Who do You Love
(Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader)
✧ MASTERLIST ✧
Summary: You leave the Bunker and provoke Sam with lewds until he follows you to first apologize, and then finish what you two started last night. Content/Warnings: NSFW!!!, penetrative sex, switch-y Sam, soft dom-ish reader, some angst then lots of fluff, no use of y/n, possessive sex (VERY), kind of obsessive, PRAISE, lewds (cute suggestive pics of reader sent over text, nothing nude), love confessions, a lot of smut 12.3k words A/N: ALRIGHT real ones may or may not know that in the "canon" of my writing about Sam Winchester, one of his nicknames is Spaceman (because sometimes he says things that make me wonder if he came from the stars not planet Earth). I keep typing it reflexively so I'm bringin' it back. Also The Killers' song "Spaceman" is a banger. ENJOY!!
Sam is not trapped in a self-made web of deceit. That would be crazy. He would never end up in such a foolish state.
Psh. I got some unfortunate news for you, buddy.
He’s been on edge all day since you and he “talked about it” until you truly were “blue in the face”. The thing is that Sam hadn’t meant for it to go the way it did. He wanted to talk with you before anything but he just needed some coffee and then you weren’t the first person he spoke with this morning.
It’s true that Sam has lied many times in his life for many different reasons. Some out of necessity, some out of convenience, and even more often, out of some combination of the two. These lies have weighed heavier on his conscience at different points in time, but the lies he’s consumed by today are all very recent.
Lie 1: Sam doesn’t do meaningless sex. He has done it, but he told you he can’t any more. Truth: What Sam actually can’t do is no strings attached with you. He can try giving his number to the diner waitress he meets on the road but a stranger’s rejection is only a flesh wound; you and he splintering apart from his fucked-up mess of a life feels like a killing blow waiting to happen.
Lie 2: You and Sam did not have any kind of positive (let alone sexual) encounter last night after you left the bar. In fact, the two of you are still on bad terms. Truth: Sam didn’t think before he told Dean this lie, it just sort of happened. Sam becomes immediately concerned about what you might think of him keeping your relationship a secret. Would it hurt your feelings? Plus you don’t know Sam made that claim so if Dean accidentally reveals it somehow that makes Sam look worse.
Lie 3: No, you did not just hear Sam say that he’s still mad at you to Dean. Truth: Okay maybe that’s what he said but it’s obviously more nuanced than that.
Lie 3: Maybe you just don’t know Sam as well as you think you do. Truth: The way you borderline read his mind is altogether frightening. He’s terrified of the day when you realize the magnitude of your power over him. It’ll be a constant vulnerability that he cannot completely shield from danger or decomposition.
Lie 4: Sam doesn’t feel the same way about you— he doesn’t want you biblically. You are just going to be his roommate and friend, he doesn’t need anything more. Truth: Everyone knows that this is bullshit and tells him so, but he’s still insisting on it for some reason. Going so far as to insist it with full conviction into your face this morning. And the kicker? Even though you know it’s not true, his refusal to alter his outward stance wounds you. He can tell. It hurts his heart to be the cause of negative feelings in you.
Lie 5: You have no idea what you’re talking about. Truth: He’s just digging his heels in now because he doesn’t want to lose the argument. It’s stupid and petty but you’re arrogant and blunt which makes him want to prove you wrong.
Lie 6: Your proximity to Sam is doing nothing to compromise his focus. He’s hardly thought about last night. Truth: Every quiet moment in his day since the second he broke into consciousness has been spent remembering last night. And now here you are inches away from him and all he wants to do is kiss you. You won’t stop looking at him like you want to suck his cock again. Fuck he wants that so bad. The look of you seeking to please him was almost as intoxicating as when he’s seeking to please you.
The last one is one he only told himself silently.
Lie 7: Sam can resist running after you when you leave the Bunker. He doesn’t need to make things right immediately— he can live with knowing he’s hurt your feelings so badly that you packed a bag and left —and it won’t consume his every waking moment. How hard could it be? Truth: The second you slam the hatch behind you, the Bunker feels like a graveyard— the air weighted and silent in a deeply oppressive manner. Sam immediately wants to go after you. The urge comes on embarrassingly fast. He agonizes over whether to go after you or not— wondering if he could catch you before you drive off —but in the end he just wastes a lot of time thinking about it. You’re definitely gone by then. So he trudges into the library and runs circles in his mind instead of running out after you.
About a half-hour after you shouted at him with teary eyes and marched out of the Bunker, Sam cannot get himself to sit still. He’s antsy in all his limbs, itching to chase after you. He doesn’t know how he can resolve this. His desire is an unstoppable force meeting some immovable object inside him. That object in the way of his wants doesn’t feel quite discernible yet. Somewhere he knows that it’s fear stopping him. It’s pure anxiety about all the things that could go wrong.
At the 2 hour mark since your departure, the first picture arrives.
He’s sitting at a library desk with a book, successfully managing to somewhat distract himself. Every time he has to look up and use his computer to translate a word from the tome though, his mind drifts and lands back on his restless feelings about you. And then his phone buzzes on the table beside him. He can see immediately that it’s from you.
It’s a closeup of your thighs, presumably in the car. You’re wearing a little skirt that you didn’t have on when you left. He can see the edge of it high up on your leg and wrinkled elegantly between the fingers of one hand. It’s a rich lavender-colored satin. There are no words accompanying the image but the message is loud and clear: You could be here. This could be your hand. But it’s not. Coward.
Sam forces himself to swallow. It’s a quarter-past noon on a Tuesday. It shouldn’t feel so dirty to be looking at such a non-explicit part of you but he feels filthy in the most intoxicating way. He forces himself to put the phone down and refocus on his work.
It’s only 10 minutes before the next picture comes through. You’re in what looks like a rest-stop bathroom. You’re posed at a sink showing off almost all of you. Calling the lavender dress skimpy is a little harsh but it’s not very shy of deserving that adjective. It’s low-cut to reveal more of your cleavage than usual, folds of the fabric draping loosely around your tits in a beautiful frame. The flared skirt just barely reaches your mid-thigh. You’re not looking into the camera, you’re studying your own reflection to make sure the pose is just right— so he can see all the skin you have out on display right now. He’s never seen you in a dress before.
This one comes with a message. His heart sinks into his stomach.
- Hi roomie! what do you think?
Sam swallows hard, trying to come up with the best response. What’s he supposed to say? “I swear to fuck I could devour you in that little outfit” or “if I were there I wouldn’t be able to help myself” or “you’re so goddamn pretty I think I hate you for it”?
He’s torn between the parts of him trying to defend against further injury to his heart and the parts that are already injured from the miserable look on your face this morning. When he denied being involved with you to Dean, you’d been unfortunately, in earshot, just outside the kitchen in the hallway. The second he saw you (out of Dean’s sight) despair filled him to the brim. And the center of his hastily-crafted web disintegrated. You were already on the defensive, so it was easy to let the conversation escalate into a fight.
When plans falls through, when systems Sam relies on fail, he can’t help feeling angry. They are supposed to be keeping him safe. At this point he’s accepted that he can’t fully make sense of the world, but what he can do is try and out-think it. It doesn’t matter if the failure results in events his actions warrant or if the web-like plan was flawed from conception, he’s still angry at his systems for letting him down— leaving him open to damage.
At the sight of that text message, his muscles tense from a rush of fury. What the hell is he supposed to say to that text, huh? What did you think that text would make him say? He decides to be nice but neutral.
• It’s nice.
He sends that one then frowns— that’s far too passive-aggressive-sounding, he thinks before adding:
• You look good.
Your reply is instantaneous.
- Thanks bestie!
He rolls his eyes at your word choice— you’re exaggerating the “friend” endearments more than usual. This probably has something to do with him insisting on remaining platonic in this relationship. Receiving it back from you is gut-churning.
- I needed that! - wasn’t sure if I could find someone who’d wanna take it off of me
Sam types back without thinking.
• Cool. Happy to help.
- Yeah I’m def scoring some tonight don’t ya think?
Another picture accompanies this text. It’s all the same as the last one but you’re in a different position, showing off your back, upper thighs, and ass in the reflection. Your lower lip is bitten between your teeth.
Sam’s jaw tightens at that. He types out the words “screw you” in response then decides better of it. He’s sure using that phrase would just leave him open to an attack of humor. Despite this secondary consideration, he’s still impulsive and reckless in his response.
• Do whatever you want.
You reply immediately.
- I wish I could.
Sam clicks his tongue angrily and rolls his eyes— he fell right into a trap of yours. Again. He doesn’t answer you. Settling back into his book, Sam gets about 5 minutes of respite before you send him another message.
He’s just managed to get back into the flow of reading ancient Aramaic (while having to translate words as he goes) when it comes through. As soon as the vibration grates the wooden table, he’s completely pulled out of his focus. He sees the text is from you and resists picking up the phone. Instead he goes to refill his coffee. The bag’s almost empty. He instinctively thinks to ask you to get some more on your next run to the store. Then he remembers.
She’s gone and I made it that way.
When he’s back in the library he can’t help himself and he picks up the phone to unlock it before he’s even sitting again. You’re in the driver’s seat of your car. It’s a closeup of your upper-torso, the shadow of your cleavage just peeking into the bottom of the frame, the delicate curves of your throat extended above. One of your hands is delicately pulling the loose collar of the dress aside to reveal the swell of a lacy scarlet bra. Sunlight streams in through the car windshield, a few spots of your skin shadowed by tiny debris on the glass.
- don’cha think I look so cute in this color Sammy? - you think it’ll get any dumb fucks to bite?
Just as he finishes reading that message there’s a new picture. This one features your hand in your lap, your fingertips gathering up the hem of your dress in a fist. Your thighs are clenched together tight, he can tell plain as day. You must be parked again— you’d never do something so reckless as this while driving. The index finger of your fisted hand rests delicately on the curve of your thigh, teasing the sensitive skin there. No words accompany this one, it’s enough on its own.
Sam’s elbow lands with a heavy thud on the desk. He puts his head in his hand and squeezes his eyes shut for a long moment. Forcing himself to take deep breaths, he comes back to the present and opens his eyes. His phone is still sitting there, face-up on the counter, just enough of your breasts showing that Sam feels nervous about Dean or Cas catching sight of it. Like the thing’s scorching hot, Sam flips the phone over onto the desk only for it to immediately buzz again. He groans almost in agony as he’s completely unable to resist picking it back up. To his utmost dismay and thrill, he sees that you’ve sent him a short video.
When the cover image is your pretty lips tight around your finger an involuntary grunt forces its way out of Sam. He presses play. Your finger drags down over both lips, letting the bottom one flop back into place sensuously. Then with that same intensional pace you delicately take the first two fingers of your hand into the dark warm abyss of your mouth. They slide past your puckered lips to disappear like some kind of magic trick. He’s unaware of himself holding his breath. The first filthy wet slurping noise you make as you suck your fingers gets cut off by the video that only lasts about 8 seconds.
He can’t help himself— or more accurately, he doesn’t know how to stop himself —so he dials your number. His chair screeches across the hardwood floor before he marches off towards an unused room down the hall. Interrupting one of the rings, you send his call to voicemail. A recording of you chirps at him to leave a message and he hangs up to try again. The same result. Infuriatingly, you text message him.
- Need something?
He grinds his teeth.
• Pick up the phone.
- bossy. - why should I?
Sam doesn’t text his answer. With forceful taps to his phone screen he dials you again. The first ring gets interrupted and your answering machine picks up. A loud growl of frustration claws its way out of his chest and echoes down the hallway.
• It’s a fucking Tuesday afternoon! • Why are you doing this to me??
- you know why. because you’ve been bad.
He’s been bad? Him?! You’re the one who’s been stealing his clothes, taunting him over text, provoking him to act without thought of consequence, tempting him to the edge of giving up his self-control. His restraint is worn thinner than a threadbare rug— the kind grandmas keep for sentimental value even though the thing is one false-step away from disintegrating.
• That’s rich coming from you.
- you saying I’ve been bad Sammy?
• It’s SAM and YES!
- you brought this on yourself SAM - all of this could be yours if you just asked for what you want
He blatantly chooses to ignore that text since the coffee-maker signals it’s done. He takes his sweet time in the kitchen, trying to not think about you. After retrieving the new coffee he marches back to the library, determined to get some work done. Reflexively he pulls his phone out of his back pocket before he sits. Somehow he didn’t feel the vibration of several more messages from you.
- gotta rest up good. it’s gonna be a long night if I’m lucky 😜 - the local dumb fucks won’t know what hit em.
What follows that message is a series of images of you seen through the mirror on a motel dresser. You’re sprawled out on a bed with covers that look like they have gulls on them. In a sea of navy blue fabric, you’re laying on your stomach, one elbow propping up your chin while your free hand takes the photos. Your legs are bent behind you, feet up in the air. You’ve changed outfits since the last exchange.
You’re wearing a low-cut white camisole and it’s pulled down enough to reveal a frankly indecent amount of the red lace bra. On the bottom you’re either wearing no pants at all or tiny shorts. He can’t really make out any of your ass or back because rolls of teal and white flannel lay rumpled over you.
So I guess she took that shirt again before she left. Great.
Almost of their own volition his eyes drift down the photo, his fingers zooming in so less of the room shows and you take up all the frame. Your breasts are squished to the bed, the cleavage between them not nearly visible enough through your arms for his liking. The pose makes your neck stretch, your muscles drawn taut. His lips should be there, he knows it.
Shut the fuck up, Sam, shut up! Stop thinking about kissing her—
This sequence of photos doesn’t really document you doing much. One of them has your head tilted to the side almost curiously, another features one of your feet hooked sensually around the opposite calf. The last image though is you kneeling upright on the bed. You’ve still got that white camisole on top, however now the rounded peaks of your breasts poke through the fabric, announcing that you removed your bra. The shorts are criminal— tiny and barely visible in this position from riding so high up the swell of your exquisite thighs. They’re a sweet shade of apricot peach. All the while, you’re still swimming in his stupid flannel. The one he watched you unbutton last night. The one that was on the floor behind you as you took his cock into your mouth for the first time.
Don’t think about that right now. Not. Helpful.
It only takes him 20 minutes of cursory internet searching to sleuth out where you are. It’s a motel about an hour and a half away from the Bunker, nothing special. It is however sea-themed (in the middle of Kansas) so that makes it easier to find. Going after you wouldn’t be hard at all, he’s already beginning to think about the logistics. He only catches himself in the middle of planning his trip— he’s working on reflex here, as if you’re someone he’s hunting —and then stops himself.
