having her bent over the nearest surface as soon as we get home after listening to her whine and complain all day whilst we were out. stroking her pussy lightly through the fabric to watch her drip a little more, waiting until she loses it completely and begs for me to fuck her with my strap like the desperate girl she is.
Pairings: Peter Parker x fem!reader
Wordcount: 3k+
Summary: When your quiet neighbor collapses outside your door one night, a dangerous side of him emerges that neither of you saw coming.
Warnings: MDNI,Non-Con, Explicit Sexual Content, Non-Consensual Bondage, Web Restraints, Forced Silencing, Loss of Control, Feral Behavior, Forced Orgasm, Overstimulation, Monster Fluids, Rough Handling, Fear/Panic, Body Betrayal
A/N: I watched the movie the other day and my goodness he’s so fine esp with the black eyes. Had ya girl hungry up in there. So Ofcourse I had to write this ,that was on my mind. First time writing for Spider-Man and I write smut😂Enjoy this filth I guess😭😭
The top floor of this particular tenement building in the sprawling, unforgiving heart of the city possessed exactly one redeeming quality: it was quiet.When you moved in a year ago, the landlord had warned you about the water pressure, the radiator that clanked like a dying engine, and the five-story walk-up. But he hadn't lied about the solitude. You were the only tenant on the top floor—until a few months ago, when a quiet, perpetually exhausted-looking guy named Peter moved into the unit at the end of the hall.Most of the time, the silence held. But on certain nights, when the city traffic lulled, you could hear the muffled cadence of his voice bleeding through the cheap drywall. He spoke in hushed, hurried tones, sometimes accompanied by a female voice with a clipped, slightly synthetic accent. You had assumed she was a girlfriend or a demanding long-distance relative. They seemed to bicker endlessly about obscure things—mostly about a "suit," its structural integrity, and the cost of polymer webbing. You had half-convinced yourself he was a dedicated cosplayer trying to make it big at conventions.
Despite the weirdness, Peter was harmless. Endearing, even. You recalled your only real interaction with him with a faint smile. It had been a dreary Tuesday in the basement laundry room—a claustrophobic concrete bunker smelling of mildew and cheap floral detergent. You had been loading your darks when he shuffled in, carrying a plastic basket with the sheepish posture of someone who perpetually felt in the way."Hey," he had mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. His brown hair was a messy, chaotic mop, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a decade. "Is the machine on the left...?"
"Eats quarters and spits out soggy clothes," you had warned him, leaning against the humming dryer. "Stick to the middle one."He sighed, dropping his basket. "Great. My apartment washer just broke because of... well, a mechanical issue."You laughed, the sound echoing in the damp space. "Welcome to the broke part of the building. I’ve been praying for an in-unit washer and dryer since I signed the lease."A small, genuine chuckle escaped him, lifting the heavy exhaustion from his features for a brief second. "The public one isn't so bad, is it?"
"It's great," you replied dryly, "Right up until someone steals your clothes. I once had to sleep on that very folding table over there just to guard my work shirts because they kept vanishing. A raccoon got in once. It was a whole thing."He had laughed at that—a bright, warm sound that reached his tired eyes. He was cute, in a frantic, bruised sort of way. You noticed a fresh scrape along his jawline, but politely ignored it. That was New York. Everyone had their battles.That brief, pleasant memory was violently shoved out of your mind the moment you reached the top of the stairs after a grueling fourteen-hour shift.It was past 2:00 AM. Your feet throbbed in rhythm with your heartbeat, your uniform smelled faintly of stale coffee and industrial cleaner, and your brain was running on fumes. You rounded the corner, fishing your keys from your purse, eager for nothing but a hot shower and your mattress.
Instead, you found Peter.
He was lying face-down directly in front of your door, motionless. And he was completely naked, save for a pair of tight black briefs.You froze, a spike of pure, unadulterated adrenaline slicing through your exhaustion. Your keys nearly slipped from your numb fingers. "Peter?" you whispered into the dim, flickering fluorescent light of the hallway. Silence. He didn't twitch.
Your mind raced through a rolodex of horrifying possibilities. Is he dead? Did he get mugged in his own hallway? Is he drunk? Why is he outside MY door? You took a cautious step forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. You glanced nervously over your shoulder, suddenly profoundly grateful that you two were the only residents on this floor. Explaining a nearly nude, unconscious man face-down at your doorstep to a nosy neighbor was not on your bingo card for the night. Gingerly, you extended a foot and nudged his thigh with the toe of your sneaker.
Nothing. He was out cold. But as your foot made contact, you noticed the terrifying heat radiating off his skin, even through the fabric of your shoe, and the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his back. Okay. Not dead. Breathing. Thank God. You stepped carefully over his prone form, mindful not to step on his fingers, and jammed your key into the lock. You shoved the door open, practically tossing your purse and phone onto the entryway console table. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself, and marched back out into the hallway. You couldn't just leave him out here. Crouching down, you grabbed him by both of his upper arms, intending to hoist him up by his shoulders and drag him inside.The moment your hands clamped down on his skin, your brain stuttered. How have I never noticed he was this big? Under baggy thrift-store sweaters and flannels, Peter looked lean, maybe even lanky. But gripping his arms now felt like gripping sculpted marble. He was incredibly dense, packed with lean, corded muscle that felt entirely disproportionate to his unassuming demeanor.
You shook your head, dismissing the intrusive thought, and pulled with all your might.
"Ghhk—" you choked out, dropping him immediately.
He didn't budge. It was like trying to deadlift an anvil. He was impossibly, gravitationally heavy. You rubbed your lower back, panting softly. "What do you eat for breakfast, dude? Lead?" you muttered under your breath. This was a problem. You couldn't lift him, and you certainly couldn't carry him. Resigning yourself to a complete loss of dignity for both of you, you crouched down and placed your hands on his hip and shoulder. "Sorry about this, neighbor," you grunted. With a monumental heave, you rolled him over. He flopped onto his back with a heavy thud. You pushed, rolled, and nudged his dead weight across the threshold, inch by agonizing inch, sweating profusely by the time you finally managed to clear his feet past the doorframe. You kicked your apartment door shut, locking it with a satisfying click, and collapsed against the wood, catching your breath. It was a hell of a late-night workout. Peter lay sprawled on your living room rug, a testament to physical exhaustion. In the better lighting of your apartment, you could see the faint scattering of fading bruises on his ribs and the distinct pallor of his face. He was breathing steadily, but when you brushed the back of your hand against his forehead to check his temperature, you yanked it back with a hiss.
He was burning up. It felt like a furnace was raging beneath his skin.
You grabbed a throw blanket from the back of your couch, intending to cover him up for decency's sake, but hesitated. With him running a fever that high, trapping the heat might make it worse. You opted to drape a small towel over his midsection instead, just to preserve some modesty. Sighing, you sank into the cushions of your cheap couch, your aching legs finally getting a reprieve. You stared down at him. Who exactly was Peter? Your mind drifted back to the accented voice you'd heard through the walls. A girlfriend? A roommate? Cosplay, you reminded yourself. He’s just a really intense, really heavy nerd who maybe drank too much or got sick. You decided you would just wait for him to wake up. Just an hour. Once he roused, you could get him a glass of water, walk him the ten feet back to his own apartment, and finally go to sleep. You leaned your head back against the couch, your heavy eyelids drooping. The rhythmic, slightly labored sound of his breathing became a bizarre lullaby.
Just ten minutes of resting my eyes, you promised yourself.
The darkness took you instantly.
You woke up with a sharp gasp, your consciousness snapping back to reality like a stretched rubber band.You didn't know how many hours had passed, but the ambient light filtering into the room was the bruised purple-gray of pre-dawn. Your brain was foggy, struggling to piece together the sequence of events.The first realization hit you like a physical blow: you were no longer on your couch.The second realization was infinitely worse: you couldn't move.Panic, cold and sharp, flooded your veins. You tried to sit up, to thrash, to throw your arms out, but your body was locked in place. You were encased from the neck down in something tight, yielding, and impossibly strong. You strained your neck upward, your eyes widening in horror as you took in your predicament.You were wrapped in a cocoon of stark white material, suspended a few inches off the floor. It looked like some sort of industrial-grade silly string, woven in a complex, overlapping pattern that bound your arms to your sides and your legs tightly together. Was he a killer? The thought slammed into your mind. Did I just invite a serial killer into my apartment?Adrenaline roared in your ears. You began to squirm violently, testing the tensile strength of the bindings. The material was incredibly bizarre—it felt sticky, yet dry to the touch, and it stretched slightly when you pulled against it, only to snap back tighter. You wriggled your fingers, finding a small gap near your hip. Digging your nails into the fibrous material, you pulled. It was like tearing through Kevlar.
Gritting your teeth, you ripped and clawed at the strange webbing. It took agonizing minutes of frantic, hyperventilating effort, pulling at the sides until the structural integrity of the cocoon finally gave way. With a sickening riiiiip, the casing tore down the middle.
Gravity claimed you instantly. You tumbled out of the suspension, hitting the hardwood floor hard on your shoulder.
"Ow, fuck!" you hissed, scrambling backward like a cornered animal until your back hit the nearest wall. You looked around, your chest heaving. This wasn't your apartment. The layout was a mirror image of yours, but the similarities ended there. The room was sparsely furnished, littered with mechanical parts, soldering irons, and blueprints. But dominating the far wall was a wildly expensive, hyper-advanced computer setup. Multiple monitors cast a faint, blue glow across the room, displaying rapidly scrolling lines of code and complex molecular diagrams.
You had been dragged into his apartment. You had been dragged into his lair.
"What the fuck... what the fuck is going on?" you whispered, your voice shaking as you frantically patted yourself down, looking for your phone. It was gone. Left in your apartment, no doubt.
"Heart rate elevated. Please attempt to remain calm." You shrieked, pressing yourself harder against the wall. The voice was female, crisp, and carried that exact synthetic accent you had heard through the walls. But there was no woman in the room. The voice was emanating from the computer terminal. "Who's there?! Where is he?!" you demanded, your eyes darting toward the shadows.
"I am currently alerting Peter to your awakened state," the AI responded placidly. "His vital signs indicate he is in transit and approaching rapidly. Please, refrain from sudden movements."
"Alerting him?!" you cried out, scrambling to your feet. You needed to leave. You needed to run. Before you could even take a step toward the front door, a heavy thud echoed from outside the window.You whipped your head around just in time to see the window slide open. Peter climbed through—from the outside. The five-story drop outside.He was no longer in his briefs. He was wearing baggy sweatpants and a worn hoodie, and in his hands, absurdly, he held a brown paper grocery bag and a small bouquet of bodega flowers.He froze the second his feet hit the floor, his messy hair blowing in the cold wind from the open window. His brown eyes widened in absolute shock as he looked at you, then at the shredded remnants of the web-cocoon on the floor.
The flowers slipped from his grasp, hitting the floorboards with a soft thud.
"Oh my god," he breathed out, panic lacing his tone. He carefully set the groceries down on the windowsill, raising both of his hands in a placating gesture. "Hey, hey, it’s okay. Everything is fine. You're safe."
"Don't come any closer!" you screamed, your voice cracking with absolute terror. "How did you get up here?! What the hell did you put me in?!"
"I know how this looks," Peter said quickly, taking a slow, agonizingly cautious step forward. His face was pale, his eyes pleading. "I didn't mean to scare you. When I woke up in your apartment, I was disoriented—I didn't want you to wake up and see... I panicked. I just wanted to keep you safe while I went to get something to explain—"
"Stay back!" you shrieked, abandoning all reason. You lunged toward the hallway, desperate to reach the front door.Peter's reaction was instantaneous, a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to track. He threw his hand out instinctively.
THWIP.
A thick, blindingly fast rope of white webbing shot from his wrist, striking you squarely in the chest and slamming you back against the wall with enough force to knock the wind out of your lungs. The webbing spread over your torso, pinning you instantly to the plaster.You gasped for air, struggling uselessly against the immovable binding."No, no, no, shit!" Peter cursed loudly, grabbing his own hair in frustration. "That wasn't supposed to happen! The webs are shooting from my boy weirdly again, I’m sorry!"
"Let me go!" you sobbed, genuine tears of terror spilling hot down your cheeks. You trashed against the wall, but it was like being glued to concrete. "What are you?! Let me go right now or so help me God I will hurt you!"
"I am so sorry, just listen to me for one second!" he begged, stepping closer, his hands outstretched. "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear on my life I'm not a killer, I’m just—"
He stopped abruptly.A loud, guttural groan tore from his throat. He staggered backward as if he’d been struck by an invisible blow."Peter?" you choked out, your threats dying on your lips as you watched him fold in on himself.He stumbled wildly over his own feet, crashing into the heavy oak desk. Keyboards, tools, and spare parts clattered loudly to the floor. He gripped the edge of the desk with white-knuckled intensity, his knuckles popping as the wood audibly groaned under his grip."R-run..." he tried to say, his voice strained, a deep, raspy struggle that sounded nothing like the awkward boy from the laundry room. He squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body trembling violently as heat seemed to roll off him in visible waves in the cold room.
When he opened his eyes again, the warm, pleading brown irises were gone.His pupils had dilated so massively, so instantly, that his eyes appeared entirely pitch black, devoid of humanity. The erratic, apologetic posture vanished, replaced by an unnerving, predatory stillness. He slowly tilted his head, his black, depthless eyes locking onto you pinned against the wall. The silence in the room became suffocating.
The AI's voice sliced through the tension, devoid of any panic.
"Warning," the female voice announced clearly. "Arachnid hormone levels have spiked to critical capacity."
Peter’s breath came in ragged, animal pulls. The black of his eyes swallowed every scrap of light in the room. He didn’t speak. The last shred of the awkward, apologetic neighbor was gone, burned away by the heat rolling off his skin in visible waves. Your heart slammed against the webbing hard enough that you felt the vibration travel up into his wrist. He closed the distance in two strides. The webbing that held you war ripped in a warm rush. You dropped forward an inch before his arms locked around you. One hand splayed wide between your shoulder blades; the other gripped the back of your thigh and hauled you up so your feet left the floor. He was burning. Every place his bare skin touched yours felt like fever. He carried you three steps and dropped you onto the unmade bed without gentleness. The second your back hit the sheets he was over you, knees forcing your legs apart, mouth open against the side of your neck. His teeth scraped, not quite biting, tasting the rapid flutter of your pulse. You shoved at his shoulders, twisting hard. “Get the fuck off me—Peter, stop, what the hell is wrong with you—”
He ignored every word. Fabric tore more than it unfastened as he stripped what was left of your clothes with single-minded focus. The moment you were bare under him he sat back on his heels, chest heaving, staring down at you like prey that had finally stopped running. The sweatpants he still wore were tented obscenely. He shoved them down just far enough. His cock sprang free, flushed dark, already leaking.
You tried to scramble backward. He caught both of your wrists in one hand, pinned them above your head, and thwipped—two thick strands shot from his wrists and locked your arms to the headboard in a tight figure-eight. Another pair of strands snapped around your thighs, yanking them wide and anchoring them to the mattress so you couldn’t close them. You thrashed, cursing him in a furious stream of every filthy word you knew.His head tilted. The black eyes fixed on your moving mouth. One more precise shot from his wrist and a thick band of webbing sealed over your lips, stretching tight across your cheeks. The rest of your curses died in a muffled, furious growl. You could still breathe through your nose, but you couldn’t form a single coherent threat.
He dropped forward again, one hand shoving your thigh even higher. There was no preamble. The blunt head of him dragged once through the slick that had gathered between your legs—your body reacting even while your mind still spun—and then he thrust in to the hilt in a single, ruthless stroke.Your eyes flew wide. A broken, muffled sound tore out of you. He didn’t give you time to adjust. His hips snapped back and drove forward again, deep, relentless, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the quiet apartment. Every thrust forced the air from your lungs in short, punched-out gasps against the webbing over your mouth. He fucked you like he was trying to crawl inside your body and stay there. The bedframe slammed the wall in a steady, brutal rhythm. Your bound wrists flexed uselessly above your head. The stretch was so intense your vision blurred; your eyes crossed for a second every time he bottomed out, the overstimulated pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. You hated how good it felt. Hated the way your body clenched around him like it was starving for exactly this. Hated the wet, helpless sounds that kept slipping past the webbing every time he dragged over that spot inside you.
One of his hands slid between your bodies. Two fingers found your clit and rubbed in rough, perfect circles timed to his thrusts. The dual sensation ripped a broken, muffled cry out of you. Your back bowed hard against the mattress. He watched your face the entire time, black eyes fixed, drinking in every flicker of expression as the orgasm tore through you hard enough that your eyes crossed again and stayed that way for a long, helpless second. You came with a strangled noise against the webbing, walls pulsing tight around him. He didn’t stop. If anything the clenching only drove him harder. His pace turned almost frantic, hips snapping, the wet sound of him sliding in and out of your still-fluttering body obscenely loud.His rhythm finally stuttered. A guttural, almost pained noise ripped from his chest. He buried himself to the root and stayed there, cock pulsing hard as he came. It wasn’t normal. The release that flooded you was thicker, stickier—liquid enough to spill but with the same clinging, elastic quality as his webbing. It coated every inch of him inside you, binding the two of you together in a hot, gluey mess.
When he finally pulled out, the withdrawal was slow and reluctant. Long, glistening strands of that sticky, web-like cum stretched between the flushed head of his cock and your abused, fluttering hole, snapping only when he pulled far enough away. More of it leaked out of you in thick, clinging ropes that stuck to your thighs and the sheets, shiny and viscous, refusing to drip the way ordinary come would.
He stayed kneeling between your spread, webbed legs, chest heaving, black eyes still locked on the mess he’d made of you. The webbing over your mouth and the strands holding your wrists and thighs stayed exactly where they were. For a long minute the only sounds were the two of you breathing and the soft creak of cooling silk.Only when the last violent tremor left his muscles did the pure black of his eyes begin to recede, brown slowly bleeding back in at the edges. The primal stillness fractured. His breath hitched. For the first time since the change, something like recognition flickered across his face.
“Oh Shit.”
Hope you enjoyed, you beautiful freaked out human. Likes, comments and Reblogs are greatly appreciated.
The mansion loomed against the overcast sky like a monument to faded glory, its marble columns and wrought-iron gates speaking of wealth that had long since stopped trying to impress anyone but itself. You'd seen a thousand places like this over the decades—testaments to the kind of money that came from being a supe in the golden age, before Vought started churning out heroes like they were action figures on an assembly line.
You lingered in the back of the black SUV for a moment longer than necessary, watching through the tinted window as Homelander's cape billowed in the artificial breeze he'd conjured for dramatic effect. Some things never changed. The man couldn't walk through a door without turning it into a production.
Soldier Boy had already climbed out, his boots heavy on the gravel, that familiar swagger in his shoulders that had made him the poster boy for American exceptionalism for nearly four decades. He'd glanced back once, a questioning tilt to his brow, and you'd waved him off with a lazy flick of your fingers.
Give me a minute.
He'd rolled his eyes but continued on, falling into step beside Homelander as they approached the mansion's grand entrance. You could hear the exchange even from here: Homelander's clipped impatience, Soldier Boy's gravelly amusement, and then the door swinging open to reveal the trembling figure of Mr. Marathon himself.
You'd seen his face before. Of course you had. The man was practically a Vought poster child for the new generation of supes. All shiny smiles and earnest enthusiasm. He was handsome in that has-been kind of way that had sold merchandise to teenage girls and lonely housewives, with the kind of boy-next-door charm that made him palatable for daytime television appearances.
But you'd also seen the other side of him. The side that had plastered his bedroom walls with posters of Soldier Boy. The side that had written fan letters so embarrassingly adoring, to both you and certain soldier, that they'd made your cheeks heat when you'd stumbled across them in years ago.
You'd always known, on some level, that you were a fantasy. That was the job, really. To be beautiful, to be unattainable, to be the thing men whispered about in the dark when they were alone with their hands and their thoughts. You'd made peace with it years ago, had even started to enjoy it—the power of it, the way you could make a man's entire world shrink down to just you with nothing more than a glance and a smirk.
It was a power you'd perfected over the decades. A power that had made Soldier Boy, of all people, look at you with something approaching genuine respect.
And it was a power that was about to be very, very thoroughly deployed.
The front door was still slightly ajar when you finally emerged from the car, your heels clicking against the stone pathway in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic. Your dress swayed with each step, the slit up the side revealing just enough thigh to make a man's mouth water.
You heard the words before you saw the scene unfold.
"Homelander! Soldier Boy!" Mr. Marathon's voice was pitched high with barely contained excitement, the kind of breathless fawning that you'd heard a thousand times before. "Such an honor! I can't- I mean, I've been a fan of yours for years, Soldier Boy. I literally popped my cherry on your underwear, I can't even-"
You paused just outside the doorway, a smirk curling your lips as you caught the expression on Homelander's face. Disgust, pure and undisguised, the kind of revulsion that came from being confronted with the deeply human messiness of desire. His nostrils actually flared, like he'd smelled something foul.
Soldier Boy, for his part, seemed caught between amusement and annoyance, his jaw working as he processed the confession.
And Mr. Marathon just kept going, his words tumbling out in a rush like he couldn't contain them anymore. "It was the late 90s edition and—" His eyes found you suddenly, widening to comical proportions as his brain short-circuited. "Oh. Oh. Oh my god. You're-"
You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed beneath your breasts, and let the silence hang for a moment. Let him squirm under the weight of your gaze.
"You were my first jerk off-" he blurted out, his cheeks flushing a shade of red that nearly matched your dress. "My first- I mean, the first time I ever- with the magazine, the one from 1993, the-"
"I was your first jerk-off?" you cooed at him, like you might do to a specially dumb and slow puppy, your voice syrupy sweet and dripping with amusement.
His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. A strangled noise escaped his throat.
You pushed off from the doorframe, your heels clicking against the marble floor as you approached him with the slow, predatory grace of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted. Soldier Boy watched you come, that familiar glint of curiosity in his eyes, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
You didn't stop until you were standing directly in front of Mr. Marathon, close enough to smell the expensive cologne he'd doused himself in, close enough to see the way his pupils had blown wide.
"Mm. Cute."
The words came out soft, almost tender, and you watched him crumble at the sound of them. His knees actually buckled, just slightly, before he caught himself.
Homelander made a sound of pure disgust, rolling his eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in his skull. "Can we please get on with this? We're not here to indulge in- whatever this is."
He shoved past Mr. Marathon, shouldering the man roughly as he strode into the mansion with all the grace of a spoiled child. "The V1. We're here for the V1. Don't waste my time with your pathetic fanboy nonsense."
Mr. Marathon stumbled, catching himself on the wall, and for a moment he looked almost shell-shocked. Then the spell seemed to break, and he was scrambling after Homelander, his voice pitched high and anxious. "Of course! Right! The V1! I've got it- I mean, not got it, per se, but I know someone who knows where it is, I can-"
Soldier Boy didn't move. He stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with an expression that was equal parts amused and curious. When Mr. Marathon had finally disappeared down the hall after Homelander, he turned to you fully.
"Didn't know ya liked 'em pathetic, doll."
The words were mocking, but there was genuine curiosity underneath. You'd known him long enough to recognize the difference.
You chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made his eyes darken. You moved closer, your arms coming up to loop around his neck, your body pressing against his in a way that was familiar and intimate. Your lips ghosted over his, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath but not quite touching.
"I like men who cry their way through sex."
He huffed out a laugh against your lips, rolling his eyes with exaggerated annoyance. "'Course you do."
But he was smiling, just a little, and you knew he was already half-hard in his jeans. He'd always been a sucker for your particular brand of depravity. That was what had made the arrangement work for so many years—you were the only woman he'd ever met who could match his appetite without getting caught up in the messy emotions that usually followed.
"Shoulda known. You always were the freakiest bitch I ever met."
His voice was low, amused, mocking in that way that always made heat pool between your thighs. "I thought you had better taste than that."
"Go talk to Malchemical." you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I'll be along in a minute."
He raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna play with your little toy, huh?"
"Maybe." You pulled back, giving him a smile that was all teeth. "Don't wait up."
He snorted, shaking his head as he turned to head down the hall. "Try not to break him too badly. We still need him functional."
You watched him go, savoring the way his shoulders moved beneath his jacket, the familiar heat of desire curling low in your belly. Then you turned and followed the direction Mr. Marathon had disappeared, your heels clicking against the marble like a countdown.
It didn't take long to find him.
He'd been left in a hallway somewhere near the back of the mansion, probably sent to retrieve something or other while Homelander brooded and Soldier Boy did his lines. You found him leaning against the wall, his face buried in his hands, the only visible part of him were his ears: and they were the color of a ripe tomato.
Poor thing. He'd been so overwhelmed by the whole encounter that he'd shut down completely.
"How adorable," you murmured, your voice carrying through the empty hallway. "You poor, pathetic little thing."
His head snapped up, eyes wide and glassy, and the look on his face was so utterly wrecked that you felt a surge of dark satisfaction.
"I- I'm sorry," he stammered, pushing off from the wall. "I didn't mean to- it's just- you and Soldier Boy and Homelander, I never thought I'd actually meet you, I've been a fan for so long and-"
You closed the distance between you in three quick steps, and before he could finish his sentence, you had him pinned against the wall.
The sound he made was obscene—a high, desperate whine that went straight to your core. His eyes fluttered shut as you pressed against him, one of his legs bending at the knee and hooking around your waist in a pathetic attempt to pull you closer.
"How cute." you murmured against his lips.
And then you kissed him.
It wasn't gentle. It was brutal, messy, the kind of kiss that left nothing to the imagination. Your tongue swept into his mouth, tasting the faint sweetness of the champagne he'd clearly been drinking before your arrival. His lips were soft and pliant against yours, parting eagerly as you devoured him.
He was trembling beneath you, his whole body shaking with the force of his arousal, and you could feel the evidence of his desire pressing hard against your thigh. Your hand found its way into his hair, gripping tight and tilting his head back to expose the column of his throat.
"Pretty," you breathed against his skin. "So pretty for me."
He whined again, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. You could feel the damp spot forming on his pants, the fabric sticky and warm against your leg.
"You're going to be so good for me, aren't you, baby boy?" you cooed, dragging your lips along his jaw. "Going to let me have my way with you?"
"Yes, yesyes please-" he gasped. "Please, mommy, please—"
The title sent a thrill through you. You bit down hard on the junction of his neck and shoulder, just shy of breaking skin, and he choked on a moan, his hips jerking against you.
"That's it," you purred. "Let me hear you, princess. Let me know how much you want it."
He was drooling now, just a little, a thin strand of saliva escaping from the corner of his mouth. You licked it away, savoring the taste of him, and then moved lower to leave a trail of harsh lovebites along his throat.
His leg tightened around your waist, his hands fisting in the fabric of your dress. He was so desperate, so pathetic and needy, and the knowledge that you had reduced him to this—a whimpering mess against a wall—was intoxicating.
"Please," he begged again, his voice cracking. "Please, mommy- mommymommymommyyyy-"
"I know what you need." You sucked another mark into his skin, right over the pulse point, and felt his whole body shudder against you. "You need someone to take care of you, don't you? Someone to tell you what a good boy you are."
"Yes," he moaned, eyes rolling back into his skull. "Yes, yes, please-"
"Lucky for you," you murmured against his throat, "I'm feeling generous today."
Soldier Boy found you like that.
He'd only been gone a few minutes—just long enough to do a few lines and make sure Homelander didn't fry off anyone sat on the pool table. When he'd turned around and found you still absent, he'd known immediately where you'd gone.
The trail of destruction you left in your wake was legendary.
"What the fuck," he drawled from the end of the hall, his voice carrying through the space like a whip crack. "Couldn't even wait five minutes?"
You pulled back from Mr. Marathon's throat, your lips shiny with spit and a thin smear of blood where you'd gotten a bit too enthusiastic. The man beneath you was a wreck: eyes glassy, lips swollen, his whole body trembling with barely contained need.
Soldier Boy's gaze traveled down, cataloging every detail. The lovebites blossoming along Mr. Marathon's neck. The way one of his legs was still hooked around your waist. The obvious tent in his pants that had left a dark, damp spot on the fabric.
"You just can't help yourself, can you?" Soldier Boy's voice was mocking, but there was a familiar heat in his eyes. "Gotta get your hands on every pathetic little fucking bitch you come across."
Mr. Marathon moaned at the degrading term, his hips bucking against you involuntarily. Soldier Boy's expression shifted to something darker, hungrier.
"Should have known you'd have a taste for submissive bitches, sweetheart." He was walking toward you now, his boots heavy on the marble floor. "All that power, all that control.. you just can't resist a man who begs."
You chuckled, dragging your tongue in a slow stripe up the length of Mr. Marathon's throat, from the base to his jaw. He shivered violently, his leg clenching around your waist, a series of pathetic little noises escaping his throat.
"Can you blame me?" you murmured, batting your eyelashes at the older man and feigning innocence, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. "Look at him. So pretty when he falls apart."
Mr. Marathon whimpered, his hands fisting in your dress.
Soldier Boy reached you in four more strides, and then his hand was fisting in the back of your dress, hauling you away from the man you'd been devouring. Mr. Marathon slumped against the wall, his knees giving out, barely managing to stay upright.
"Hands off." Soldier Boy's voice was a growl. "You're not the only one who gets to play."
And then his mouth was on Mr. Marathon's.
It was brutal. It was a kiss that was more about domination than pleasure. Soldier Boy's tongue shoved past the man's lips, taking what he wanted with ruthless efficiency. His hand found its way to Mr. Marathon's throat, squeezing just enough to make him gasp, and then he was biting down on the man's lower lip.
Hard.
A thin trickle of blood welled up, and Mr. Marathon's whole body went rigid, his eyes flying wide. Then he was coming, hard and fast and embarrassingly quick, his hips jerking as he painted the inside of his pants white.
Soldier Boy pulled back, his lips stained red with the man's blood. He looked down at the mess Mr. Marathon had made of himself, then back at you, a slow smirk spreading across his face.
"Mmm." He licked his lips, and Mr. Marathon whimpered at the sight. "Well, I kind of see the appeal here, sweetheart."
The nearest room turned out to be a guest bedroom, all white linens and tasteful decor that was completely at odds with what was about to happen.
Soldier Boy grabbed Mr. Marathon by the front of his shirt and hauled him through the door, shoving him down onto the bed so hard the man bounced. You followed at a more leisurely pace, watching the way Mr. Marathon's chest heaved, the way his eyes tracked you both with desperate, hungry need.
"Strip, bitch." Soldier Boy commanded, and Mr. Marathon scrambled to obey.
His hands were shaking as he tore at his clothes, fumbling with buttons and zippers in his haste to comply. He was naked in under a minute, his cock jutting up against his stomach, still wet with the evidence of his earlier release.
"So eager," you cooed, settling yourself on the edge of the bed. "Good boy."
Mr. Marathon whimpered at the praise.
Soldier Boy shoved him onto his stomach, hard, and Mr. Marathon went willingly, face hitting the mattres with a muffled "umphf-" as his arms folded beneath his head.
It wasn't even a second before reflex kicked in and he pushed his ass up in offering.
"Look at you," Soldier Boy growled, palming himself through his jeans. "Pathetic little bitch, presenting yourself like a dog in heat."
