🌻Sunflowers & Daydreams ☁

29 | Boy Mom of Two | Kansas born and raised | New York resident | Side Reading Blog: @katelyn--renee-reads | !! This is an +18 or older blog! NSFW content! I am not responsible for your internet consumption !! | ~ //Asks and requests are always open\\ ~

[katelyn--renee]

Kate’s Masterlist!

Here you will find everything I have written; I am in multiple fandoms, but the majority of what I write is from the Supernatural Universe. I’m open to anything and my lists are constantly growing and changing.

Listen to my interview by @theroadsofarpodcast​ and maybe you could be Sydney’s next guest!! 

Looking to expand your reading list: Check out my reading blog - @katelyn--renee-reads​ and read along with me by following #katelyn’s weekly reads or check out my Katelyn’s Weekly Reads Masterlist, here!

If there is something that you don’t see here, but would like to, my asks are always open! Feel free to send me a gif or a request and I’ll see what I can do! Go ahead, ask me anything! 

If you would like to be added to my tag lists and stay up to date with your favorite characters, send me an ask and I’ll add you to the list!

Here you will find anything Supernatural, including but not limited to; canon, AU’s, crossovers.

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Here you will find anything superhero related; The DC Universe, The Marvel Universe and everything in between.

Clark Kent (DC Universe)

Here you will find anything else I have written; so Grey’s Anatomy, The Walking Dead, The Vampire Diaries and everything else. 

Alex Karev (Grey’s Anatomy)

Here you will find every Bingo and Celebration I’ve participated in, including the ones I’ve hosted myself.

My Milestones and Challenges:

Kate’s Three(Hundred) Followers Celebration! - Masterlist

One Year Blogiversary Gif Bash 

This challenge is still open, so check it out!

Other:

Bingos!

[katelyn--renee]

Out of the Fire (Part One) - Revised

Title: Out Of The Fire (Part One) - Revised

Fandom: Supernatural AU

Main Characters series: Reader, Lieutenant Firefighter!Dean Winchester, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester (Moore), Nurse!Lisa Braeden (Formerly Winchester), Ben Braeden-Winchester, Harper Winchester (OFC), Charlie Bradbury, Firefighter!Benny Lafitte, Firefighter!Jo Harvelle, Firefighter!Castiel Novak, Claire Novak, Mechanic!John Winchester, Firefighter Captain!Ellen Harvelle, Mechanic!Bobby Singer, Doctor!Arthur Ketch, Nick Vaught and many more!

Pairings: Dean x Reader (eventual), Dean x Lisa (past), Reader x Nick (past), Lisa x Ketch (current), Sam x Jessica (current)

Word count: ±2500 words

Series summary: A slow burn romance. Reader is trying to get away from her troubled past and start fresh; a new name, new town, new friends, and a new job. A clean slate. After years of planning and saving, she is able to open her own business. With the help of her best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury, and her new flirty firefighter friend, she is hopeful, even when disaster strikes and her past threatens to catch up with her years later. 

Part one summary: Fire erupts and engulfs her beloved business, but something arises from the ashes and ignites a new desire.

Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fire or mentions of fire, fluff (so much fluff), angst, eventual smut, mutual pining, alcohol abuse, alcohol intoxication, mentions of domestic abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of adultery/cheating, mentions of death, dangerous or life threatening situations, stress, descriptions of injuries, blood, hospital scenes, character death. 

Author’s note: This is my first series and my first attempt at an Supernatural AU. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I will try to release new chapters at a timely fashion, but as we all know, life sometimes gets in the way. 

A special thank you to @that-one-gay-girl and @deanwanddamons for being the wonderful beta’s that you are! Your feedback is always appreciated! Check out their awesome work and spread some love!

All dividers and graphics done by me! 

If you like this story, please don’t hesitate to leave a like, comment and if you’re feeling extra generous, share! Your feedback gives me live and motivation! 

Thank you and let’s enjoy this ride together!!

Out of the Fire Masterlist!

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

Keep reading

[positivexcellence]

Jensen at the premiere of The Boys season 5(x)

[katelyn--renee]

Oh gosh

[writerswritecompany]

Suggested reading: 9 Ways To Bring The Funny In Your Fiction

[katelyn--renee]

omg big same lmao

[ad-wills]

[katelyn--renee]

Literally lmao

[katelyn--renee]

Out Of The Fire Masterlist

Title: Out Of The Fire

Fandom: Supernatural AU

Main Characters series: Reader, Lieutenant Firefighter!Dean Winchester, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester (Moore), Nurse!Lisa Braeden (Formerly Winchester), Ben Braeden-Winchester, Harper Winchester (OFC), Charlie Bradbury, Firefighter!Benny Lafitte, Firefighter!Jo Harvelle, Firefighter!Castiel Novak, Claire Novak, Mechanic!John Winchester, Firefighter Captain!Ellen Harvelle, Mechanic!Bobby Singer, Doctor!Arthur Ketch, Nick Vaught and many more!

Pairings: Dean x Reader (eventual), Dean x Lisa (past), Reader x Nick (past), Lisa x Ketch (current), Sam x Jessica (current)

Word count: ±46,810 words (Currently)

Series summary: A slow burn romance. Reader is trying to get away from her troubled past and start fresh; a new name, new town, new friends, and a new job. A clean slate. After years of planning and saving, she is able to open her own business. With the help of her best friend and business partner, Charlie Bradbury, and her new flirty firefighter friend, she is hopeful, even when disaster strikes and her past threatens to catch up with her years later.

Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fire or mentions of fire, fluff (so much fluff), angst, eventual smut, mutual pining, alcohol abuse, alcohol intoxication, mentions of domestic abuse (physical, verbal), mentions of miscarriage, mentions of adultery/cheating, mentions of death, dangerous or life threatening situations, stress, descriptions of injuries, blood, hospital scenes, character death.

~

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

Keep reading

[katelyn--renee]

Hey guys! So... it's been a few years since I've updated. And I am so, so sorry. I haven't forgotten. I think about this story all the time. Just life keeps getting in the way. I've been thinking though. Should I do a reboot? Same story, same characters, just revisited with fresh eyes? I think I might. Would that be something y'all would be interested in? See if maybe I can get this finished sometime soon? Lol. Let me know! Can't wait to see where this goes with y'all! <3

Katelyn <3

[katelyn--renee]

Heeeeey!

It’s been awhile guys. 💛 I promise I’m gonna try and be more active again! Maybe work on the beloved firefighter!Dean series, “Into The Fire”. It’s been so long, I miss it.

Any fic recs out there? What have you guys been working on?

[katelyn--renee]

heyyyy!! 🌻

Well, hello there 😁😁😁

[heavenlybodies333]

Kryptonian Sex Stamina

You’d started the night cocky. Literally. Because after months of hearing Clark’s quiet bragging about “holding back” and “taking it easy” with you, you’d decided tonight was the night you proved he wasn’t that much better than a human man.

Mistake number one.

“Four rounds,” you’d panted into his neck after the third, riding the adrenaline high of thinking you’d actually worn him down. “Bet you can’t go five.”

Mistake number two.

Now it’s hours later. Your skin is slick, your hair is a disaster, and your voice is hoarse from begging and swearing and—God—crying out his name so many times you’re pretty sure the neighbors think you’re filming a porn.

He’s not even sweating. In fact, he’s grinning. Grinning. Like the smugest farm boy in the galaxy, holding you in place with one arm around your lower back while the other hand braces his weight over you.

“One more, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice all honey and sin. “You can take one more.”

“Clark—” Your voice cracks, half pleading half pleading him to continue. “You—” You cut yourself off to gasp when his hips roll. “You—smug—overpowered—alien—”

“Mhm,” he hums, utterly unbothered, like you’re not writhing beneath him. “And you love it.”

“Shut up,” you groan.

“I will,” he says sweetly, “after one more.”

Mistake number three: You don’t say no.

a/n: I fully support unhealthy obsessions

[stackhousesookie]

DAVID CORENSWET AS CLARK KENT

SUPERMAN (2025)

[katelyn--renee]

I love him 😍🥰❤️😊

[rylandsgrace]

#He's SO mad, I love him 😭

[katelyn--renee]

😂😂

[heavenlybodies333]

Cockdrunk on Superman 

cw: Explicit sexual content. Raw fucking, big cock worship. Rough handling. 

The worst part about Superman was his huge fucking cock. Okay, fine, it was also the best part about him. 

“Clark,” you breathed, nails scraping his shoulders, “you’re too much.”

He kissed down your throat, leaving a trail of small love bites. “I haven’t even started yet, sweetheart.”

You whined, tilting your head back as his hands—those ridiculously big hands—slid down to your hips, holding you in place like you weighed nothing. Which, to him, you probably didn’t. “Not fair,” you gasped when he thrust in just enough for you to feel the stretch, then pulled back with maddening slowness. “You’re literally Superman. You can fly but you can’t just—”

He smirked, cutting you off by burying himself to the hilt in one smooth, deep stroke that knocked the air out of you. “Can’t what?” he murmured, voice low and cocky.

Your answer came out as a strangled moan, your fingers curling tighter around him. The smug glint in his eyes told you he’d heard every desperate sound.

“God, you’re cockdrunk already,” he teased, brushing his lips against your ear. “I could fuck you in the sky right now and you’d still beg for more.”

“Don’t—” you gasped when he rolled his hips just right, “—say things like that unless you mean it.”

“Oh, I mean it.” Then he set a pace that was—well, unfair. Long, deep strokes that made your eyes roll back, his grip on your hips keeping you right where he wanted you. Every thrust knocked another useless thought out of your head until the only thing you could manage was clutching at his biceps and moaning his name.

“Clark—oh my—” You broke off with a sharp gasp when he shifted his angle, hitting that spot so perfectly you almost forgot your own name.

“Hmm?” He had the audacity to sound innocent, his lips dragging lazy kisses along your jaw. “You were saying something?”

“Yeah—fuck— I was saying you’re… impossible.” Your voice cracked halfway through, your body clenching around him like it was trying to keep him inside forever.

He chuckled, deep and warm, but there was something smug under it. “Sweetheart, you’re not even talking in full sentences anymore.”

“Shut up,” you whined, burying your face against his shoulder—though that just made you more aware of how broad and unmovable he was. 

His pace picked up, “Can’t shut up,” he murmured against your ear, “not when you look like this for me.” 

You shivered, clinging to him tighter. “You’re—ugh—such a showoff.”

“I’m Superman,” he grinned, one hand sliding down your back to grab your ass, pulling you flush against him. “Showing off is kind of my thing.”

Another perfectly timed thrust made your breath hitch so loud he laughed. “Cockdrunk,” he said again, savoring the word like it tasted good on his tongue. “I could keep you like this all night… maybe all week. You wouldn’t survive.”

You tilted your head enough to glare at him, though it was ruined by the blissed-out expression on your face. “Try me.”

a/n: I have no chill and neither does Superman

[buckysthunderbolts]

late bloomer

clark kent x fem!reader

summary: After a game of truth or dare, your new boyfriend Clark comes to pick you up and take care of you. You drunkenly confess to the reason why you haven't had sex yet: you're a late bloomer and he is your first boyfriend.

cw: drunk reader, embarrassed and ashamed reader, clark the perfect, understanding bf, slight angst, major fluff, SMUT!! (18+ MINORS DNI!!): penetrative protected sex, oral (f), fingering/masturbating, mentions of toys, size kink, sweet, romantic aftercare

wc: 5.2k+

author's note: here's to my new fic!! i've seen fics where the reader is hella experienced but never where she's had sex before but hasn't done it in so long due to whatever reason or whatever, same goes for inexperienced fics. here's to late bloomers!!! always remember you are on your own timeline and that comparison is the thief of joy xoxo

It starts over a game of truth or dare.

You’re at Cat’s apartment with Lois and a handful of other women you work with at the Daily Planet for a girl’s night. You felt a slight buzz but didn’t want to be a party pooper if you left early. The thought of participating in a game of truth or dare made you queasy.

“We should at least set some ground rules,” you said as everyone settled around the living room.

“Oh, c’mon,” Kelly groaned, “where’s the fun in that?”

You frown, sinking into your spot on the couch. “I think if someone doesn’t want to do the truth or dare, they shouldn’t have to,” you grumbled, “just take a shot instead.”

“I like that idea,” Lois hummed, nodding towards you. You smile appreciatively at her.

Everyone agrees quietly and you take a long sip of your wine when you catch Cat set shot glasses and a handle of tequila on the coffee table in front of you.

Your mind wanders to Clark. You wondered what he was up to. When he asked to come over to your apartment and make dinner for you tonight, you had to regrettably, and politely, decline. You told him about your plans with Cat, Lois, and the others, and promised to call him if you needed him to stop by and pick you up if you got too drunk.

You haven’t been together that long. It’s only been six weeks since your first date, and Clark has been nothing but a perfect, dotting boyfriend. He’s memorized your coffee order and helps you into your jacket when it rains. He walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street and laces his fingers with yours. He keeps an extra sweater at his desk just in case you get cold. His kisses are soft and chaste. He hasn’t even brought up the s-word yet.

You were embarrassed to tell Clark he was your first boyfriend. You could count on one hand, with one finger, how many times you have had sex. It was your freshman year of college with some frat guy that left you empty and hallow afterwards.

Instead of focusing on dating and having boyfriends, you busied yourself with school and then eventually work. You didn’t have the time or energy to go on dates.

And then you met Clark.

You were friends first. You’re the designated copy editor for the International Politics section of the Daily Planet. You’re directly responsible for editing Clark’s, Jimmy’s, and Lois’s articles to make sure they were smooth, accurate, and free of errors.

Clark asked for your assistance more than anyone else on the team. You didn’t realize it until Cat brought it to your attention, and then you brought it up to Clark when you were running through edits late one night when you and Clark were the only ones still at the Planet. You remember it like it was yesterday.

“You know,” you hummed, writing in the margins of Clark’s first draft on the budget proposal by the city council, “Cat told me you ask for my help more than anyone else on the team. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a crush on me.”

You only meant it as a joke. Your friendship was built on light jabs and harmless teasing. He kept you on your toes and made the stress of the workday easier with his warm laughter and infectious smile.

Clark stiffens beside you. You glance at Clark from the corner of your eyes and watch him fix his posture until he’s sitting up straight. His glasses sit at the bridge of his nose and pink flushes his cheeks. You set your pen down in your lap and turn to get a better look at him.

“Did I make you uncomfortable? I only said it to tease you, I’m sorry,” you apologized, embarrassment hitting you square in the chest. You should’ve kept your mouth shut. Now Clark will want nothing to do with you, and you ruined a perfectly great friendship, despite your hidden feelings for him.

“No, no!” Clark stammered, reaching to take your hand and gives you a reassured squeeze. “You didn’t. I know you said it to tease me, but what you said is true. I do have feelings for you.”

Your jaw drops in surprise. You turn your body, so you face him. Clark smiles bashfully, scratching the back of his neck before pushing his glasses up his nose. His beautiful dimples poke out from his cheeks.

“What?” you asked in disbelief. “You do?”

Clark laughs quietly and grins at your reaction. “C’mon, Ms. Grammarly. You’re telling me you haven’t noticed how nervous I am when I’m around you?” he teased.

Your head spins at the revelation. “I thought that was just your personality.”

Clark shrugs, “I mean, partially, yes, but it’s mostly because I don’t know how to act when I’m around you. I’ve been trying to figure out the best way to tell you, but you beat me to it.”

You laugh softly and feel the warmth of his stare creep up your neck and across your face. Your knees brush his you feel the heat of Clark’s hands brush your chair, pulling you closer to him. His soft blue eyes find yours and you swallow hard. Your heart settles somewhere between your stomach and your throat.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you whispered, eyes flickering to his mouth, “I’ve been trying to hide my feelings for you.”

An elated smile rips across Clark’s handsome face, and he leans to brush his nose against yours. His warm breath fans across your cheeks. His fingers reach to hold your chin between his fingers before he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

A soft laugh bubbles from your throat, and you nod slowly, “Yes.”

Clark’s soft mouth presses against yours in a slow, romantic kiss. His large hands cradle your face, and a quiet sigh vibrates against your mouth. Butterflies burst in your stomach, and you let Clark lead you through the kiss.

You haven’t been kissed like this. Ever.

Clark kisses you like he wants you, like he adores you. It’s nothing like the kisses you’ve had when you were younger. Those were hungry and hard and made you feel empty afterwards. This kiss is soft, delicate, warm. It’s a kiss you’ve read about in all the books you’ve read. It’s a kiss you could only dream of having.

Your fingers grasp at his tie and feel the hard ridges of Clark’s chest as you kissed in the dim light of the bullpen before pulling away. He pulls away and his striking blue eyes find yours. His cheeks are flushed, and his pupils are blown. His warm breath mingles with yours.

“Whoa,” you can’t help but say as you catch your breath.

Clark grins and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. “Is that a good whoa or a bad whoa?”

You laugh and your eyes crinkle as you look at him with a grin. “Good! Great, even. I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

Clark’s tender laughter fills the silence of the Daily Planet before he mumbles against your skin, “Let’s do it again.”

Since that moment you kissed at the Daily Planet and started dating shortly after, all you thought about was telling Clark how inexperienced you actually were when it came to sex. Sure, you had ideas on what you thought you liked from reading books, watching shows and movies, and even using toys, but it wasn’t the same. You haven’t experimented and you were too shy and embarrassed to tell Clark you’ve only had sex with one person. It’s one of the reasons why you haven’t had sex with Clark yet. You don’t want to face the embarrassment of telling your new boyfriend that you’re a late bloomer and don’t know what it’s like to actually enjoy sex.

You’re broken out of your thoughts with your friends yelling your name and a gentle shove from Cat. You blink back to reality and ignore the pit in your stomach.

“It’s your turn,” Kelly said, “truth or dare?”

Your mind races and you avoid the concerned expression on Cat’s face. “Uh… truth.”

Kelly smirks, leaning on her elbows as she looks at you. “What’s your sex life like with Clark?”

Your eyes widen at the question, and your jaw drops in surprised. Heat spreads across your body and pricks at your skin. You rather drop dead than tell your friends you haven’t had sex yet with Clark. You’re too embarrassed to admit your sex life is nonexistent.

You swallow hard and reach for a shot glass and the handle of tequila on the coffee table. Your friends groan as they watch you pour a shot.

“C’mon…” Theresa groaned, “you can’t share one itty bitty detail?”

One itty bitty detail that doesn’t exist because you’re too ashamed to admit you’re a late bloomer and don’t even know what you like? Yeah right.

Instead, you say, with a teasing lilt in your voice, “I don’t kiss and tell,” you hummed, knocking the liquor to the back of your throat.

It’s like that for a while whenever it’s your turn to go during the course of the game. With each question, you get drunker and drunker with each shot you take.

Is Clark dominate or submissive in bed?

Take a shot.  

Have you done any role playing, and if so, what have you done?

Take a shot.

What’s your favorite sex position with Clark?

Take a shot.

Have you had sex at the Daily Planet?

That was an easy question to answer. “No,” you slurred drunkenly, sinking into the couch and leaning against Cat as she types away furiously on her phone. Little did you know she was texting Clark to come pick you up.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Cat says, setting her phone beside here. “Miss Drunk Skunk over here is officially cut off and out of the game. Please ask invasive questions to somebody else.”

The group of women who’d been asking you the questions groaned, and Lois thrusted a glass of water into your hand. You take slow, methodical sips, your body buzzing from all the alcohol you’ve drank. You zone out of the conversations surrounding you and focus on drinking your water and calming your breaths. All you want is Clark to come and take care of you. You know he would be good at it.

After a while, you hear the doorbell to Cat’s apartment ring, and she hurries off the couch to the front door. You’re too distracted by the noise around you to notice Clark enter. You feel the couch dip beside you, and you turn to look, meeting the soft blue of Clark’s eyes.

“Clark!” you exclaimed in surprise, his name slurred on your tongue. “You’re here! I missed you.”

Clark smiles sweetly at you and brushes hair out of your face. The rough skin of his thumbs caresses the smooth skin on your cheeks. “I missed you too, sweetheart. I’m here to take you home, Miss Drunkie,” Clark teased, kissing your forehead.

“Heeeeey,” you whined, weakly shoving at his chest, “that’s not nice.”

“’m sorry,” he apologized quietly against the shell of your ear as he stood in front of you, “’m only teasing. Cat texted and said you need help to get home.”

“That’s nice of her.”

He hummed, nodding in agreement before helping you to your feet. You sway slightly and Clark wraps a warm, solid arm around your waist to keep you from falling. You turn your head towards his chest and your nose brushes against his shirt. Breathing in deeply, you smell the crisp clean air and warm soft musk on Clark’s shirt.

God, did he smell good.

Clark says your goodbyes for you and guides you out of Cat’s apartment, through the elevator, and out the building to his car. He unlocks the passenger side door and carefully settles you into the seat. He kisses the crown of your head before shutting the door and making his way to the driver’s side door.

The car starts and you feel Clark’s warm, gentle hand on your thigh. It sends a jolt up your spine and settles in the pit of your stomach. He squeezes gently.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Clark commands quietly with his eyes on the road as drives towards your apartment.

You hum softly and take the hand on your thigh and wrap your hand in his, resting it on your lap. Clark squeezes your hand this time and his thumb brushes the back of your hand.

“Did you at least have fun?” he asked to keep you awake and get you talking.

Your brows pinch together and a small frown forms on your lips. Your fingers toy with his and you can’t help the drunken hiccup that breaks through. “For a little bit,” you muttered, frowning into your lap, “until we started playing truth or dare. They kept asking me questions I didn’t want to answer so I had to take a shot for every question I didn’t answer.”

Clark laughs quietly, stealing a quick glance at your adorable, drunken pout as he drove. “Yeah? What kind of questions did they ask you?”

Your face flushes at both the question and the reminder of what your friends asked you. Your frown deepens. “’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, baby, you know you can tell me anything, right?” he asked you as he pulled into the parking lot of your apartment building. “I’ll never judge you or make you feel embarrassed about it.”

You turn to face him as he parks, and you hold out your pinky to him. “You promise?”

Clark grins and wraps his own pinky around yours before kissing the finger softly and letting it go. “I promise.”

Clark watches you square your shoulders and swallow hard. Your eyes are red and glassy from the alcohol, but they’re wide and earnest. You let out a careful breath.

“They were asking questions about our sex life,” you confessed quietly. “And obviously I couldn’t answer them because one that’s disrespectful of you and our relationship and I won’t kiss and tell, and two, because we haven’t done anything besides kissing.”

Clark’s cheeks redden at your words, and the tips of his ears turn pink. You’re too embarrassed to stop now, so the words spill out of you, and you can’t stop.

“And I know it’s my fault,” you rambled with shaky hands. “I’ve been too shy and embarrassed to tell you just how inexperienced I am. I’ve only had sex once and that was in college. I did it with someone I barely knew, and I hated how empty and hollow I felt afterwards. I focused on school and work and went on a few dates that weren’t serious. I didn’t want to freak you out by telling you that I’m a late bloomer and that you’re my first boyfriend. I didn’t want you to think I was a prude or anything since we haven’t had sex yet and now I’m drunk and didn’t have the balls to tell you all of this sober. I just thought you should know.”

Your confession hangs in the space between you. Your heart beats outside of your chest. The weight lifts off your shoulders, but the shame and embarrassment digs into your stomach. Pathetic tears spill over cheeks. You swallow hard and catch your breath, turning to look away from Clark, when he gently reaches across and holds your chin.

“Hey,” he murmured gently, brushing away your tears, “you have nothing to be embarrassed about. It doesn’t bother me. At all. I’m sorry you thought that telling me I’m your first boyfriend would freak me out. You shouldn’t ever be embarrassed to tell me things. Ever.”

“But—”

“Nope,” Clark gently interrupts you, holding the side of your neck. The warmth of his fingers presses into your skin. “Experience is not a prerequisite for a relationship. It means absolutely nothing to me. Whoever made you feel that way can kick rocks.”

You laugh quietly and lean into Clark’s tender touch. He brushes the last of your tears away and your hand rests against his broad chest. Your fingers squeeze the fabric of his shirt, and you pull him towards you. You kiss gently before Clark presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Let’s get you inside,” he hummed, opening the door and getting out of his car.

Clark opens the door for you and takes your purse and swings it on to his shoulder before lacing his hand with yours. You walk quietly through the apartment complex before you stop in front of your door. You watch Clark take your keys out and unlock the door. He guides you inside and locks the door behind him.

You stumble through the foyer and Clark races to catch you before you fall. His hands squeeze your waist as he pulls you up. You giggle drunkenly and Clark laughs into your ear.  

“Careful,” he smirked against your hair. The deep timbre of his voice makes you shiver.

He takes you by the hand again and walks the two of you into your bedroom. The light flickers and you sit down on the bed. You watch Clark move around your room, grabbing an old shirt and pajama shorts for you to change into.

He kisses your forehead and says, “Change into these pajamas while I get you some water and Tylenol.”

You hum and watch him disappear out of your bedroom and into your kitchen. You move sluggishly as you change into more comfortable clothes. You listen as Clark opens cabinets and turns on the faucet. He returns to you and with a delicate, heartwarming smile, hands you the glass and pills. You thank him quietly and take the medicine before standing.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy?” he teased.

“Must brush teeth and wash face,” you answered drunkenly. “Have to do bedtime routine.”

Clark laughs and watches you make your way into the bathroom. You wash your face and brush your teeth quickly when Clark steps in beside you. You move over and watch him do his own nighttime routine. You stare unapologetically at his bare, muscular chest as he washes his face and brushes his teeth.

He catches you staring and grins slyly at you before looping his arms around you. Clark nestles his face into your throat. “It’s not polite to stare, y’know,” he hummed, nibbling at your skin.

You giggle at the sensation and shrug. “Can’t help it. It’s not my fault you’re so pretty, Clark.”

He laughs and kisses along your throat and jaw. “Let’s go to bed, baby.”

Clark tugs you out of the bathroom and shuts all the lights off before helping you into bed. He climbs into bed and pulls you flush against his chest. You press a linger kiss to his chest before falling asleep in Clark’s arms.

…

You’re lighter now that Clark knows everything. The shame and embarrassment disappear, and Clark makes you feel safe and secure in your relationship despite your lack of experience. He adores you and doesn’t judge you. This is the happiest you’ve ever been with someone.

You giggle into his mouth as he fumbles with your keys after a date. You’re warm from the glass of wine you drank from dinner and Clark’s touch makes your skin sizzle. Clark’s teeth kiss your lips and you nearly tumble to the floor when the door to your apartment is pushed open. Clark laughs and catches you by the waist.

He closes the door and locks it behind you before reaching for you again. You kiss fervently as you kick off your shoes and shrug off your coats. Clark’s hands grip the back of your thighs and lifts you into his arms without breaking the kiss. You gasp into his mouth and his tongue slips into your mouth.

The ache between your thighs grows with each second. You hold Clark’s face between your hands as you kiss, and you pull a part briefly to look him in the eyes. His face is flushed, and your chests press against each other.

You brush a loose curl out of his face and whisper, “Bedroom. Now.”

Clark’s blue eyes are blown as he catches his breath. “Are you sure?”

You nod eagerly and press a soft kiss to his lips, “Yes.”

He grins and his mouth finds yours again before he walks the two of you into your room. Clark lays you down on the bed towards the headboard. You wrap your arms around his neck and hook your legs around his waist.

Clark hovers over you, kissing you like you’ve got all the time in the world. They’re slow and deep. It makes your toes curl, and your fingers tug at the curls on the base of his neck.

“Wanna take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispered hotly against your skin. “Wanna show you just how much you mean t’me. Can I, baby?”

You nod, too hot and overwhelmed to speak. Clark bites against your throat and you moan.

“Hmm, as much as I like that reaction, I need words. Tell me.”

“Yes! Yes!” you babbled.

He grins against your throat, “There we go,” Clark nipped again, “you tell me if you need to stop,” another nip, “I’ve thought about this for so long.”

You melt under his touch and hug him against you, “Me too,” you whispered, twirling his hair between your fingers.

“Yeah? What’ve you thought about?” Clark asked, his hands settling on your waist, bunching the fabric of your dress up on your hips. He helps you sit up, dragging the dress up your stomach and up your arms until you’re left in just your bra and underwear. You shiver under the intensity of his stare and swallow hard.

“You going down on me,” you answered with hot, prickly skin as you watch Clark drink your nearly bare skin. “I’ve read it in a lot of books.”

Clark grins smugly at you, his fingers brushing against your bare belly before skimming against the edge of your panties. “Yeah? Anything else?”

You arch into his touch, and your fingers squeeze Clark’s upper arm in anticipation. You nod again, swallowing hard. “When I masturbate or use my vibrator,” Clark groans into your chest, “I think about you doing it instead… using your fingers.”

Clark’s hand slips underneath your bra and his fingers toy with your nipple. You shake beneath him, rocking your hips into his growing erection. Your hands paw at the hem of his shirt and your drag it up and off his chest. You feel the hard curves and ridges of his broad and muscular body.

Clark’s mouth trails kiss down your chest, past your sternum, nibbling at your naval, before looking up at you from between your legs. His hands slowly tug your underwear down your hips before you kick them off. Clark spreads your knees a part and pulls your legs over his shoulders.

“Gosh, sweetheart,” he hummed, kissing up your thighs, “you’re soaked, and I’ve barely touched you.”

Through hooded eyes, your eyes find his as Clark buries himself between your legs. You gasp loudly and tug on his hair harshly as Clark sucks on your clit. You throw your head back against the pillows beneath you as you lose yourself to the sensation of Clark’s tongue against your weeping hole.

Your hands grip the back of Clark’s hair harshly and his groans vibrate up your spine. His hands hook underneath your thighs as he laps your juices up with his tongue and pulls you even closer to him. You gasp again and Clark looks at you from between your legs and you take one of his hands and gently rest it against your throat.

With your hand on top, you squeeze his hand, silently begging him to just squeeze softly. You whine at the warm sensation building in your belly as Clark moved his mouth between your folds and throbbing clit. With the hand not wrapped around your throat, he slips a finger inside you.

You jolt against his face. “Clark!” you cried, arching against the bed as the pressure built between your legs. “I’m close!”

The bastard smirks at you and hooks another finger inside you as he brough you closer towards your orgasm. Stimulating your clit with his tongue, you cum with a sob and collapse in the bed.

You’re gasping for air as Clark works you through your orgasm before crawling up your body and pressing his mouth against yours. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you taste yourself against his mouth.

You kiss slow and deliberately as you catch your breath. Clark pulls away to look at you and grins at your glazed eyes and fucked out expression. He kisses the side of your mouth.

“You still with me, baby?” Clark asked against your cheek.

You nod profusely and turn your head to kiss him again. “Yeah, yeah.”

Clark hooks a hand behind your back and undoes the clasp of your bra. You shrug it off and stare at him.

“Holy Moly,” Clark gasped in awe, brushing his fingers down your hot, bare skin, “you’re so beautiful like this.”      

You laugh quietly and reach for his hips, “And you’re overdressed,” you teased, quickly working his belt loose before unbuttoning his pants and pulling the zipper down. Clark shimmies out of his pants and underwear. You feel the weight of his erection against your thigh and gasp against his mouth as you kiss again.

“Condoms in drawer,” you mumbled into his mouth, scratching your nails down his back.

“Since when do you have condoms?” Clark joked, biting your lip before leaning over the nightstand and pulling out a condom from the drawer.

“Since our conversation in your car,” you answered with wide eyes as you watched Clark tear open the condom with his teeth.

He leans back on his heels, and you watch Clark tease the head of his cock before shuddering as he tries to put the condom on. You gently grab his wrist, your eyes meeting his. “May I?” you asked quietly, reaching for the condom.

“Y-Yeah,” Clark stammered as he passed the condom over to you.

You let out a careful breath and reaching for him. Clark groans your name quietly and precum leaks from the tip as you slide the condom over his cock. He’s long and thick and your legs shake at the thought of him inside you. You grasp him between your fingers, and your thumb teases the head.

Clark presses his mouth against yours and he tongue slips into your mouth as he pushes you down into the mattress. His hand wraps around yours and you tug once, twice, before Clark bats your hand away. He takes ahold of himself and gathers the slick between your legs at the head of his cock before slowly pushing himself inside you.

You gasp at the burning sensation between your legs. Your fingers scratch his shoulder and slide down his back. You kiss deeply and Clark hooks one of your legs around his waist to get a better angle. Clark moves slowly and he hides his face into your neck, kissing and biting at your throat.

“You’re so warm, sweetheart,” he gasped into your ear, rocking further into you, “’s like you were made for me. Makin’ me feel so good.”

Your fingers squeeze his hand hard, and you arch your back against the bed and wince as Clark bottoms out inside you, his pelvis flush against yours. He’s snug, tight, and hot inside you. It feels like he’s tearing you open, and he’s barely moved. You feel impossibly full with him settled inside you.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered into your mouth, his fingers brushing down your sides as you adjust. You nod quietly and follow Clark’s breaths until the burning between your legs subsides.

“I’m okay,” you tell him, brushing curls out of his face so you can get a better look at him, “you can move.”

Clark rocks back and then pushes into you again. You whine and wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you. His hands squeeze your ass, and Clark pulls you up and into his lap. With you on top, you roll your hips with every thrust. It’s slow and deliberate, like you have all the time in the world.

You sigh and moan into Clark’s mouth. The pressure from before settles in between your legs as Clark brings you closer to your orgasm. The headboard hits the wall with each thrust, and you shriek when Clark presses his finger against your clit.

You cling to Clark and the sound of his grunts and groans fill your ears and takes root in your chest as he helps you to your release and chases him own.

“Clark!” you cried, hiding in his neck, “I need—”

“Let go, baby,” Clark murmurs, pressing his finger against your clit again, “I’m right behind you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see stars behind your eyes as your orgasm washes over you. Clark fucks you through your release before nestling inside of you. He bites the nape of your neck and cums with a groan of your name. He kisses you through his orgasm and you cling to Clark as you slowly come down from the high of your orgasm.

Clark kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your throat tenderly. You wince and Clark grunts as he slips out of you and lays beside you on the bed.

“You okay?” Clark asked, carefully pulling the condom off and tying it before throwing it in the trash. His fingers brush up and down your arm, feeling the goosebumps on your skin.

You smile softly as you catch your breath, turning your head to look at Clark’s flushed cheeks and sweaty skin. “’m perfect,” you sighed, pressing a soft kiss to his chest. “You spoiled me.”

Clark laughs quietly and sits up, “Good. Now it’s time for you to go to the bathroom, don’t want you to get a UTI.”

You laugh and watch Clark hurry into your bathroom. The sink runs and Clark returns with a damp wash cloth. He carefully wipes the slick and juices spilling from your legs and down your thighs. You wince from the stimulation and Clark kisses your forehead.

“Sorry, baby, know you’re sensitive,” he apologized, wiping you clean.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled.

Clark tosses the rag into the dirty clothes bin and helps you to your feet. You take a step on shaky legs and nearly fall to your knees. Clark catches you and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat. Clark smirks and helps you into the bathroom.

“Get that smug smirk off your face,” you laughed, shoving him in the chest.

“No way,” Clark retorted, “I took care of you so well you turned into Bambi!”

You roll your eyes and fight the smile threatening to form on your cheeks. “At least I know you’ll take care of me when that happens.”

Clark takes your face between his hands, and he kisses you slowly before whispering, “Always, my sweet Bambi.”

[katelyn--renee]

🥵🥰🥹

[voyter]

SAFEHOUSE ⋆ CK !

pairing. clark kent x fem!reader genre. friends to lovers. sexual tension. smut.

after a brutal event leaves clark weak and poisoned by kryptonite, you follow strict orders to rush him to his parents’ home — the one place you’re certain no one would find him at. a safe house.

word count. 5.1k words warnings. men in pain !! men in pain !! sexual tension. clark worrying about oc. he smells and hears her arousal bc of his super senses giggles. smut. oral (fem!receiving) MUNCH CLARK. fingering. unprotected + rough sex. size kink. tummy bulge. he puts a fucking pillow between the wall and the bed frame. they have to be very quiet. BIG COCK CLARK. squirting.

✶ inspired by events from — SUPERMAN (2025).

ana’s notes. i know this isnt anything jungkook related but .. im going through something rn with this man. i shouldve never fucking watched this movie. some details are improvised bc i lowk dont know shit abt superman (i was always more of a marvel girlie) so if theres smth in here that doesnt make sense for his character .. please just PLEASE JUST DONT OKAY. okie !! enjoy ♡

Clark Kent was a very reserved man.

Even at the office, he rarely had much to say. If someone asked about his day, he’d answer with something short — a few words, never a story. He never flaunted his accomplishments or fed off the praise. Where most of the department reeked of overbearing bragging and egotistical bastards, Clark kept to himself. He was private. Content with staying out of the spotlight.

Even as friends, you knew only fragments about him. How he liked his coffee — black, bitter, not even a pinch of sugar. That he didn’t have an Instagram, Facebook, or any kind of digital footprint beyond an email address. 

And then, of course, there was the part you hadn’t known.

That he was Superman.

He hadn’t wanted you to find out — you could tell by the way he stammered and lied through an explanation the night you confronted him about it. But Clark Kent was not nearly as subtle as he liked to think he was, and you were far too observant. He was conveniently missing whenever Superman was needed. Once could’ve been a coincidence, but every time? No way.

Over time, he was okay with you knowing. He trusted you.

You were his friend. And friends trust and help each other.

Which was why you had helped him get all the way here — to his parents’ home, a beautiful farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It was quiet. Safe. 

You’d been to Clark’s apartment in Metropolis many times — a high-rise with floor-to-ceiling windows, glossy black marble tiles, and simple, modern furniture.

It couldn't have been more different from the warmth of his parents’ farmhouse in Kansas. Here, the floors were scuffed wood, every step creaking faintly, and the whole house carried the scent of timber with a soft undertone of cinnamon. Memories were painted on the walls — framed photographs of smiles, family trips, and holiday dinners.

