreams of other variants get to him. One night you woke up to him trying to snuggle into your chest as close as he possibly could. His shoulders were shaking slightly & his breath came in soft little puffs against you. You just thought he was dreaming about something. After a moment you felt a wet sensation & you realized his noises were actually small sobs he was trying to keep silent. You knew not to say anything about it, but knew he needed you to comfort him. You wrapped your arms even tighter around him & started running 1 hand up & down his back. Pressing kisses into his hair. After a moment you ask him what he needs. He whispers "just need you. Need to feel you.", into your chest as his fingers grip into your skin & roll you onto your back. You just lay there & hold him tight on top of you, before long you look your legs around his waist & hook you ankles to hold onto him like a Koala. Thanks to his insistence that you both sleep naked, so he doesn't have anything in his way to get to you, you realize he meant he needs you in more ways than one. His hips start rutting against yours, taking any bit of friction from your body against his cock as he can get. Soon he has to be inside you, whining against your chest until he finds just the right angle that allows the head of his cock to slip inside your now soaked pussy. Stretching you completely in 1 thrust. He ruts into you in short shallow thrusts barely pulling at all before trying to slam himself farther inside. He finally loses all control as you're cooing in his ear about him taking what he needs & that you're there to take care of him. The last thing you expected when you knew he was close to cumming was to hear him sob "fuck mommy!" You knew it was something the 2 of you wouldn't mention in the light of day but you made a mental note of this side of him & whispered to him "I'm right here baby. Cum for me baby. Cum for mommy"

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Longer than average, just like your Stephen, but he is also thicker. You would have thought his cock would be the same, especially since other than the third eye (which really freaked you out the 1st time it opened during sex) they pretty much look the same. At first you thought he just felt thicker because of how rough he was, but the 1st time he fucks you slower you realize just how much more he stretches you. Stephen's length has always been perfect, the ridge at the base of his head grazing perfectly over your sweet spot when he thrust in & angled up. Now with the extra girth of his cock he doesn't even need to angle his hips in a particular direction, you can feel every ridge & vein along his shaft regardless. You can actually feel his entire cock throb when he cums inside of you, & half the time that is what throws you into another orgasm too.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

When he first got you there you basically only did 3 things sleep, eat, & fuck. He was absolutely insatiable. He had been alone just dreaming of when he could finally have you for so long & he had a lot of stress to relieve. After a little while, your relationship with him begins to move beyond more than just carnal passion. You learn more about him. What makes him different from the other Stephen, & what they have in common. He still craves your touch & would cause another incursion without hesitation to keep you by his side, but now you find yourself craving him. Not because he's Stephen, & you love your Stephen, but because you love him too. It's a good long while before he lets you go more than about 12 hours without having him between your legs in one way or the other.

He would prefer it if he didn’t have to sleep at all. How could he guard over you if he was asleep? He spent so long without you he doesn’t want to miss even a moment now that he has you. Even before he found you he was plagued with insomnia. Evident in the dark heavy circles under his eyes. Both the weight of the incursion, his actions causing the destruction of his own universe, & his longing for you clawing at his mind. It was part of what drove him to madness. Seeing you completely at ease with him & your sudden new life when you were asleep made his heart flutter & a warmth spread through his limbs. Soon you would be that happy when you were awake too. 

--------------------------------

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Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @maskmare931 @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @foofarny @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @sandyloveskeanu @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @andrewgarfieldsloml @taramaria @sinceimetyou @possessedjoker @coeurgrenaty @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @dont-feel-so-good-peter @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies

Let me know if you want to be tagged in stories for everything or for a specific charector. It's currently a lot of Strange & Bucky. ❤

[lil-sweater-slut]

warnings. | smut, vaginal sex, rough sex, Daddy kink, public sex (in a forest/on a patio), degradation, praise, pet name usage (pet), dom/sub, creampie kink, light spanking, size kink/difference (steve is ~6’6+ and beefy), mentions of female masturbation (showerhead), and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

pairing. | Nomad!Steve Rogers x Girlfriend!Reader.

author’s note. | @americasass81 convinced me!! don’t forget to enjoy and reblog! MINORS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED! @nsfwlibrary my taglist.

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[lil-sweater-slut]

all i want is for people to care about me as much as nick, schmidt, coach, and winston care about jess

[lil-sweater-slut]

Bucky:

Literally all of us: