lilly’s sweet shop

fic rec blog for @castielsonlyangel !

[castielsonlyrecs]

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[angelickks]

thinkin abt dean winchester and what kinks he'd be into .. what is ur opinion on this very important matter

*gasp* oh my goodness i LOVE this QUESTION. ok so heres the fucking sitch.

in true dean style, this man is a protector thru and thru. and he EATS up being the leader and so naturally that would bleed into the bedroom. so i think we've all come to the consensus that he'd be a dom. although i think he'd be down to switch it up on occasion but still a dom fs.

like just the dominance comes naturally for him and its never performative or cruel sometimes. he’s the kind of man who presses a hand to the back of your neck and growls, “stay still for me, sweetheart,” while he makes you see stars on his cock. he likes telling you what position to get in. likes the way you tremble waiting for him. but he also pays attention. he notices if you’re uncomfortable and adjusts instantly. he reads u like a book.

and i just imagine him to fucking get a kick out of how you react to him yk? like praising you would just spur him on like no tmr. he loooooves coaxing moans out of you, telling you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, and how you’re “taking it so well.”

he’s secretly a sucker for u looking a little shy while he worships you verbally. “that’s it, baby, just like that. look at you. fuckin' perfect.” but he gets hella cocky too cuz well, he can. sometimes he teases you just enough to get you whining: “c’mon, you can take more than that. don’t tell me that’s all you got.”

but this is a TWO WAY street, hence why i say he'd probs be down to switch w you. like listen, yeah dean loves to take charge, loves to have you under him, loves to hear you moan his name. but what absolutely wrecks him? when you give it right back. when you start praising him. telling him how good he feels, how good he is, how much you love the way he touches you. it’s over for him.

at first, it makes him cocky. he smirks against your skin, breathes out a rough little, “damn right, sweetheart…” but you can feel the way it hits him differently, the way his hands tighten just a bit, the way his hips stutter like his body’s two steps ahead of his brain. cuz here’s the thing: dean acts like he knows he’s good. but deep down? he needs to hear it. needs you to say it. needs that reassurance, craves it more than he’d ever admit out loud.

and when you keep at it — really lay it on? when you’re breathless and whimpering praises. oh gOD. that’s when the cracks start to show. that’s when his voice breaks a little, when he stops being cocky for a sec and turns into something softer. dare i say, needy. he gets real vocal, real fast. starts groaning and mumbling all kinds of things, his words spilling out between panting breaths — “god, baby, fuck. keep sayin’ that—don’t stop—shit, you’re gonna kill me…”

he would absolutely get whiny if you keep praising him just right. cuz why? dean winchester at the right amount of praise IS a goddamn mess. and i'll die on this hill. burying his face in your neck to hide how much it’s undoing him. fingertips digging into your hips like he’s holding on for DEAR life. and if you whisper something really devastating, something like: “you’re perfect. nobody else could ever fuck me like this.”

that’s it. he’s gone. he’ll mutter a broken, breathless “jesus christ…” and probably cum EMBARRASSINGLY fast the first round cuz u absolutely fried his brain. afterward? you KNOW he’d try to play it cool, grinning lazily, muttering something like: “you’re dangerous, sweetheart… sayin’ shit like that…” but the tips of his ears would still be red, and he’d already be plotting how to make it up to you the next round.

in my sick and twisted head he'd just be a whiny fucking man at just the right amount of praise god forbid a girl love whiny men.

ok now walk w me here. bondage. like be so fr this man knows his way around knots, and he gets real clever w it. like he starts improvising. im talking belts, ties, the odd zip tie (WHOA WHO SAID THAT) hell his flannel if he rlly wanted to. he'd eat up how it just completely makes you his and gets a kick out of watching you squirm. like im talking when you tug against it and whimper, and he smirks: “you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.”

U PICKING UP WHAT IM PUTTING DOWN?

also u can't convince me he doesn't have an oral obsession. he's a giver for crying out loud. like let’s be so fr: dean loves eating pussy. he’s the kind of guy who wants to make you fall apart on his tongue and won’t stop. if there's heaven on earth its probs found between your legs TYPA ORDEAL. he'd enjoy making you lose control, just stringing orgasm after orgasm out of you. like you would have to be begging and CRYING to get him off. and even then he'd would be such a dick abt it too, just teasing n teasing, saying he'll stop and pausing just long enough to trick you and just start kitten licking your shit all over again. he'd take it any way you gave him, whether its squirming ON his face and he's just telling you to "come 'ere. sit real pretty for me, baby" or if he's bunching up ur skirt or clawing at ur jeans while you're propped up on smtn or ur against the wall with ur legs thrown over his shoulders UGH. he'd just be a fucking munch (also had a thot that he'd be that guy to spell his name with his tongue, oops)

AND AND AND, he loves fucking your mouth too. there’s something about it that just undoes him. watching ur lips wrap around him, the way your cheeks hollow, your spit pooling at the corners of your mouth. it makes him feral. he enjoys having his cock sucked not just bcuz it feels good, but bcuz it’s yours. because u look so damn pretty with him buried in your mouth, stuffed full, squirming and droolingggg all over him. and he makes you. stay. there. NOW LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN-

dean’s the kind of man who’ll grab your hair, not too hard but firm, and jostle you down. guiding your head just how he likes it while muttering shit like: “c’mon, sweetheart. open up for me. look at you — drooling already? that’s it. take it. take it all.”

he loves when you gag a little, loves when you blink up at him with those watery eyes like you’re overwhelmed and then he just smirks, thumb brushing your spit slick cheek. i imagine there would just be so many moments where he doesn’t even plan on it. just catches you looking too good, too tempting. and next thing you know BOOM he’s sitting back in a chair or the Impala’s backseat, undoing his belt, and pulling you down between his legs. “don’t play innocent now, baby. you know what you’re good at. show me.” ahdsvfjdkfjkdsjbv FUCK

dean’s oral obsession doesn’t stop at eating you out or getting head. no babe it seeps into everything he does. he loves your lips. the way it moves, the way it opens for him, the way it looks when it’s swollen and shiny and messy because of him. when he’s kissing you? it’s never nice. he’s all teeth and tongue, always biting and sucking on your lower lip until you gasp against him. he does it on PURPOSE. he likes leaving your lip red and slick, likes hearing you whimper when he tugs it between his teeth. he lives for that quick second in between where he pulls away and sees that string of saliva between u guys.