20 more minutes later he’s pacing up and down the length of the library, mind going in furious circles, his face scrunched up into a scowl. Sam needs to consider his next few moves very carefully. He doesn’t want to surrender after all your provocations. He wants so badly to prove you wrong. There’s a good few minutes straight where Cas stands in the doorway watching. Sam’s concentration remains unbroken. Dean even comes up beside Cas, exchanging a few soft words with him but still, Sam’s too deep in thought to notice them.
What he really can’t believe is your audacity. He’s enraged by it, driven insane by it, but even more infuriatingly, the thing he’s most incensed about is the thought of you out there looking for someone else. He knows it’s what he said to do— he knows he pushed you away and these are just some of the consequences that come along with that. And still he can’t keep his cool.
Sam has the moral responsibility here to not curse you with his love (and his dick). He hasn’t been inside of you yet and for some reason he thinks this might be enough to get you out of the curse. He’s painfully aware of how most of the women before you have been victim to his fowl luck. He can’t let that happen to you. He can keep suffering— what’s a little more of that for Sam Winchester?
You’re important, not just to him but to the world. You are inarguably a positive force helping others, and what, he’s just supposed to snuff that out? Why, because he couldn’t keep it in his pants? Please. He’s overcome much more impossible circumstances than that. He can’t do anything more to risk your place on Earth, what right does he have to you over everyone else? Sam might be greedy but he’s not selfish.
He’s ravenous for you the way you were for him last night. As much as Sam wants to focus on what is keeping him here in the Bunker, thinking about what’s drawing him away is equally diverting. He can’t stop replaying the sounds you made as he kissed the insides of your thighs. The feeling of you trembling and slurping and keening against his flesh echo like phantom sensations over his skin. Everything about last night was perfect. It wasn’t just physical, of course, it was also the beginning of an emotional connection that will very quickly spiral out of his control. He’s in misery from trying to do the right thing.
The only disappointment last night was that he didn’t make you come more than once. Now he might never do it again. After only a few moments trapped under your thighs, the sight of your body trembling above him, Sam came to understand an inarguable truth: he could drown in your cunt and die a happy man. He might even thank you for it.
With that in mind, he can only imagine what it would feel like to be inside of you. The thought of it— now less abstract than all the times he’s thought about your pussy wrapped around him before —makes a fierce shiver run through his bones. He knows how you feel around his fingers and against his lips quite well now. He has actual data to use in order to make educated guesses on the level of euphoria fucking his big cock into you would cause. There’s still many unknowns though. In the end all he can do is imagine the true pleasure of your soaked core around his throbbing cock.
I could know if I beg well enough.
The thought makes Sam scoff aloud. No way is he giving in like that. He’s already located you— his mind started cataloguing things in the images that he could use as context clues to find you on reflex the second each photo came through. He knows you’re a couple counties over, lounging in The Freshwater Pearl Motel. So the inconvenience of needing to track you down isn’t what makes him bristle. The problem is that finding you means you win. That you were right all along: that Sam is a liar, most of all to you.
“You have to understand, it’s not about you.” He said to you this morning.
“I can tell myself that as much as I want— you can tell me that as much as you want! —but that doesn’t make this hurt me any less!”
“It’s just not simple—!”
“—I know it’s not!” You cried over him, “Sam what the hell d’you think I am stupid? Blind?”
“No of course not!”
“Well then d’you think I’m incapable of putting pieces of information together to come to a relatively clear understanding about the history of yours I haven’t personally witnessed?”
“Of course not—!”
“—Then explain to me why this is any different? Do you think you know better than me? Better than our bodies? Because your body wants mine just as much as mine wants yours. The only person here who’s denying it is you, Sam, and I don’t understand why!”
He swallowed thickly, unsure how to respond. It didn’t matter anyhow, you kept going.
“I don’t consider you a liar generally, Sasquatch, but I’m starting to see how much you lie to me.” You shook your head once, looking down your nose at him. “You know the truth, Sam. You know what happened last night was not some fluke or because of drinking. You know it was different. And yet for some reason you’re still insisting that this can’t happen.”
His knee-jerk response was uninspiring, “It can’t.”
You pointed firmly at him, “You are the only person who thinks anyone believes you. And I’m done waiting around. I’m leaving.”
“What?!” He spluttered, scrambling after you as you marched down the hall. “Oh come on, don’t be like this!”
“Eat me!” You barked over your shoulder— “don’t be like that/this” is what losers say when a woman calls them on their shit and they get butthurt. You expect better from Sam.
“You—” He cut himself off with a huff and spread his arms, “Where are you going to go?!”
You turned to walk backwards for a few steps and shrugged flippantly, “Not sure. I guess I’ll just keep going until something stops me.”
Or some-one.
Sam’s mind supplied, unprompted. He was speeding up again. Everything got faster— his choices, his actions, his words —and he did not do a good job of stopping it. Before he knew what was happening that unwanted thought spurred him to speak.
“Yeah? Another dumb fuck like Paul?”
You were putting up a front of smugness, he could tell plain as day, but it still made his blood boil. Unfortunately that comment made you ignite with a newfound confidence.
“Maybe. What do you care.” You turned while you kept walking, “We’re just roommates, right?”
His nostrils flared with anger. You continued speaking, taking an overly-sanctimonious tone.
“I, silly little girl, don’t know as much about the world as you do, big strong man—”
“—You are so un-believable—!” Sam scoffed and spoke over you but you never stopped your sarcastic soliloquy.
“—and only you, special, chosen, all-knowing one, can understand why it’s just simply impossible to allow us—”
He growled out your name, sounding akin to a wounded predator still trying to puff up its chest.
You whirled to face him as you finished at a shout. “—to fall in love!”
He stopped dead in his tracks, a deer in your headlights, frozen and awaiting the collision. Your chest was rising and falling heavily, your eyes crazed with anger and desire. He wanted to kiss you right then.
“You do know you already treat me like we’re dating, right?” You asked aggressively, “You and I do everything that couples do, just none of the physical stuff. Or the acknowledging-it-out-loud stuff. Well,” You snorted with a cocky smirk on your face momentarily, “I guess we didn’t until last night.”
His knee-jerk reaction was defensiveness and denial. His chin shrunk into his neck and his face wrinkled in a look of semi-forced incredulity. “No we do not!”
“You wash my sheets for me! You even strip my bed now! You can tell me ‘oh well, I was washing mine so I thought I might as well do yours too’ all you want but Dean is also my roommate, who also washes sheets— I assume at least occasionally —and he doesn’t give a shit about my bed. Plus I didn’t even ask you to do that!”
Sam rolled his eyes, “Alright well that’s just for efficiency! You weren’t washing them enough, and you always hate making beds in motels, and the machines are too big to just wash one set of bed stuff, it’s a waste of water! So—!” He gesticulated animatedly, spluttering out, “—it just makes sense!”
You took a dangerous step closer to him. “And what happened last night… that didn’t make sense to you? Cause it made perfect sense to me.”
His mouth snapped shut, the factory of his brain at a standstill on coming up with a response that towed the company line while also being convincing. You reached up to poke him forcefully in the chest, holding your finger there as you delivered your final blow.
“You and I both want this. Rejecting our feelings might be due to you thinking you don’t deserve something good.” You took a shaky breath, a rare moment of weariness showing through, “But you’re not just hurting yourself here. You’re hurting me, too.” Your face scrunched up a little, not looking him in the eye any more, “And… it does hurt me. It hurts a lot.”