"Please," Mr. Marathon sobbed. "Please, sir, please-"
"You want it?" Soldier Boy fisted a hand in the man's hair, yanking his head back. "You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes-" Mr. Marathon moaned. "Yes, yes, fuck, please, sir. I've wanted—I've wanted you for so long-"
"Bet you have." Soldier Boy released him, and Mr. Marathon collapsed forward again. "All those years jerking off to our pictures, wishing it was us fucking you instead of your hand."
Mr. Marathon's entire body shuddered.
You moved closer, settling yourself at the head of the bed so you could reach Mr. Marathon's face. You cupped his jaw, tilting his head up to meet your eyes, and smiled.
"Let me see you," you murmured. "I want to see your face when he takes you."
His breath caught in his throat.
Soldier Boy had finished undressing, his body as impressive as you remembered: all broad shoulders and narrow hips and that cock that had driven you to madness more times than you could count. He didn't bother with lube or preparation, just spat into his hand and slicked himself up, the sound obscene in the quiet room.
"Gonna fuck you like you deserve," he growled, positioning himself behind Mr. Marathon. "Gonna fuck you like the whore you are."
And then he pushed in.
Mr. Marathon moaned—a high, desperate sound that was half pain and half pleasure. His hands fisted in the sheets, his whole body shaking as Soldier Boy bottomed out in one mean thrust.
"Fuck," Soldier Boy groaned, his head falling back. "Tight little bitch."
He pulled out and thrust back in, hard, the rhythm he set punishing and relentless. Mr. Marathon was crying now, tears streaming down his face, but his hips were pushing back to meet each thrust, desperate for more.
"Look at him." you crooned, stroking Mr. Marathon's tear-streaked cheek. "So pretty when he cries."
Mr. Marathon sobbed, his mouth dropping open in a wordless plea. You leaned forward and kissed him, swallowing his cries as Soldier Boy fucked him harder.
"I've wanted-" he gasped against your lips. "Wanted this for so long, wanted you, wanted him, wanted-"
"Shh," you murmured, kissing the tears from his cheeks. "You have us now, princess. We're going to take such good care of you."
"You don't deserve it, though, have that clear." Soldier Boy growled, his thrusts growing more erratic. "You don't deserve to be touched by me, or her, you pathetic little mutt."
Mr. Marathon moaned, his hips jerking as he came again, his cock painting the sheets beneath him.
Soldier Boy didn't stop. He kept fucking him through the aftershocks, his rhythm never faltering.
"Please-" Mr. Marathon sobbed. "Please, I can't- it's too much—"
"You can take it," you purred, smoothing his sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. "You can take it for me, can't you, baby boy?"
He nodded frantically, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Soldier Boy pulled two more orgasms out of him before he came himself. When he was finally satisfied, the man was sobbing and shaking beneath him. Once he pulled out Mr. Marathon collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving.
"Beautiful.." you murmured, stroking his back. "So beautiful for me."
"Had enough, mutt?" Soldier Boy flopped onto the bed beside them, his chest slick with sweat.
Mr. Marathon whined, already shaking his head. "No- no, nonono, please, I need—"
"What do you need, princess?" you asked, tilting his chin up.
"You," he gasped. "Need you- need to touch you-"
He reached for you, his hands trembling, and you let him pull you into his arms. He buried his face in your chest, nuzzling against the swell of your breasts, and you chuckled softly.
"Hungry, are we?"
He nodded frantically, his mouth finding the curve of your breast through the fabric of your dress. You helped him push the straps down, baring yourself to him, and he moaned as he took your nipple into his mouth.
"Christ," Soldier Boy muttered, watching the scene with narrowed eyes. "Greedy little fucker."
"Can you blame him?" You arched into Mr. Marathon's mouth, loving the way he sucked and bit at your sensitive flesh. "They are quite spectacular."
Ben made a sound of mock disgust, but you could see the hunger in his eyes. "Alright, that's enough of that." He grabbed Mr. Marathon by the hair, pulling him off your chest with a growl. "If you want something in your mouth so badly, you'll get my fingers instead. Those tits are too good for the likes of you."
Mr. Marathon whimpered as Ben scooped up some of the cooling cum that had pooled on his stomach, then shoved two thick fingers into his mouth. The smaller man's eyes fluttered shut, his tongue laving over Ben's fingers with desperate eagerness.
"Look at you," you cooed. "Such a good boy for us."
Soldier Boy pulled his fingers free, and Mr. Marathon whimpered at the loss. Then he was being hauled up, positioned on Soldier Boy's lap, impaled on his cock once more.
"Ride," Soldier Boy commanded. "Ride me like the whore you are."
Mr. Marathon sobbed but obeyed, his hips rolling as he bounced on Soldier Boy's cock. You positioned yourself atop of him, your legs spread wide, and he was almost sort of fainting when you sank down on him.
"Mommy," he gasped, his mouth finding your breast again. "Mommy, please-"
"That's it," you crooned, stroking his hair. "Take what you need, princess."
His hips picked up speed, frantic now, and you could feel him trembling on the edge again. Soldier Boy's hands were on his hips, guiding him, and you could hear the grunts he made as he got closer to his own release.
Sensing this, Soldier Boy reached across your bodies to start playing with your clit, making you clench down on the man sanwiched between you.
"Ah- come for me," you murmured against Mr. Marathon's ear. "Come for me, baby."
He did, moaning your name as he spilled himself inside you. Soldier Boy followed moments later, his grip bruising on Mr. Marathon's hips as he filled him.
You collapsed together in a heap of sweaty limbs and heaving chests. Mr. Marathon was still crying, soft little sobs that he couldn't seem to stop, and you gathered him in your arms.
"Shh," you murmured. "You did so well. So good for us."
"I love you," he sobbed, the words tumbling out unbidden. "I love you both—"
"Oh, sweetheart." You chuckled, pressed a kiss to his forehead. "No, you don't. But that's okay. You don't have to love us to enjoy this."
He whimpered, but he nodded.
Soldier Boy snorted from beside you. "Fucking groupies. They're all the same."
You smiled, stroking Mr. Marathon's hair until his sobs quieted to soft hiccups. His breathing evened out, and you could feel him slipping toward sleep, utterly wrung out.
"Sweet dreams, princess." you murmured.
Soldier Boy watched you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached over and brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.
"You are one depraved bitch, you know that?"
You smiled at him, slow and predatory. "You love it."
𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 : months of jealousy, lingering looks, and mutual pining finally boil over when sam and dean realise they’ve both fallen for you. what begins as a childish bet over which brother can make you break first turns into an honest confession neither of them expected. you refuse to choose between the winchesters, and once they agree to share, all three of you discover exactly how much trouble two jealous brothers can cause : 14k
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : 18+ . sam winchester x fem!reader x dean winchester . polyamorous relationship dynamics . no incest . the brothers do not interact sexually . jealousy . possessive behaviour . mutual pining . competitive flirting . praise kink . dirty talk . pet names . consensual sharing . threesome . oral sex . blowjob . deepthroating . mouth fucking . hair pulling . spit . gagging . penetrative sex . unprotected sex . riding . clitoral stimulation . multiple orgasms . overstimulation . nipple play . facial ejaculation . cum swallowing . messy sex . light degradation . soft dominance . mdni
navigation : kofi . this was requested ages agoooo, sorry for the wait </3 i had writers block.
DEAN WAS CLEANING THE SAME gun for the third time that night, and Sam knew it because the slide had already clicked back into place twice before. The bunker was quiet around them, all low lamps, old paper, whiskey breath, and the distant hum of pipes buried deep in the walls. Dean sat at the library table with his boots kicked out, a rag twisted between his fingers, and his jaw set in that particular way Sam had learned to read before either of them were old enough to shave. It meant Dean was irritated, but not in the usual way.
This wasn’t a bad lead, a broken engine, or some smug demon getting under his skin. This was worse because Dean couldn’t shoot it, burn it, salt it, or make a joke mean enough to chase it away. The problem was you, and Sam knew that because he was having the exact same problem on the other side of the table. He had a book open in front of him, some old Men of Letters volume with a cracked spine and tiny print, but he hadn’t taken in a single sentence for the last twenty minutes.
Every few seconds, his eyes moved without permission toward the hallway, where you had disappeared after telling them you were going to change. Dean noticed every time. Sam noticed Dean noticing. Neither of them said a word, which only made the silence feel more guilty.
You had been with them long enough to make the bunker feel different, and Dean hated how much he liked that. You weren’t just another hunter passing through with a fake badge, a half-healed bruise, and a duffel bag full of knives. You had become part of the place in small, stubborn ways, leaving your boots near the stairs, your favourite mug beside the coffee maker, your notes tucked inside books Sam swore nobody else was allowed to annotate.
Dean had complained the first time he found your jacket thrown over the back of his chair, but he hadn’t moved it for three days. Sam had noticed that too. Sam noticed everything when it came to you, which made him feel like a creep on the nights when he caught himself listening for your footsteps in the hall. Dean was less subtle, but he liked to think he wasn’t obvious. He was wrong.
Sam had seen the way Dean watched you when you bent over a pool table during interviews, the way his hand found your shoulder in crowded bars, the way his smile got tight when another man made you laugh too easily. Dean had seen Sam too, though. He had seen the way his brother softened when you said his name, the way Sam’s anger dulled around the edges when you touched his arm, the way he leaned closer when you spoke like the rest of the room had gone quiet.
Dean still remembered the first night they met you because you had walked into the middle of their hunt like a thunderstorm with a shotgun. The case had been ugly from the start, a string of disappearances around an abandoned church in Ohio, the kind with too many bones under the floorboards and not enough locals willing to talk. Sam had been elbow-deep in research for two days, and Dean had been getting twitchy from waiting around, which meant they were both a little too tired and a little too sure of themselves when they went in.
Then the spirit had come out of the walls faster than expected, and Dean had ended up flat on his back in the mud with the breath knocked out of him. You stepped over him, fired a round of rock salt into the dark, and said, “You always let ghosts throw you around like that, or am I special?” Dean had stared up at you, rain dripping off his lashes, too surprised to be annoyed as quickly as he should’ve been. Sam had come running from the other side of the graveyard, flashlight cutting through the downpour, and he had stopped dead when he saw you standing there.
You had blood on your cheek, mud on your jeans, and a look on your face like you had already decided the Winchesters were a full-time headache. By sunrise, you had helped them burn the bones, called their plan reckless, and accepted diner coffee from Sam with both hands curled around the mug. Dean had told himself you were trouble. Sam had thought the same thing, but softer.
After that, you kept crossing paths with them until it stopped feeling like coincidence and started feeling like a choice. Dean would never admit it, but every time your number lit up his phone, something in his chest settled before he even answered. Sam was worse in a quieter way, always asking if you were okay before asking what case you were on, always saving you a seat at the library table when you came through Lebanon.
You teased him for it once, nudging his boot with yours beneath the table, and Sam had gone pink around the ears like he was still capable of being embarrassed by kindness. Dean had laughed at him, of course, but only because your foot had brushed Dean’s ankle next, and his own thoughts had turned dangerous enough to make mockery feel safer. You became the person they both looked for after a hunt, the person they both wanted beside them in the Impala, the person they both pretended not to watch when you were curled up on the couch in one of their stolen flannels.
It wasn’t clean, and it wasn’t simple. Nothing about wanting you had ever been simple. Dean wanted you loudly, even when he tried to hide it. Sam wanted you carefully, which somehow made it worse. The worst part was that you seemed to know.
The hunt that night had only made things uglier between them. You had gone undercover at a bar outside town, all warm smiles and easy laughter, leaning close to some suspect with your hand wrapped around a glass you barely drank from. Dean had watched from a booth with his shoulders stiff and his mouth pressed into a flat line, looking like he might break the table if the man touched you. Sam had been standing near the jukebox, arms folded, expression calm enough to seem harmless to anyone who didn’t know him.
Dean knew him. Dean saw the tension in Sam’s jaw, the way his eyes followed the man’s hand when it drifted too close to your waist. “You gonna glare him to death, Sammy?” Dean had muttered, but his own voice came out rougher than he wanted. Sam hadn’t looked at him right away. He kept watching you smile at a man neither of them trusted, and the old protective instinct twisted into something much more selfish inside him.
“You’re one to talk,” Sam had said finally, low enough that only Dean could hear. The words should’ve ended there, but Dean had looked over just as you laughed at something the man said. His hand tightened around his beer bottle. Sam saw that too, and something bitter and competitive sparked between them before the hunt had even finished.
By the time the three of you got back to the bunker, the air inside the Impala had been thick enough to choke on. Dean drove too fast, one hand loose on the wheel and the other tapping restless patterns against the leather. Sam sat in the passenger seat with his shoulders squared and his eyes on the road, acting like he wasn’t listening to you shift in the backseat.
You were quiet behind them, probably tired, probably amused, probably too aware of the way both brothers had gone tense the second that man at the bar looked at you like you were something he could keep. Dean glanced at you in the rearview mirror more times than he needed to. Sam caught every single look reflected in the glass.
“Case is done,” you said from the backseat eventually, your voice soft but edged with curiosity. “So why do you both look like you’re still hunting something?” Dean huffed, like the answer was ridiculous. Sam didn’t answer at all. That was when Dean knew his brother was in deep, because Sam Winchester only got that silent when the thing he wanted was sitting too close and too far away at the same time.
Now, in the library, Dean kept dragging the rag over the pistol like friction might burn the image of you out of his head. Sam closed the book in front of him with careful hands, the sound small but final. Dean’s eyes snapped up at once, because everything Sam did had started to feel like a challenge tonight. “You gonna actually read that thing, or are you just trying to look thoughtful?” Dean asked, his voice lazy in a way that didn’t fool Sam at all.
Sam leaned back in his chair and looked at his brother over the book, expression mild but eyes sharp. He didn’t answer right away, because he knew Dean hated waiting almost as much as he hated being seen through. The library light caught on Sam’s cheekbones, making him look tired, annoyed, and far too composed for Dean’s liking.
Then Sam looked toward the hallway again, where you still hadn’t reappeared, and Dean felt something hot and ugly move under his ribs. “I’m thinking fine,” Sam said at last, his voice measured. “That’s usually the part where you get nervous.” Dean laughed once, short and humorless, because the comment landed too close to the truth. He set the gun down carefully, which only made him look more dangerous.
You appeared in the doorway before Dean could answer, and both brothers went still in two completely different ways. Dean’s stillness was physical, a sudden pause in his hands, his breathing, his entire posture, like his body had forgotten what it was doing. Sam’s was quieter, but no less obvious, his gaze lifting to you and staying there just long enough to give him away.
You had changed into soft shorts and an oversized shirt, your hair slightly messy, your face bare of the focus you wore on hunts. You looked comfortable in their home, and that did something unbearable to both of them. Dean’s eyes flicked over you before he forced them back to your face, and Sam watched him do it with a tightness gathering in his chest. “You two are doing that thing again,” you said, stepping farther into the room.
Your voice carried easily in the quiet, teasing at first, but there was something underneath it that made Sam’s fingers curl against the arm of his chair. Dean tilted his head, acting confused because denial had always been one of his favorite bad habits. “What thing?” he asked, like he hadn’t been sitting there vibrating with jealousy for the better part of an hour. You looked at Sam instead of answering Dean, and Dean’s smile sharpened.
Sam saw the way Dean reacted to your attention shifting, and he hated the small satisfaction it gave him. You weren’t trying to be cruel. That was the thing that kept ruining them both. You didn’t toss them looks because you wanted to watch them bleed.
You did it because you were honest with your attention, because when you cared, it showed, and when you wanted, that showed too. Sam had seen it in the car, in motel rooms, in the bunker kitchen when you reached over him for coffee and lingered close enough that he could smell your shampoo. He had seen you go warm under Dean’s praise, and he had seen you turn quiet when Sam’s voice softened around your name.