Clark’s parents were the kind of people who opened their home to you as if they’ve been waiting for you your whole life, their kindness effortless and genuine. It was a home that radiated comfort and care, and suddenly it made sense why Clark was so well-mannered and grounded. He’d grown up in the center of it all.

His childhood room was left untouched. Band posters and old movie prints clung to the walls, their corners curling. A shelf in the corner displayed trophies and figurines that had clearly been handled and loved. For all that he was, Superman, the man who could save the world and never expect anything in return, there was something disarmingly ordinary about this space. About him.

A low groan from behind you broke through your thoughts.

“You’re still here,” Clark murmured from the bed, his voice low and hoarse. He was lying down, one hand pressed over his ribs like the pressure alone could hold him together. The suit still clung to him, faint streaks of dirt and ash dulling the bright colors. The Kryptonite’s grip had loosened, his veins back to their normal color, but he was still weak. The sun was already setting. He’d be fully recovered by morning.

“Did you want me to leave?” you asked, turning just enough to meet his gaze.

“I- No!” His head lifted slightly, urgency in his tone. “I’m just… surprised.”

There was something behind that word. Not shock, exactly, but disbelief — like he wasn’t used to someone waiting for him to recover. Like he’d expected to wake up alone.

You crossed the room, the floorboards creaking under each step, and lowered yourself into the chair beside his bed. His eyes followed you, searching your face, as if he was waiting for you to change your mind.

“How’re you feeling?” you ask softly.

“Pain,” he replied, a faint, breathy chuckle escaping before his eyes slipped shut. The sound was quiet, but it still carried that small thread of warmth you’d learned to recognize in him.

“Holt said you should feel fine in the morning, once the sun starts coming out,” you told him, keeping your voice gentle, like anything louder might press against his headache.

His gaze flickered, something unreadable in it before he looked away. “I wish you’d stayed in Metropolis,” he murmured, his voice low but edged with frustration. “You’re safer there.”

You shook your head without hesitation. “No.”

“Yes,” he said, more firmly this time. The softness in his tone gave way to steel, the same voice he used when there was no room for argument. “You could’ve gotten hurt just by being seen with me. If something happened, I-“ His jaw tightened. “I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”

You leaned forward slightly, catching his eyes. “Well, I wasn’t,” you said, your tone steady but gentler than your words. “Stop stressing yourself out, Clark. You’ve done enough. You should get some more rest.”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifted against the pillows, wincing a little. His hand fidgeted with the edge of his cape, eyes flicking to you and then away again.

“I, uh… I don’t…” He paused, licking his lips. “I don’t really like sleeping in the suit. It’s- uh- kinda uncomfortable. I was just… wondering if- if you could maybe… help me? Just with, y’know… the top part.”

“Y- yeah, sure,” you stammer, pushing yourself up and moving closer. Because you’re his friend. And friends help friends.

You help him sit up slowly, his breath hitching with a groan as his ribs protest the movement. Carefully, you reach behind to detach the cape, your fingers brushing the fabric with a softness that contrasts the roughness of the moment.

Then your hand finds the zipper at the back of his suit. You pull it down slowly, deliberately, revealing inch by inch of his creamy pale skin beneath — smooth, vulnerable, so human.

Clark’s eyes flutter open, meeting yours for a brief second before they close again. The silence between you stretches filled only by the soft sound of the zipper and his shallow breaths.

You help him pull the suit off his arms, the fabric sliding away to reveal his upper body — bare, exposed, impossible to ignore. His chest is broad and muscular, every line defined, almost unreal in its strength. The same goes for his biceps, thick and strong. Suddenly, your own nerves flutter, caught off guard by the closeness, the unexpected weight of this moment.

You steady the back of his neck as he leans back against the pillows, low groans rumbling from deep within him.

“You sure you don’t want me to… take it all off?” you ask quietly, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

If the room weren’t so heavy, if Clark wasn’t in so much pain, he might’ve thrown out a teasing, flirty comment about you trying to get him naked. But tonight, none of that comes.

Instead, he looks at you — eyes searching, silent, as if he’s trying to say something without words. Like he wants something he doesn’t quite know how to ask for.

“If you’re okay…” he murmured quietly, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, your fingers lightly tugging at the edge of the suit. He lifted his body as much as he could, every moment careful but willing — doing what he could to make it easier for you.

You kneel at the foot of the bed, fingers working at the heavy boots until they come off one by one with soft thuds against the floor. Then, with a firm grip, you take hold of the suit and give it a swift tug, the fabric sliding away until he’s left in nothing but his boxers.

On any other day, the situation might’ve been awkward — but tonight, he’s too worn down, too sore to care. His head stays against the pillow, eyes half-lidded, breaths slow and shallow.

You keep your gaze steady, careful not to linger, and carry the suit to his closet. The weight of it settles onto the hanger with a soft rustle, the deep blue and red now looking strangely still without him inside it.

“Goodnight,” you murmur, turning toward the door. But before your hand even reaches the knob, he calls your name. “Yes?” you turn back. 

“Don’t go back without me,” he says, his eyes pleading in a way that makes your chest tighten. “Stay here for now. With me.”

You look at him fully this time. His body is bare, save for the thin stretch of fabric covering his hips. You’ve never seen Clark like this — stripped of the cape, of any clothes at that. It isn’t weird in a seeing your family member naked kind of way. It’s… different. Raw. It makes you nervous in a way you don’t want to think too hard about.

“I’m not going anywhere, Clark,” you tell him softly. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

You reach for the door again, but he calls your name once more.

“Yes?”

His lips curve faintly. “Thank you.”

You smile back. “Of course.”

Because friends help friends.

Clark awoke with a start.

The pain in his side had eased to a faint ache, and the heavy fog of fatigue was gone. The room is dim, lit only by the warm glow of the nightlight on the nightstand.

His mouth was dry. A glass of water sounded perfect.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he got up and reached for the robe hanging on his closet door. The soft fabric brushed against his skin as he shrugged it on. Then, with slow, careful steps, he made his way toward the door, moving quietly as he descended the creaking staircase.

He walked through the dark with ease — even half-asleep, his steps were quiet and calculated — but he flipped the kitchen light on anyway. The soft hum of the bulb filled the silence. He grabbed a tall glass from the cupboard, filled it from the fridge, and downed it in one long swig, the cool water sliding down his throat, washing away the dryness.

“Clark?”

Your voice was soft, groggy. He turned as you padded into the kitchen, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.

And then he saw what you were wearing. His sweatshirt — the gray one, hanging loosely on you, sleeves dangling past your fingertips — and pajama pants cinched tight at your waist, the legs pooling around your feet.

“Hi,” he said, the word coming out softer than intended.

“Why are you awake? What time is it?” you asked, coming to stand beside him at the kitchen island, tugging the long sleeves of his sweatshirt — his sweatshirt — over your hands.

He noticed. And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

“Almost three,” he murmured after glancing at the clock. “I don’t know — just woke up. Can’t sleep.” His sigh was low, weary, as he leaned onto the counter, elbows braced, thumbs fidgeting like he needed to keep them busy.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly, searching his face.

“Nothing,” he said too fast. Then let out a small groan as he rolled his shoulders — and you caught the grimace of discomfort on his face.

“C’mere,” you said with a knowing smile, motioning him closer. “Let me help.”

He hesitated, a faint smile ghosting over his lips — as if to say you don’t have to do that.

But you were already moving behind him, resting your hand on his shoulder. 

The robe was loose, soft beneath your palms, parting slightly as he shifted. You could feel the heat of his skin even through the fabric. He was broad, solid, so much bigger than you; your hands looked almost delicate against him as you kneaded at the hard line of muscle beneath his shoulder blade.

“Yeah, right there,” he groans, throwing his head back as you press your thumbs into a stubborn knot in his shoulder. The sound is low, unguarded — almost inappropriate for something so innocent.

You press your lips together, heat rising in your cheeks. His robe has slipped just enough to bare more of that solid shoulder, warm under your palms. You feel every twitch of muscle beneath your tiny hands, every breath he exhales as he leans heavier on the counter.

“Better?” you murmured, digging your thumbs in a little deeper.

“Mhm,” he said, the sound deep, almost a growl in the back of his throat. His head tipped forward, giving you more access.

Your thumbs worked lower, along the edge of his shoulder blade, and you felt the faint shift of his breath — slower now, heavier. 

“You’re tense,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said, voice hoarse, “you have no idea.”

You cleared your throat, swallowing.

“Alright,” you murmured, stepping back before you got carried away. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He didn’t argue — just pushed off the counter lazily and obediently. The robes knot at his waist had slipped slightly, a slight peek of his chest and the line of his collarbone. Your eyes darted down before you could stop yourself, and you snapped them away just as quickly — but not quickly enough. He saw you.

You turned on your heel, making your way out of the kitchen, pretending you hadn’t been caught looking. Behind you, his mouth curved, faint and knowing, and he followed behind you.

Clark could smell you. Not just the faint trace of soap on your skin, but something stronger, intoxicating — the subtle tang of arousal that hit his scent with every shift of your steps. His jaw tightened. You were just causally walking, but he could hear the faint, wet sounds between your legs.

“Here, come sleep in my room. I’ll take the couch,” he insists, acting like he didn’t know your dirty little secret.

“No, it’s fine-“

“Please,” he cuts you off gently, a quiet firmness in his voice. “Mom and Dad get up super early anyway. I wouldn’t want them to wake you up.”

You press your lips together, trying to argue, but his earnest expression makes it pointless. Finally, you sigh, smiling despite yourself. “Fine.”

