sam winchester quite likes being in this situation — with you on top of him, your phone camera recording the two of you.
"eyes on me, baby," your voice is low, though a little wrecked from how good he feels inside you, but it cut through the static of sam's mind. you were riding him like you knew exactly what you were doing. which, to be fair, you did.
you just wanted to get back at that asshole who'd cheated on you, however, sam being so unexpectedly being so big and hot definitely served as an absolute win.
sam could barely breathe, let alone think. his hands were everywhere. one of them was gripping your waist while the other moved up to cup your tit as he looked up at you like you were a goddess. your hand found itself in his hair, that's all sweaty and soft. you thread your fingers through his curls with a tenderness that should not have made his dick twitch. but it did. and he didn't feel shame about it.
his eyes fluttered when your nail scraped gently against his scalp. "hey," you murmur, titlting his chin up until those warm, wet, puppy-dog eyes locked onto yours. "don't look away. gotta make him see what he lost."
that earned you a broken sound— something between a whimper and a whine— as hips buck upwards to meet yours, enchanted by the way your mouth parted to let out a moan as you rode a nobody– a loser like him.
"you're so pretty, sammy," you whispered, smiling as you push a strand of hair back, placing a small kiss on his forehead. "so needy. such a good boy for me."
sam could only nod, swallowing a moan when you clench around him. he gazes up to look at you, like he'd die happy just by watching you fall apart like him. when you catch his lips to give him a kiss, you swear he went cross-eyed at the thought of having a chance to be with you, even if it's just because you wanted to get back at your ex.
your hips stutter, clenching around him, his hips thrusting up to meet your hips as his hands instinctively gripping your hips to hold you down. you feel him whisper into your ears, eyes scrunched shut as he babbles to not stop.
dean absolutely cannot stop thinking about your chest. dean doesn't care about what you're wearing— sundress? cute sweater? a tank top? his shirt? his mind always goes to your chest. if it's a cute dress? forget it. he's sitting there with his jaw tight, pretending to listen while all he can think about is how your nipples would look pressing against the fabric, how easy it would be to tug the neckline down and mouth at you until you're whining.
you catch him staring sometimes, but he doesn't even bother to hide it. he just smirks, eyes heavy, like he's undressing you with his gaze. later, when he's got you alone, he's got both hands under that dress before you can try to take it off, mouthing off about how he's been thinking of your tits all day, while flicking his thumbs over your buds as he coos about how sensitive you are when you inevitably whine.
when he's annoyed or stressed, dean likes treating your tits like stress balls.
when dean's in a bad mood, you almost know instantly—with the way his jaw is clenched, tight movements when he walks. he doesn't need to rant. instead, he just finds you, pushes your back to the nearest surface and tugs your shirt up just enough for him to tug and pinch your nipples. he's mean about it too. he rolls them between his fingers, harder than usual, watching your face with a hunger, like he's feeding off your little gasps. when you squirm, his grip only tightens, pulling until you're arching into him, torn between the sting and the heat pooling low in your belly.
he keeps at it until your breathing goes shallow, until your nipples are sore and aching, until you're shivering under him—and only then does some of that bad mood finally bleed away, replaced by the smug satisfaction of seeing you fall apart under nothing but his hands.
dean likes marking your tits. he can't help himself. every time he's got you pinned beneath him, his mouth goes straight for your chest. sucking, licking, dragging his teeth over your nipples until you're arching into him and whining his name. he loves the way your skin looks after—flushed and swollen, marked up with his spit and the faint outline of his teeth.
sometimes he bites just hard enough to make you gasp, then soothes it with a slow lick, smirking against your skin. he doesn't stop at one either—he leaves hickeys scattered across your chest, little bruised circles that ache when you touch them later. every mark is deliberate, a messy claim written in your skin that you belong to him.
dean has a titty pics folder on his phone. dean has a folder dedicated to pictures of you on his phone. well, your tits in particular. it's not even very well hidden. just a half assed effort to keep it away from plain sight. he probably has it named "anime watchlist" or something like that. inside? nothing but shots of your tits. selfies you send him when he's away on hunts, late-night snaps you didn't think he'd keep, and way too many pictures he took himself when you were too blissed out to notice.
he scrolls through them when he's away, jaw tight, muttering to himself about how fucking perfect you are. sometimes he even gets pissed at his own obsession—like, how the hell did he end up so weak for your chest? but that never stops him from opening the folder again.
and if you ever catch him staring too long at his phone, he just smirks, flips it around for half a second so you can cacth a glimpse of your tits on his screen, and says, "don't look at me like that. you knew what you were doin' when you sent them."
dean is never satisfied with the number of pictures he has. his obsession doesn't stop at a few half-asleep selfies or sneaky snaps. no, he needs a full collection—different angles, different lighting, different outfits. he'll get that gleam in his eye when you're lounging around without a bra on, and his phone's already in his hand.
"c'mon, baby. lift your shirt for me. yeah, like that.." he mutters, snapping one picture, then another, but he's never satisfied. "turn a little. i want the side view. fuck, look at that.."
he'll have you sit up, lie back, arch your spine, all under the excuse of needing the angle. sometimes he makes you squeeze your tits together for him, sometimes he wants one in his hand while he takes the shot, his thumb brushing your nipple, or him teasingly pinching it.
and he doesn't care if you're embarrassed, either. if you hide your face or whine about him taking too many, he just smirks, snapping another close-up anyway.
"don't pout. you'll thank me later when i've got somethin' to jerk off to." his phone ends up full—dozens, maybe hundreds of shots. but he still asks for more every time, greedy for new angles, new marks, new ways to remind himself that those tits are his, no matter where he is.
Soldier Boy and the most nastiest taboo kink is something I need to be made IMMEDIATELY
oh yesss i headcanon soldier boy w all the gross kinks tbh
like ask him to pee on you? he’s already getting his dick out, asking if he can piss inside you instead. oh, you want to call him dad and get weird about dynamics? consider yourself his daughter now. you wanna get smacked around? better get an ice pack ready for when he’s done with you. you ask about free use? he’s immediately bending you over, no matter the circumstance, and using you like the slut you are.
he’s fully matching your freak, but worse. like way worse.
alpha soldier boy who keeps track of your heat cycles. ben is a little filthy about it. he circles dates in red on the calendar in your kitchen, treating your heat like a deployment schedule. he notices changes in you before you do— like how your scent changes and how you get shyer and more stutter-y with your words. he teases you, saying things like "day three is when you start begging, doll."
ben works you up days before your heat even starts. ben knows exactly how to push your buttons— totally "accidental" brushes of his hands over your thighs, "soft" kisses to your neck when you're cuddling in bed, teasing your nipples in the shower because "they looked at him first". and when your heat finally comes around and you can't take his unfair teasing anymore, and you finally break and start begging him? he's smirking like he won a war, telling you how cute you are when you finally admit how much you need him.
ben makes you "earn" your pleasure. when you finally admit that you do need him, he'd smirk and lean back against the bed, arms crossed as he watches you. he tells you that if you really need him, then you're gonna have to show him, because he doesn't just give it away.
he sits back, watching you desperately grind on his thigh. he lives for watching the frustration in your face when you can't quite reach your orgasm from just the tiny bit of friction his pants provide. he'll be an ass about it too— he'd guide you, maybe even rub your clit a couple of times, but pull away whenever you get too comfortable, forcing you to whine and squirm for more.
maybe he even "helps" you by moving you to his crotch making you grind on him, and then he calls you dumb because you don't even know how to earn it. the more desperate you get, the more in control he feels, and the more he toys with you— sometimes bucking his hips up just enough to tease, sometimes completely ignoring your whining until you beg louder, practically drowning in need before he finally lets you have even a taste.
when ben finally takes over, he's mean about it. he pulls you off his thigh, flipping you over and pressing you into the bed beneath you. but he's not done teasing— his lips wrap around your nipples, flicking the one which isn't in his mouth. he pins you down under him, his massive form making it near impossible to squirm away from the pleasure. he gently tugs them, maybe even bites them. he's not unkind, just a bit of an ass— so he keeps one knee slotted between your thighs for you to grind on while he takes his time.
once he's done with that, he'd lean down, pressing his lips to yours, invading your mouth with a hungry, demanding kiss while his fingers slip inside you, curling and pumping just right. your tits are slick and messy from earlier. his tongue explores your mouth while his fingers do all the work, teasing that spongy spot inside you relentlessly.
when you finally cum, he rolls his eyes about you needing his fingers to finish— but he loves it. he loves that you're so dependent on him for your pleasure, and how needy you get when he finally touches you
ben who fucks you hard and manhandles you with ease. he starts rough, in stark contrast to his teasing earlier. he frees his cock, letting you stare at it for a couple of seconds— because damn does that fuel his ego— before shoving it in with one single thrust.
he spreads your thighs apart, hands gripping the back of your thighs as he drives his cock in and out, panting and grunting as he moves. and before you can even register it? flip. he's got you face down, ass up, as he pulls you up by your hair and catches your lips in a filthy kiss, thumb pressing your clit as he pistons his cock.
he fills you up with his cum multiple times, admiring the little bulge from his cock and bump from how full you are. he'll press down on it and whisper filth about how good you'd look all pregnant and swollen for him, laughing when you moan— completely fucked out, but eager about the idea of being filled.
alpha ben who gets mean during his ruts. when ben's having his ruts, all semblance of softness or teasing is thrown out of the window. he makes you suck him off, hand curled with a mean grip on your hair, barely giving you time to adjust while he fucks your throat. he's rough, he's demanding and he doesn't care unless you're outright choking. he cums down your throat, making you show him that you've swallowed.
then, he's moving you up, tits pressed against the wall while he pounds into you from behind, hands having a death grip on your hips, hands moving to spank your ass and thighs if you try to squirm away. he tilts your head with a pull of your hair, leaving bite marks and hickies all over your neck.
ben holds you down when he cums. when ben is close, hes blinded by the thought of you full of him, bearing his kids— he catches your lips in a messy kiss, groaning into it as he holds your hips, pushing you down on him completely before he empties himself inside you. he mindlessly babbles about how you're his, how he's gonna show every loser you belong to him, and how he'll fight off anyone who gets in the way. you barely register anything he even said, barely able to stand up, while you lean onto him for support and affirm his words.
you set up your camera on the tripod, double-checking the angle so it'll catch your face and the ridiculous chalk circle on the floor. the book in front of you looks like something straight out of a horror movie. summoning and binding: a practical guide. you laugh, talking to the lens.