he eats that sight alive. the mess, the intimacy of it, how it makes you shy for just a second before he’s pulling you right back in. and of course, it’s not just the kissing. nah, u CANNOT convince me dean doesn’t absolutely get off on slipping his fingers into your mouth. just to feel the wet heat of your tongue, just to see your cheeks hollow as you instinctively suck around them. he’ll smirk down at you, watching your lips part obediently, and say: “yeah… that’s it. you know what to do.”

he likes to press down on your tongue and watch drool pool at the corners of your mouth. likes it even more if you choke just a little when he pushes them deeper. and if you make a show of it? hollowing your cheeks, moaning around his fingers, looking up at him with those glassy eyes and you’re doing it just for him? that man is a. fucking. goner.

ok ok AND dean is a marking fiend — and he doesn’t even try to hide it. OH BOY. marks, bites, those tiny bruises of where he gripped u too hard? don't fucking play.

he loves leaving his fingerprints all over you. loves seeing the faint bruises in the shape of his hands on your hips, your thighs, your neck. loves the way his teeth sink into your shoulder and leave deep little crescent marks, the way his stubble scrapes your skin until you’re pink and raw.

and those tiny bruises — the ones you notice the next morning when you’re getting dressed and you touch your side, flinching a little because his grip was too rough? yeah. YEAH. he notices too. and he flourishes.

when you wince a little bending over or blush when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. the teeth marks on your collarbone, the faint line of bruises where his fingers dug in. his eyes go DARK. he catches you trying to tug your sleeve over it, and he’s immediately behind you, lips brushing your ear: “what’re you hidin’ from me, sweetheart? lemme see.”

and when you finally let him look? when he sees your skin painted by his hands? he gets that look. that lazy, dangerous grin that says he’s proud of himself and already planning on making more. “that’s what I thought,” he mutters, thumb brushing over the bruise“look at you. fuckin’ gorgeous.”

but here’s where it gets interesting because it’s not just you. YEAH NUH UH. ur gonna figure out real fast that dean likes being marked just as much as he likes leaving them.

when your nails dig into his back hard enough to leave red streaks? when your teeth catch his jaw, his shoulder, his neck? when you grab his hips so tight you know he’s gonna feel it tomorrow?

he eats that up. like no tmr.

dean is the kind of man who notices the scratches on his back in the shower later and just grins to himself, remembering exactly how you left them there. he’ll pull his shirt over his head the next morning and pause for a second at the mirror, tracing your bite marks on his chest and smirking.

and if you really go for it? if you sink your teeth into his throat, just shy of drawing blood, while he’s fucking you? that man will lose his goddamn mind. his hips will snap harder, his breath will hitch, and he’ll groan something wrecked like: “ohhh, fuck. do it again—don’t stop—mark me up, baby. c’mon.”

and he gets a fucking kick outta wearing them. at the bar the next night, he sits there cocky as hell with faint purple bruises peeking out from under his collar, the edge of your nail marks just visible above his shirt sleeve. and if anyone notices? he just smirks and shrugs like he’s got nothing to apologize for.

BIG OL WILDCARD: knife play. no i will not elaborate. do what u will w that info.

i feel like there would be more cuz he just is a "i'll try everything once" junkie to me BUT YEAH THOSE R MY THOTS ON THAT!!!!

[freemonts]

THE END

lucifer!sam x fem!reader

cw: 18+ MDNI; kinda dubcon, unprotected p in v, vaginal fingering, reader's first time.

anon asked : not sure if u write for endverse!sam but if yes, then may i request something were the reader (who's a virgin) is like one of the last humans left and she's captured but lucifer "corrupts" by taking her virginity (like how michael does in another one of your fics???)

The world’s been dead for years. Not empty — far from it — but everything breathing is something you don’t want to meet.

You’d learned to avoid demons by staying small, quiet, forgettable. But tonight, your luck snaps.

Two of them find you huddled in the wreckage of an old church. The air stinks of sulfur when they smile. They drag you to the back, a place thriving with life— a rose garden amidst the dreadful world outside.

And there he is.

Lucifer.

Not with horns, not monstrous — but worse. Calm. Inhumanly still, dressed in a crisp white suit that’s too clean for this world, sitting on the edge of a long table like you were a curiosity he’d been expecting. Sam Winchester’s face, but hollowed of humanity, hazel eyes devoid of the light in them.

The demons throw you forward, and you hit your knees hard on the cracked marble.

“She’s clean,” one says. “No mark, no deal, nothing. She’s… untouched.”

That makes his head tilt, just slightly. His gaze drags over you in a way that’s not hurried — not even greedy — just… deliberate.

“Untouched?” he repeats, voice low and almost gentle. “Now that’s… rare.”

He waves the demons away without looking at them. You hear the doors shut. The silence that follows is thick enough to choke you.

“I’m supposed to hate humans,” he says conversationally, like you’re having coffee together instead of kneeling on ruined marble. “Most days, I do. But you… you’re interesting. Soft. Whole. Like the world didn’t get its claws into you before I did.”

His hand cups your jaw, tilting your head back so you have no choice but to look up at him. That faint smile doesn’t touch his eyes.

“I could break you in a thousand different ways,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip, “but I think I’d rather… take my time.”

“Stand,” he says simply.

Your knees protest after being in the dirt, but you obey. He doesn’t move back, so you’re forced to stand chest-to-chest with him, the scent of roses heady around you.

Lucifer studies you for a long moment, eyes drinking you in like you’re a puzzle he’s already solved but wants to enjoy taking apart. Then he runs his thumb over the hollow of your throat and hums in approval.

“You’re unclaimed,” he says, voice so soft it’s almost kind. “No demon’s claws on you. No angel’s grace in you. Just… pure.” His lips quirk. “That won’t do.”

He walks you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the altar. The cold stone contrasts sharply with the warmth radiating from him. His hand cups your cheek as he bends closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

“I’m going to put something in you no one can take out,” he whispers. “A mark you’ll feel every time you breathe.”

Before you can speak, his mouth is on your neck — slow, open-mouthed kisses that turn to teeth dragging against your skin. When he bites, it’s not to draw blood, but to bruise, to brand. Each one is placed deliberately: the side of your throat, the curve of your shoulder, the delicate skin just above your collarbone.

By the time he pulls back, you’re already dizzy from the heat pooling low in your stomach. He smirks at the blooming marks.

“Mine,” he says simply, and then he’s tugging at your clothes. Not ripping — peeling, unhurried — like he’s savoring the reveal.

The night air is cool on your skin, but his hands are warm as they wander. One cups your breast, thumb circling lazily over your nipple until it’s taut. The other drifts lower, across your stomach, down to the waistband of your pants.

When his fingers slip beneath and find you wet, his smirk sharpens.

“Oh,” he says, voice a mockery of surprise. “So ready, and I’ve barely touched you.”

He pushes your clothes down until you’re bare from the waist down, then urges you up onto the altar. The stone is cold under your thighs, but he steps between your knees, one hand splayed over your lower belly, the other dipping down.

Two fingers trace you slowly, gathering slick before circling your clit in lazy, deliberate strokes.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, eyes locked on your face. “Feel how easy you open for me? You were made for this.”

When his fingers slide inside — just one at first — the stretch is strange but not painful. He moves it slowly, curling it just enough to make your breath catch. Then two, filling you more, moving with a rhythm so steady it’s almost hypnotic.

“You’re tight,” he observes, tone still maddeningly calm. “I can feel how unused you are. No one else has been here. No one else will.”

He works you like that for what feels like forever — drawing you up toward the edge, then easing off just enough to keep you from falling over it. His free hand keeps wandering, stroking your hip, your ribs, the underside of your breast, all while his mouth plants more bruising kisses along your throat and jaw.

By the time your head starts to loll, your thighs trembling against his hips, he chuckles low in his chest.

“Look at you,” he murmurs. “Brain all melted just from my fingers. You’re going to be perfect for me.”

He pulls them out slowly, watching your slick coat them, then brings them to your lips. “Taste what you’ve been making for me.”

You’re too gone to think — you take them into your mouth, and his eyes darken with satisfaction.

Then he’s undoing his belt.

He doesn’t shove or rush. He pushes you back gently onto the altar so you’re lying beneath him, your hair fanned over the cold stone, the roses swaying above.

The first press of his cock is slow, deliberate, stretching you inch by inch. His hands pin your hips when you try to tense, his voice steady in your ear.

“Breathe. Let me in. That’s it… every inch… mine now.”

When he’s seated fully inside, he stays still, letting you feel the fullness, the way he fits against the walls of your body like he was carved for it.

Then he begins to move.

Long, deep thrusts that make your back arch and your nails scrape the stone. Every time he bottoms out, he murmurs something low, a whisper of “mine”, “my perfect girl.”

The marks on your neck throb with each movement, a constant reminder of his claim. His pace never turns frantic; he’s in complete control, driving you steadily toward a peak that feels inevitable, inescapable.

When you finally break, it’s with his mouth on your throat and his voice in your ear:

“There’s no going back now, little one. You belong to me.”

And even through the haze of your release, you know he’s right.

TAGLIST

@bowxs, @ultrafemviolence, @nicetomeachum, @castielsonlyangel, @butterphiiss

[castielsonlyrecs]

this is SO GOODDDD i now need lucifer sam BADLY

[noorasredlip]

haiii can i req dean fluff where reader and him go on a one year anniversary date:3?

call it what you want.

♡ pairing: dean winchester x reader

♡ content warning: fluff like a lot, like it's very sweet and romantic, slightly chaotic ghost hunting aftermath, some geography inaccuracies bc why not, some taylor swift references bc i am insufferable (but if you blink, you'll miss it), they are soooo in love, and also dean doesn't share food.

♡ author's notes: thank u for the request, anon! i loved this request and i loved writing it soooo much! i hope i was able to bring it to life the way you pictured!! love youuu

the thing about dating dean winchester is… you learn to stop expecting things to go “according to plan.” it doesn’t matter how simple a task was — if it had your boyfriend in the mix, it would go completely sideways. don’t get me wrong, everything always worked out in the end. just… with a few unanticipated extra bumps and turns. so you grew to accept that making plans with a winchester was just blatantly stupid. and to be fair, you liked it better that way — because it made every moment together exciting, since you never knew what to expect.

it’s not like you had drawn out any elaborate anniversary plans, but you were still praying every night that absolutely nothing came up the week of. of course, your prayers went unanswered — people started dropping dead in missouri three days before your special day.

the ghost wasn’t just stuck to one place — it was attached to several objects scattered across town after a tragic death. the victim’s belongings had been auctioned off, and every item carried a piece of the spirit’s unrest. you’d think burning the bones would put it to rest, but nope — every time you thought you had it pinned down, the ghost just hopped to the next cursed object.

so for days, you, dean, and sam chased antique shops, private collectors, even a dodgy pawnshop in the sketchiest part of town. each new location brought fresh scares and moments where you thought you might lose it — like that one night when the ghost possessed a shopkeeper just long enough to nearly trap dean in a back room.

that’s why, instead of celebrating your one-year anniversary in any cliché way you’d imagined, you were crouched behind a crumbling cemetery wall at two a.m., whisper-yelling at him because he decided now was the time to try a new salt shell load. (for the record: it didn’t work, but it did make the ghost real mad.) so yeah — instead of candlelight and champagne, you got ectoplasm in your hair and a bruise on your hip the size of kansas.

and for some reason, you wouldn’t change a thing.

a week later, dean’s got that look — the one that means he’s up to something, even if it’s small. he doesn’t say “happy anniversary” when you get into the impala; he just nods toward the passenger seat, where there’s a paper bag and two cold bottles of beer sweating in the heat.