His own smile is softer, lingering just a little too long. “I’ll walk you up.”

You climb the creaking stairs, Clark right behind you. Every step is weighted with tension, a quiet electricity that makes your pulse race. 

You reach the room and begin to speak. “Clark, I-“

But before the words can form, the door swings shut behind him. The sound echoes sharply in the quiet house.

Then his lips are on yours. Rough. Hungry. No hesitation. Your heart skips, your knees go weak, and the air between you shimmers with everything that’s been simmering for hours.

He pulls back just slightly, just enough to catch his breath, but the tension in his body is still taut. Pink lips, flushed cheeks, hair falling down his forehead, and those blue eyes darkened with something raw and hungry — lust, need, something you’ve never seen from him before.

He waits. Silent, expectant. Waiting for words you don’t have. Waiting for you to say stop, or a Clark, you’re reading me wrong — but none came.

Instead, your hands find the back of his neck, gripping him, pulling him impossibly closer. His lips meet yours again, feverish and demanding. Every inch of him pressed close, every gasp and low groan filling the space around you. You don’t pull away. You can’t.

He groans against your lips, words muffled but urgent. “Could smell how wet you are,” he breathes, “wanna feel it.”

You don’t pull back. “Touch me, please,” you murmur, guiding his hand. His fingers, much larger than yours, slither inside his your pants. He slides a finger up your folds, warm and slick, and you shiver against him.

“C- clark,” you moan, breath shaky, pushing your hips further into his hand.

The house is quiet, his parents asleep down the hall. Nothing exists outside the room — just the press of lips, the taste of each other, the wet, delicious sound of him touching your sopping pussy.

“Can I taste it, too?” he asks, lips and kisses trailing down your neck.

“Yes,” you moan, shivering. “Please.”

Without another word, he sinks to his knees, hooking a finger into the waistband of the pajama pants you’d stolen from him and pulling them down. You step out, bottom half bare, your panties gone in the washer with the rest of your clothes.

He looks up at you, holding your gaze, and then leans in closer. His tongue flicks out before he takes the first careful lick of your sensitive clit. His eyes flutter shut, lashes brushing his cheeks, as he tastes the sweet, wet arousal that’s been coating your inner thighs. You gasp, already hypersensitive, nearly collapsing at the slightest touch, knees weak from the rush of pleasure.

“So sweet,” he whispers against your clit, mostly to himself — but you can hear it, and can’t help smiling through your breathless moans.

Your fingers thread through his raven curls, brushing the strands from his eyes so you can watch his face. His brows are knitted tight in focus, lips and tongue working you over like he’s starving for it.

“Oh, god,” you moan, voice cracking. “Fucking hell.”

He hums low in his throat, the vibration shooting straight through you. His hands slide up, cupping your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth until his face is buried so deep it feels like he’s trying to breathe you in — like he wouldn’t mind suffocating there.

His eyes flutter open, locking on yours as his lips seal around your clit. The heat of his tongue makes your knees weak, and then — oh fuck — he moves one hand from your ass and slides a finger inside your sopping hole. Just one, but with how big his hands are, it feels like so much more.

You’re grateful for how wet you are; it lets him push in smoothly, his finger gliding in and out with ease while his mouth works your clit.

You can’t tear your eyes away from him. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, breath coming fast.

“You like that?” he murmurs against you.

You nod frantically. “Fuck, M’gonna cum already, you’re so fucking good at that.”

He smiles against your clit, a low sound rumbling in his throat. Then, cruelly, his mouth disappears, his finger still stroking inside you but slower, lighter, just enough to drive you crazy.

“Clark,” you whine, breathless. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“Wanna hear you beg for it,” he says, voice low, almost a growl. His finger curls, hitting that perfect spot, and your legs tremble.

“Please,” you gasp, hips grinding down to chase his mouth. “Please, Clark- I need you-“

Instead of finishing what he started, Clark pulls back abruptly, sliding his fingers out of you — leaving you achingly empty. You whimper at the loss, hips lifting instinctively, but he’s already grabbing your waist and laying you down flat against the bed.

His chin glistens, but he doesn’t bother wiping it. The robe slips from his shoulders with a careless tug, revealing nothing but hard planes of muscle and smooth, golden skin. You take a shaky breath as he pushes your knee apart with ease, positioning himself between your thighs like he owns them.

You let out an audible whine. He’s taking far too long on purpose, and he knows it.

“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, low and steady, sinking onto his stomach. His fingers find your clit with maddening precision, spreading your slick over every swollen inch before sliding back inside, stretching you deep. “Just wanna make you cum first… before I fuck you.”

His fingers start to scissor inside you, stretching you open, and you can’t help the moan that slips out — soft, but loud enough to make Clark cautious. Quickly, his free hand grabs the hem of your sweatshirt and yanks it up to your mouth.

“Bite down,” he orders, pushing the fabric between your lips. You obey instantly, teeth sinking into the cotton, your muffled sounds vibrating against it. “That’s it. So good for me.”

Then he’s back down, tongue sealing over your clit. The sensation is sharp and overwhelming, and your legs try to clamp around his head on instinct. He doesn’t let you — his arm hooks around your thigh, holding it wide open with effortless strength, practically hugging your leg against his head as he devours you.

You moan into the sweatshirt, muffled and ragged, hips bucking involuntarily into his mouth as your body trembles with need.

He groans low, mouth pressed to your clit, fingers pumping relentlessly inside you. The friction, the slick heat, the press of his mouth — it all coils tight inside you until you can’t hold back.

Your walls clench around his fingers, gripping him, legs instinctively squeezing shut as the heavy wave of euphoria crashed throughout your body. Your chest rises and falls wildly, and your moans spill out muffled but desperate, through the fabric he shoved into your mouth.

He drinks you up thoroughly before pulling back, lips glistening, dimples peeking through as he licks them. His fingers slip out, and he sucks them clean as well, tasting your arousal like it was the sweetest treat.

He climbs back up, pressing himself face to face with you, and carefully pulls the now-wet fabric of the sweatshirt out of your mouth.

“You’re a dirty man,” you tease, breathless.

“Didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago,” he replies, leaning down to press a quick, teasing peck to your lips. “You want more, or should we just go back to sleep?”

You bite your lip, suddenly shy, the memory of what just happened making your stomach flutter. “Want you,” you murmur, voice soft but certain.

He smirks before leaning down, kissing you so gently it has you weak, tongue exploring yours as if trying to memorize every curve. He pulls back with a final, teasing peck, holding himself up above you.

Then, with one swift tug, he strips off his last piece of clothing and tosses it aside. His cock bounces free — flushed pink, thick. and standing tall, almost smug about the way it makes your breath hitch.

Kneeling over you, he strokes himself slowly, eyes locked on yours. 

“Clark,” you say, voice stern but trembling.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, a soft moan escaping him.

“You’re so… big,” you admit, eyes wide.

“You can take it,” he replies, calm but commanding.

“No, I don’t think I can,” you whisper, heart hammering.

“Yes, you can. C’mon,” he urges, lowering himself closer, teasing the tip against your clit.

He pressed just enough to mix your slick with his pre-cum, dragging it along your folds, and the feeling in the pit of your stomach returns, sharp and insistent. You don’t even think about pulling back anymore.

“Ready?” he murmurs.

You hesitate, then nod anyway, heart pounding.

He smirks and taps his tip against your pussy a few times, making you jolt, before finally pushing it inside. Just the head slips in at first, the stretch sharp but addicting.

“Good?” he asks, voice low.

“Y- yeah… just- just go slow,” you breathe, fingers clutching the hem of your sweater like a lifeline.

Clark nods, obeying, easing inch by inch. The intrusion burns and thrills all at once. He’s not just long — he’s thick, every bit of him prying you open, molding your body to fit his. You’ve never taken anything like this, not even your little friend sitting in your drawer beside your bed back at home.

“You’re so warm and tight- fuck,” he groans, eyes fixed on where you’re joined, watching every slow inch disappear inside you.

Your hand slips down instinctively, pressing against your stomach as he bottoms out with a deep, shuddering breath.

“God, you’re gonna split me in half,” you manage, half joking, mainly serious.

Clark lets out a low chuckle, eyes squeezing shut like he’s hanging into control by a thread. “You got it. Just… give me a second.”

The thin layer of sweat on his body glows under the dim lighting, tracing every line of his chest, his abs, those massive arms you secretly wouldn’t mind being in a headlock by. You stare, unable to look away.

“You okay?” he asks, voice ragged.

“Mhm,” you hum, still pressing where you can feel him through your stomach.

You can feel him through your stomach.

“Alright,” he says, opening his eyes again, gaze dark and steady on you. “Gonna move now, okay?”

You nod frantically, fingers fisting the sheets on either side of you, bracing for what you already know is about to be the ride of your life.

Clark pulls out slowly, painfully, then eases back in with less resistance this time. You’re dripping, slick coating him, smearing over the tops of his thighs with every deliberate push. It’s so warm, so wet, every nerve screams at how good it feels.

“Go faster,” you breathe, voice shaky.

His eyes flick up to yours, brows raised. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you moan quickly, pressing your lips together, trying to stay composed.

He pounds into you harder, setting a faster pace, and the flimsy twin bed groans against the floorboards with every thrust.

You tug at the hem of the sweatshirt clinging to your overheated skin, desperate to peel it off.

“No,” he snaps, catching your wrists. His eyes are dark, hungry. “Keep it on. Wanna fuck you in this.”

He fists the sweatshirt though, yanking it up just enough for your tits to spill free. They bounce with every thrust, and his hand is on you instantly — rough, possessive — squeezing like he owns them.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and filthy. “In my clothes. My bed. Taking my cock like you were made for it.” His hand drags slowly down to your waist as he leans close, his chest flush against yours. “Should just make you mine already, huh?”