"alright guys, todays video is gonna be insane," you say, waving the book. "i found this in the library and it’s supposed to summon demons or whatever. obviously fake, obviously… let's see."
you flip to the page marked with a sticky note and clear your throat, trying to sound dramatic. the latin feels clumsy on your tongue. the words taste strange, heavy. you smirk at the camera, rolling your eyes. "yeah, real spooky, right?"
but then the air tightens. the shadows bend. the flame of the nearest candle flares high enough to lick the ceiling. your laugh dies in your throat. a low, amused voice cuts through the hum of the room.
you whip around, heart hammering. a man steps out of the dark, broad-shouldered, lips curled in a wicked grin. his eyes gleam gold for a flash before settling on a green so sharp it makes your breath catch.
he glances at the camera, then back at you. "and you're recording this? kinky."
the red light winks in the corner, recording every shaky breath you take, and that wicked grin of his only sharpens. "well, aren’t you cute," he drawls, strolling toward it. "setting up your own little audience. didn’t even ask if i minded being filmed."
before you can stammer out a word, he crouches, big hands gripping the tripod. the metal creaks as he tilts the camera, angling it down toward the chalk circle like he’s directing his own show. then he mutters something under his breath, thumb tapping the button— pausing the recording with a decisive beep.
"nah," he chuckles, straightening back up, eyes glittering as they rake over you. "you don't get to be the one calling the shots, sweetheart. this is my performance now."
and then he’s on you. his mouth crashes against yours, rough and greedy, tasting like smoke and sin. his hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back so he can take what he wants, his teeth catching your lower lip hard enough to sting.
"mmm," he murmurs against your mouth, cocky and smug. "you taste way too sweet for someone dumb enough to summon me."
his mouth leaves yours for just a second, only enough to let you breathe. his hand is still in your hair, thumb stroking your jaw almost tenderly— mocking, like he’s savoring how rattled you look.
"so tell me, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low and sinful, "you really want this? you called me, but i need to hear it. you want me to put you down right here in your little pentagram?"
your pulse stutters, but you nod without thinking. "y-yes." he laughs, soft and wicked, brushing his lips against yours again. "yes, huh? cute. say it again. louder."
"yes."
his grin spreads, cocky and sharp, his breath hot against your ear. "fuck, that's good. music to my ears. you're practically begging, and all i had to do was show up."
he presses you back until your spine hits the chalk lines, the rough circle smudging under your body. the candles flicker with the shift of air, shadows jumping across the walls, and he cages you in with his body like you belong there.
"don't worry, sweetheart," he rasps, dragging his teeth over your throat, "i'll give you everything you asked for."
his grin only widens as his hands skate down your sides, slow and deliberate. he tugs at your shirt, pulling it up over your head before you can think, tossing it carelessly outside the circle. "that's it," he purrs. "strip for me. i wanna see what kind of girl summons a demon 'cause she’s too lonely to get laid."
heat floods your face, but you obey— fumbling with your jeans, shoving them down clumsily under his stare. the book lies forgotten, candles flickering, and all you can think about is the way his eyes devour every inch of skin you reveal. when you’re bare, he presses you back down, the chalk lines biting into your shoulders. then he grabs your legs, rough but sure, and hikes your knees over his shoulders. the position has you spread wide, completely open to him.
he smirks up at you, tongue darting over his lower lip. "fuck, look at you. all ready for me, like you've been waiting your whole life for this."
and then he dives in. his mouth is hot and demanding, tongue flicking and sucking until your gasp breaks into a helpless moan. but he isn’t satisfied with just that. his hand shoots out, grabs the camera from where it was paused, and shoves it into your grip. he clicks the button— recording flashes back to life— then angles your wrist so the lens is pointing straight down at the mess he's making of you.
his mouth works you over mercilessly, tongue flicking and curling, lips sealing around your clit just enough to make your whole body jerk. your hands shake as you try to keep the camera steady, the red light glaring at you like it knows every filthy detail being recorded.
he drags his tongue in one long, slow stripe, deliberately lazy, then pauses to press a kiss right where you’re throbbing most. "your not cumming until you beg for it. loud enough for me. loud enough for the camera."
your thighs tremble on his shoulders, the need building so sharp it hurts. "please," you whimper.
he bites down lightly, making you gasp, then lifts his head. "not good enough. c'mon, sweetheart. you summoned me— you wanted this. so ask for it. beg like you mean it."
the desperation chokes you, heat flooding your cheeks as you stammer, "please let me cum, dean— fuck, i need it, i’ll do anything—"
his laugh is dark and smug, vibrating through you as he ducks back down. "there it is. that's what i wanted to hear." then his mouth seals back on you, harder, faster, relentless— like he's cashing in on every filthy word you just gave him.
you barely have time to catch your breath when he pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he just finished a meal. his grin is wicked, eyes dark with hunger. his hands shove your thighs apart, his jeans already undone, cock heavy and hard against your slick entrance. no hesitation— he just pushes in, the stretch sharp and overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs.
"fuck," he groans, head dropping to your shoulder. "tight little pussy like this, you're really gonna let a demon fuck this sweet little pussy, huh?"
the camera wobbles in your hand as he drives into you, hips slamming against yours, every thrust deep and merciless. the chalk circle beneath you smears with sweat and skin, candles flickering wildly. he doesn't stop at fucking you— his mouth is all over you too. his teeth scrape down your neck, biting until the skin blooms red, then lower, sucking bruises into the soft flesh of your chest.
his thrusts grow sharper, more impatient, and then he grabs your wrists, yanking the camera from your trembling hand to place it back on the floor at the perfect angle. the red light blinks, catching every second.