Sam opened his mouth to offer some kind of apology but then decided better of it. A tear spilled out of each of your eyes, more gathering at your lash line. You still retained all your dignity though. Sam wishes he could say the same. With a small nod, looking miserable like you did last night while handing him back the shirt, you turned and left.
She shouldn’t look so good walking away. It oughta be illegal.
He watched you until you were out of sight and then all the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding came tumbling out.
So now, paused amidst pacing in the library, Sam considers what he might do next. His computer is closed and charging off to the side of the desk where he was working earlier. There’s nothing here he needs to get done anytime soon. It wouldn’t be hard at all for him to reach you right now.
Will he allow himself to chase after you?
The real question is whether or not I can stop myself.
As much as you might have indicated to Sam that you would be going out tonight, the truth is you don’t have the will. You spent all day on the road meandering around until you found somewhere you wanted to stay, leaving little energy for much else. Not to mention that last night you thoroughly tired yourself out pleasuring and being pleasured by Sam’s delectable body.
You’re trying not to think about that. You’re all ready for bed, tucked in with your laptop ready to distract you and yet… you keep drifting off in your mind when you mean to pick something to watch. Every time you remember the sounds he made last night while you took him between your lips, a wicked smile shadows your features, like you’ve got a terrible little secret that couldn’t please you more. Without fail, you then remember this morning, and your expression falls.
It’s important to keep one’s expectations in-check. Unfortunately for all parties involved here, no one has done that. Neither of you. It pains you to admit that you may have hoped for too much— maybe, after all, Sam Winchester’s will to resist is stronger than all your wiles. What a damn shame.
Sighing theatrically, you resign yourself to scrolling through the endless options of streaming videos at your disposal. There’s so many to choose from and none of them sound more diverting for your mind than simply imagining Sam here with you, touching you.
It’s not really a conscious choice when you start moving a little bit on the bed. There’s a lazy roll in your hips as you get lost in the memory of last night. Sam’s big heavy hands touching your thighs like he’s trying not to shatter glass… the noises he made against your pussy as he ate you out like you were his last meal… those fingers curling inside of your warm walls, methodically studying your body to cause the most pleasure.
You whine slightly in the back of your throat, grumpy that you’re alone. Rolling over onto your other side away from your computer and phone, you let your mind continue to wander. If Sam won’t come get the job done, you’ll finish yourself off alone. You are no stranger to your own bodily desires (and fulfilling them) but you’d be lying if you said both are exactly as good. It’s satisfying to masturbate but there’s nothing quite as electric and emotional as having a partner there. Getting caught up in the reciprocal loop of pleasure with another person is what really makes the highs more perfect. You can imagine and remember what his breath felt like tickling your most sensitive areas but there’s no simulating the true feeling of someone else’s presence with you in that euphoria.
But what’re you going to do, wait around for him? Please. If the man won’t come to water then you’ll take yourself out for a swim.
You start slow, hands slipping up and down your torso pleasurably. Your palms massage your breasts, tugging up your camisole before just getting rid of the thing altogether. You’re alone here tonight, where’s the shame in getting naked? The tepid air of the motel room is still enough to start making your nipples pebble as they’re bared. You arch out of the sheets, eyes closed. In your mind you’re recalling all the details you can— the desperation in his voice, hands, and body in that bar bathroom.
If you were a different woman perhaps you’d have taken him right there. His breath labored in your ear, his chest sweaty against your back as he whispers filth and praise to you in equal measure. The thought has crossed your mind several times. You’ve been cursing your past self for letting last night end without feeling his cock inside your core. If you’d known that was the only time you’d get to interact with Sam’s dick then you would’ve taken that second load in your cunt, not again down your throat (though this too was obviously deeply pleasing for you).
As you slip your hand into your little shorts, the fabric tickles your skin. Your knuckles tingle with the memory of him so sweetly pulling your hand from his bare pec to his lips. He’s such a softie under all those sinewy muscles and controlled facial features. And even more arousing, he’s hungry for affection. Just like you.
Your movements start slow, your eyes slipping closed peacefully as you indulge. Your fingers pet gently at your clit, your body waking up due to memories of him exploring you down there. The satisfaction is building much slower than it did at the behest of his touch, but you’ve had to learn a new form of patience dealing with this guy. The pain he carries with him makes you ache— all you want to do is what you can to pamper the man. Too bad he has to be willing to let something good happen to him.
Minutes go by and you’re still frustratingly far from your peak. You sigh angrily and turn over to change positions when suddenly there’s a sharp rap on the door— three times, brisk and impatient. You know only someone familiar would knock with such entitlement. You freeze for a moment on the bed, staring at the door in surprise before the knocks come again, louder and more insistent this time. You scramble for the camisole you’d shoved off some minutes ago, fumbling it over your head as you pad over to answer. You’re trying to keep your expectations in check. It’s not working.
The door opens, shunting to an abrupt halt at the end of the chain. It’s Sam, of course, who else would it be? His head lifts from where he was hunched forwards against the doorframe. He’s got the puppy-dog eyes on full-blast as he lowers the hand he’d been using to prop himself up on the wall. He looks so goddamn irresistible right now with that apologetic little frown and you know he’s got no clue. It’s not a manipulation, it’s a moment of true transparency— him letting you in when it matters most. And fuck does that turn you on.
“Hi.” He huffs out, the exasperation returning to him a bit now that he’s face-to-face with you.
You wet your dry mouth, hoping it’s not too obvious what you were doing beforehand. “You found me.”
“It wasn’t that hard.”
“Hm.” You can’t help the corner of your mouth tugging into a smirk— that confidence looks so goddamn good on him, it’s ridiculous. You eye him over critically. “Why’re you here.”
Sam forces himself to remain somewhat calm (at least outwardly). “We need to talk.”
“Mmm…” You narrow your eyes exaggeratedly, “…that didn’t go great last time, remember?”
“For fuck’s sake—” He cuts himself off and turns his head away for a moment before turning back to you again. “I need to talk to you.”
“If you’re only going to come in here to blow my heart straight to hell then I’d rather do this through the door.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
You shut your mouth a little like a fish. “Why are you here then—?”
“—You.” He breathes before you’ve even finished the question, “I’m here for you.”
Fucking hell that makes you shiver. Unsure how to respond, you wait a moment and he continues.
“You want me to do this out here?” He glances briefly around him before looking back to you.
You’re too scared to get your hopes up but your heartbeat doesn’t listen to reason, it’s just been racing faster with each moment looking at him through the door.
“Do… what?”
He looks at you for a long moment, as if trying to assess something. “I’m sorry.”
Your eyelids flutter a little on their next blink. You swallow your nerves and lift your chin a little. “For what?”
His shoulders slump with a huff of a sigh, but he doesn’t protest any further. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m really sorry. That’s… that’s not what I want to do. Ever.”
You swallow, looking up at him cautiously through your lashes. “I don’t wanna hurt you either.”
“I know.” He smirks lightly at your small voice. Almost like he doesn’t hear himself saying it he murmurs in addition, “You’re so good to me.”
You blink in surprise. “I certainly try to be.”
A gorgeous, crooked grin lights up his features for a moment. You return the smile to him, relaxing a little against the doorframe.
“I’m really sorry, sweetheart.” He says so soft and earnest, then turning to jest just a little, “Can you ever find it in your heart to forgive me? And also to let me come inside?”