You can’t even speak — he’s so big, stretching you to the point of insanity, every thrust knocking the wind out of you. It’s almost feral now, the pace, the way the twin bed screeches across the floorboards, springs crying out with every slam. The headboard keeps smacking against the wall, a steady rhythm.

Clark didn’t lock the door. If his parents wake up and come down the hall to investigate, you’ll both be caught — sweaty, naked, and guilty. The thought only makes your stomach flip harder.

“Fuck,” Clark grits out, suddenly stilling inside of you. One hand cradles your head as the other yanks a pillow out from under you. He shoves it between the headboard and wall, eyes flashing back down at you. “Pussy so good, gonna get me in trouble.”

“Clark, M’so close…” you whisper, breathless — too breathless to say it louder, or you’d scream it.

“Yeah? C’mon, baby,” he growls, rocking his hips rough and deep, “wanna feel you cum around me.”

The knot in your stomach tightens to something sharp, electric — not just release, something bigger, heavier. Your brows pinch together, sweat slick on your skin, and you bite your lip hard to keep from crying out.

“M’gonna cum- c- cover my mouth, cover my mouth!” you squeal, the words tumbling out high and panicked.

Clark’s large hand slaps a hand over your mouth, his palm broad and warm, and you grab his wrist instinctively, your fingers not even reaching around it.

Your body seizes up, clenching around him, so tight it nearly drags him under with you — and then it happens. A sudden rush, a warm spray, your release spilling out uncontrollably, soaking his stomach, his thighs, the sheets.

Clark chokes out a moan, eyes blown wide at the sight. “Fuck…” His hips stutter, fighting for control, watching every drop. It’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen — and he’s already thinking about how to make you do it again.

You scream, drooling into his palm, but he couldn’t care less — if anything, it spurs him on. He keeps pounding into you with a ruthless rhythm, chasing his own high. And when the squirting doesn’t stop, when your pussy somehow clenches even tighter around him, he finally pulls out with a guttural curse. His hand works his cock in rough, urgent strokes until hot ropes of cum spill across your stomach, getting on the sweater as well.

He pulls off of you with a long, ragged exhale, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I don’t want to boost your ego” you murmur, still catching your breath, “but that was my first time doing that.”

“Huh,” he breathes out, eyes wide. “Really?”

“Well,” you tease, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “No one can be hung like you are.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, a faint pink tint creeping across his cheeks.

“God, Clark,” you breathe, glancing down at the mess, “now it’s gonna be obvious when I change clothes.”

“Hey, you made a mess too!” he whines, tugging at the rumpled sheets.

“You think we were being too loud?” you ask, tilting your head as you watch him wipe away all the fluids with the sheets he was going to wash anyway.

“Definitely,” he says with a grin, voice teasing as he gets up and looks for his robe somewhere on the floor. “Maybe we should just leave now… save ourselves the embarrassment.”

You smirk, shifting on the bed. “You might have to carry me this time, though. Just got my world absolutely rocked by Superman down there.”

He freezes for a second, then chuckles, fumbling for his robe and tying it back around his waist. “You did not just call my dick Superman,” he says, shaking his head, still chuckling.

You only hum, shrugging the sweater off and heading to his dresser to find clean clothes that don’t have his cum on them!

“Uhm…” he starts, fiddling with his hands like he can’t decide where to put them. “I… I wanna make things right. The whole… hook up stuff isn’t really my thing. So, when we head back to Metropolis… I was wondering if you- like, maybe you’d wanna go out for dinner, or stay in and I could cook for you instead? Or, um, if not that’s totally fine, I get it! We can just stay friends, act like nothing happened-“

“Clark,” you cut him off, walking toward him. “You just fucked the living hell out of me, and now you’re all shy?”

He laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but yours. “Sorry… so? What do you think?”

You nod, smiling. “I would love that. Honestly, I’d be pissed if you wanted to just stay friends after fucking me like that.”

He chuckles, sliding a hand around your waist to slap your ass. You squeal a little too loudly.

“Shh!” he hisses, leaning closer, smirk tugging at his lips.

You playfully swat him with the shirt in your hands. “You really underestimate your strength, you know that?”

© VOYTER 2025, all rights reserved.

[katelyn--renee]

😱🥵🥵🥵

[dr-paint]

CAUSE I'M A PUNKROCKER YES I AM!

[katehuntington]

Guess who's back?!

No, your eyes are not fooling you. After a loooong hiatus (sorry, folks) I am back on Tumblr. Honestly, there were many times where I didn't think I was ever going to pop in here again, just because life has changed so much over the years, but here I am.

Want some more good news? I'm actually writing! I've been walking around with stories in my head for months and for about a week now I've been getting a decent amount of words on the page. Man, did I miss that! I'm really enjoying writing Dean and Sam again and it won't be long before you'll be able to read new work. I am so excited! So, lovelies, how about that? How is everyone doing? Let me know! I have missed you all so much!

[katelyn--renee]

Ommggggg ❤️

[sams-sass]

Remembrance of Things Past

Hi!!

I actually wrote a Dean fic...like what? I hope you enjoy! Special shout out to all my bunker babes for the confidence boost!!

Warnings: Langauge, smut, a wee bit of heartbreak?

Summary: You and Dean find each other again.

_____________________________

The motel door slammed shut behind Dean’s back, loud and heavy. He turned to face you; his eyes were emotionless, and his jaw tightened. 

“So you’re not coming?” He asked you. 

“Please, Dean…I can’t,” You said softly. 

He ran his hand down his face and nodded, looking at the wall before connecting his eyes to yours again. 

“Well, that’s just great, Y/N.” His voice was like venom. 

“Try to understand…I just…I can’t watch…” Your voice betrayed you, breaking as the lump in your throat grew. 

You stepped toward him, taking his leather jacket into your fists as you pressed your body against his. You leaned your forehead against his cheek, inhaling his intoxicating scent. He pushed your hands off him, shaking his head and stepping away. 

“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to fuck with my head.” He spat. 

“It’s too much.” You whispered, crossing your arms over your chest and squeezing yourself. 

“And how the fuck do you think I feel? It’s too much for you? I’m the one who made the deal. I’m the one who's gonna-” Dean stopped, leaning on the small desk in the corner and hanging his head. 

You stepped toward him again, raising your hands to lay on his back. Dean instinctively moved away from you, jolting his body to the side to avoid your touch. You held your hands up for a moment before lowering them again, and this time, Dean let you touch him. Swallowing thickly, you ran your hands over his jacket, trying to calm the situation as best you could. 

“I’m sorry.” You said finally, speaking loud enough to know he would hear you. 

“I would stay for you.” He mumbled. 

At that moment of rare fragility, you knew you had broken down at least one of his walls. The truth was, you didn’t care about him opening up to you. You didn’t need to hear him say how he would stick it out until the end or move heaven and earth to be by your side when the time came. You knew this. You knew he would extend a devotion to you that you weren't giving him, and you hated yourself for it. Your hands slipped under his jacket and the fabric of his shirt. His back was warm as you ran your touch over his freckled skin. A ragged and heavy breath left his lungs. He glanced up at you, making eye contact in the mirror. His body turned to face you, your hands now resting against his bare stomach. Placing his forehead against yours, he closed his eyes. 

“Please stay.” He whispered. 

“I love you…so much. But I can’t watch you die.” You answered, feeling him pull away again. 

Dean took both of your hands into one of his, yanking them from under his shirt but keeping you close to him. He looked deep into your eyes, his sage ones glassy and red. 

“Thanks a lot, kid.” He said, his voice coming from low within his chest. 

He walked away from you, pulled the door open, and stopped in the doorframe. You watched as his shoulders moved with heavy breaths before he turned back around. He crossed the motel room in three giant steps and grabbed your face between his hands. His lips attached themselves to yours before you could even breathe. His kiss was full of passion and fear. You could feel the vulnerability in every swipe of his tongue. He dug his hands into your hair, scratching your scalp with his fingertips. You wrapped yourself around him and clung onto the last thing you would carry of him. Committing every breath, taste, and moan to memory as you let yourself fall into him just one last time. 

Suddenly, he stopped. Leaning his head against yours once again. You both held each other in the silent space momentarily before his broken, husky voice whispered. 

“Don’t forget me.” 

You nodded your head, feeling your chin begin to quiver. He was gone just as fast as he had come back to you. The door slammed on its hinges, and you were utterly alone. 

Two Years Later

The warehouse was void of life as you expertly moved around the halls. You rounded the corner, pulling the gun closer to your chest and breathing. A soft shuffle made your hair stand on edge. Leaning against the wall, you ventured a peak into the next room. A tall man stood with a gun of his own, his brown jacket grazing against his jeans as he crept around toward the back of the room. You held in the gasp that filled your lungs, closing your eyes and mentally cursing yourself. You could run for it. Fly as fast as your feet could take you towards the exit. You could wait him out. Or you could…and before you knew what you were doing, you walked into the room.

“Sam?” You said, disbelief in your voice. 

He whipped his head around, aiming his gun perfectly at you. A look of shock, confusion, and anger crossed his face. 

“Y/N?” He asked, lowering his gun quickly. 

You smiled at him, feeling years worth of memories swarm you in an instant. Your eyes began to fill with water when you heard the cocking of a gun. A cold shiver ran down your spine, your palms suddenly getting clammy. You let out all the air in your lungs. Every fiber of your being told you not to turn around. Don’t look. You held Sam’s eyes with your wide stare for a beat too long. Don’t you dare look. For the love of god, just run away. If you look at him, it’s all over. You turned slowly. 