"on your hands and knees," he orders, voice low and dangerous. when you hesitate for half a second, he just laughs and manhandles you into position himself— flipping you over, dragging your knees against the chalk until you’re face-down, ass up in the middle of the pentagram.
your palms press into the smeared symbols, your breath ragged. before you can even settle, he’s behind you, one big hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down, the other guiding his cock right back into you. he slams forward in one brutal stroke, groaning like he owns you. the sound of skin on skin fills the room, your body jolting with every thrust. his grip is unyielding— pinning you down, hips pounding yours until you can barely think straight.
he's still slamming into you when he suddenly slows, pulling out with a low groan. his hand slides up the back of your neck, into your hair, twisting until he’s got a firm fistful. "c'mere," he groans , yanking you upright. your back arches against his chest, your knees still on the chalk. you're dizzy from the shift, from the roughness, from how big he feels pressed against you.
he spins you around until you’re kneeling, eyes level with his cock, slick with you. his grin is pure sin. "open up."
your lips part automatically, and he guides himself to your mouth. the taste of him and you hits your tongue as he slides in, slow at first, then deeper. at the same time, his other hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding your soaked entrance. he pushes two inside without warning, curling them just right while he uses your hair to control the pace of your mouth on him.
"that's it," he rasps, watching you through heavy lids. "god, you're a mess. sucking me off while i finger you.. this is what you wanted when you lit those candles, huh?"
he thrusts shallowly into your mouth, fingers working you faster, deliberately hitting that spot until your thighs tremble. "look at you," he groans, voice rough and cocky. "such a good little summoner. gonna cum all over my fingers while you choke on my cock?"
his fingers work you harder, faster, relentless little curls that make your whole body start to shake. his cock slides against your tongue, the weight and taste of him filling your mouth. your eyes water, a whimper caught in your throat, and he groans at the sight. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing rough circles as his fingers keep hitting deep. the pressure snaps all at once— you moan around him, body jerking as you fall apart on his hand.
he watches you a beat longer, grin lazy and satisfied. then he leans down, thumb dragging through his own mess on your skin, and smears it across your lower lip like a signature.
BODYGUARD SOLDIER BOY was hired by your rich parents to take care of you. at first, he thinks you’re just another spoiled brat— soft hands, expensive clothes, whining when things don’t go your way. he doesn't get why you need a bodyguard dogging your steps when the worst danger you face is a broken nail.
BODYGUARD BEN who grumbles about you constantly. he mutters under his breath when you make him carry your shopping bags, rolls his eyes when you sneak out past curfew.
"you're not special, princess," he rolls his eyes whenever you sass him. but god help him, he notices everything. the way your lips pout when you're annoyed, how your perfume lingers in the backseat of the car, how your laugh sneaks under his skin and makes him bite down on a groan.
BODYGUARD BEN who hates your boyfriend. he thinks he's a soft-handed pretty boy who doesn't know a damn thing about you. every time the guy comes over, ben stands in the corner, arms crossed, glaring like he's itching for an excuse to break his nose.
he notices how you're unsatisfied— how you come back from "dates" frustrated, restless, biting your lip like you're holding something in. it makes ben's blood boil that some brat who got lucky with your attention doesn't even know how to finish the job.
BODYGUARD BEN who takes things into his own hands. after watching you waste your time with a boyfriend who doesn’t even know how to make you cum. he’s sick of it. sick of seeing you pout after dates, sick of hearing your soft sighs of disappointment through your bedroom walls.
he corners you one night. his voice low and rough, telling you about how your good for nothing boyfriend doesn't deserve to touch you if he can't even finish what he started. before you can argue, ben's got his big hands on your thighs, spreading you open for him.
he eats you out like a man starved. his tongue buried in your pussy, pinning your hips down when you try to squirm. he doesn't stop until you're gasping and crying his name. he works you up like he doesn't want you to remember your excuse of a boyfriend by the time he's done. and frankly, you'd be thankful for that. he's so rough with it too, like he's proving a point with the way he doesn't even stop when your cum is dripping down his mouth.
BODYGUARD BEN who then fingers you wide open. he's got his thick fingers curling into that spongy spot inside you relentlessly, pinning you down to the bed when you try to squirm away. when you gush around his thick fingers, you almost feel a smug grin against your cunt. he smirks against your neck, murmuring "never let you get this messy, did he? fuckin' amateur."
ben who finally fucks you hard. when he brings his cock out, it feels like your whole world tilts. his cock is thick, bigger than anything you've taken, and the stretch has you gasping and clawing at his shoulders. he doesn't even give you time to adjust— just a rough groan in your ear, "open up for me, princess. you can take it."
every thrust is punishing, deep enough that you swear he’s in your stomach. he pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip so tight you’ll bruise. his chest presses to yours, slick with sweat, his dog tags clinking faintly against your collarbone as he ruts into you like he’s been waiting years.
every thrust is punishing, deep enough that you swear he's in your stomach. he pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip so tight you’ll bruise. his chest presses to yours, slick with sweat, his dog tags clinking faintly against your collarbone as he ruts into you like he's been waiting years.
when you cum around him with a moan, he smirks. "thats twice today— more than that loser did in a whole lifetime."