“The thing where you both act like you’re mad at each other, but somehow I’m the one getting stared at,” you said, folding your arms loosely as you leaned against the table. Dean dropped his gaze to the movement for half a second, then dragged it back up, annoyed with himself. Sam looked down at the closed book like it might offer mercy. It didn’t. “Maybe you like being stared at,” Dean said, and the words came out lower than he meant them to. You didn’t flinch. You smiled, and Sam felt the room tilt around it.
Dean knew he should stop there. He knew that tone, that look, that dangerous little space opening between all three of you was exactly the kind of thing that ruined people’s sleep and made mornings complicated. But then Sam looked at you again, and the look on his brother’s face was too careful, too hungry, too patient. Dean hated patience when it came to you. He hated the way Sam could stand there and make restraint look like devotion. “Careful, Dean,” Sam said, and his voice was calm enough that it sounded almost kind. Dean turned his head slowly, brows lifting as if Sam had just done something interesting and stupid at the same time.
There was no raised voice, no slammed glass, no dramatic shove toward violence, but the tension between them snapped tight anyway. You felt it too, because your smile faded into something softer, something more aware. “Careful with what?” Dean asked, though they all knew he wasn’t asking because he didn’t understand. Sam’s eyes stayed on him for a moment, then moved back to you. “With acting like you’re the only one who gets to say things like that to her,” he said. The words landed heavy in the room, and Dean’s grin disappeared.
For a few seconds, nobody moved. The bunker seemed too large around you, too quiet, every small sound suddenly amplified. Dean could hear the faint buzz of the light overhead, the shift of Sam’s breathing, the tiny inhale you took before you tried to hide it.
Sam could hear Dean’s knuckles flex against the table, could see the muscle jumping in his jaw, could feel the old Winchester warning signs lining up one by one. You looked between them, and something in your expression changed from amused to caught. Not scared. Not uncomfortable. Caught, like you’d walked into a room where the truth had been waiting long before you arrived.
“Is that what this is?” you asked, your voice quieter now. “You’re both mad because you think the other one’s getting too close?” Dean wanted to answer fast, something smart and filthy enough to knock the softness out of the moment. He couldn’t. Sam’s gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then lifted again, and Dean saw it. That was what finally pushed him over the edge.
Dean leaned back in his chair, but there was nothing relaxed about him now. “I think Sam here’s got this idea in his head,” he said, dragging his eyes from his brother back to you, “that if he waits long enough and talks soft enough, you’ll just fall right into his lap.” The sentence should’ve sounded like a joke, but it didn’t. It sounded like an accusation dressed up in Dean’s usual arrogance, and Sam’s face went still in the way that meant the comment had hit exactly where Dean meant it to.
You looked at Sam, and Dean hated himself a little for watching your reaction so closely. Sam didn’t rush to defend himself. That was what made him dangerous. He took his time, sitting back with one hand resting on the closed book, his thumb brushing the worn edge of the cover like he was thinking through every possible consequence before choosing the worst one.
“And Dean thinks if he smirks hard enough and calls you sweetheart,” Sam said, voice low and even, “you’ll forget he’s terrified of wanting anything that wants him back.” Dean’s eyes flashed. You went completely still.
That should’ve been the moment one of them backed down. Sam knew it. Dean knew it. Even you seemed to know it from the way your eyes searched both of their faces, no longer teasing, no longer pretending this was just another argument they’d laugh about later. But the truth was already in the room, and neither brother had ever been good at walking away from something once it started bleeding.
“You both sound ridiculous,” you said, though your voice didn’t have enough force behind it to make either of them believe you meant it. Dean’s mouth tugged up at one corner, but his eyes were too dark for the expression to feel light. Sam’s face softened when he looked at you, and Dean hated that too, hated how Sam could make sincerity look like a weapon.
“Maybe,” Sam said, and his voice gentled in a way that made your fingers tighten around the edge of the table. Dean saw it. Of course he saw it. “Or maybe we’re just done pretending,” Sam added, and the room seemed to shrink around the three of you. Dean’s smile returned slowly, but this time there was no humor in it.
The bet came out of Dean because Dean was always better at turning fear into something reckless. He looked at Sam first, like the idea was meant to challenge him, then at you, like he already knew it would make your breathing change. “Fine,” Dean said, tapping two fingers against the table once. “Since we’re all being honest, maybe we settle it.”
Sam’s brows drew together, suspicion flickering across his face, because he knew that tone and almost never liked where it led. You didn’t ask right away, but your attention sharpened, and Dean felt it like a hand around his throat. He stood slowly, chair scraping against the floor, and Sam’s posture shifted at once, not defensive exactly, but alert. Dean didn’t move toward you yet.
He wasn’t that stupid, and despite everything burning through him, he wasn’t about to make you feel cornered. “Settle what?” you asked finally, and the softness in your voice made Sam’s eyes narrow at Dean in warning. Dean’s gaze stayed on you. “Who makes you break first,” he said. The words dropped low, warm, and dangerous, and your breath caught before you could stop it.
Sam heard that breath and felt every thought in his head go quiet. Dean heard it too, because his eyes darkened with immediate satisfaction, the kind that made Sam want to wipe the look off his face. But Sam didn’t move. Not yet. He watched you instead, watched the way you tried to gather yourself, watched the way your gaze moved from Dean to him like you weren’t sure whether you wanted to run from the fire or step closer to it.
“That’s not a bet,” Sam said after a moment, though his voice had gone rougher than before. Dean glanced at him, pleased that he’d managed to drag that much reaction out of him. “No?” Dean asked. “Sounds like one to me.” Sam stood then, slower than Dean had, and the height of him changed the balance of the room. He kept his hands visible, his distance careful, his focus split between Dean’s challenge and your face. You swallowed, and Sam saw that too. Dean saw Sam see it, and the whole thing turned sharper.
You looked like you were trying to decide whether to laugh or tell them both to get a grip, but the flush at your throat betrayed you. Sam’s expression softened again, and Dean wanted to curse because he knew exactly how effective that would be on you. “You don’t have to play along with anything just because he’s being an idiot,” Sam said, and he aimed the words at you, not Dean.
It should’ve made the moment gentler. Instead, it made Dean’s jealousy flare hotter, because Sam’s concern sounded intimate, like he had already earned a place closer to you than Dean had. You looked at Sam for a long second, and Dean’s fingers curled at his side. “I know,” you said, and your voice was steady enough to make both brothers listen.
You shifted against the table, not backing away, not stepping forward, just staying exactly where you were as if you wanted them to understand that the choice was yours before it was anyone else’s. Then your eyes moved to Dean. “And what makes you so sure I’d beg for either of you?” Dean’s smile came back slow and wicked, but Sam saw the relief underneath it. You hadn’t shut the door. You had opened it wider.
Dean took one step closer, stopping with plenty of space still between you, and Sam clocked the restraint with reluctant approval. Dean was reckless, but not careless with you. That mattered, even if Sam was too wound up to feel generous about it. “Because you like pushing,” Dean said, voice low enough to roughen at the edges. “You push and push, then act surprised when somebody finally pushes back.”
His words made your eyes narrow, but your mouth gave you away, parting just slightly before you pressed it shut. Sam watched the reaction with a strange ache in his chest, equal parts want and irritation. Dean had always known how to hit the obvious nerve first. Sam preferred the hidden ones. He took a step too, not toward Dean, but enough that you felt his presence from the other side.
“And because you’ve been waiting for us to say it,” Sam said, quieter than Dean, but no less certain. Your attention flicked to him, and something vulnerable moved over your face before you buried it. Dean saw that expression and realized with a bitter twist that Sam might be right.
The library had become too warm, or maybe that was just the weight of three people refusing to pretend anymore. You glanced down at the table, then back up, and Dean saw the question in your eyes before you formed it.
“So what?” you asked, and your voice came out softer now, not weak, not shy, just honest in a way that made both men stop posturing for half a second. “You two make a bet over me, and I’m supposed to what? Stand here and let you decide who knows me better?” Sam’s face shifted first, guilt flickering there because the question landed exactly where it needed to. Dean’s jaw tightened, and for once he didn’t have a fast answer.
The silence that followed was different from the one before. Less jealous. More serious. Sam looked at Dean, and Dean looked back, both of them understanding at once that the game ended before it began if you weren’t holding the center of it. “No,” Sam said finally, turning back to you. He spoke carefully, every word chosen with the kind of restraint that made Dean grit his teeth. “You decide if there’s anything to decide.”
Dean nodded once, rough but immediate, because whatever else he was, he wasn’t going to let you think for one second that your wanting didn’t matter more than theirs. “You say no, it’s no,” Dean said, and the cockiness had dropped out of his voice, leaving something rawer underneath.
“You tell us to shut up and go back to pretending we’re normal, we do that too.” Sam almost laughed at that, because none of them were normal, and pretending had never saved them from anything. You noticed the faint movement in his expression and looked at him again. Sam held your gaze, steady and open, though his heart was beating hard enough that he could feel it in his throat.
Dean watched that silent exchange and had to force himself not to interrupt it. That was the worst part of loving you around Sam. Dean wanted to be selfish, but he knew Sam would be good to you. Sam wanted to be patient, but he knew Dean could make you feel wanted in a way that burned bright and immediate. Neither of them could hate the other’s wanting when it looked so much like their own.
You breathed in slowly, and the room seemed to wait with you. Dean’s hands were loose at his sides now, but his whole body looked like restraint had become a physical effort. Sam stood a little farther back, giving you space, though his eyes never left your face. You looked from one brother to the other, taking in Dean’s heat, Sam’s control, the jealousy they had been dragging around like a curse they couldn’t bury.
“And if I don’t tell you to shut up?” you asked. Dean’s expression changed so quickly it almost made Sam roll his eyes, that familiar Winchester grin flickering back with dangerous relief. Sam didn’t smile, not quite, but his gaze deepened, and you saw it. You saw both of them.
That was the thing that had always undone them. Dean stepped closer to the table, careful, still waiting. Sam’s voice came from your other side, low and steady, not rushing you. “Then we talk rules,” he said. Dean’s grin widened just enough to make your stomach twist. “And then,” Dean added, softer now, “we find out who you ask for first.”
You stood there for a few seconds after Dean spoke, and the silence felt different than it had before. It wasn't sharp anymore, and it wasn't angry. It felt exposed, like somebody had finally turned on the lights in a room all three of you had been hiding inside for months.
Dean remained near the table, his shoulders tense despite the confidence in his expression, while Sam stood a little farther away with his hands loose at his sides. Neither of them was pushing. Neither of them was moving closer. For the first time all evening, they were waiting entirely on you. Your heart was beating hard enough that you could feel it in your throat, because you had spent so long imagining this conversation that actually standing inside it felt unreal.
You'd imagined Dean admitting he wanted you. You'd imagined Sam doing the same. You had never imagined both of them standing in the same room, looking at you like this. The possibility of it had always seemed too selfish to say out loud. So you wrapped your arms around yourself, partly for comfort and partly because you suddenly didn't know what to do with your hands.
You had fallen for Dean first, though not in the dramatic way romance novels promised. It happened gradually, hidden inside long drives and late-night diner stops and the way he always made sure you were walking on the inside of the sidewalk without even thinking about it.
Dean was warmth and movement and noise. He was music turned too loud, coffee made too strong, terrible jokes after terrible hunts, and the kind of loyalty that frightened you because it was so complete. He made you laugh when you wanted to stay angry. He made you feel wanted in a way that was impossible to ignore. Every time he called you sweetheart, something inside you tightened despite your best efforts.
You noticed the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren't paying attention. You noticed how quickly he became protective whenever another hunter got too familiar. There had been moments when his jealousy flashed so openly that you almost reached for his hand without thinking. You knew Dean wanted you because Dean was terrible at hiding it. The problem was that you wanted him back enough to be scared of it.
Sam had happened differently. Sam had happened quietly, slowly, the way dawn arrived when nobody was looking at the sky. You couldn't even identify the exact moment it changed. Maybe it was the first time he stayed awake with you until four in the morning while you researched a case neither of you could solve.
Maybe it was the way he listened whenever you spoke, like your words deserved his complete attention. Maybe it was how careful he became whenever you were hurt, never treating you as fragile but always making sure you weren't carrying pain alone. Sam made you feel seen in places you usually kept hidden. He remembered little things you forgot saying. He noticed when you were tired before you admitted it.
He brought you coffee exactly the way you liked it without ever asking twice. Sometimes he would look at you across the library table with this quiet expression that made your chest ache because it felt so honest. He didn't flirt the way Dean did. He simply stayed close. Somehow that became even more dangerous.
The worst part was that you had realized they both wanted you months ago. Dean's jealousy practically announced itself every time another man smiled at you too long. He became sharper, louder, more possessive in little ways he probably thought nobody noticed. Sam's jealousy was quieter, but you had learned him well enough to recognize it. He would grow still. He would watch.
His voice would become softer in that way it only did when he was trying very hard not to feel something. You had seen Dean glare across bars because someone touched your elbow. You had seen Sam step between you and strangers so naturally that nobody even realized what he was doing.
You knew they both wanted you because nobody looked at another person the way they looked at you without wanting more. The problem wasn't uncertainty. The problem was that you wanted them too. You simply didn't know whether either Winchester could survive hearing that truth.
You had spent months assuming you would eventually have to choose. Some nights, lying awake in your room, you would imagine Dean knocking on your door. Other nights, you imagined Sam staying behind after research and finally saying your name the way he sometimes looked at you.
You never let yourself imagine both of them because it seemed impossible. Dean and Sam loved each other fiercely, but they also competed over everything from pool games to pie. You couldn't imagine either brother being willing to step aside. You couldn't imagine either brother wanting to share something as complicated as feelings. So you stayed quiet.
You laughed off Dean's flirting. You pretended not to notice Sam's lingering looks. You convinced yourself that eventually one of them would move on or find somebody else. Instead, the tension only grew. Sometimes you caught Dean watching you while Sam was talking. Sometimes you caught Sam watching Dean watch you. Those moments made your stomach twist with equal parts hope and guilt.
Dean shifted beside the table, and his voice softened enough to surprise you. "You don't have to answer right now." His eyes remained fixed on you, but there was something gentler behind the heat now. Dean Winchester could be reckless, arrogant, and impulsive, but he wasn't careless with your feelings. That mattered more than he probably realized. Sam nodded slightly from where he stood. "He's right." The agreement between them felt almost stranger than the argument had. You had expected competition.
You had expected jealousy. You had not expected them both to step back at the same time and give you room to breathe. That simple act made your chest ache because it proved what you had secretly suspected all along. Neither one of them wanted to win if winning meant hurting you. Dean folded his arms, looking suddenly uncertain beneath all his confidence. Sam glanced toward the floor briefly before looking back at you.
"I've known for a while," you admitted quietly. Your own voice sounded unfamiliar in the library. Dean blinked first. Sam went completely still. You looked down at your hands because looking directly at them suddenly felt impossible. "Not everything," you clarified. "But enough." Dean let out a breath through his nose. "We're not exactly subtle." His attempt at humour earned the faintest smile from you. Sam's expression softened immediately at the sight of it.
"How long?" he asked. The question was careful, almost hesitant. You thought about it honestly before answering. "Long enough to know Dean gets jealous whenever somebody flirts with me." Dean looked offended for approximately two seconds. "That obvious?" You glanced at him. "Dean, you practically growl."
Dean muttered something under his breath that made Sam smile despite himself. The sight of Sam smiling relaxed something inside you because it reminded you that beneath all the tension, these were still your boys. These were still the men who sat with you during nightmares and brought you food after difficult hunts. Dean rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Okay, fair." Sam looked toward you then, his expression more vulnerable than you had ever seen it.