You smother one of those outrageously pleased smiles poorly, glancing down at your feet like you’re weighing your options. He can’t help the adoring expression on his face as he watches you. There’s nothing else in the world to him right now— no parking lot behind him, no other people milling around the motel, not a single world-shattering problem that needs his attention. You are the only presence on Earth as far as he’s concerned right now and all he wants is to be close to you. He knows what you might like to hear.
“Let… let me make it up to you, baby?” He leans his head against the doorframe near you, putting on his best pleading face, complete with the puppy-dog eyes that you said were your weakness.
The sound of Sam pleading makes you reel with lust. Your eyes flit back and forth between his. Part of you wants to dig your heels in— to make him suffer further —while another, larger part of you wants to jump his bones right goddamn now.
The door closes softly. Sam tries to temper his racing heart as he listens to the scrape and clank of you undoing the chain. When the door opens again, he sags with relief and lurches over the threshold with muttered thanks.
You close the door behind him but hover there, like you’re preparing to run again if needed. He rakes a hand through his hair and paces in a small semi-circle before facing you. His chest rises and falls intensely enough that it draws your focus— if you hadn’t seen his car 10 feet from the door then you might’ve mistaken this as the result of him running a long distance to you. As he takes in the full state of you Sam notices a very damning detail: your shirt is on inside-out. He takes into account your mildly-frazzled hair and the heat flushing your exposed skin and he wonders how you’ve been entertaining yourself alone.
“Did I… interrupt something?” He quirks a brow.
You blush fiercely, crossing your arms high enough that your tits pop up a little. “That’s none of your business.”
He takes a step closer to you. Breathlessly he can’t help asking, “Were you thinking about me?”
You side-step the question, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“And right before I got here?”
You shrug a shoulder, feigning ambivalence, “Maybe.”
He comes to a halt in front of you. You’re standing still, chin raised to look him in the eye, arms still crossed. Sam’s knuckles graze down the outside of your upper arm— a barely-there touch that makes goosebumps rise on your skin.
“But… maybe I was thinking about Paul.” You smirk wickedly.
He spares a single breathless chuckle for that comment, shuffling a bit closer to you, all up in your space. Very delicately, he cups one of your cheeks. Without hesitation you lean into his touch. The arms still crossed in front of you brush up against his shirt. His other hand comes up to caress the other cheek, all wonder in his starry eyes as you close yours delicately. He’s enraptured by watching you slowly melt beneath his fingers. The part of him that speaks for his fear thinks he shouldn’t be letting this get so achingly personal— it’s dangerous to indulge in something like this —but the intimacy is unavoidable. And he doesn’t want to avoid it any more.
“I’ve been… I’ve been starving myself for so long.” He speaks softly, only for your ears to hear, “I didn’t even know I was doing it until… until you came along.”
You hum in response, the intonation questioning in invitation for him to continue. His fingertips skate along your hairline, examining all of your face in his reverent hands.
“Being indulgent is what led me down the path of ruin before. When I was… in my twenties. I was… I was reckless. And selfish. And stupid. I haven’t felt those things in a long time.” He cups both cheeks in his hands, making you open your eyes again. “It felt like maybe… if I didn’t give in… then maybe… that was something I could keep under control. There are a lot of things I can’t do that with but me I can control.”
You nod solemnly in understanding, not daring to interrupt and hoping desperately that he keeps holding your face like it’s the most meaningful thing in the world to him.
“You… do things to me. Things I’m… I’m not too proud of, honestly.” He swallows, “But you like it. When I feel wild and… like I’m speeding up, you don’t tell me to stop. I keep waiting for you to rip the rug out from underneath me but… you don’t.”
You shake your head softly, not daring to disturb his hold on you.
“The more I indulge… the more I feel like I’m getting closer and closer to a wormhole. I don’t know what’s beyond that event horizon and…”
You wait for him to finish and when he doesn’t you offer, “And that scares you?”
He nods a few times, looking down at his thumbs resting on your chin. One of them inches up just slightly traces the swell of your lower lip. As if catching himself getting distracted he forces his eyes back up to yours.
“I haven’t let myself want in so long. Anytime I got close to that feeling I… I ran away. But not… not with you. I couldn’t run. It was like if I ran away from you then I would be missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime: getting to be near you. I couldn’t squander that. So I got us both stuck in limbo.”
Your eyes are so full of awe as you look up at him. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to receiving that expression from you.
“It’s been years since I… wanted to love someone.” He says at a mutter, “Wanting another person at all in like, a real, serious, emotional capacity felt… unrealistic. I thought I should just accept… that I missed my chances for that. I got used to being numb. I chose being numb. So I… I forgot how overwhelming it feels to…”
He can’t quite finish the thought. He’s not sure if it’s his mind thinking that speaking aloud his feelings for you explicitly will invoke a jinx, or his body just being out of practice with touching someone like this that he cares so deeply for. Those thoughts are distant, though, like they’re all the way at the other end of a football field, too far off to be heard clearly.
“I understand that.” You say after a moment, “It can be overwhelming. To want something is risky. …Is that really what it feels like to you? Like you’re deciding whether or not to jump into a wormhole? We have no way of knowing where you’ll end up.”
He nods, feeling helpless under your focused stare. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
You smile sadly at him, reaching up to trace some hair behind his ear. It immediately flops back to where it was but you don’t mind, you just cup the side of his face tenderly and bring him down to you. His forehead bumps gently into yours. It’s like they’re magnetic, him stuck to you— like he never wants to be apart.
“If…” He winces, eyes squeezing shut as he forces the words out, “…if something happened to you because of me, I… I’d never forgive myself. You understand that, right?”
You nod, slow and solemn to show you’re taking his worry seriously. “I do. And I want you to understand,” You pull back only enough to look him in the eye, “that I will fight tooth-and-nail for you. I will come back to you over and over if you let me. I won’t make promises that I don’t know I can keep, but… you’re home to me now. I’m home when I’m with you.”
That damn near makes his heart stop. He’s stunned only for a moment before he bows his head to capture your lips. You respond immediately, arching up into him so all of your beautiful body presses into all of his. Gratefully, his hands loop around your waist and keep you there. He kisses you so thoroughly, interspersing deep, wet ones with languid pecks.
Home. He’s your home? Who knew that’s all he’s ever wanted to hear from someone. From you. He who has never had a home at all is where you feel your most safe.
His muscles feel like they’re on fire with the urge to get closer— to become one with you. It’s like now he needs to prove that it’s true. Since you’re already warmed up, your patience is lacking. Your hands are demanding but still loving, asking him between passionate kisses,
“Do you want this, Sam?”
He nods against your lips, pulling back only far enough to look at your face, “I want you so bad I think it might be driving me insane.”
The effect those words have on you is instantaneous. Your gently parted lips tremble with your next exhale, eyes big and unblinking at him. For once, you’re stunned into silence at his admission. It’s not only the words, it’s the feeling that overcame him as he said them. And all those times when he felt an ego boost from resisting you? None of them hold a candle to the one he gets when he sees you react to that.
Here it is: the beginning of the end. It’s all going to shit after this— there’s no walking back.
One voice says in Sam’s head. After a moment he thinks in reply:
Screw that. I want this. I want love. I want it more than I fear it.
“Let me in, Sam. Tell me what you want. I’ll do everything I can,” You whisper into his parted lips, “it’s just you an’ me here, honey. This is just for you and me. No one else.”