BODYGUARD BEN who cums inside you, with a loud and guttural groan. the sound feels like it was ripped from his chest. his thrusts get sloppy, desperate, grinding so deep you swear you can feel him in your womb as he empties inside you. he bites your shoulder to muffle a shout, then pulls back to look down at where you’re joined, groaning at the sight of you stuffed full.
he won’t pull out. instead, he keeps you pinned until he’s sure it’s dripping down his cock, coating you in proof of what he’s done. afterwards, he makes you spread your legs wide so he can watch his spend leak out of you, smug grin on his face. “that’s a real man’s mess, princess. remember that when you think about goin’ back to him.” he then pushes it back in with his fingers, just to make sure it takes.
BODYGUARD BEN who takes great pride over the fact that you came crawling back to him, your cheeks hot with embarrassment because your fingers just aren't enough. you tried—slipping them inside, circling your clit—but it's not his thick fingers, not his rough hands, not his filthy mouth, and the frustration nearly drives you crazy.
when you finally give in and open the door to your room, he's already smirking like he knew you'd come. he's leaning back in your chair, arms crossed, eyes dragging over you like you're prey. "couldn't do it yourself, huh, princess?"
he makes you admit it—makes you whisper how your fingers couldn't stretch you the way his do, how your small, little fingers don't hit as deep as his cock. he groans low when you say it, tugging you onto his lap, voice gravel-rough, "that's cause this greedy cunt's mine. only i know how to fill it right."
the second his hands are on you again, the relief is overwhelming— you're clinging, gasping, already soaking. ben takes his time, smug as hell, until you're sobbing in his ear that you'll never try without him again
dean’s still pink-cheeked, still breathing unevenly when you lace your fingers through his and tug him down the hallway. he doesn’t even ask where you’re going, just stumbles after you with his hoodie half-zipped and his pupils blown wide.
the first door you shove open isn’t a frat-boy crash pad at all— it’s soft. fairy lights strung across the headboard, a potted plant sitting crooked on the dresser, pastel pillows scattered across the bed. you hear dean’s laugh catch in his throat behind you.
“this— uh— this doesn’t feel like the kinda room we’re supposed to be in,” he mutters, voice rough.
“don’t care.” you reply, as you push him back until the backs of his knees hit the mattress. he sits hard, looking up at you with that wild, nervous grin that keeps slipping.
his hands flex uselessly at his sides, like he doesn’t know where to put them. he’s still buzzing from earlier— from the way you kissed him like you’d been waiting forever, from the way he couldn’t stop rutting against you.
you step between his knees, tilt his chin up. his breath hitches instantly.
“still nervous?” you tease, soft. he swallows, his adams apple bobbing. “m’tryin’ not to be,” he admits. “but you keep— lookin’ at me like that.”
you smile, slow and wicked. “good.”
you straddle his lap, catch his mouth before he can say another word. he kisses like he did against the wall— messy, too eager, too much teeth. but now you’ve got time to guide him. you slow it down, press your lips against his until he follows your lead, until the frantic edge smooths into something deeper.
his hands twitch at your hips, unsure whether to grab or not, but when you tug his wrists up and place them on your waist, he groans like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
kisses trail down his jaw, his throat, the edge of his collar. he’s leaning back on his elbows now, eyes shut, chest rising fast. every time your lips brush a new patch of skin, he makes some broken sound he probably didn’t know he was capable of.
you tug his hoodie up and he helps you peel it over his head, hair smushed, cheeks blazing. “fuck..” he pants, already glassy-eyed.
you just smile and keep going— kissing down his chest, the sharp plane of his ribs, lower and lower. his stomach jumps under your mouth when you press your lips there, soft and teasing.
“jesus christ..” he mutters, a hand dragging down his face. he peeks at you through his fingers, voice shaky. “you’re really.. you’re really doin’ this, huh?”
you look up at him from his stomach, lips still against his skin and give him a nod. he lets out a sound that’s half laugh, half groan— and he’s already squirming under you.
your lips leave a trail over his stomach, dipping lower until you’re at the waistband of his jeans. you tug at the button with your teeth just to hear him choke on his own breath. you palm him through the denim, slow circles that make him whine. he’s so hard it’s almost painful, twitching under your hand.
your fingers tug his jeans down and his boxers with them. he tries to cover his face with both hands, but you push one away and catch his gaze. “don’t hide from me.”
he nods, frantic, and then he’s bare, flushed, leaking, harder than you expected.you wrap your hand around him first, give him a few slow strokes just to watch him fall apart. his head tips back against the wall, throat tight, legs trembling under you.
then you lean in and lick, kitten-soft, from base to tip. he moans— a pathetic whiny moan— and clamps a hand over his mouth like the whole house didn’t just hear that.
“holy shit,” he gasps when you take him into your mouth, lips sliding down around him. “oh my god—oh my god—”
he doesn’t last. twenty seconds, maybe less, before his hips buck up, before he’s spilling hot down your throat with a strangled cry, fingers knotted desperately in your hair.
when you pull back, wiping the corner of your mouth, dean winchester looks absolutely wrecked— flushed to the tips of his ears, chest heaving, still making little aftershocks against the mattress.