"And me?" he asked. The question carried genuine uncertainty. That almost broke your heart. Sam Winchester, who could read ancient languages and understand monsters nobody else believed in, somehow didn't know whether you had noticed him looking at you. You met his eyes fully. "You look at me like you're trying not to," you said softly. Sam went quiet immediately. Dean looked between the two of you and sighed dramatically.
"Great," Dean said. "So apparently we're both idiots." His voice carried some of its familiar warmth again, which helped ease the tightness sitting between all three of you. You found yourself laughing quietly, more from relief than amusement. The sound seemed to affect both brothers in entirely different ways. Dean smiled automatically because your laughter always did that to him.
Sam relaxed visibly, his shoulders lowering slightly. "You know what the worst part is?" you asked. Dean lifted an eyebrow. Sam waited. You swallowed before continuing. "I didn't know if either of you would be okay with me..." Your voice trailed off. Dean's expression changed first. Sam's followed immediately afterward. Neither of them interrupted. Neither of them rushed you. The patience of it gave you courage.
"I thought eventually I'd have to pick one of you," you admitted. The confession settled heavily into the room. Dean's jaw tightened slightly. Sam's eyes lowered for a moment before returning to you. "Because I knew how I felt about Dean." You looked toward him briefly.
Dean's expression had gone completely serious now. "And I knew how I felt about Sam." Sam looked almost startled hearing his name spoken like that. Your heart hammered against your ribs because these words had lived inside you for so long that speaking them felt impossible.
"But I never knew if..." You paused again. Dean took a slow breath. Sam remained perfectly still. "I never knew if either of you could handle hearing that I didn't want to choose." The honesty of it left you feeling exposed. Dean's eyes widened slightly. Sam looked almost stricken.
The silence afterward wasn't uncomfortable. It was simply full. Dean looked toward his brother for the first time in several minutes. Sam met his gaze. Whatever passed between them happened quietly, years of understanding condensed into a few seconds of eye contact. You watched them looking at one another, and it hit you again how much you cared about both of them together.
Dean brought out pieces of Sam that nobody else could. Sam steadied parts of Dean that nobody else could reach. You loved their arguments, their loyalty, their ability to communicate entire conversations through glances. You had never wanted to come between them. If anything, the idea terrified you. "You two matter too much to each other," you said quietly.
Dean looked back at you immediately. Sam did the same. "I never wanted to be the reason something changed between you." Dean's expression softened so completely it almost hurt to see. Sam looked like he understood exactly what you meant.
Dean rubbed his thumb against his lower lip before speaking. "Sweetheart, we've been driving each other insane for forty years." The faint humour helped. You smiled despite yourself. Sam shook his head slightly. "You're not ruining anything." His voice carried absolute certainty. Dean nodded immediately afterward. "Seriously." The reassurance settled somewhere deep inside your chest. You had spent months fearing this exact conversation because you assumed somebody would lose. You assumed somebody would get hurt.
Instead, both brothers stood there looking at you with the same impossible tenderness. Their jealousy suddenly made more sense. Their arguments made more sense. The longing looks and tense silences and protective instincts all fit together now. They hadn't only been afraid of losing you. They had been afraid of losing each other too.
You looked between them again, suddenly overwhelmed by how much you appreciated the ridiculous honesty of the evening. The bet itself was stupid. Childish, even. It sounded exactly like something Dean Winchester would invent because he didn't know what else to do with his feelings. Sam clearly knew that too, judging by the look he gave his brother. But beneath the ridiculousness sat something that touched you more than you expected.
Two men you loved had spent months wanting you enough to become jealous. They had noticed each other's feelings because they were both paying attention to you. They had reached a point where pretending no longer worked. Dean wanted you enough to risk rejection. Sam wanted you enough to admit it aloud. That knowledge settled warmly inside your chest. You looked down briefly, suddenly shy in a way that hunting monsters had never made you feel. "The bet is kind of stupid," you said quietly.
Dean immediately groaned. "Knew it." Sam rubbed a hand across his face. "Dean..." The embarrassment on both their faces made your smile widen slightly. You shook your head before either of them could retreat completely.
"No, I mean it is." Dean looked resigned. Sam looked apologetic. You took a slow breath. "But..." That single word brought both their eyes back to you immediately. You could see hope there now, carefully hidden but unmistakable. Your pulse jumped harder. "I appreciate it too."
Dean frowned slightly, confused. Sam looked curious. You folded your arms more tightly across yourself, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt. "Knowing that you both want me enough to be jealous." The confession made Dean inhale sharply. Sam's eyes softened again. Neither of them spoke.
Your cheeks had begun warming several minutes ago, but now the heat spread fully across your face. Dean noticed immediately because Dean noticed everything physical about you. Sam noticed because he noticed everything else. The library suddenly felt too quiet again. You looked at Dean and saw all that heat and confidence hiding uncertainty underneath. You looked at Sam and saw all that patience concealing the exact same fear.
They wanted answers. They wanted reassurance. More than anything, they wanted to know whether this conversation was about to end with disappointment. Your fingers tightened against your sleeves. Your stomach twisted hard enough to make you dizzy. Dean opened his mouth like he might speak, but stopped himself. Sam waited. Both of them waited.
You finally looked up, your face warm and your heart pounding, and met both their eyes at once. Dean seemed almost afraid to move. Sam looked like he was holding his breath. The weight of months sat between all three of you. The jealousy. The pining. The late nights. The stolen looks. The fear of saying the wrong thing. You swallowed once, and your voice came out softer than you intended.
"What if..." Dean's expression changed immediately. Sam took the smallest step forward before stopping himself. You could feel yourself blushing now, unable to hide it anymore. Your eyes moved from Dean to Sam and back again. For the first time all evening, you allowed yourself to say the truth exactly as it existed. "What if I want both of you?"
Neither brother answered at first. Dean’s mouth parted, but whatever quick remark had been waiting on his tongue disappeared before it could leave him. Sam’s breath left him slowly, his expression shifting from surprise to something so openly hopeful that you nearly had to look away.
You could almost see both of them replaying your words, searching for some hidden condition or cruel misunderstanding. Dean looked at Sam, and for once there was no challenge in it, only a silent question that carried the weight of everything they had already admitted.
Sam met his gaze steadily, his throat moving as he swallowed. The jealousy between them hadn’t vanished, but something inside it had softened, becoming less like a weapon and more like a fear they finally shared. Then Dean let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh and dragged one hand down his face.
“Both of us,” Dean repeated, testing the words like he wasn’t entirely convinced he was allowed to believe them. You nodded, though the movement was small because your nerves had started making your whole body feel strangely weightless. Sam watched your face closely, careful even now, like he needed to make certain your answer wasn’t coming from pressure or panic. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rougher than before despite how gently he spoke.
“I’m sure,” you said, forcing yourself to hold his gaze even as warmth spread down your neck. Dean’s eyes moved over your expression, searching for hesitation, and some of the tension finally left his shoulders when he didn’t find any. Sam took a slow breath, the smallest smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Then we can work with that,” he said, and Dean turned toward him with his eyebrows raised.
“We can work with it,” Dean agreed, though his tone made it clear he was already imagining several ways to prove that point. Sam gave him a warning look, but there was no real anger behind it anymore. “That doesn’t mean this is going to be simple,” Sam said, looking between you and Dean.
Dean scoffed softly and folded his arms, trying to disguise how vulnerable the moment had made him. “Nothing with us is simple, Sammy.” His gaze settled on you again, his expression losing some of its teasing edge. “I’m gonna get jealous,” he admitted, the honesty sounding almost uncomfortable in his mouth. Sam glanced at him before adding quietly, “So will I.”
“I don’t need either of you to pretend you won’t,” you told them. Dean’s eyes narrowed slightly, not suspicious, but attentive in a way that meant every word mattered. Sam stepped closer to the table, though he still kept enough distance to let you breathe. “Then we talk about it when it happens,” he said.
“No turning it into some competition where one of you has to win,” you added, giving Dean a pointed look. Dean placed a hand over his chest with exaggerated offence, but the faint colour rising along his neck betrayed him. “I have no idea why you’re looking at me.” Sam’s mouth twitched before he said, “And no making decisions for her because you think you know what she wants.”
“And neither of you gets to pull away without telling me why,” you continued, looking at Sam this time. His expression changed immediately because he understood exactly why that rule belonged to him. Dean glanced at his brother, some quiet recognition passing over his face before he looked back at you. “Fair,” Sam said, though the word came out softer now. Dean nodded once, the gesture firm and immediate.
“Yeah, fair.” The agreement settled between you, fragile but real, and the last of the earlier hostility seemed to drain from the room. What remained was heavier in a completely different way, all anticipation, heat, and three people suddenly aware that nothing stood between wanting and acting on it except permission.
Sam moved first, but only by a single step. Dean followed more slowly, circling the edge of the table until the two of them stood on opposite sides of you. You stayed exactly where you were, your palms pressed lightly against the worn wood behind you as your heartbeat climbed higher.
Sam raised one hand, stopping before his fingers reached your face. The restraint in that unfinished movement made your stomach tighten more than confidence ever could. “Can I touch you?” he asked, his eyes fixed on yours. “Yes,” you whispered. His fingertips brushed along your cheek so carefully that the tenderness of it almost hurt.
Dean came closer behind you, near enough that the warmth of him reached your back without his body touching yours yet. “Still okay?” he asked, his voice lower beside your ear, stripped of every joke he usually used to protect himself. “Yes,” you answered again, more steadily this time. His palm settled at your waist, broad and warm through the thin fabric of your shirt.
Sam watched your reaction, his thumb tracing once beneath your cheekbone while Dean’s fingers flexed gently against your side. Being held between them should have felt overwhelming, but instead it felt like the answer to a question your body had been asking for months. “You two are being suspiciously careful,” you murmured, trying to disguise how uneven your breathing had become. Dean’s quiet laugh brushed across the side of your neck as he said, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we’re just getting started.”
Sam’s expression darkened at Dean’s words, though the change wasn’t directed at his brother this time. He leaned down slowly, giving you every chance to turn your head or change your mind. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his breath warm against your lips. You answered by curling your fingers into the front of his shirt and pulling him the final inch toward you.
The first kiss was softer than you expected, a careful press of his mouth against yours that lasted only long enough to make you chase him when he began to pull away. Something in Sam snapped at the movement. His second kiss landed harder, his hand sliding from your cheek to your jaw as he tilted your face upward and kissed you with a hunger that didn’t match his usual gentleness. A quiet sound escaped you before you could swallow it, and Dean’s grip tightened instantly at your waist.
Dean pressed closer behind you, his chest finally meeting your back while Sam kept your attention trapped in front of you. One of Dean’s hands spread over your stomach, holding you securely as his mouth brushed beneath your ear. The touch sent a shiver through you, and Sam felt it in the way your fingers clenched harder around his shirt.
“Didn’t know Sammy had that in him, did you?” Dean murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin below your jaw. Sam broke the kiss just enough to glare past you at his brother, though his swollen mouth ruined any real attempt at intimidation. “You talk too much,” Sam said, his voice low and strained. Dean smiled against your neck. “She usually likes it.”
You turned your head before Dean could say anything else and caught his mouth with yours. He made a surprised sound that quickly deepened into a rough groan, his hand pulling you more firmly against him as he returned the kiss without hesitation. Dean kissed exactly the way you had always imagined, hot, demanding, and almost impatient, like he had spent too long restraining himself to waste another second.
Sam’s hand remained against your jaw, his thumb stroking over your skin while he watched, the jealousy in his eyes tangled tightly with fascination. You reached for him blindly, catching his wrist and keeping him close so he couldn’t mistake your attention shifting for rejection.
His expression softened immediately, and Dean felt the movement, breaking the kiss with a breathless smile. “Look at that,” he murmured, his forehead resting briefly against yours. “Already making sure neither one of us gets left out.”
“I meant what I said,” you whispered, still holding Sam’s wrist while Dean’s hand stayed firm at your waist. Sam stepped closer until there was hardly any space left in front of you, his body boxing you gently between both brothers without making you feel trapped. “We know,” he said, though the wonder in his voice suggested he was still trying to believe it. Dean brushed his nose against your temple, his breathing warm and uneven beside your face.
“And we meant it too,” he added. Sam’s eyes moved briefly to Dean’s, and whatever silent conversation passed between them ended with both men turning their attention back to you. The jealousy would come, and so would arguments, mistakes, and all the complicated pieces none of you could solve tonight.
But when Sam kissed you again and Dean’s arms tightened around you from behind, you realised complication had never frightened you as much as losing this chance would have.
Dean’s chest pressed harder into your back as Sam crowded closer in front of you, their bodies hemming you in without either brother touching the other. The thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to soften the heat pouring from both of them, and every breath you took made your body brush against Sam’s while Dean’s arms tightened around your waist. Dean’s erection pushed thick and unmistakable against the curve of your ass, his hips giving one involuntary roll before he caught himself with a rough exhale against your neck.
Sam was no better, the hard length of him pressing against your lower stomach through his jeans whenever you leaned into his kiss. “Feel what you’ve done to us, sweetheart?” Dean murmured, sounding far too pleased with himself for a man whose breathing had already gone ragged. You rolled your hips backward just enough to make him groan, then pressed forward into Sam until his jaw tightened and his hand closed around your waist.
Sam caught your chin between his fingers and kissed you slowly, but the controlled pace only made the hunger beneath it more obvious. “Still good?” he asked against your mouth, his eyes dark and fixed on yours. “I want more than good,” you whispered, and both men reacted like the words had struck straight through them.
Dean’s hands slid beneath the hem of your oversized shirt, his palms spreading over the bare skin of your stomach while Sam lifted the fabric carefully from the front. “Arms up,” Sam said, and the softness of his instruction made you obey before you even had time to tease him. Dean helped pull the shirt over your head from behind, letting it fall somewhere beside the table while Sam’s gaze dropped openly to your chest. The shorts came next, Dean hooking his fingers into the waistband while Sam steadied you with both hands at your hips.
“You boys always this coordinated?” you asked, breath catching when the material slid down your thighs. “Only when there’s something worth working together for,” Dean replied, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as you stepped free of the shorts. Sam crouched briefly to guide them over your feet, his knuckles brushing your calf before he rose again with a look that made your knees feel loose.
Your underwear remained in place for only another second before Dean traced the damp fabric between your legs and let out a low, satisfied sound. “Sammy,” he said, voice thick with amusement, “she’s already soaked.”
Heat rushed across your face, but Sam’s expression turned reverent rather than smug as he took in the sight of you standing bare between them. Your breasts rose and fell with every unsteady breath, full and soft beneath his gaze, their weight shifting slightly whenever Dean moved you against him. Your nipples had tightened into hard little peaks from the cool air and the attention, and Sam brushed the back of one finger over the nearest one as though he couldn’t resist testing your reaction.
The light touch made you gasp, your chest arching instinctively toward his hand while Dean cupped your other breast from behind. “Sensitive,” Dean observed, rolling your nipple gently between his thumb and forefinger until your thighs pressed together. Sam’s eyes followed the movement, then dropped lower when Dean slid your underwear down and exposed the wet shine gathered along your folds.
You were slick enough that the inner curves of your thighs glistened, the evidence of your arousal impossible to hide even before Dean spread you slightly with two careful fingers. A slightly unruly patch of pubic hair rested above your pussy, soft and natural, and Dean’s grin deepened when he noticed the way you tried to glance down at yourself. “Don’t you dare get shy now,” he murmured, kissing beneath your ear while Sam said softly, “You’re beautiful exactly like this.”
You turned in Dean’s arms before either man could keep staring without consequence, catching the hem of Sam’s shirt and tugging it upward. Sam lifted his arms and let you strip it away, his broad chest and defined stomach coming into view beneath the warm library light. Dean made an impatient sound behind you, so you reached back and dragged at his shirt too until he laughed and pulled it off himself.