“don’t get too excited,” he says, pulling onto the highway. “it’s nothin’ fancy. but i figured, y’know… it’s us. we don’t do reservations and dress codes.”

you smile, because he’s right. dean winchester in a tux would be a sight, but it wouldn’t be him.

he drives you past the edge of town, window down, radio low, some zeppelin track drifting under the hum of the engine — the one that always makes you smile, like it’s your song. you’re riding shotgun, the summer night breeze tugging at your hair, cool and soft against your skin. dean’s got one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting easy on your knee — like he’s holding the whole damn world and your heart all at once.

the air smells like asphalt and stars, and for a moment, the chaos of hunts and restless ghosts feels miles away.

twenty minutes later, you’re parked on a little hill you’ve never been to before. the lights of the town glow faintly below, and above you it’s nothing but stars. dean kills the engine, kicks back, and reaches into the bag.

“diner on 6th still makes the best pie in nebraska,” he says, handing you a box and a fork. “and before you ask — yeah, i got you your own slice. i love you, but not that much.”

“wait,” you frown. “nebraska? you drove, like, 200 miles for pie?”

he shrugs casually, eyes sparkling. “you said it was the best pie you’ve ever eaten — the only one that didn’t make ‘your tummy make noises,’ according to you.”

“yeah, like three years ago, when we were hunting that wendigo in the outskirts of omaha,” you say, your hand finding his. “i can’t believe you remembered.”

the thing about dean is… he always did. every single detail about you was engraved in his brain, written in capital letters in gold, like it was sacred to him. because it was.

“and that’s why i’m an amazing boyfriend, sweetheart,” he winks.

you roll your eyes, laughing, but there’s a softness in the way he watches you take the first bite. dean winchester doesn’t do big speeches, but he’s got a way of making the world feel small and safe when he’s looking at you like that.

he eats his pie, leans back in the seat, and after a quiet moment says, almost too casually, “y’know… one year’s a long time. ‘specially for me, for this life we live.” his thumb brushes your hand, calloused and warm. “guess i’m just… glad we made it this far. glad it’s you.”

“i hope i never lose you,” you say, eyes locked on his. “i hope this never ends.” your cheeks are warm, probably blushed by now. if anyone took a picture in this moment, it could be used to study the physical effects of love — you’re glowing. your heartbeat is steady, calm. being here with him feels like safety.

“i will never let that happen, sweetheart.” and you believe him. it’s not just lovesick impulse — you know dean, and you know he doesn’t break promises.

“i know we said no gifts,” you start, reaching into your pocket. his brow furrows. “and this technically doesn’t even count, since i bought it for myself… but it means more than just that.” you pull out a heart-shaped locket you’d found in the first antique shop from last week’s hunt — and prayed wasn’t one of the cursed objects.

“what’s that?” he asks, taking it from you. when he opens it, there’s a picture — one of the many stashed away for fake badges. your favorite, because when it was taken, you’d made some joke you can’t even remember, and dean had lost all composure the instant sam clicked the shutter.

that same day, two years ago, you’d realized you were in love with him. and from the way he’s looking at it now, you know it means just as much to him that you’ll carry it. he’d joked before about you wearing a “d” around your neck — not as ownership, but as proof he’s the one that knows you the best. somehow, him tucked inside that little heart means even more.

you lean in, pie forgotten in your lap. your palm cups his cheek, pulling him closer until your lips meet. it’s like the first time all over again — your head spinning with how much you love him. he kisses you back soft, slow, and careful, like you’re something precious. because to him, you are.

“i love you,” you whisper, lips brushing his.

“i love you,” he says — not “too,” not agreeing, but its own whole statement. he doesn’t love you as well. he loves you. period.

so no, you didn’t get a five-star dinner, fireworks, or roses. you got music, pie, and the hum of crickets somewhere in the dark — and that’s all you could have possibly asked for. all you will ever want. and all you can think about is how much you love this man, and how lucky you are that, in all his chaotic, stubborn glory, he loves you right back.

copyright © 2025 all rights reserved graphics by yours truly

[castielsonlyrecs]

the cornelia street reference was perfect, i’m in LOVEEEEE

[freemonts]

TAG TEAM

soulless!sam x fem!reader x demon!dean

part 2 | part 3

cw: 18+ MDNI; oral (m. recieving), unprotected p in v, humiliation, dean being a little shit.

you don’t remember how you got here—tied up, stripped bare, knees aching on scratchy motel sheets—but you know this:

you said yes.

and now, you don’t get to say no.

sam is in front of you, thick cock tapping against your swollen lips, while dean kneels behind, palming your ass, already pressing the blunt head of his cock against your dripping cunt.

“look at her,” dean growls. “cock-drunk and we haven’t even started.”

sam smirks, cold and unfeeling, gripping your chin hard. “she doesn’t need thoughts,” he murmurs. “she just needs our dicks.”

you moan, already trembling as dean sinks into you with a rough thrust, his grip bruising on your hips. “tight little bitch,” he snarls. “fuckin’ made for this.”

sam slaps your cheek lightly with his cock. “open that pretty mouth,” he says, dead, empty eyes locked onto yours. “no teeth. you bite, i break your jaw.”

you do. eagerly.

and they fuck you like they own you.

like you owe them.

sam holding your face in place while he fucks your throat deep and mean, grunting every time you gag around him. dean pounding into your pussy from behind, hips slapping, balls heavy against your clit with every stroke.

“good girl,” dean pants. “dripping all over me. fuck, you’re milking my cock.”

“she’s drooling all over mine,” sam mutters. “messy little slut. bet she’d let us spit in her mouth and say thank you.”

you moan around him—humiliated and desperate.

and then they switch.

sam drags you up by the hair, flips you over like a ragdoll. “on your back. legs open.”

dean’s cock glistens, wet with your slick from earlier, still hard as he slides into your mouth this time, one hand fisted in your hair. “suck it, bitch,” he snarls. “taste yourself.”

sam doesn’t ease in. he slams into your pussy like he’s trying to reach your soul—if you had one left. “fuck,” he groans. “hot little cunt. i could live in here.”

you’re sobbing now—raw, overstimulated, body jolting with every brutal thrust. your hands are bound above your head, body shaking, spit and tears streaking your face while they take you again.