“sorry,” he blurts, voice ruined. “shit, i didn’t—i didn’t mean—”
you crawl back up, kiss him soft. “don’t apologize,” you whisper. “first lesson’s always quick.”
he groans into your mouth, half-laughing, half-mortified. “you’re gonna kill me.”
dean's been at it all week. leaning too close in the library, whispering shit that made your friends roll their eyes. he dragged you to this party like it was inevitable, like tonight was the night. so you decide to stop playing. you catch him off guard, kiss him hard against the wall, his beer almost spilling down his hoodie. he freezes, then melts into it, hands clumsy on your waist.
he's red. not drunk-red. embarrassed-red. "i— yeah. no, i do. i just—" he laughs, nervous, scratching the back of his neck. "fuck. you're gonna laugh at me."
"try me."
he swallows, glances at the floor, then back at you with those stupid green eyes that suddenly don’t look so cocky anymore. "i've… never actually done this before. like, any of it."
"wish i was." he shrugs, tries to play it off with a grin that doesn't land. "figured if i talked big enough, nobody would notice."
but you don't laugh. you lean in, brush your lips against his again, slower this time. "then let’s fix that." you whisper.
he makes this broken sound in his throat, half-relief, half-desire, and kisses you back. messy. too much teeth. you giggle against his mouth, tugging gently at his hair. "slow down. less jaw, more lips. follow me."
and god, he does. obedient in a way you never thought dean could be— tilting his head when you do, softening when you ease him in, sighing when you suck at his bottom lip. he’s trembling under your hands, like every second is rewiring his brain.
his hips stutter against you before you even think about it. the hard line of him pressing through denim, rutting into your thigh like he can’t help himself. he groans when you tighten your grip on him, forehead dropping to your shoulder.
"fuck, s-sorry," he stammers, still trying to keep that bravado alive, but his voice cracks halfway through. "didn't mean—"
"shh," you murmur, rolling your hips back against his. "don’t apologize. feels good, doesn't it?"
he nods, frantic, biting down on a whimper. and just like that — the fratboy king of campus is undone in your hands, learning how to kiss while grinding helplessly against you like he's been waiting his whole life for it.
this WILL have a part 2. i already have it ready im just hoping the algorithm doesn't fuck me over like it has been for the last few days
The motel room was dim, curtains drawn tight, air stale with sweat and whisky. Sam Winchester was pacing like a caged beast, his broad frame too big for the cramped space. His veins stood out under his skin, twitching darkly up his arms, and his pupils were blown so wide they swallowed the hazel whole.
Ruby had ghosted him. A week. No blood, no fix, nothing but the gnawing ache that left him shaky and raw. He hated how weak he felt—sweat-soaked, lips cracked, heart pounding like it was too big for his chest.
And then came you— draped across the motel bed like temptation itself, legs sprawled, smirk curled across your lips.
“You look like hell, Sammy,” you drawled, idly scratching a black nail down the curve of your throat. “Poor puppy lost without his Ruby?”
Sam froze, nostrils flaring. “Don’t —” His voice cracked, deep but hoarse. “Don’t call me that.”
“Puppy,” you repeated, slow and deliberate, smirking wider than before, savoring the twitch in his jaw. “So big, so mean-looking. But really? Just a starving mutt who’ll do anything for a taste.”
“Please,” he rasped, shame and hunger bleeding together in his voice. “Please.. I need it.”
You tilted your head, feigning thought, “And what do I get out of this, hm? You think I’m just gonna let you drink for free?”
He lifted his head, lips red where he’d bitten them raw, veins blackening at his temples. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”
Your smile spread slow and sharp. You crooked a finger, guiding his huge frame closer until his mouth hovered just over your bare thigh. “Good boy. Then you’ll earn it. Eat first. Drink after.”
A noise broke out of him, half whine, half growl. Then his mouth was on you. Sam buried his face between your legs, tongue sloppy and desperate, groaning into your cunt like he’d die if he couldn’t make you cum. His hands gripped your thighs too tightly, spreading you wide for him, his nose bumping against your clit with each messy lap.
“Mm, there’s my puppy,” you cooed, tugging his silky hair. “So obedient when he’s starving.”
He whined against you, rutting helplessly into the mattress, his cock straining the denim of his jeans. Each sound was raw, needy. He had been reduced to a trembling mess because he needed what only you could give.
When you finally shuddered and moaned, grinding against his tongue as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, Sam practically whimpered in relief, licking you through every aftershock like it was his salvation.
Only then did you grab the knife from the nightstand, press the blade against your throat, and drag a shallow line. A thin bead of crimson welled up, trailing slow.
Sam froze. His whole body went taut, eyes blown wide, breath ragged.
“Go on, puppy, you were so good for me,” you murmured, tilting your head to bare the cut. “Drink.”
He lunged, mouth sealing over the wound,drinking it up like the thirstiest man on earth. A guttural groan ripped out of him, hips jerking against you as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful. His cock throbbed against the seam of his jeans, leaking, desperate.
You chuckled, threading your fingers through his hair. “Messy puppy. You’ll ruin yourself for this, won’t you?”
His answer was a broken moan, muffled by your skin.
“Take your cock out,” you ordered, voice sharp.
He obeyed instantly, fumbling with the button, dragging himself free. He was massive, flushed, dripping down his fist as he stroked himself once, twice, before pushing forward, rutting the head against your soaked folds.