Their jeans were harder to manage with your hands shaking, but you worked Sam’s belt loose first while Dean kissed your shoulder and offered entirely unhelpful commentary. “Easy there, sweetheart, you break the giant and I’m not carrying him,” Dean said, earning a flat look from Sam and a breathless laugh from you. Sam’s cock sprang free when you pushed his jeans and underwear down, long, thick, and flushed dark at the head, a bead of precum already shining at the tip.
Your mouth went dry at the sight, and Sam’s stomach tightened when your fingers wrapped experimentally around his shaft. Dean stepped out of his own jeans beside you, revealing himself just as hard, his cock slightly shorter than Sam’s but heavy and broad, the veins standing out along its length as it curved toward his stomach. “Still think the bet was stupid?” Dean asked, and you answered by stroking them both once, making their teasing disappear into matched groans.
They guided you toward the couch with a hand at each hip, not rushing you but leaving no doubt about where they wanted you. Dean reached it first and dropped onto the cushions on his back, stretching his body along the length of the couch with his legs parted and his cock hard against his stomach. “C’mere,” he said, curling two fingers toward you while his eyes dragged over your naked body.
Sam stayed behind you, one palm sliding down the line of your spine as you climbed onto the couch between Dean’s legs. You settled on your knees facing Dean, your hands braced against his thighs while he watched you with a mixture of hunger and disbelief. “You’ve thought about this,” you accused, leaning close enough that your breath warmed the head of his cock. “Every damn time you wore my flannel with nothing under it,” Dean admitted, his voice cracking slightly when your lips brushed him.
Sam knelt on the couch behind you, his thighs framing yours without touching Dean, and gathered your hair away from your face so Dean could see you clearly. “Show him what he’s been imagining,” Sam murmured near your ear, and the command sent a fresh pulse of wetness down your thighs.
You wrapped one hand around Dean’s shaft and licked slowly over the bead of precum at his tip, tasting salt as his abdomen clenched beneath you. His head fell back against the couch with a rough groan, but he forced himself to look down again when you opened your mouth around the broad head. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, one hand fisting in the cushion instead of grabbing you before you invited it.
You took him deeper a little at a time, letting your tongue flatten along the underside while your hand worked what your mouth couldn’t yet fit. Dean’s hips twitched upward, then stopped when Sam planted a steadying hand against your lower back and gave him a warning look over your shoulder. “Don’t make her choke because you can’t control yourself,” Sam said, though his own voice sounded strained from watching your lips stretch around Dean.
Dean laughed breathlessly and threaded his fingers into your hair with deliberate care, guiding rather than forcing as you bobbed your head. “Hear that?” he murmured, eyes locked on your face while you hollowed your cheeks around him, “Sammy’s pretending he isn’t dying back there.” Sam answered by sliding two fingers through your soaked folds, and your moan vibrated around Dean’s cock hard enough to make him swear.
Sam stroked you from behind with slow, deliberate passes, spreading your wetness from your entrance to your swollen clit while you continued sucking Dean. Each glide of his fingers made your hips rock backward, your body asking for more even while your mouth stayed full. “So wet,” Sam said, the words almost lost beneath Dean’s ragged breathing.
He pressed one finger inside you, then a second, curling them until your knees shifted wider on the cushion and another muffled cry escaped around Dean. Dean looked wrecked beneath you, his lips parted and his chest rising hard as he watched Sam prepare you without ever looking directly at him. “That’s it,” Dean praised, brushing your hair back from your flushed face, “take what you need from him while you take care of me.”
Sam withdrew his fingers only when your pussy was clenching greedily around them, and you heard the slick sound of his hand closing around his own cock behind you. He rubbed the thick head slowly through your folds, coating himself in your arousal and nudging your clit just enough to make your whole body shake. “Tell me you want it,” Sam said, one hand gripping your hip while the other lined his cock up with your entrance.
You pulled off Dean just long enough to drag in a breath, your hand continuing to stroke him as you looked back over your shoulder at Sam. “I want you inside me,” you said, voice shaking with need, “and I want Dean in my mouth while you do it.” Dean made a broken sound beneath you and guided your face back toward his cock, his thumb brushing affectionately over your swollen lower lip. Sam pushed forward slowly, the broad head of him stretching your entrance before the first thick inch slipped inside.
Your mouth opened on a cry, and Dean used the moment to slide between your lips again, groaning when the sound closed hot around him. Sam paused with both hands firm on your hips, giving your body time to adjust as your pussy fluttered tightly around the length already inside you. “You’re squeezing me so hard,” he whispered, bending over your back to kiss your shoulder while keeping his body carefully separate from Dean’s.
Dean stroked your cheek and smiled down at you with ruined, hungry tenderness, saying, “Look at you, taking both of us exactly the way you wanted.”
Your lips closed around Dean again, swallowing the low groan that tore from his chest when your tongue dragged firmly along the underside of his cock. Dean’s hand slid from your cheek into your hair, his fingers gathering it carefully before he tightened his grip enough to hold your head steady. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he breathed, watching your mouth stretch around him with a look of ruined fascination. You hollowed your cheeks and sucked as you moved, taking him deeper with every downward stroke until the broad head pushed against the back of your throat.
He started guiding you gently, testing the rhythm before giving a slow thrust upward that made your eyes water. Each push of his hips fed more of his cock into your mouth, and you relaxed your throat around him as best you could, letting him feel how willingly you took it. His cock dragged hot and heavy over your tongue while his thumb stroked the side of your face, the tenderness of the gesture contrasting obscenely with the way he used your mouth.
“Tap my thigh if you need me to stop,” Dean reminded you, his voice strained despite the careful seriousness in his eyes. You answered by gripping his leg and sucking harder, making his head fall back against the couch with a broken curse.
Once he felt you settle into the rhythm, Dean’s control began slipping, his hips lifting more firmly as he fucked into the wet heat of your mouth. His fingers stayed tangled in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted while he drew you down until your nose nearly brushed the coarse hair at the base of his cock. He rolled his hips upward again, slow enough to let you breathe between thrusts but deep enough that your throat tightened around him.
You let saliva spill from the corners of your mouth, slicking his shaft and your swollen lips as he pulled back before pressing deep again. Tears gathered along your lashes from the repeated stretch, and Dean wiped one away with his free thumb without slowing. Dean groaned when you swallowed around him, his stomach flexing beneath your hands as the muscles in his thighs tightened.
“You look so fucking pretty with your mouth full,” he praised, his voice turning rougher when you moaned around his cock. The praise made you press backward instinctively, silently begging Sam to give you more at the same time. Sam’s hand tightened around your hip as he understood the movement, and his next thrust drove deeper into your soaked pussy.
Sam fucked you with long, forceful strokes, drawing nearly all the way out before sinking back inside until his hips met the soft curve of your ass. His hips established a steady rhythm that rocked your entire body forward onto Dean’s cock each time he buried himself inside you. The angle had the thick head of him rubbing somewhere deep that made your thighs tremble and your fingers dig into Dean’s legs.
One hand remained firm on your hip, controlling your movement, while the other slid around your body and found your swollen clit. “Spread your knees a little wider for me,” Sam instructed, his breath breaking when your pussy clenched around him. You obeyed immediately, opening yourself farther and giving his fingers more room to work between your thighs.
His fingertips rubbed tight circles over your clit, slick with the wetness that coated you both, while his cock continued stretching and filling you from behind. The pressure built so quickly that your stomach pulled tight, every thrust grinding his fingers harder against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your moan vibrated around Dean’s cock, making him thrust into your mouth with a groan while Sam whispered, “There she is.”
Sam felt your body beginning to unravel before you could warn him, your pussy fluttering rapidly around his cock while your hips chased his fingers. “Right there?” he asked, already knowing the answer from the desperate way you pushed backward against him. He kept his thrusts deep and measured, grinding into you instead of pulling away as his fingers rubbed your clit faster.
Your knees shifted unsteadily on the couch, and Sam tightened his arm around your waist to keep you supported between them. Dean slowed the movement of your head, giving you room to breathe while still keeping his cock resting heavily against your tongue. He held your gaze as your eyes lifted toward him, his expression softening despite the raw hunger carved across his face. “Cum for him, sweetheart,” Dean encouraged, stroking your wet cheek while Sam drove into you again.
Sam pinched your clit lightly between two fingers before rubbing it with firm, rapid strokes, his mouth pressed close to your shoulder as he praised how tightly you were taking him. The combined pressure of Sam filling you, his fingers working your clit, and Dean’s cock pulsing inside your mouth finally dragged you over the edge.
Your orgasm tore through you with enough force to make your entire body lock between them, a muffled cry breaking around Dean’s cock as your thighs shook violently. Your pussy clamped down around Sam in repeated waves, squeezing him so tightly that his thrusts faltered and a harsh groan ripped from his chest.
Sam swore against your skin, holding himself deep inside you while his fingers continued rubbing your clit through every helpless contraction. Dean pulled his cock back enough to let you gasp for air, his hand still supporting your head while he watched your face crumple with pleasure. You shook beneath Sam’s hands, your hips twitching uncontrollably as slick wetness spread over his cock and down your inner thighs. “Good girl,” Sam murmured, pressing slow kisses along your shoulder while your pussy continued pulsing around him.
Sam kept his movements shallow until the overstimulation made you whimper, then finally stilled and let his hand rest warmly over your lower stomach. Dean withdrew from your mouth completely, his cock shining with your saliva and still hard enough to throb against his abdomen. Neither brother let himself cum, both of them visibly straining against the need because they had already decided they weren’t finished sharing you.
For a moment, all three of you stayed tangled together while you struggled to catch your breath, your body loose and trembling from the orgasm. Dean brushed your damp hair away from your forehead, looking far too smug for someone whose cock was still flushed and aching beside your face. “We’re not done with you yet,” he said, tracing your swollen lower lip with his thumb before glancing toward Sam. Sam eased out of your pussy slowly, watching the way your stretched entrance clenched around nothing once he was gone.
“Swap?” Sam asked, wrapping one slick hand around his cock and stroking himself once as he waited for your reaction. Dean’s grin sharpened while your exhausted body immediately stirred with fresh heat at the suggestion. They moved carefully around you, never touching one another as Sam stepped away from the couch and Dean shifted into a seated position.
Dean sat with his back against the cushions and his legs spread, his erection standing thick and rigid between his thighs. He reached for your hips and guided you around until you were hovering above him with your back facing his chest.
You lowered yourself onto Dean slowly, the broad head of his cock pressing through your soaked folds before stretching your sensitive entrance open again. Dean’s cock sank into you inch by inch, thicker than Sam’s in a way that made your pussy burn pleasantly as it adjusted around him. He groaned into the back of your neck when your ass finally settled against his lap and he was buried completely inside you. “Back against me, sweetheart,” he instructed, wrapping one arm firmly around your waist and drawing you against his chest.
You settled against him, your head resting briefly on his shoulder while his cock pulsed deep inside your still fluttering pussy. Dean planted his feet against the floor and lifted your hips before pulling you down again, making you gasp at the sudden force of the thrust. He thrust upward into you repeatedly, using his arm around your waist to bounce you against his lap as your wetness coated his cock.
Your breasts jiggled freely with every hard movement, the soft weight of them bouncing as Dean drove you up and down over his length. Dean cupped one from behind and squeezed it, rolling your stiff nipple between his fingers while he murmured, “Look at these pretty fucking tits bouncing for me.”
Sam stepped in front of you, towering over the couch with his cock still slick from your pussy and flushed dark from holding himself back. His cock twitched near your face, precum gathering thickly at the tip while he watched Dean make your body bounce in his lap. You wrapped one hand around Sam’s shaft and stroked him slowly, spreading the slickness along every hot inch as your lips parted beneath him. “Open up for me,” Sam said, catching your chin gently and tipping your face upward while Dean continued thrusting from below.
You did, extending your tongue so Sam could drag the swollen head across it before pushing his cock between your lips. Sam used your mouth at his chosen pace, one hand cradling the back of your head as he slid over your tongue and pressed carefully into your throat. Your free hand continued stroking the base of his cock whenever his hips pulled back, twisting your wrist and squeezing firmly enough to make his breath hitch. Dean thrust harder every time Sam pushed into your mouth, making your breasts bounce wildly while his fingers pinched and tugged your nipple.
Caught between Dean’s cock pounding into your pussy and Sam fucking your mouth above him, you could only moan around Sam’s length while both brothers praised how perfectly you took them.
Sam’s cock slid deeper into your mouth as Dean thrust upward beneath you, forcing a broken moan from your throat that vibrated around Sam’s length. Every drive of Dean’s hips lifted your body, making your lips move along Sam’s shaft while your hand tightened around the slick base of his cock. Dean’s arm stayed locked around your waist, holding your back firmly against his chest as he fucked into your dripping pussy from below.
Your breasts bounced with every impact, the soft flesh jiggling uncontrollably while Dean’s free hand squeezed and kneaded one of them. “That’s it, sweetheart, let him use that pretty mouth,” Dean groaned against your ear, pinching your hardened nipple until you whimpered around Sam. You sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks as Sam pushed forward and let the head of his cock press into your throat.
Sam’s fingers tightened in your hair, keeping your face tilted upward while he watched your watering eyes and saliva-coated lips. “You’re taking me so well,” he praised, dragging himself almost completely out before sliding back across your tongue. The sensation of being filled at both ends left you helpless between them, your wet pussy clenching around Dean every time Sam’s cock reached deep into your mouth.
Dean felt every contraction around him, and each tight pulse made his control fracture a little more. He planted his feet harder against the floor and drove his cock upward in forceful strokes, bouncing you on his lap until your ass slapped repeatedly against his thighs. Your slick coated the full length of him, gathering around the base of his cock and smearing across his skin whenever he buried himself completely. “Fuck, you’re soaked,” Dean muttered, slipping his hand from your breast down over your stomach.
His fingers found your swollen clit and rubbed it in rough circles while his other arm continued holding you in place. Your whole body jolted, forcing Sam’s cock deeper as you cried out around him. Sam paused long enough to let you breathe through your nose, his thumb brushing tenderly beneath one of your tear-bright eyes.
“Too much?” he asked, despite the dark hunger in his expression and the way his cock throbbed against your tongue. You shook your head urgently and stroked him faster, making Sam’s restraint disappear beneath a low, ragged groan.
Sam began fucking your mouth more steadily, guiding your head onto his cock while meeting each movement with a controlled thrust of his hips. The swollen head pressed against the back of your throat again and again, leaving you gagging softly while saliva slipped down your chin. His free hand cupped your jaw, feeling the shape of himself through your cheek as your mouth stretched around his thickness.
“Look at me,” Sam instructed, slowing just enough for you to lift your watery gaze to his. You obeyed, sucking hard as he withdrew, your tongue following the sensitive underside until only the tip remained between your lips. Sam’s breath hitched when you swirled your tongue around the head and dragged your fist firmly along the rest of his shaft.
“She knows exactly what she’s doing,” Dean said, his voice rough with pride while he continued pounding upward into you. Dean’s fingers pressed harder against your clit, matching the rhythm of his thrusts until your thighs began trembling around his legs. You moaned Sam’s name with your mouth still full, the muffled sound making his cock jerk against your tongue.
Dean kissed the side of your neck while his cock drove into the deepest part of you, each thrust forcing your body upward before he pulled you down again. Your breasts bounced wildly in front of Sam, your nipples stiff and flushed while Dean’s hand occasionally left your clit to slap lightly against the underside of one breast. The soft impact made your chest jiggle harder and sent another surge of wetness around Dean’s cock.
“These gorgeous fucking tits,” Dean breathed, cupping both breasts briefly and squeezing them together. Sam looked down at your body, watching Dean’s cock disappear into your pussy without directing any touch or attention toward his brother. His gaze stayed fixed on you, on your open mouth, bouncing chest, and the desperate movements of your hand around his shaft.