“ruined,” dean grunts, thrusting into your mouth. “never gonna want anyone else.”

sam growls, pounding harder. “she won’t have anyone else.”

you’re crying, shaking, body jerking between them like a rag doll—and they fucking love it.

they laugh.

“you coming?” dean sneers, grabbing you by your chin. “choked on cock and split open like this? you better.”

and you do. screaming around dean’s cock, cunt pulsing so hard it makes sam curse and cum inside you with a sharp groan. dean follows moments later, forcing you to swallow every drop, his thumb stroking your chin as you take it.

they just lie back, satisfied, sweaty.

“round three,” dean says, lighting a cigarette. “i want her ass next.”

sam licks his lips, “dibs on her tears.”

TAGLIST

@sammyslittledoll @nicetomeachum @castielsonlyangel @honeyyxxbee @bowxs @butterphiiss

[castielsonlyrecs]

UGH. this fic is just so PERFECT.

[butterphii]

hello my angel!!! can i please request a joel fic where the reader has been waiting for him to come home from patrol for hours and when he finally gets back she shows him how much she missed him? it’s alright if not my lovely don’t worry about it ^^

You Look Tired, May I?

TW: Oral sex (M receiving), fluff, freaky!Joel, LOTS of praise, HUNGRY fem!reader, slight size kink, porn with little plot

A/N: First request I've ever written! And, best thing, it was requested by my beautiful queen!! I'm so happy I get to write something just for you. This is also my first post outbreak!Joel fic! I hope this is what you wanted and that you love it! Have an amazing day my lovely 💕

--------------------Joel Miller--------------------

You sit in the quiet room, the only light coming from the annoyingly bright street lights from outside.

The room is small, grossly small. But it doesn't bother you too much, because all you can think about is Joel.

Joel and his beautiful body, his salt and pepper hair you love to grab and pull at while he eats you out, his hungry face when he stares down at your clenching face, reaching your climax.

The lock loudly clicked, snapping you out of your arousal induced trance.

You looked up, seeing your boyfriend standing in the doorway, his back clearly aching, the back of his neck sweaty and glistening, his arms tense and flexed as he throws his heavy bags to the ground.

"Hi, Joel!" You smile from the recliner you'd been sitting on. He jumped slightly, turning around with a gruff face.

He immediately softened when he saw you, his tight back and stance releasing as soon as he looked into your eyes.

"Hey, baby.." He smiled, his puppy eyes staring back at you.

"You look tired, baby. You okay?" You asked softly, gesturing for him to come sit on the chair next to you.

After a quick nod, he walked over, kicking his boots off in the process. He sat in the other chair right across from you with a deep groan, turning you on.

You grinned, standing up. You walked over to him, sitting down on his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist slowly.

"Baby, you look so exhausted...let me help with that?" You whispered into his ear, feeling his bulge grow in his jeans.

You kissed from his ear lobe to his mouth, lingering your lips over his before pressing down softly.

He groaned into the kiss, his tongue begging to be let into your mouth, teasing your bottom lip.

You let go, biting his lower lip. He rolled his head back with a soft groan as you slid down, your hands dragging down his chest and thighs.

You stopped right when you were on your knees between his denim covered legs.

You ran your hands up and down his upper legs before pulling his shirt up, pressing gentle kisses against his v-line, one finger trailing his happy trail.

You smiled, undoing his jeans, pulling them down just enough to stare at the bulge straining his black boxers.

You watched as it twitched slightly, the size of the bulge alone making you think the dirtiest of thoughts.

Even though you'd seen his dick countless times before, the size still surprised you. Sometimes, even though you knew his cock was massive, you couldn't help but think to yourself trying to figure out how big it really was.

You took the length out of his boxers, you only letting your eyes go wide for a split second before leaning forward, kissing down the shaft.

One hand held his balls, fingers moving slowly. You felt the member tense in your other, your hot tongue moving in slow, long strokes up and down the bottom of it.

When you finally reached the tip, you pressed it to your tongue with an open mouth. You took the swollen tip into your mouth, sucking generously before moving down slowly.

You hollowed your cheeks, keeping your tongue stuck to the shaft. That's when you heard the noise.

You heard Joel "Tough Guy" Miller whimper. That made you laugh, choke a little.

He threw his head down to look at you, staring into your eyes with furrowed brows and pursed lips.

"You're so fucking good, baby-I...S-shit.." He groaned, his head dragging back. His thick fingers found the back of your head, fisting your hair.

You continued to pull your head up and down, slurping loudly. He groaned deeply, praising you with kind words; "You're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful," "You are doing perfect, baby.."

"Keep fucking going, just like that..S-shit..." He moaned softly. His sounds were like music to your ears.

"B-Baby! F-fuck, I-I'm gonna-" He stuttered, his hips jerking. But, before he could get all his words out, he was holding your head down straight against his thickness, your eyes watering as you gagged down his hot ropes of release.

He groaned into his chest, watching as you gulped down the white cream with delight, even though your throat burned from the intrusion.

"Oh, fuck..." He growled, letting go of your head, watching you leave behind a string of saliva and slight residue of him.

You smiled, licking the corners of your mouth.

You crawled back up to his lap, placing yourself quietly.

"Did that help you?" You whispered, kissing his cheek and then his parted lips.

"So fucking much, baby..." He kissed you back happily, tasting his own release on your tongue.

"I love you.." He kissed you again, placing his sweaty forehead to yours.

"I love you too, Joel."

------------------------------------------------

taglist : @castielsonlyangel

[castielsonlyrecs]

i know i requested this, but i love it 🤭

[sammyslittledoll-deactivated202]

･: absence makes the heart grow fonder desperate

･: pairing : Sam Winchester x Reader. ･: warnings : sexual content. established relationship, making out, desperate sex, mentions of past (m) masturbation, cunnilingus, size kink, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie. porn without much plot. 18+ only !! Based of two requests by anon.