“Please —” he gasped, trembling. “Please let me —”
“Fuck your mistress?” you taunted, dragging the knife over your chest just to watch his eyes follow the trail. “Split me open with that cock while you drink?”
“Yes,” he begged, shame cracked wide open, voice breaking. “Please—please, I need it.”
You didn’t stop him when he pushed in. His size made you gasp, the stretch burned, but he was too far gone to go slow. He buried himself to the hilt, groaning against your throat as he sucked another mouthful of blood, the thrusts that followed being hard and needy.
Every movement slammed you into the mattress, your body clenching around him, and yet, he still begged between the wet laps of his tongue on your throat. Am I doing good? Fuck— am I earning it?”
You grabbed his jaw, smeared with blood and slick, forcing him to look at you as he fucked you sloppily. “You’re perfect, puppy. Big, obedient, ruined. Mine.”
That broke him. He came in you with a wrecked sound, cock pulsing deep inside you, mouth still latched to your throat like he’d never stop drinking.
hii i saw that your requests were open! this isnt really a request but im the anon who sent in the honey packets with sam ask in a few months back!
if possible, can you repost it?? i loved your posts btw!!
note : honey packets are like aphrodisiacs!
the door of the motel clicked shut behind you as you walked in and sam followed suit. you dropped your duffel bag by the shoe box, peeling off your jackets with a quiet but satisfied sigh. sam tossed his jacket over the chair in the corner, his hair damp at the ends, hair curling upwards from the sweat of the hunt.
he joined you on the bed. you leaned back, making some small talk as you stretch your legs. "good hunt, huh?"
"not bad." he shrugged in agreement, his voice tired but warm. he watched as your fingers dug into the pocket of your jeans. you pulled it free, gold glinting under the light, and let it dangle between two fingers. sam's brows furrowed. "what's that?"
you grinned, tossing it onto the bedspread between you. "little experiment. gas station find." he picked it up, scanning the label, and instantly groaned. "seriously? these are a scam. and stealing? really?"
you rolled your eyes. "we break into morgues, dig up graves, shoot things that look like people.. but sure, stealing something from a gas station that sold porn mags is the crime of the century," you leaned in closer, "besides, if they really are a scam, then we have nothing to lose, right?"
you plucked the packet back from his hand, tearing the corner with your teeth and squeezing a ribbon of the yellow-gold onto your tongue. sweet and sticky, it coated your lips. you hummed exaggeratedly. "mmm. delicious and free."
"fine." he huffed in surrender, like taking part in your little experiment hurts his reputation. he takes the pack from you, downing the thing— it's a scam, right? this shouldn't be affecting him anyways.
"happy?" he asked, as if challenging you. "ecstatic." you replied with a smirk, sitting cross legged on the bed. "now we wait."
he sat back on the bed, arms folding across his chest like he was physically holding himself together, jaw set in that stubborn line you knew too well. "i'm not gonna—" he started, but you cut him off with a grin. "not gonna what? squirm? get all red and fidgety? climb over here and prove me right?"
sam scoffed, looking away, but the tips of his ears betrayed him— already pink. you leaned in, voice dropping low, playful. "sure, sammy. we'll see."
sam had his shotgun broken down on the little table beside the bed, a little ritual he always fell into after a hunt. cleaning rag in one hand, oil bottle in the other, he looked every bit the calm, disciplined hunter. except his grip was a little too tight. you watched from the bed, chin propped on your palm, as he methodically slid the cloth along the barrel. his shoulders shifted, tense under his flannel shirt, and he cleared his throat like he was trying to shake something off.
"something wrong, sammy?" you asked, syrupy sweet. "no," he said quickly, almost too quickly. he set the rag down, picking up the cleaning rod. "just gunpowder residue. takes a while to get it out."
but you saw it— the way his jaw clenched, the subtle shift in his thighs as he adjusted in the chair. His cheeks were flushed, just faintly, and the tips of his ears had gone pink. "uh-huh." you let the amusement drip from your tone. "so it's not working, then?"
he shot you a look, one of annoyance and stubbornness. "nope."
"could've fooled me." you stretched, arching your back a little as you sprawled across the mattress. his eyes flicked to you, just for a second, then back to the shotgun like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. "I'm fine." he muttered, voice tight, knuckles white on the cleaning rod. but when the next wave of warmth rolled through him, his breath hitched— and you caught it.
sam kept at it, stubborn as ever. wiping, reassembling, checking the chamber, all with rigid precision. but every so often, his hand would falter— just slightly, like his fingers weren't cooperating the way he wanted. two minutes passed. then three.
by the fourth, the rag slipped from his grip. he cursed under his breath, bending to grab it, but when he straightened again, his face was flushed, his chest rising and falling quicker than before. you bit your lip to hide your grin. "doing okay over there?"
his eyes flicked up, wide and dark, before narrowing again in denial. "i told you— i'm fine." but then he set the shotgun down with a little too much force, running a shaky hand over his face. He lingered there, fingertips pressing into his brow, like he could will the warmth away.
you tilted your head, teasing. "you could always come sit over here, you know. might make you feel better."
that broke him. his hands framed your face as his mouth crashed onto yours— messy, desperate, like he'd been starving for it (he probably was, but his pride wouldn't let him admit it) the weight of him pushed you back into the mattress, his breath hot, his body already trembling with need. he kissed you like a man undone, every bit of denial burned away by the honey's fire.