“You like being watched?” Sam asked, pulling his cock free so you could answer. “I like knowing what I’m doing to both of you,” you gasped, still bouncing helplessly on Dean’s cock. Dean laughed against your shoulder and thrust hard enough to cut your next breath into a sharp cry.
Sam tapped the heavy head of his cock against your tongue, smearing precum over your lips while your hand pumped him from base to tip. “Then look at what you’re doing to me,” he said, guiding your gaze downward to the flushed length twitching in your fist. You licked the precum from his slit before taking him back into your mouth, drawing a curse from him as your lips closed tightly around the head.
Dean’s fingers returned to your clit and rubbed faster, making your pussy squeeze around him so hard that his hips stuttered. “Easy,” Dean warned breathlessly, though he sounded like he was speaking to himself more than you. You deliberately clenched again, earning a strained groan and a sharp bite against your shoulder. “Trying to make me cum before your boyfriend up there?” Dean asked, his tone teasing despite how close he clearly was.
Sam’s eyes darkened at the word, but his expression softened when you reached up and squeezed his cock possessively. “They’re both yours,” Sam murmured, thrusting back into your mouth while Dean answered, “Damn right we are.”
The renewed claim sent a fierce wave of arousal through you, and Dean felt fresh wetness spill around his thrusting cock. His fingers circled your clit relentlessly, occasionally pressing directly against it until your body jerked and your nails dug into Sam’s thigh. Sam kept fucking your mouth while you stroked the portion you couldn’t take, twisting your wrist around the slick shaft each time he pulled back.
Your breathing became ragged through your nose, broken by wet choking sounds whenever he pressed farther down your throat. “You’re close again,” Sam observed, recognizing the frantic trembling running through your body. Dean slowed his thrusts into deep, grinding movements, keeping his cock buried while he rubbed your clit with firm strokes.
“Go ahead, sweetheart,” Dean whispered, his lips brushing your ear as his fingers tightened around your waist. “Cum on my cock while you suck Sammy off.” Your pussy spasmed immediately at the command, the first hard contraction dragging a hoarse groan from Dean’s chest.
Your second orgasm built more slowly than the first, gathering beneath Dean’s fingers until every part of you felt stretched tight and unbearably sensitive. Dean kept grinding his cock into you, rubbing deep against your inner walls while his fingertips worked your clit without mercy. Sam pulled out of your mouth so he could hear you, wrapping one hand around his cock as he watched your face crumple with pleasure.
You cried out when the orgasm broke, your head falling back against Dean’s shoulder while your pussy clenched rhythmically around him. Your thighs shook violently, and your breasts bounced from the involuntary movements as Dean continued thrusting through every pulse. “Fuck, that’s it,” Dean groaned, holding you down on his cock while your wetness soaked his lap.
Sam stroked himself faster in front of you, his fist gliding over the slick length while he watched you tremble. Dean’s fingers slowed over your clit only when your whimpers turned breathless and overstimulated. He kissed your flushed cheek and murmured, “You’re gonna make it real hard for us to keep holding back.”
You reached for Sam before the last tremors had faded, wrapping your hand around his cock and guiding him back toward your mouth. Sam groaned at your eagerness, sliding the head between your lips while Dean resumed slow, powerful thrusts beneath you.
“Want my cum?” Sam asked, his voice hoarse as he gathered your hair into his fist again. You nodded around him and sucked greedily, stroking the base while your tongue worked beneath the sensitive head. Sam’s hips jerked forward, his restraint slipping as your mouth tightened around him and Dean’s thrusts rocked you against his body. Dean watched your cheeks hollow around Sam’s cock, his own breathing becoming harsh as your oversensitive pussy continued gripping him.
“Give it to her,” Dean urged, squeezing your bouncing breast as he fucked upward. Sam’s cock pulsed heavily on your tongue, his hand holding your head still while his body tensed in front of you. Your eyes stayed fixed on his as you took him deeper, silently begging him to finally stop holding back.
You knew from the way Sam’s cock pulsed against your tongue and the way Dean’s thrusts had started losing their rhythm that neither of them had much control left. Sam’s fist tightened in your hair, his hips jerking forward as another bead of precum spread across your tongue, while Dean groaned against your neck and buried himself deep inside your trembling pussy.
The thought of either of them finishing where they were made your stomach twist with need, but another image had already taken hold of you. You pulled your mouth off Sam’s cock with a wet gasp, strings of saliva clinging briefly between your swollen lips and his flushed head. “Wait,” you pleaded, making both men freeze despite how close they were.
Dean’s arm tightened around your waist as he fought to keep himself still, his cock throbbing hard inside you while Sam wrapped a desperate hand around his shaft. “What is it, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice wrecked and strained as though every second of restraint physically hurt. You looked between them, breathing hard, your cheeks hot and your lips glistening. “I want both of you to cum on my face.”
Sam’s eyes darkened immediately, and Dean made a sound behind you that was half laugh and half groan. “Jesus Christ,” Dean muttered, pressing his forehead against your shoulder while your pussy clenched instinctively around him. Sam’s hand began moving slowly over his cock, but he watched you carefully as though he needed to hear you say it again before he let himself believe it. “You’re sure?” he asked, his thumb dragging across the slick head as he stroked himself.
“I’m sure,” you said, turning your face toward him and licking your swollen lips. Dean eased you off his cock with visible reluctance, holding your hips securely while you climbed from his lap and lowered yourself onto the floor. You settled between them on your knees, naked and flushed, with your thighs still wet and your breasts rising quickly with every breath.
Dean stood beside Sam without touching him, both brothers facing you as they wrapped their hands around their aching cocks. “Look at you,” Dean said, staring down at you with hungry disbelief. “On your knees, asking us to cover that pretty face.”
You tilted your chin upward and opened your mouth, letting your tongue slide out as both men began stroking themselves faster. Dean’s fist moved firmly from base to tip, smearing your wetness and saliva over his cock while his free hand cupped your cheek. Sam’s strokes were slower at first, his grip twisting around the swollen head before dragging tightly down the full length of his shaft.
Their breathing filled the room, rough groans and broken curses overlapping as they watched you wait beneath them. “Stick your tongue out farther,” Sam instructed, his voice low and unsteady, and you obeyed immediately. Dean’s thumb stroked beneath your eye while his hips pushed helplessly into his fist, his cock twitching harder every time your gaze moved between them.
“You want all of it?” Dean asked, his voice breaking when you nodded eagerly. “Yes,” you breathed, leaving your mouth open as your tongue rested against your lower lip. Sam groaned at the sight and stroked faster, his stomach tightening visibly as he reached the edge.
Dean came first with a harsh curse, his cock jerking in his hand as the first thick spurt of cum struck your cheek. Another landed across your nose and upper lip, warm ropes streaking over your skin while he continued pumping himself through every pulse. You kept your mouth open, catching part of the next spurt on your tongue before swallowing it with a soft, satisfied moan. The sight pushed Sam over immediately, his jaw clenching as his cock throbbed violently in his fist.
His cum splashed across your other cheek and chin, some of it landing directly on your outstretched tongue as he groaned your name. You closed your lips around the warm taste and swallowed, then opened your mouth again while Sam milked the final drops from his cock. Their cum covered your face in thick streaks, glistening beneath the bunker lights as you looked up at them with swollen lips and flushed cheeks.
Dean stared down at you like the sight had stolen the last coherent thought from his head, while Sam’s hand drifted gently into your hair despite the hunger still burning in his eyes. You dragged your tongue across your upper lip, collecting what you could reach before swallowing again, and Dean groaned, “Sweetheart, you’re gonna fucking kill us.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke. Dean’s breathing was still uneven as he reached down and brushed his thumb carefully beneath your eye, his ruined grin softening into something warmer when you leaned into his touch. Sam crouched beside you with a towel he had grabbed from the back of the couch, his movements gentle as he began cleaning your flushed face.
“You okay?” he asked, studying you with the same serious attention he gave every injury, despite the obvious satisfaction lingering in his expression. You nodded, still trying to steady your breathing while Dean muttered, “Pretty sure she’s more than okay, Sammy.” Sam gave him a look that should have been annoyed, but the faint curve of his mouth betrayed him.
You laughed softly between them, exhausted and overwhelmed in the best way, and the sound seemed to ease the last of the tension from both brothers. Dean offered you his hand, helping you stand before drawing you carefully against his chest. Sam moved in beside you, one broad palm settling reassuringly at your back.
“You two really held all of that in for months?” you asked, glancing between them as Dean found a blanket and wrapped it loosely around your shoulders. “In our defence, communication isn’t exactly the Winchester family business,” Dean replied. Sam snorted as he sat beside you on the couch, leaving enough room for you to choose where you wanted to settle.
You chose the space between them, curling against Dean’s side while resting your legs across Sam’s lap. The decision made both men look quietly pleased, though Dean was far worse at hiding it. Sam’s hand moved slowly along your calf beneath the blanket, soothing rather than demanding anything more.
“We still need to talk,” he reminded you gently. Dean groaned and tipped his head back against the cushions. “Of course you’d schedule the relationship meeting immediately after.” You nudged Dean with your elbow and told him, “He’s right,” which earned you an offended stare.
The conversation came in pieces, softened by lingering touches and tired laughter. You agreed that jealousy wasn’t forbidden, only cruelty and silence, and that nobody would be expected to hide what they needed. Sam insisted that each relationship had to be allowed to develop naturally instead of becoming part of some competition Dean could keep score of.
Dean complained about the accusation before immediately asking whether kissing counted as a point, proving Sam’s argument for him. You promised neither of them would be treated like a consolation prize, because what you felt for each brother was different but equally real. That answer silenced Dean completely, his expression turning vulnerable before he hid it against your hair.
Sam squeezed your leg and looked down for a moment, swallowing around whatever emotion had caught in his throat. “We’re going to screw this up sometimes,” he admitted. “Probably spectacularly,” Dean added. You smiled and rested one hand over each of theirs. “Then we fix it together.”
Later, Dean carried you toward the hallway despite your insistence that you could walk perfectly well. Sam followed with your abandoned clothes and the sort of amused expression that suggested he knew arguing with Dean would only make him more stubborn. “You’re both ridiculous,” you murmured, looping your arms around Dean’s neck.
“Yeah, but apparently you’re into that,” Dean said, kissing your temple. Sam opened your bedroom door and pulled back the covers while Dean lowered you carefully onto the mattress. Neither brother assumed he should stay, and the sudden uncertainty on their faces made your chest tighten with affection. You reached for both of them before either could retreat.
“Stay,” you said simply. Dean climbed in on one side while Sam settled on the other, their bodies curved protectively around yours without touching each other. As the bunker grew quiet again, you realised you had spent months fearing that wanting both brothers would leave you with neither, only to fall asleep safely held between them.
“shh. shh baby, you’ll wake dean.” sam chuckled softly against your lips as another helpless whimper left your lips at his deep thrust, hitting that magical spot that made your eyes tear up. you couldn’t help it. dean was sleeping next door, and sam was being so agonizingly slow. you felt so full of him and he could see his faint bulge in your stomach with the moonlight reflecting down on your tummy. his thumb softly rubbed at it as your eyes fluttered.
it was such a sight, you fucked out with the dim light of outside reflecting on your smaller helpless body. you couldn’t breathe like this. couldn’t breathe with the weight of his massive body on top of yours. with his long thickness that made you feel impossibly full as you sucked him in tight. soft little pants left your lips.
“pleasee!” you couldn’t help but cry out, ignoring him.
his brows scrunched up. “hey. hey what did i say? shhhh.” he spoke out, putting a finger to your lips to quiet you, like you were a child getting scolded.
you let out a frustrated sound as he thrusted slow once more.
“you can take it baby, can’t you? if you can’t be good for me slow, then i can’t go fast for you honey can i?”
his voice was deep and low, lips brushing against yours as you weakly whispered, “i’ll be good- ah- sammy please.” you croaked.
“yeah? gonna be good? my good little girl?”
you nodded desperately as he moved, your eyes struggling to stay open as you softly gasped out.
his pace began to slowly quicken and you managed to pant out softly, doing your best to control your volume. dean was probably deep snoring like a pig but the motel’s rooms walls had always been thin.
his long fingers trailed down to your little button, all slippery and ready for him as he chuckled.
“yeahhh. she likes that, doesn’t she? she’s begging to be touched, look at her.”
his fingers slow and careful, like he was inspecting a delicate jewel. he began to softly rub as your head lolled to the side, blissed by the tingly aching pleasure that had you biting down on your lip.
“so pretty.” he cooed, “think you can take a liiittle bit more sweetheart, hm?”
and that’s when you lost all control, because sam suddenly slammed into you, your eyes widening as you squealed out, his hips beginning to snap against yours as he set a ruthless pace.
you had never whined so loud in your life as he pounded against the place that made you see stars in your eyes, half sobbing at the unexpected fast euphoria, your entire body caught off guard by his pace as all you could do was lay limp like a little ragdoll as his dark eyes glared down at you.
“the fuck did i say huh?! fuck, can’t even fucking listen, you’re fuckin useless honey.” he grumbled, suddenly clamping his massive hand over your mouth as it half covered your face. all he could see now were your half lidded eyes that kept fluttering back, wet and shiny from tears and the vibration and sound of your muffled whimpers against his hand.
each fast thrust punctuated with his own breathy grunts and mean words that had you leaking around his cock even more. “you’re a dumb little slut baby, can’t even take my cock right. telling you to shut the fuck up and you’re just crying? huh? what are we gonna do with you sweetheart?”
his hand tightened against your lips as he suddenly grinned.
“go on. tell me.” raising a brow, amused at your helplessness.
all you could do was claw at his biceps, chest heaving up and down in shallow breaths as the heat in your face felt heavier and heavier, dizzy and delicious.
he had hooked your legs up with one arm, up against his shoulders as he fucked you with an intensity that had you ready to pass out. he could see the dumb look in your eyes and it just made him hiss out in pleasure, seeing how powerless you truly were.
“can’t breathe? you sure honey? i’ve choked you before, you’ve taken that like a real slut and been fine. you look like you’re giving up now, silly girl. you can breathe through your nose, you know that?”
your brain dissolved with every word, your cries muffled yet getting progressively louder against his hand.
“you’re made for this baby, made to take my cock like this. be all fuckin’ helpless. all fucking- fuck. looking so fucking pretty taking me.” his voice broke, trailing into a half whimper as the sound of wet skin slapping filled the room. he was getting closer and closer, and he could tell you were too with the way your tears leaked down onto his hands, your back beginning to arch as your vision blurred.
“fuck!” he hissed against your lips.
“yeah- yeah cum for me. cum baby just- fuck- fuckin crybaby. you gonna cum crybaby? yeah? gonna be a good little girl and let go?” his own voice a pitch higher as an unintelligible noise ripped out of you as the sharp band in your stomach snapped, flooding you with a white hot sensation throughout your entire body. you trembled violently as he groaned, feral and hypocritical as he spilled inside you, whimpering desperately. his hand against your lips even tighter, he roughly shoved his hand against your face as the roughness combined with your orgasm made a glimpse of heaven engulf your vision.
you couldn’t see. just feel. lightheaded and euphoric as a rush of cold air hit your face, you gasping out like a man starved for breath. he gently slapped at your face, before stroking your cheek. “thaaaats it. good baby. cmon, breathe stupid. breathe baby.” he whispered against your lips, face contorted with pleasure as he closed his eyes, letting his breath mingle with yours, hot and heavy as you panted into his mouth.
the world seemed to slow down in that moment as you both caught your breaths. you let your eyes close too as his thumb caressed the curve of your cheek.
“pretty baby. you were so good. so so good.” he murmured softly against your lips before lifting you up a little to readjust you as he laid on his side, twisting so so you could snuggle him with his pulsating cock still inside you, heavy and warm. you let out a little moan. you’d be full all night with him.
his thick arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer as he pressed a sweet little kiss to your shoulder, letting you drift away into your own little dream world as your breathing evened out.
clark being dominant + pretending he’s the submissive, mommy kink, pubes, messy spit and cum, size kink
. . .