The lock clicks on your apartment door as it swings open, revealing Sam- handsome and rugged from the hunt he’s been away on for weeks. His silhouette glows in the hallway’s buttery light, his hair longer than when you last saw him, curling at the ends and the pent-up frustration practically radiating off him in waves. Before you can give your usual happy squeal and jump into his arms in delight, he’s stumbling brazenly through the door, his hands immediately reaching for you and pulling you to him.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, baby.” Sam rasps, his voice hoarse, like he’s been waiting to say this since the moment he stepped out the door, all those weeks ago. He doesn’t even let you close the door before his mouth crashes into yours with a hunger that has you reeling and grappling uselessly against his shirt. His hands are all over you, big and rough as they grab achy handfuls of your skin and squeeze in a manner that can only be described as desperate…as starved. His tongue is licking into your mouth like he’s trying to devour you whole, his fingers already fumbling with the buttons on your shirt, until he rips it down the middle with an impatient growl. You can feel his cock, already hard as steel through his jeans, pressed against your stomach, sending a jolt of pure need straight to your pussy.

“Sammy, baby, wait ! ” you gasp when his mouth begins to trail down your neck- sucking, biting and leaving blooming, red bruises in its wake- but he’s not hearing it. His fingers struggle clumsily with the fastenings of your bra, before he hastily tugs the cotton down from the front instead, his hands- calloused and greedy- coming up to cup your tits, making you moan. “You have no idea, how bad I need you.” he pants, his voice breaking as he shoves your shorts down, not even bothering to undo the button. The moment you kick out of them, he’s lifting you, your legs wrapped around his waist as he carries you to the couch- too needy to even make it to the bedroom-  setting you down and following after, pinning you under two hundred pounds of pure muscle.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you for a single fuckin’ second, baby.” he murmurs against your lips. “Every fuckin’ night, jerkin’ off to you, imaginin' your tight little pussy around my cock, squeezin’ me when I fuck you stupid.” His words are filthy, spilling out like he’s been holding them in for too long, and you’re already soaked, arching against him as he grinds his hips against yours, the thick, throbbing length of him pressed teasingly against your pussy through his jeans and your panties, making you practically salivate in anticipation of the way he’d be stretching you wide on his massive dick, if there weren’t so many layers in between.

Sam pulls away and drops to his knees, so sudden it startles you, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. “Sam, what—” you start, but he cuts you off with a whimper, a fucking whimper, that makes your clit throb. “Please, baby, let me taste you,” he mumbles, his voice raw, eyes locked on yours, glassy with need. “Been dreamin' about this pussy for weeks. Need to eat you out, sweetie. I need it s’bad.”

“But I need you to fuck me, Sammy, need you inside me.” you whine, your lips forming a pout. So many weeks without him had left you just as desperate, needing him to fill you up and pound you till you can’t walk straight. “Please, honey. I’ll make you feel so good, baby, y’know I always do. Please.” he begs, pleading on his knees like he’ll die if he doesn’t get his mouth on you. And the pretty whimpering sight he’s making is too much to resist. “Okay, yeah.” you whisper, voice trembling. “Go ahead, Sammy."

Sam groans like you’ve just handed him the fucking moon, muttering a broken “Thank you, thank you s’much, sweetheart.” as he yanks your panties to the side, not even bothering to pull them off in his desperation. His mouth is on you in an instant, tongue lapping at your slick like he’s starving. He’s not gentle—his lips sealing around your clit as he sucks hard, his tongue dragging, broad, greedy strokes through your arousal. You turn into a whining mess, the second his mouth is on you- sloppy and earnest- making you bury your fingers in his hair and tug. He moans into you- deep and insatiable- the vibrations making your legs shake as he devours you like he’ll never taste you again. “So fucking good.” he slurs, pulling back just enough to spit on your pussy, watching it glisten before diving back in, licking and sucking with a fervour that has you clawing at the couch as he continues to whimper into you’re pussy…like he’s one getting off.

He’s relentless, eating you out like it’s his last meal, his tongue flicking over your clit in a rhythm that’s got you crying out, your hips bucking against his face. “Sam, oh God! So good, baby. M’so close.” you moan, and watch as his eyes roll back at your words, his hips rutting into the air. Sam's hands slide up your torso to paw ravenously at your tits- squeezing and groping with selfish need- and you’re close, so fucking close. And he knows it, his thrusts growing feverish as he moans louder into your dripping pussy, his rhythm turning sloppy as his fingers press scarlet marks into your hips.

Your orgasm seizes your body all of a sudden, the pleasure building and building, till you come with a scream, your thighs clamping around his head, your body shaking as endless waves of pleasure crash over you, prolonged with the way he’s still going, without even slowing and the added vibrations of his embarrassingly loud whimpers, born of pure euphoria from your climax. He continues to taste you till oversensitive, whining and trying to push him away. But he’s too far gone, too desperate, and when he finally pulls back, his face is slick with your juices, his lips red and swollen, his eyes filled with renewed lust.

“You’re so hot, need to fuck you, baby.” he grunts, standing and yanking his jeans open, shoving the denim down along with his boxer briefs just enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, your pussy clenching around nothing as he wraps his fist around the heavy, veined shaft, the tip leaking a copious amount of precum. He doesn’t bother with the rest of his clothes or yours as he settles between your legs. You can feel the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, waiting to split you open.

He doesn’t wait, doesn’t ease in or scissor you open with his fingers, like he always does, to prepare you for his size. Instead, he thrusts in hard, all the way to the hilt in one brutal stroke, and you cry out, your nails raking his back as the stretch burns, delicious and overwhelming. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Needed you for so long, baby.” Sam slurs, his head dropping to your shoulder, as he starts to move without giving you even a second more to adjust, his hips snapping against yours with a force that makes the couch shake. It’s sloppy and desperate, his cock pounding all of his pent-up lust and frustration into your body with each thrust that has him burying himself balls-deep inside you before pulling out till just the tip remains . “Missed this pussy, so much. Had me dreamin’ about filling up you from the second I walked out that door.” he pants, his rhythm, rough and needy, as he jackhammers you into an incoherent, moaning mess.