The pet name, the intimacy callout, and everything else about that makes him unable to subdue a choked grunt. His eyes squeeze shut and his forehead presses firmly into yours. You tilt your chin up like you might slot your lips against his but you don’t.
Your voice is a little too revealing as you murmur, “Tell me you want me again, Spaceman.”
He shudders at that. “Fuck, I want you.”
“How bad?”
“More than I want air.” He says before crushing his lips to yours.
You inhale sharply through your nose, accepting his kiss with enthusiasm. You guide him backwards and he assumes it’s towards the bed. You kiss and tug and press all the way there. When the back of his legs meet the edge of the mattress he locks his knees to stay upright, continuing to kiss you for a long moment. He groans low in his throat when you grind your hips up against his semi-hard cock. Between breathless, rushed kisses you and he speak.
“Are you gonna let me— unh —have it all, tonight, Sam?” You almost whine, your impatient hands fumbling with the first few buttons of his flannel.
“Fuck!” He growls, ripping his jacket off as you work. “Yes. Anything. Need’ta— mm!” You nip a little at his throat unexpectedly, “—I need’a make it up to you, right?”
You nod almost feverishly against him, his hands fondling up under your shirt.
“You’re shirt’s on inside out. You know that, right?” He smirks, kissing you again because he just can’t get enough.
“You’re about to take it off of me, what does it matter?” You giggle a little. As if your words were his cue he yanks the camisole over your head.
It’s gone the second it’s off of you. You’re entranced with Sam’s face as he takes in your breasts. His hands reach up to cup each of them gently. A purring moan comes out of you at the warmth and sheer span of him. He bows his head, kissing the tops of them a few times each. Getting lost in the moment Sam goes to sit down on the bed which would be a more comfortable position for him to continue paying attention to your breasts. You hooked your fingers through his belt loops at some point though and now you use that hold to jerk him upright.
A surprised and almost disgruntled noise leaves him and he pulls back to look at you. The seam of his jeans dug up into his crotch, something he’s never felt before. He kind of liked the feeling, to be honest. And he wants to know why you did it— what will you ask of him next? You beam and press a quick but wet kiss to his mouth. You only pull back far enough to meet his eye, your lips still brushing his.
“You are not getting on that bed with a single piece of clothing still on, I mean it.” Your voice is domineering but your face is flushed and so happy.
A lopsided grin brightens his features and he nods, “Okay, bossy. Same for you, though.”
“Deal.”
“Do we need a condom?”
You meet his gaze with pupils blown wide, “I’ve got an implant.”
Sam curses under his breath. “Still, do you… want anything?”
You thumb your panties off over your hips and then let them fall down your legs to pool around your feet. “No. I wanna feel all of you. Bare.”
Holy fuck she’s really trying to kill me graveyard dead.
You both shed the last of your clothing. His eyes are glued to you like everything else he’s doing is through pure muscle-memory because he needs all of his brainpower to take you in. He plops down on the bed and watches you turn out one of the lights, so comfortable in your nakedness. You’re not shy in front of him and that really does something for him. That you feel safe around him. That you want him to see you fully, as you truly are.
Absently he scoots up to sit against the headboard. You turn and catch him staring.
“Like what you see, Sasquatch?” You bend over a little where you are, tentatively shaking your ass and thighs towards him. Your cellulite wobbles so perfectly it makes his cock throb harder than he thinks it’s ever done before.
“Fuck—” He cuts himself off, hand leaping to his dick instinctively. “—get over here.”
You walk closer but at a snail’s pace. “What’s the magic word?”
He sighs dejectedly at you while his eyes are still clouded with lust. “Really?”
You stop just out of his reach and nod, your hands folded behind your back. His hand squeezes his cock and releases rhythmically, not yet moving up and down.
“Please?” He grumbles.
You pout at him, lower lip jutting out in a criminally-sexy manner. “Say it like you mean it?”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a heavy swallow. Staring into your eyes with all the walls down, he tries again.
“Please, baby. Please come over here.”
You beam at that but you don’t move. He groans quietly in frustration and throws his big, long legs back over the side of the bed so he’s sitting on the edge facing you. His hand drifts back to his dick but his eyes stay on you.
“Please, sweetheart.” He pants, “Put me outta my misery.”
That does it. Your body almost floats forward the last few steps and down into his lap, laying a big kiss on him which he returns gratefully. He forgets all about his cock the second he has you to touch again. His wide palms glide up your sides and then down your back, tugging your torso closer to his as you kiss passionately.
He can feel the heat coming off of your pussy where it’s hovering over his cock. He lifts the thing up and you startle a little when his tip brushes through your folds. You pull apart and he looks up into your face with such veneration.
“You’re so goddamn wet,” He pants listlessly, “you were touchin’ yourself, huh?”
You keen a “yes” and go to kiss him again when his hold tightens a little like he wants you to pay attention to him. With all seriousness on a sweaty, needy face, Sam forces himself to speak evenly.
“You sure about this?”
The two of you are buck naked, genitals just barely touching already without a barrier and he’s still stopping to ask one last time. You beam and pull him up to kiss you with one hand. He closes his eyes and cranes his neck to kiss you back with equal enthusiasm. His lips break their seal from yours with a heady grunt— your free hand is on top of his on his shaft. He whines almost pathetically and you devour it with your next kiss.
You and he both guide his cockhead to your entrance. Looking each other right in the eye, he breeches the strong ring of outer muscle and then begins sliding into you. A choked, broken cry stutters out of you at his intrusion. He’s trembling from the exertion of keeping himself still as you adjust. When your ass rests fully on his thighs, you let out a long, blissful noise, head falling back. He groans in response to you then again with more force when your walls tighten around him for a moment.
“Fuck! You feel so perfect,” He has both arms wrapped tight around your middle, face nuzzling up your chest to your throat, “feels s’ perfect, never wanna leave.”
You clench viciously at that, twin keens filling the room. You begin rolling your hips and then falter— he’s so fucking big it feels like you might burst. And you kind of want to. You can’t help a petulant little whine when it’s too much to start moving yet.
He coos sweetly in sympathy against the underside of your jaw, “I know, sweetheart, I know. You’re doin’ so fucking good though. So fucking good.”
Your fingers grip him by the roots of his hair and pull him up to your lips. Your walls keep pulsing around him unexpectedly because you can’t stop luxuriating in the feeling of his perfect cock all the way inside of you. You’re so fucking wet that you can hear it with every minuscule movement either of you makes.
“Fuck, baby,” He groans, “fuck, you’re so goddamn tight I’m not gonna last long.”
You smile wickedly, “You better.”
At the sound of your voice now combined with your wet pussy choking his cock he lurches a little.
“Anything. Anything for you, anything.”
Your hips roll real slow and gentle to begin with. This practically drives Sam to the brink of insanity. He can sense his filter slipping away with each movement and he hopes he doesn’t say anything you dislike. He leans forward to lick a stripe up your nipple.
“So fucking perfect f’r me, baby.” He pants between your breasts, cupping and massaging them with one hand while the other slides down to grab your buttcheek. “Fuck, it’s like you were made for me.”
“Mm!” You toss your head back and emit a full-throated whine at that. Your hips lift off of his about an inch to begin with.
“You like that, hm?” He takes ahold of your waist with both hands. “You like bein’ all f’r me? Full of me?”