his lips slammed into yours again, teeth grazing, tongue desperate, and his hands fisted in your hair like he couldn't get enough. "sammy.." you moaned against his mouth, and he whined, a low, guttural sound that made your insides clench.
he pressed his hips into your thigh, rocking almost desperately, grinding against you in a way that was painfully deliberate. his hands roamed everywhere they could reach, one curled around your waist, the other tugging at the hem of your shirt, half-dragging you closer.
you smirked against his mouth, teasing him, letting your fingers graze the waistband of his jeans. sam groaned, clutching your hips, and in one swift motion, he shoved both your jeans and his down far enough to free your underwear.
he pushed against you, humping with a strength that made your head spin, still whining and biting at your lips as if he could make up for the minutes he'd tried to resist. you tugged his shirt up just enough to feel the heat radiating from him, the desperation rolling off him in waves. every press, every thrust of his hips was a mixture of need and stubbornness, of a boy who was strong but completely undone by the tiniest spark of temptation.
sam moaned in the neediest sound you've ever heard leave him mouth as he shoved himself inside your pussy, whining at the warmth that enveloped him. his hips were frantic, almost shaking against yours. the honey had him burning from the inside, and no matter how much he tried to slow himself, he couldn't hold back. with a sharp groan, he pulled out, pressing himself against your stomach as he came, hot and slick. hiss hands gripped your hips, leaving little red marks, and his breath came in ragged pants.
you shivered beneath him, fingers tangled in his hair, lips brushing his jaw. "that.. that was fast," you teased, voice low and shaky.
"i.. i cant help it," he whispered, lowering his head to your chest, hair damp against your collarbone. "feels.. too good.."
but even as he shivered from the aftershocks, he dove right back in, hips pressing against yours, lips crashing onto yours in a frantic, desperate kiss. his tongue tangled with yours, and he groaned your name like it was the only thing keeping him sane.
he moved against you again, slower this time, more deliberate— still needy, still whining, but savoring it, worshiping the heat and slickness between you. every press, every bite of your lips, every shiver of his thighs against yours made it impossible to pretend he wasn't undone.
you leaned down close, letting your fingers dance over dean's chest, teasing his nipples with soft, deliberate pinches. he whines immediately, eyes fluttering, lips parting, but you just bat your eyelashes at him, slow and sultry. the lights are bright and the camera catches everything— your fingers rolling his hard buds between them.
you grin at the sight— of him all flushed and panting before deliberately brushing your lips over one, sucking softly, teasingly, your tongue flicking just enough to make him twitch and gasp. you murmur, letting your eyes wander over his flushed face. "i love seeing you like this. all whiny, all needy… so good for me."
he shivers, hips bucking slightly, hands curling into the sheets, the camera capturing the pathetic look on his face perfectly. "you— you're.. teasing me!" he whines, hands flying to grip your hips. "can't—"
"yes, you can," you hum, nipping at the tip, then fluttering your lashes again, fingers rolling the other nipple in perfect sync, in a way all the viewers will eat up. "you love it, don't you? you love that i'm in control.. you love being good f'me.."
his breathing is ragged, whiny, every moan that leaves him soft and high-pitched, his eyes half-lidded in pure, helpless desire as he bucks his hips up to ease the growing pain in his crotch.
you smirk, leaning down to flick your tongue along the sensitive bud again, slow, teasing, and you press a kiss to his nipple, gentle in a way that has him whining in embarrassment, determined to keep going till he cums untouched.
you're on your knees, eyes up at him, big and wide, shining like a little doe caught in the headlights. dean is lying back, relaxed, hands resting on his thighs, letting you take him in. the sight of him like this makes something twist hot and eager in your chest, and you lean forward, lips parting, tongue darting out to taste him.
you swirl your tongue, slow at first, tracing the sensitive ridges, teasing him just enough to hear the first low groan escape. your mouth moves over him, warm and wet, lips pressing gently, your tongue exploring every inch. you hum softly around him, the vibration sliding over his length, and his eyes flutter closed, a deep, contented sound rumbling from his chest.
you can't help the little noises spilling out of you— soft, needy whines and moans that make him grip your hair lightly, just to keep you close. your tongue flicks, laps, and circles, pressing just right, drawing more of those deep, low groans from him. every sound he makes fuels you, makes you eager to worship him harder, deeper.
your lips slide down him, tongue teasing the sensitive underside, tasting him fully, letting him feel the slick warmth of your mouth. you hum and moan around him, each sound vibrating straight into him, and he shifts just enough, a soft moan escaping as he tilts his hips toward you, letting you have all the access you want.
you love the way he watches you— eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling, completely surrendered to your little hands and warm, wet mouth. you slide your tongue along him, flicking and swirling, experimenting with different pressures, each motion pulling a deep groan or shaky breath from him.
you let yourself get lost in the rhythm, tongue moving, lips sucking, noises spilling out of your mouth without thought, feeling him respond to every little gesture. dean's hands wander down to your hair, fingers tangling, and he murmurs your name like a prayer, every sound a promise that he loves what you’re doing, loves how completely devoted you are to him.
you hum again, low and needy, tongue still working him, letting your mouth and sounds wrap around him like a warm, wet cage, and he sighs, every inch of him relaxing into you, loving the worship, loving you, loving how utterly you're his right now.
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