He fucks you deep, each thrust filling you up till you swear, you can feel him in your stomach. “F-fuck, not gonna last, sweetheart. M’gonna come.” he groans, his voice wrecked, his thrusts getting erratic and desperate. With one last obscenely loud grunt, he buries himself to the base inside you, his cock jerking as he spills, hot and thick, his hips jerking with every spurt. Sam's orgasm triggers yours and you cry out, your eyes rolling back as you come for the second time, clenching tightly around him.

He doesn’t pull out, not yet, just stays there, panting, holding you close, his forehead pressed to yours. “I love you so much, sweetie. Fuck, I missed you.” he whispers, his voice raw, and you can feel him, still hard inside you, like he’s not done, like he’s never gonna be done. And honestly, with the way he’s still twitching, still kissing your neck, you’re not sure you want him to be. “Yeah, I can tell.” you giggle.

･: a/n : I apologise to whoever has sent these requests in case you didn't send them on anon, since I'd have forgotten who sent it even if you didn't. if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please don't hesitate to let me know <3 ･: taglist : @mostlymarvelgirl, @jayhalsteadfan-2417, @zenoxl, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @castielsonlyangel, @bea-tween-the-pages, @y0inked, @butterphiiss, @bowxs,@gvf23, @halsteadwichester, @ohangeleyes, @thatdezigirl, @doubledizzy22, @sunnyfuffly, @scrmqwn, @lunaleah, @weskersdoll. Divider by @strangergraphics.

[castielsonlyrecs]

probably my favourite sammy fic i’ve ever read, sorry not sorry!

[bowxs]

IMAGINE DEAN WITH YOUR VOODOO DOLL?? I JUST HAD THIS THOUGHT IN THE SHOWER??

OH LAWDD im giggling

dean didnt mean to have it- it wasnt his fault the witch you guys just took down happened to have made one of you- and she just so happened to keep it in her pocket for dean to conveniently find after she was taken care of.

he didnt even realize it was yours at first, there are so many girls out there with the same coloured eyes and same coloured hair as you- but it sure as hell wasnt a coincidence that as soon as he grazed the arm of the doll you shivered and said you felt like someone just touched you. yeah. not a coincidence.

he was responsible with it for the most part. he touched it as little as he could, carried it in a safe place at all times, he barely even wanted to look at it in fear that something bad might happen to you by accident

but dean was a weak, weak man, so he couldnt help it if one day while sam was out on a supply run and you were in the shower, he grabbed the doll with a bit more than thee average curiosity fueling him. he knew that if he injured the doll he would injure you and if he touched the doll you would feel it, so does that mean...

he couldnt stop himself any longer before he gently set the doll on the bed, staring at it for a couple seconds before his hands tenatively reached out, his finger grazing the crotch of your voodoo doll.

dean wished he could say that voodoo magic was bullshit- he wished. but he was proved oh so wrong as a very surprised moan and gasp mixed together left your mouth from the shower, god it was loud

you were minding your own business in the shower when it happened. when you felt like the best vibrator youve ever bought just touched your pussy out of thin air and wasnt going away. you didnt have time to prepare yourself or even shut your mouth before a moan was slipping out as your legs were just about ready to give out

"oh- fuck!" you moaned. loudly. and just as quickly as it started, the sensation stopped and you were left heaving as you braced yourself on the wall, not trusting your body or your legs to hold yourself up anymore.

you got out of the shower quickly, clearly distressed as you walked out of the bathroom with the towel still wrapped around you, not bothering to put on your change of clothes, too worried about something weird going on and needing to tell dean

"dean i think somethings wrong-" you start but you stop just as quickly as dean looks at you like you just caught him red handed- which you did. which a doll that looks strangely like you placed on his bed, and his hand hovering over it

you could tell it was going to be a long time till sam gets back with the mischievous smirk on deans face, and you still dont do anything to stop it.

[castielsonlyrecs]

i LOVE this fic, i reread it all the time

[deansposessive]

IT'S NOT A GOOD NIGHT IF YOU DON'T TAKE IT TOO FAR

MARK MEACHUM×READER SMUT

"i'm gonna fucking screw this up." you grumbled and tried to concentrate. "i'm tired and hungry...i don't wanna play this damn game."

"you won't screw it up," he assured, lips brushing your ear in a light chuckle. "and we can eat something after your shot."

his free hand slid from your waist to your hip--an almost possessive but subtle touch. his fingers splayed across the soft curve of your ass, thumb rubbing absentminded circles over the thin fabric of your jeans.

"just focus on the shot, sweetheart," he murmured."i know you can do it. you're just making it harder on yourself by being so damn impatient."

"don't argue with me, jerk." you groaned and pushed the balls with your cue. "you owe me a cheese burger with some diet coke. this fucking investigation was so damn Iong."

"i never argue. i simply correct people when they're wrong."

mark chuckled again, the sound low and rich, and gave your hip a squeeze. he stepped back as you pushed the balls around. meachum leaned his hip against the edge of the pool table, arms folding over his chest. he couldn't resist the urge to tease you. he loved the way you got all pouty and grumpy when you were tired and hungry. it made you more adorable- if that was even possible.

the corner of mark mouth curled up in satisfaction as your shot was a success.

"told you you could do it," he quipped, that cocky smirk on his face again.

mark pushed off the pool table, stepping up behind you once more. this time, his hands settled on your hips, long fingers curled firmly into soft flesh. you looked down to his hands. fuck, those thumb tattoo's...the little dark lightning and the arrows. forever inked into your mind.

"now, about that burger you said owe you..."

"what's up with it, sir?" you continued to hold the cue close to your body as you looked at the pool table.

he hummed, leaning slightly forward so his chest grazed your back. his breath was hot on your neck, and his voice was low, like a rough caress.

"well, i take my debts seriously," he replied. meachum thumbs drew lazy circles on your hips, just above the waistband of your jeans. his fingers itched to venture lower, to tease that sensitive skin that lay beneath...

"and i wouldn't want my pretty girl going hungry" one hand slowly slipped to your stomach, sliding under the hem of your shirt to press his palm flat against your soft, bare skin. the contrast of his calloused hand against your warm, supple flesh was stark, and he relished the way you shivered against him, just a touch of goosebumps rippling under his touch.

with his other hand, he gently took the pool cue from your grasp, setting it down on the table. mark's body shifted, pressing closer so his entire front was molded to your back.