You force your head upright and nod. “Yes, Sammy.”
He thrusts up into you for that. You shudder and cry out in bliss. The two of you begin moving faster and with more rhythm. You’re pulling far up off him then dropping back down like you missed his dick inside you. You go to touch yourself before he rushes to beat you to it. One hand guides you by the pelvis, the other slips between your bodies to your clit. This prompts him to look down for the first time.
Sam had been so entranced by your face as you fucked him that he hadn’t taken time to appreciate the sight of his cock slipping through your soaked folds. He begins rubbing circles on you in sync with your hips’ rise and fall. You notice him watching his thickness disappear and reappear into you. You lean back a little to give him a better view, propping yourself up by gripping his knees. He looks up just in time to watch you begin working towards your climax. Your tits bounce with each movement, your eyes fluttering as they struggle to stay open.
“You’re gonna come f’ me, aren’t you?” He rasps raggedly, “So pretty baby, I need it. Need’ta feel it. Come, pretty girl, come for me.”
You tremble as your muscles strain to simultaneously coil and move. One of your hands grabs his hair desperately. His hips speed up under yours, his fingers cramping as they rub feverishly at your clit. Your body jolts with every thrust and your hand fists around the roots of his beautiful hair. Your head falls back as ecstasy overtakes you.
“Fuck!” He almost shouts, nose wrinkling carnivorously as he looses himself in you. The arm around your waist reaches up to guide your head upright. “Look a’ me, baby, c’mon.”
A long whine escapes you as you try your damndest to do as he asked. Your eyes won’t stay open for long, each cry is stuttered from his strong thrusts up into your heat.
“C’mon, you can do it, sweetheart,” He pulls your face close so it’s only inches from his, “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, goddamn it— unh! agh! —need to keep you like this— unhhhh! —forever. Mine. Oh-only for me— fuck!”
You shatter completely over him, body shuddering, lungs heaving, listless cries pouring out of you. The voyeur in him is foaming at the mouth as he watches you come undone. Even as your walls are still pulsing around him and he basks in the glow of your orgasm, he wants to see this again.
He feels your perfect tightness flutter twice more before you unexpectedly straighten up onto your knees. His cock slips from you and lands in his lap with a wet plop. A pathetic-sounding whine of pure frustration claws its way out of him, his hands tightening on you so you don’t go any farther. Your chest slumps forwards into his, your face stuffed in the crook of his neck. Furiously with little coordination, you begin kissing every inch of his skin that you can.
“Fuckin— Jesus fucking christ, sweetheart,” He growls, “that’s just how I pictured it.”
“Huh?” You’re loopy and just barely hanging onto your own reins.
“In the motel, baby,” He takes your face so tenderly in both of his big hands. Breathless and cock throbbing he kisses you like you’ve given him something he didn’t think he’d ever get to have, “I imagined you doing that to me.”
You keen and kiss him back, throwing your arms around his neck. He falls backwards onto the mattress and pulls all of your bare body to straddle him, your knees on either side of his ribs. He can’t help himself. As the two of you kiss, one of his hands slips between your thighs from behind. His fingers gather up an obscene amount of your wetness and then he wraps his soaking hand around the head of his cock. You purr in pleasure into his mouth as you feel the brush of his wrist with every up and down movement.
“Impatient, are we?” You inquire, kissing him even sloppier than before. One hand cradles his chin, guiding his face to be exactly where you want it.
He nods, kissing you back, “Want to finish. Where— fuck —where d’you want me to come, pretty girl?”
In response you smush your lips to his and inch your butt back a little more until he’s bumping into you with every pull upwards.
“You know where I want it, Sammy.”
“It’s Sa—”
“—You wanna fill me up or what?” You interrupt, eyes dark. “Make me yours? Completely yours? Fuck your cum int’a me?”
“Fuck, shut up.” He’s half amused, half completely gone, “Can’t think straight when— unh —when y’ say things like that.”
“Put it in, Sam.” You say, almost stern. “Only obedient boys get what they want.”
An undignified choked noise makes him crane his neck up to kiss your lips again. Between you, he drags the head of his weeping cock over your clit then thumbs it back into your heat. Your firm hands shove him flat to the bed as you steady your stance above him. In this brief lull, he notices the pattern of the room’s cheesy wallpaper. It’s starfish, conch shells and seahorses. Despite the moment, he snorts a little in amusement.
“Why do you think—” He stops when you smudge a kiss to his lips. You begin grinding against him, making his breath catch and hitch as he finishes his question, “—this place is called ‘freshwater’ pearl, when all the— shit! —decor is— uhh..! —sea-creatures?”
You can’t help a genuine giggle at him, getting distracted from his cock by his adorableness. Beaming, you cup his cheek and bend down closer to him.
“That’s what’s on your mind right now?”
Poorly, he smothers a grin, “Some guys think about baseball, some guys say the alphabet backwards—”
“—and Sam Winchester comments on interior design to keep himself from coming too quick?” You bite your lip but can’t subdue a girlish noise of amusement.
“Maybe.” He smirks back at you and thrusts upwards, fully engulfing himself into your tight, wet heat once more.
His hands smack against your ass as he grips both cheeks. You startle a little, blushing fiercely. One of his palms glides up the curve of your spine to press in between your shoulder blades. You get the message and bend down to go back to kissing him.
“Need’ta see it again, baby,” He whispers into your mouth, his legs bending to plant his feet firmly on the bed, “I need you to come again.”
You whine at his first firm thrust into you with the new strength. Sam can’t help getting entranced by the way your body wobbles and bounces with each of his movements. You are totally taken with him right now, not a single other thing on your mind.
“You love this, don’cha?” He groans, “You love bein’ all f’r me, right baby?”
You keen high up in your throat and nod vehemently, your eyes squeezed shut.
“Nobody else,” He’s babbling at this point, not even listening to himself, “all for me. Only me. My perfect— fuck! —perfect fucking girl.”
Your body wiggles closer, your hands tangling into his hair, forearms resting on either side of his head. He can see over you now. He’s mesmerized by the sight of his hands on you— the way they span your flesh, covering every bit they can like he wants to keep all of it for himself. Your thighs, ass, and stomach all bounce with each of his thrusts. The only reason your breasts don’t too is because you’ve got them smushed to his chest.
“Thought about you…” He moans, “thought about you for so longgg…” The word gets dragged out when you clamp tighter around his cock momentarily. “Wanted you, wanted this—”
He cuts himself off with a grunt of effort, wrapping both arms tight around you. His thrusts speed up. The most beautiful, cracked wail of pleasure escapes you, muffled only when you hide your face under his chin. But Sam won’t have any of that.
Without warning he flips the two of you over. Your body bounces a little on the bed, immediately flattened by him blanketing you with all his beautiful tanned skin. Your fingers card through his hair, your lips kissing his forehead as he looks down between you two. He’s almost frantic to return his cock into you. When he does you both groan in tandem, each of you biting your lower lip in satisfaction at the other’s sound.
“I could listen t’you moan all night,” You whisper up at him, breath hitching audibly when he shoves all of his hard length into you. Your brows knit together, lips parting with your sounds, “all I wanna… all I wanna do… I just wanna make you happy.”
That makes him release a guttural shout of a moan. Eagerly, he kisses your lips for a brief moment before pulling back to rest his forehead on yours. Your bodies dance together, meeting in the middle in perfect counterpoint.