“I… I don’t wanna cum yet, baby you just started—“
Clark doesn’t let her pleads steer off his rapid pace. He’s beneath her, thrusting upwards with grit while his balls slap against her every time he’s all the way back in. He needed this all day. She could cum multiple times if he wanted her to. It didn’t matter to him that she’d get loopy and exhausted on top of him after just a few minutes of gushing all over his cock.
“Shhh. You don’t have a choice,” he breathes, stills his hips as they raise all the way up off the bed, the pubes on their groins each meeting each other as he gets every inch snug right in.
“You have no choice. Cum on your baby boy’s dick, come on, you’re supposed to feel good, so feel good then.”
She gargles on her spit in the middle of a long whine. Feeling him twitch in her walls while he’s in so, so deep, she thinks he’s stretched her as far as she could stretch. Leaks some on the base as he holds her by her ass and then pulls all the way out, kisses her clit with his tip, then shoves himself all the way back in.
Her clit aches, her walls clench, she feels like an animal. Getting used like this, filled like this. Molded and fucked into like she’s a doll made just for collecting his cum and taking all his cock’s beatings. Clark laughs and sweats, shushes her while he bounces his hips back up and feels her leaking more by the second. Adding sloppy friction so thrusting all the way in just felt and sounded that much better.
“Cream on me, baby, cream on it. Yeah. That’s it.”
“Y…You’re… You’re so deep—”
“Right where I’m supposed to be.”
Clark is smug as he grabs an ass cheek and smacks it, turning her cheek red as he extends his neck out to kiss her chin.
“Mmmhm. You know you have to. It feels too good to slow down,” Clark hums. Closes his eyes and rushes his hips upward, not even feeling the ache of the workout of thrusting upwards at such a rapid speed. If he did feel sore later it wouldn’t matter.
This position, these deep, quick thrusts were the easiest way to make her pussy weep and gush a mess. Since he memorized her body, the techniques that got her sopping wet, he liked to punish her with all the overwhelming pleasure every now and then and draw it out until she couldn’t feel anymore. Until he milked her so good she was gaping, dripping the evidence out, and snoring right on his lap just after cumming as many times as he made her.
“Spit in your baby boy’s mouth. Do it. Don’t disappoint me now, honey, I need a drink.”
She nods with her mouth gaped open, body stuttering with each of his hard thrusts while she gathers up all the drool she could and aims her head over right over his sprawled out tongue. He holds her hair back as she hovers, hums while her drool spills out in a long, warm drip right onto his mouth, tongue and chin. Can’t help himself but lick the rest off, swallowing it right up before grabbing her hand and forcing her thumb into his mouth. Starts to suckle, dragging his lips up and down her digit and humming some more around her knuckle. Doesn’t halt his thrusts or break his speed.
The slapping sound still ripples every time their bodies meet, joining right to the hilt and gaining a bigger and nastier mess on both of their thighs while she tries to keep holding on as to not fall over on him.
Clark licks on her thumb, finally slows his dick down, but still ensuring he goes in deep. She’s sat on his lap with his sweaty, heavy sac bunched right up against her ass.
“Still holding your cum, Mommy? Don’t hold it, baby, I know your pussy needs this.”
“I’m—I’m holding it for you,” she gasps, eyes dumb and rolled back while he easily bounces her up and down on him for the both of them. “I’ve been holding it. I can’t. You’re so big, baby.”
“You aren’t used to it by now, honey? Thought your little pussy had fun on all this cock. You want me to only fuck you with half?”
Clark is clearly taunting her, grinning while he demonstrates by only hitting her walls with the first three inches of his dick. It’s still so thick, even at the head that it alone has spit her open and made her bleed before. She panicked more than he did. Clark just soothed her with his tip, not caring when she bled all over him and got accustomed to his chubby size.
“No, no, fuck me with all of it. Please. My pussy wants it all.”
“Mmm, are you sure it isn’t too big?”
“Yes! Oh, god yes.”
Clark hums a laugh, playing with a strand of her hair, playing soft and innocent before he ruts all the way back in. Relishes in the reactionary moans while a fresh wave of milk comes dribbling out of her pussy, smoothing the way even more for every thrust. His cock is milky, shiny. Down to his balls. It’s always heaven for Clark, it’s exactly how he wants to beat her pussy up every single time.
“Yeah. Yeah you really fucking need it. Need all this dick to feel satisfied. Turned this pussy into a brat. Now she won’t feel anything if anyone smaller ever tries—“
“No one but you,” she interrupts with a high pitch gasp. Clenches her walls to emphasize her point, leaning down to kiss him, wet with spit while their tongues tangle. The reassurance already pleases Clark.
“Good girl. I love my Mommy. So loyal,” he breathes. Presses himself back to the hilt again, taking a finger to dip down into the mess, in their shared milk. Drags his finger around her pussy, getting it drenched in her bush and his before raising the finger up to her mouth and having her suckle.
“You like how we taste together?”
“Mmmmhm, so good,” she slurs. Licks the finger clean and then keeps sucking just for fun.
The visual has Clark losing the last bits of control that he had built up, now gradually leaving his body to deflate like a popped balloon. He stutters a curse and speeds his hips back up, pleading with her to cum with him at the exact same time.
“Come on baby, come on momma, let’s feel good. Together. I’m gonna make you.”
“I’m gonna cum—“
“You fucking have to. Oh yes, yeah please, all over my dick— all over me right now—”
She squeals and tightens as hard as she can, dribbling the mess of her finish as she simultaneously feels his nut start to burst right inside her. Each spurt, weak at first, starts to strengthen in both thickness and longevity. Painting her guts with everything milked out of his balls. They both cry and groan and hold onto each other, Clark rubbing her back and biting her shoulder with her name barely audible mixed with all his whines. His dick trembles and she feels it all. It made her finally want to take the last few moments to take on the control, rocking her pussy back and forth while Clark’s humming gets hilariously desperate and loud.
“Baby,” Clark laughs with a helpless wince. She laughs and still humps on his tip, little wet sounds more prominent now after their shared cum spills out. “You wear me out.”
“You wore me out as soon as you first put it in,” she retorts, still grinding like a bunny in his lap, bubbles of liquid still running down, taking Clark’s breath away while he watches with his lazy, horny eyes.
“I love to wear you out. Have to keep treating that pussy right.”
“Mm, you always do. Look,” she plants her feet on either side of his thighs, letting him get a closer, better look of her creamy pussy and his cum slathered dick.
“Fuck… fuck we can go again. Use our cum like lube,” he breathes. Trails his thumb over her wet clit and rubs, teasing her with a raised brow, hoping she takes him up on his offer.
“You know I can’t get enough of this cock.”
“I can see that.”
Clark pointedly looks down. He hasn’t fully been able to look back up since.
“Do you want me on top,” he offers. “I’m not tired. I can fuck you fast again.”
She laughs and lifts her body to pull his cock out, tumbling backwards with a lazy fall backwards to the foot of their bed.
“Mm. Hey, be careful baby. Don’t get too dumb.”
He cradles the back of her head while jacking his dick with the help of the mess they both made on it. Stroking her face and slapping her cunt with the brunt weight of his cock before he sinks just the head right back home.
He demands she open up her mouth so he can spit all over her tongue as he thrusts deep inside, getting lazier with his aim and ending up spitting on her face instead. Not that either of them had any objections whatsoever. She marveled in getting covered with it, opening her legs up and high in the air to free up space for his pounding yet again. He has her eat some of their cum that splashed out of her, getting some dripped all over her face right on top of all his spit while he dangles a finger that was covered in the mess.
Clark could bow down to the very sight. Seeing his love so drenched and coated in parts of him. His spit, his cum. While she takes him all the way. It has his head spinning with adoration, with gratitude, and a primal possessive need for binding her to him with everything he can.
✮⋆˙ . bsf!rafe keeps 'accidentally' slipping inside after promising to just rub against you.
warnings — 18+ MDNI. bestfriend!reader x bsf!rafe pairing. name is self explanatory. manipulative tone & fake apologies.
cherie’s note — loosely based on this p!link.
your knees are bent, thighs open for him, trembling slightly from how real this feels — arms curled near your chest, lip caught anxiously between your teeth, breathing too fast for someone who's supposedly not having sex.
things had always been… complicated with you and rafe. secrets whispered in the dark, your body tucked into his bed more often than your own. he’d even taught you how to kiss — unforgivable, in hindsight. because now, whatever this was… it felt like the point of no return.
rafe kneels between your legs, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls. deliberately. "just relax," he murmurs, voice low like he's talking you through something innocent. like this was something every best friend did — and you could definitely be convinced of such when it was him doing the talking. "i'm not gonna put it in. i told you."
he presses the head against your slit, sliding it up your folds, gathering the wetness along the underside of his throbbing cock. the squelch that bounces off the walls is unmistakable, a clear indicator of just how much you wanted this, despite the way your pulse raced. you jump at the first pass and he smiles — quick, hidden, gone before you even get the chance to look at him.
"how're you this worked up already?" he teases under his breath, more to himself than to you. "barely even touching you."
you squirm underneath him, embarrassed. "you're... rubbing on me..."
"mhm." he drags the swollen head down again, circling your entrance with soft precision — though his mind is anything but soft. not with you, sprawled out beneath him, eyes wide like a prey caught in a trap. his trap.
you gasp, a soft sound that shoots up his spine — and that's when he lets the tip catch you. not fully. just enough to make your body pull him in that tiny, helpless way you can't control. the thick head of his cock breaches the tightness of your cunt, and your thighs tremble slightly from the pressure.
"sorry," he breaths, pretending to pull back. "didn't mean— you're so warm, and wet. hard to aim."
you believe him immediately, like you always do, nodding. your cheeks burn, "it's okay. just... just be careful."
"i am," he promises, thumb stroking the soft skin of your knee. "i got you."
except he keeps doing it. that same slow glide, catching on you again, the head pushing just barely inside before he rocks back like it's truly accidental. each time, you make this soft, strangled sound that goes straight to his cock.
"you okay?" he murmurs.
you nod quickly, swallowing away at the nerves. "it just feels... weird."
"good weird?"
you nod again — and the way you do it, wide-eyed and trusting, makes him exhale shakily.
he strokes himself harder, a little faster, hips following the rhythm. the spongy tip of his cock keeps bumping and sliding against your slit with every pass, the feeling so dizzying you swear you could see stars. your slick coats his hand, helping the slick grip glide effortlessly against himself — makes everything sloppy and hot and impossible for him to 'aim'.
rafe swears he can lose himself in the sight of you alone. swears he'd give anything to see this everyday — you, eyes glassy and blinking slow, completely fucked-out and trembling under his guidance. so vulnerable. so trusting. pliant, too — keeping your thighs perched open enough to allow him the space he demands, without having to be asked.
you force a tiny breath out, shaky and full of shame, and he rewards you by rolling the head down again. and this time, when it catches, it sinks just a little deeper than before. enough to make your eyes fly fully open. enough to make your hips lift before you can stop yourself, telling him everything he needs to know.
he freezes. not really. just enough to pretend he's surprised.
"shit," he mutters, voice going hoarse. "that—that was deeper than i meant. m'sorry, baby."
and despite his apology, he stays there a beat too long — buried millimeters inside of your warm heat, throbbing. he pulls out slowly, letting a slick string stretch between where he’d previously pushed inside of you.
your heart jumps into your throat, "it's okay, ray," you whisper quickly, like you don't want him to feel bad. "was just an accident, right?"
peter parker’s never kissed anyone, and pretending to do it in a closet was just to spare him the humiliation. teaching him the basics? innocent enough. until he starts learning how to touch, how to beg, and how to make you forget it was ever pretend (completed)
genres: college au, fake-dating, friends w. benefits
notes: contains smut! block the tag below to not get it on ur feed! but whew. tony stark and the avengers are alive i say as they drag me back into the white room… set around christmas time bc i like the vibes lol
all the avengers (including sam and bucky obviously) living in the compound with the occasional visit of thor, and yes he’s in the kitchen with his pop tarts, clint in the vents, peter in the lab with tony and bruce or patrolling the streets in his free time and them all being one big happy family (and not just coworkers!!!!) is my canon. like that scene in age of ultron??? thats their friday if they’re not on a mission
He's lost count at this point, orgasm after orgasm. You started slow and loving but after while you decided that going slow wasn't really what he needed.
What he needed was to be taught a lesson on how not to make a bet on something he knew he was gonna lose.
Said bet being that, if he could cum seven times and still be able to form coherent and cohesive sentences (aka no brain mush) that you would never talk bad about his beloved music collection again.
Of course you both knew he would fail, he could barley handle three and that's without you whispering sweet nothings in his ear but alas, his pride wouldn't allow him to back down. So here you both are, dean on the verge of tears, which you always find hot, and you sitting sweetly next to him. Hand absolutely drench in sweat, pre-cum, and cum.
"I- shit baby please" Dean barley got out, forehead covered in sweat as one hand grabbing your wrist whilst the other digs into his naked thigh. It was a beautiful sight, not only because your winning a bet against him, you also just have a gorgeously pathetic man at your mercy. If you were to ask him to do absolutely anything for you, he would do it in a heartbeat.
Well maybe after he got cleaned up.
"I know baby, dont know what to do with that big brain of yours do you" He whined, a noise not often heard by you. It takes Dean a long time to act like this, emptyhead and vulnerable. It took much longer for him to show this side of him to you. Always focusing on the other's person's pleasure, never his own
You kept going faster and faster, edging him on but never keeping him there, it was a filthy sight. "S-shit w-wai-" he cut himself off with another loud moan, turning his head to this side in hopes for muffle the noises being made.
You kept going, refusing to slow down even after his protests. "You wanted this de, I'm just giving it to you" you said, condescendingly. You snaked your free hand up to Deans face, caressing his cheek as he leaned into the touch. So sweet you thought before bringing your fingers to his plush lips, lightly tracing his bottom one before inserting your middle and index finger inside his mouth.
He immediately start drooling, tongue coaxing both finger wet as he moaned. You could feel your own arousal dripping down your legs.
At this point he didn't care what he looked like, all he knew was that he felt good.
"P-pease I cnt" Dean slurred out, fingers hindering his speech as you continued, fingers going in deeper making him gag. Eyes rolling backwards. When you finally took them out, you had a thought and immediately acted on it.
There was rarely anything off the table for you both when it came to sex, naturally you've fingered him. It was a whiskey filled night when it happened and you both barley even remember it.
You brought both wet fingers down to his hole, circling it. Even if his brain was fried he knew what you were Implying. Giving you a quick ok in between moans and you slowly pushed in, breath hitching as you went deeper. Setting a neutral pace unlike the one you've set on his cock, the tip a bright red color.
"Last one last one" he pleaded as his hand grabbed your wrist, you decide to give him some form of mercy and let him cum just one more time. You started to speed up, finger pumping in and out as your layed your palm flat against the head of his dick, rubbing faster and faster.
"C-cummin- oh fuck oh fuck" he barley got out, thrashing around on the old motel bed as you curled your finger inside before taking it away. Leaving him empty and still wanting more, even after the amount of rounds y'all just went.
You quickly got up to go get a warm wet rag to clean him up with as he's definitely not able to shower right now.
"So I guess that means I win huh" you giggled while putting the rag on the night stand and leaning in for kiss.
"Shut up"
Okay so this is lwk ass BUT I just wanted this out of my drafts 🥲 uhhhmmm anyways dean I want you sexually.
somehow 99% of the time it's @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery or @velvourne (and that amnesia one by @godmadeaterribleerror)
germansingergirl
andulkaphoto
amandla
titsay
snowghoul
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