"mark...this bar is full of people, stop it. we have an audience.." you cautiously looked around the bar, which was almost completely full of lounging, hungry young college students. the clinking of half-empty glasses, loud music, people dancing with each other, hips grinding...but your corner of the bar was too quiet. and full of tension. you knew it wouldn't be right to cross the line of 'innocent' flirting here, but with mark, your thoughts were never, how can i say..pure and innocent.

he chuckled, the sound a low, throaty rumble against your ear. his hand slid up higher under your shirt, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your navel.

"so? let 'em watch. maybe they'll learn somethin" mark murmured, pressing his lips just below your jawline. the light scrape of his beard sent another shiver through you, and he smirked against your skin.

"besides,"he continued, his hand fnally venturing just a bit lower, his fingertips flirting with the edge of your jeans. "you look damn good, sweetheart. can't blame a man for wanting to show you off." he nipped at that spot beneath your ear, the one that drove you wild. it took all your willpower not to moan out loud.

"but you practically look like you want to finger-fucking me." your fingers started playing with the greenish material of the pool table, you could hear your nails scratching the table even over the loud music. "so you're saying they should learn something? you're going to give a live-action educational lesson to college students on how to give their partners the perfect orgasm with just their fingers?"

mark chuckled, his lips trailing down to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. "careful, sweetheart," he warned teasingly. "language like that might just get you in trouble." his hand slid lower still, the tips of his fingers dipping just beneath the waistband of your jeans, barely touching the edge of your underwear. his breath was hot against your ear.

"although," he murmured, his voice dropping another octave, "i can't say the idea isn't temptin'" his hand shifted, long fingers sliding across your stomach to the button of your ieans, toying with the tab. he couldn't help it. you were like a damn drug, and he was hopelessly, helplessly addicted.

"might get us kicked outta the bar though," he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

"so this is why the bar name is 'sinners'."..now everything is clear."

"damn straight," he agreed with a smirk, nipping your earlobe again. "and you`re lookin' like temptation incarnate."

his hand shifted , fingers delving beneath the jeans, just brushing the fabric of your underwear. he traced lazy circles over your hip, his thumb sweeping along the elastic band. his chest was pressed flush against your back, so you'd feel the way his heart was starting to pound.

"but if you don't wanna give everyone a show," mark added, his voice huskier now, "we can take this somewhere more..private."

he pressed his hips against you just a bit, just enough to make you feel the way he was hardening cock, how your closeness was affecting him. you could already feel your cunt stretching around him. "what do you say, sweetheart?" he purered into your ear.

"no, i want you to do it here. i know you can do it without anyone would notice. fuck,.another plus point for you."

his hand paused, his fingers still dancing along the edge of your panties. he let out a low hum, a sound that spoke of challenge and arousal all at once.

"you're a wicked woman, anyone ever tell you that?" he murmured, his lips hovering just above your skin. mark nipped at the spot on your neck he knew you loved, enjoying the way you squirmed against him. "but if you're that desperate for it, who am i to deny you?" he added with a slight edge of teasing. he knew he could do this. he could keep you on edge, teetering between pleasure and agony, without a damn soul knowing.

meachum's fingers slid a little lower, brushing against the front of your panties. "you gonna be quiet for me, sweetheart? or are you gonna scream my name and get us arrested?"

"we're not gonna get arrested. i promise. if they call the cops on us, i'l report the bar for drug dealing. the whole place stinks of weed and shit. we can improvize. and we're fuckin' officers damnit..."

"good girI," he murmured, nipping your neck again. "now, don't move." he moved his other hand from your hips to your jaw, turning your head so he could claim your mouth in a rough, possessive kiss. he swallowed any noise you might make, his tongue slipping past your lips to claim your mouth as his own. meanwhile, his hand pushed lower, finally sliding beneath the fabric of your underwear, fingers finding your slit and caressing it.

mark broke the kiss, his breathing ragged against your neck as he continued to kiss and nibble along your jawline. "you gotta stay quiet, honey. you swear youll keep those pretty little noises to yourself?" he started to move his fingers, slipping a single digit between your folds as he found that spot inside you that would make you melt. "you can be a good girl for me, can't you? you can be my sweet, pretty girl."

he pressed his thumb against your clit, rubbing slowly, gently, just to tease you further. "i know you can," he murmured, his voice dark, his breath hot on your skin. "i know you're gonna be quiet, gonna keep all those noises i love to make you make locked inside that pretty little mouth." he withdrew his fingers for a moment, just long enough to gather some of your wetness on them, before sliding them back inside you, deeper this time. "such a tight pussy, damnit."

"i could take you right here, against this pool table," he growled, his mouth once again at your neck, teeth scraping against your skin. "in front of all these people. they'd know you're mine." he was almost growling now, his voice rough in your ear as he continued to tease you, his fingers moving in and out with agonizing slowness.

"i"d bend you over this table," mark murmured, his tongue licking a slow, hot t rail up your neck. "just like this, with your hands flat against the felt. i'd make you look out at the room, at all those people in the bar...and you'd keep quiet. you'd be a good girl for me, you wouldn't make a damn sound." mark curled his fingers, finding that spot deep inside that made you gasp. "they'd all know you were mine, but they couldn't have you. they could look, but they couldn't touch. they'd be so damn jealous of me, but they could only watch."

he nipped your earlobe, his free hand grabbing your hip, holding you firmly in place, rocking his hips to your jeans covered butt. "and i'd tease and tease until you were so desperate you'd beg for me, sweetheart. because this is our curse, we depend on each other. and there is nothing we can do about it."

taglist: @sacr1ficialang3l @sugardean @lunarvera @sunnyfuffly @pieandflannel @lacydaydream @bejeweledinterludes2 @cryptic-doe @scrmqwn @deansbbyx @mostlymarvelgirl @jollyhunter @wvyik

[castielsonlyrecs]

i need mark meachum SO BAD this was perfect