“Fuck, I love you.” He almost sobs between thrusts, “I’m such a fuckin’ idiot—”
You shake your head firmly at that, fingers fisting his hair. You don’t like it when he’s mean to himself— you can be a little mean to him, but lord help anyone else that even tries. Your neck muscles strain as you crane up to kiss him messily.
“I’m never letting you go,” You pant, “you’re mine now, Sammy,”
He nods and kisses you with more tongue. You shudder and he slips a hand between your writhing bodies to pet your oversensitive clit. You cry out in agonizing pleasure, trembling under his ministrations. It’s almost like he’s dreaming, like he can’t quite control all of himself. And you know what? He doesn’t want to control himself right now.
“I’m yours.” He admits, “Shit, sweetheart, I’ve been yours.”
You absolutely tremble with that.
“Come f’r me?” You force your eyes open as much as you can, trying to look pleading enough, “C’mon, honey, come. Show me— uh! —show me who I f-fuckin’ b-belong to—!”
Sam’s legs draw in to kneel under you a little, your hips raising up so he hits a new angle and it’s easier to spoil your clit. He catches sight of his cock drawing in an out of you and he forces himself to just focus on the moment— all the sensations he’s feeling right now. So he can savor every one.
His veiny, throbbing cock slips in and out of you, covered in your slick. The two of you reek of sex and fluids, your skin smacking together and echoing off the ugly wallpaper. Your eyes can’t stay open but you’re trying real hard for him. You’re so far gone down the rabbit hole of euphoria that you don’t even hear yourself begging— later, you’ll staunchly deny that you would ever do such a thing (only, of course, to encourage him to prove you wrong). His hands dig into your flesh, pulling the skin and causing shadowy depressions around each fingertip.
“Come, Sammy, please,” You tremble, “come for me.”
It’s too much, he can’t hold off anymore.
With a knee-jerking howl of a moan, Sam starts coming. His movements are erratic and sloppy, his strategy and method totally gone. You force your uncooperative eyelids up out of the way to watch the bliss wash over him. His body shudders, his hair framing his drawn features, his lips parted by the uncontrollable noises of him riding out his orgasm. He’s still got fingers pressing down into your clit but he’s not moving them too much. You wouldn’t expect that to be enough but it combined with the vision of him coming apart above you is too erotic not to come one last, less intense time.
The look of wonder on his face when he notices your walls pulsing again makes your heart swell.
“Fuck, did you come again f’ me, pretty girl?” His voice is shot, ragged and gravelly.
You nod, hair scratching softly on the bedsheets. He emits a long, pleased hum, letting more of his weight rest on you. He keeps his cock inside you, not letting anything come out yet. His mouth begins peppering your neck, collarbones and chest with sweet, barely-there kisses as you both settle. You shift a tiny bit beneath him, and there’s an obscene squelching noise from the combination of slick and cum between the two of you. Still kissing you, one of his hands tenderly draws one of your legs up against him. You and he both moan as he relax into this position.
He’s wondering if you want him to pull out when your other leg comes up to wrap around his waist and trap him there. Not like he’s complaining. Hair ruffled, face patchy with blush and sweat, Sam lifts his head to look you in the eye. A blissful, listless grin lights up your features and he can’t keep himself from bowing down to lay a loving kiss on your lips.
“That…” You murmur against his lips between lazy pecks, “…was spectacular.”
He hummed a laugh, “I aim to please.”
You beam, biting your lower lip. “I know. Just didn’t know how much you… uh… do that.”
The sentence doesn’t make a lot of sense but it’s enough to make you both share a soft chuckle. He brushes his nose back and forth over yours. He stops to study your face for a long moment. One of his hands grazes his knuckles down the plane of your cheek, then the same hand extends a fingertip to brush some hair aside.
“Did you mean it?” He asks later, once you’re all cleaned up and snuggled together under the covers.
You lift your head off his shoulder, the arm around his middle drawing up to smooth down his chest hair. He’s almost a little embarrassed that he needs to ask this but… he can’t stop thinking about it.
“I meant all of it.” You murmur to him, voice warm like cooling embers. A hint of shyness comes across your features, “Did… did you mean it? When…” Your eyes flicker away for a moment then look back to him, “…when you said you love me?”
His heart skips. The fear he’d been able to ignore for some time has been creeping back slowly into him. He wants to tell the truth though, so he nods.
“Yeah.”
You blush immediately, a coy look on your face. He reaches up to cup your cheek again, feeling the heat there like he’s always wanted. You turn your head a little to kiss the seam of his palm. Almost in a trance, he finds his mouth moving for him.
“Who do you love?” He’s a little unsure of this being okay for him to ask so directly.
You lean up and kiss his lips, languid and loving. When you pull back to look at him, there’s a mischievous spark in your eye.
“So there’s this guy I just met named P—”
Sam grabs your head and smashes his lips back to yours. He pours everything into this kiss: his laughter, his love, his desire, his need— everything. He kisses you with everything he has because he’s starting to realize you are the most important thing he has. Still kissing him sweetly, you lay all of your weight on top of him, the two of you nose-to-nose. You drag your cheek affectionately against his stubble, smiling at the ticklish feeling. Finally, you pull back to look him in the eye.
“Just kidding.”
He snorts, “I would hope so.”
You beam, pecking his lips one last time. Spreading one hand over his cheek you study his features like you’re a preserver looking at the next piece of art you have to care for. One thumb runs over his brow, the muscles immediately going slack under your touch.
“I love you, Spaceman.” You whisper, “I love you.”
He can’t hide the way that makes him swell with joy. He tries to stifle it, turning to humor.
“So, Paul’s a thing of the past?”
You frown and cock your head to the side. “Who?”
He grins and kisses you, your giggles melting into his skin, your warmth blanketing him.
Exactly.
OKAY I HAVE LOTS OF THINGS TO SAY ABOUT THIS ONE
i was scrolling the sam winchester x reader tag hoping, PRAYING to god that i would find an older sam fic when i came across this and i started to read it unaware that it was part of a series. that did not stop me. AT ALL. i ATE THIS SHIT UP at 3am under the blankets in the comfort of my room. the second i started reading sam's list of lies i was instantly HOOKED like a crackhead.
so, i read this entire thing in one go. your characterization of sam is SO SPOT ON i had to bite into my pillow a few times (not an exaggeration). you get into his psyche so well, all of his tormented thoughts and obsession with purity and feeling like he's not worth anything good. gooooddd i wanted to SCREAM when you started to delve into his thoughts
the smut is so. fucking. hot. i was rolling around on the matress because i couldn't keep still. the teasing, the banter, the dialogue, the actual description of all things filthy PLEASE i was foaming at the mouth. (and to think this is all with older sam, because you make it pretty explicit when he mentions his twenties GOD i was RABID. gnawing at the bars of my enclosure)
so i finish this gorgeous masterpiece and start looking at your profile to find out THERE ARE SEVERAL PARTS???? what the FUCK so i went and read all the other parts in one go this morning :)
the amount of horny i felt when reading "exhibiting freak behaviours" is indescribable. truly no words. the whole "cant stop thinking about you in my flannel" thing was driving me INSANE. so insane in fact that, even though i read the last part beforehand and knew they fucked in the next chapter, i let out a SQUEAL when they kissed.
god this was so good.
thank you so much for writing this and especially for putting it out there. amazing job op. you have truly blessed my weekend.