Dean’s chiseled face sat emotionless, his gun mere inches from your head. You felt your mouth go dry, desperately trying to swallow saliva to keep yourself from coughing. Sage eyes locking with yours for the first time in so long. You almost cried out in joy. Your mouth opened and closed again. Eyes blinking and heart racing, you wrapped your hand around the gun as well, stepping towards him as he lowered it to his side. You were so close to him, his face impassive as he looked down at you. Your chest was just a breath away from his. His body was stiff and unmoving. Slowly, you tilted your head back to look at him better. He glared down at you with hard eyes.  

“Dean.” You said, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible. 

“Y/N.” His voice was low and rough. 

You let go of the gun and stepped back, nervously scratching behind your ear. The awkward feeling settled over the three of you thickly. 

“So…you’re also after the ghoul,” Sam said, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Yeah, been trailing it for a few days now,” You said, keeping your eyes on Sam. 

You missed him—sweet and soft, Sammy. You missed how he would gently knock on your door in the morning. You missed his warm scent when he placed his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close after one too many beers. You missed how he always remembered to put precisely 2 and 1/2 teaspoons of sugar into your coffee. While researching, you would look up and swear you saw him sitting on the end of your bed with his nose in a book. You had almost forgotten how tall he was or how his dimpled smile could make you forget about the world momentarily. You missed your friend. 

“Well, we’ll take it from here. Thanks for the interruption.” His voice spoke. Your eyes slowly shifted to Dean. His angular face was stoic and harsh, the sporadic lighting of the warehouse casting shadows on the deep contours of his cheeks and nose. 

To say that you had missed Dean in the same way that you had missed Sam would practically be an insult. It was more than just missing him. It was a deep and guttural longing that had you curled under the covers, unmoving and unfeeling for days after he left. There was no way to decide what you missed most. Was it his warm breath against your back on slow mornings after a hunt? Lips and hands drawing an absent pattern across your sore muscles and tired skin. Was it his long fingers intertwining through yours as the Impala tore down a dirt road, the sunlight bouncing off its black paint? Or perhaps it was how his expressive jade eyes would always find yours first. On every case. Every hunt. Every monster. Those earthy pools of warm waters full of lilypads and speckled flowers holding your gaze, reading your mind, and drowning your sorrows. Or it could be when he smiled with his eyes—saying your name and touching your face with the tips of his fingers? Maybe it was the nights where you gave yourself to him and he you? Minds fold to the intensity of the body's pleasure. Arms and legs wrapped around each other so tight, as if the other person would explode into a thousand pieces at any moment. With hungry lips and a thirsty tongue. Allowing all to be explored. All to be sacrificed and exposed. Although you couldn't pinpoint it, you knew it was when he told you he loved you. When he dropped the act and let himself feel the world. In those moments, he could choose to feel the bad. The ache. The hurt. But he would choose to feel you. To tell you he loved you. The soft words in your ear, his breath playing with your hair gently. His hands circling your wrists, feeling your quickening pulse against his skin. 

“I-” You started, not knowing where you were going with your sentence. 

“You what?” Dean cut you off. “You wanna work this together? Like old times?” He asked, his voice full of anger and hurt. 

“Dean…” Sam tried to calm his brother down. 

“No, Sammy. I want to hear what she has to say after all this time.” Dean's voice shifted to one of controlled arrogance. But you knew him. You knew how much pain he was trying to mask. 

“Look, I know you hate me. To be honest, I hate me too sometimes…I had no idea you were going to be here. Honest.” You said, holding up your hands and stepping back when Dean approached you. 

“Right. So, like I said, we’ll take it from here.” Dean said, pointing his finger between him and Sam. 

Suddenly, you felt angry. You didn't know where it was coming from, but you saw red, and your “calm, cool, and collected” attitude began slipping away. 

“What? No! I was here first. I was the one who found this place by myself, might I add. The only reason I even got distracted was because of Sam’s huge, clunking feet.” You argued. 

Sam tilted his head, letting his face fall into one you had seen so many times before. The bitch face. 

“You know, you could always be a brat when you wanted to,” Dean said, stepping towards you. 

“I recall you liking that, Winchester.” You countered, stepping towards him, too. 

“Funny.” He said, his voice dropping deep within his chest. “I don’t recall much.” 

“Neither do I.” You practically whispered. 

“I thought I told you not to forget.” He said with authority. 

“And I thought you would have learned a long time ago. I don’t always follow your orders.” You retorted. 

In that moment, you saw something pass through his eyes. A memory long forgotten and put away resurfaced. His cheeks flushed slightly. His eyes lowered to your breasts, holding his gaze there for a beat before following the curves of your neck to your mouth. Your lips parted, allowing a small breath to escape. Dean sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth across the plump flesh before it popped back out. Pink and wet. 

“Come on, Sam. I could use the sleep anyway.” And with that, they were gone again. 

Because of your little production with Dean, the ghoul was long gone by the time you found its hideout. You repacked your car and slammed the trunk, throwing out every curse word you knew into the windshield as you drove away. You rolled your window down and let the night air cool your heated flesh. The moonlight couldn't hide the memories that saturated your mind. It was as if double doors opened, and everything you had put behind you came raging into focus. Hearing his thick voice say your name made your time with the Winchesters play out in front of your eyes. You and Sam reading over books at a diner table, plates and cups littering the space. You and Dean counting down before jumping into the swarm of vamps together. Sam’s hair blowing in the passenger seat. Dean’s groggy voice in the morning. Dean holding Sam’s shoulders as he has yet another vision. Dean smiling at you, a smear of blood covering his freckles. Dean clanking his beer against yours. Sam laughing over the jukebox of some dive bar. Dean pulling you close and burying his face into your hair after a particularly long hunt. Sam pushing you behind him as the wendigo approached. Dean slipping his fingers under your shirt, tickling your skin. Dean sneaking into the shower with you when you were trying to keep your relationship a secret. Dean whispering “I love you” for the first time in an empty field under the stars. Dean running his fingers through your hair while a movie played on the T.V. Dean giving your hand a squeeze before charging at a ghost. Dean holding your face in his hands, blood spattered across your skin. Dean pulling you into him in his sleep. Dean stitching up your wounds in the motel room. Dean kissing you in the back of the impala. Dean. Dean. Dean. 

Fuck! You slammed your car into park and charged into your motel room. Your fingers ran through your hair frantically as your heart rate picked up. Your feet paced quickly across the room, heavy breaths pulling in and out of your lungs. Just as you were about to collapse, a knock on the door stopped you. You knew it was him. You closed your eyes and swallowed down your anxieties. 

You opened the door to his angry face. 

“How did you find me?”

“I remembered you liked the nicer things.” Dean pointed to the motel sign. 

You nodded, pursing your lips together.  

“Tell me what happened,” Dean instructed. 

“You know what happened.” You said around a sigh. 

“Ya know…I thought I did.” His arrogant voice was back. “But the more I think about it, the more it doesn't make sense,” Dean said, coming close to you. 

“I think you and I have had enough for one night.” You said, trying to close the door. 

Dean’s open palm stopped the door from moving further, “I’ll say when I have had enough.” 

“Dean-” You began to protest again. 

He pushed into the door, crowding your space and entering your room. 

“Come on in.” You mumbled sarcastically. 

“I don’t know what you think you are going to solve by bothering me.” You tried to play annoyed. 

“How about the fact that it came out of fucking nowhere?” Dean said, holding his arms out to his sides. “I mean really. One day you are telling me you love me and that you can’t imagine your life without me, and the next-” Dean stopped himself. 

“I’m breaking your heart.” You filled in the rest. He nodded, holding your gaze as he did. 

“It’s like I said, I couldn’t watch you die.” You responded as emotionless as you could. 

“Bullshit. I gave you an out in Lincoln. I told you to go. I told you to get as far away from me as possible. To live your life and leave me to suffer the consequences of my actions. And you stayed. You said you would never leave me. And not two weeks later…your fucking gone.” He dropped the arrogance, his voice now full of confusion and anguish.  

He was right. That is precisely how it played out. 

“Tell me what happened.” He asked again. 

“I did.” 

“You didn’t,” 

“Dean” 

“Y/N.”

There he goes again. Saying your name with that wicked tongue. 

“Please-” Your voice breaking. 

“So there is more?” Dean asked, stunned. 

“I can’t.” You whispered. 

“You can.” There was no anger now. His shoulders dropped, and his face was left full of despair. 

Dean crossed over to you, took your wrists within his hands, and pinned you against the wall. He looked deeply into your eyes, searching for an answer. 

“Baby, tell me what happened.” He said one last time. 

“It was the angels.” You finally relented. 

“What?” His brow furrowed, and his eyes moved quickly between yours. 

“Well, one angel. Zachariah. He spoke to me.” You felt the tears fill your eyes. “He told me they would save you if I left. They said you would be spared from hell, but I had to leave. I had to get away from you.” You let the truth lay in front of him for the first time. 

“The angels? Why?” He was wide-eyed and horrified. 

“I don’t know. They said that if I left, you would be saved. I was so desperate, Dean. I was so scared you were going to die. I didn’t know what to do. So I left. I left like a coward, and I knew the only way you wouldn't come after me was if I broke you.” You breathed. Although it killed you to tell him, there was a sense of relief finally telling the truth after all this time. 

Dean stared at you, his face difficult to read. You let your eyes fall on his lips, plump and slightly agape. You felt his hands tighten around your wrists, and it shot you back to the last time he held you like this. You could hear the soft rain on the window and smell the coffee going cold on the nightstand. The skin of your neck tickled, remembering his hot breath groaning in your ear. Your fingers could practically feel the cheap comforter, his hands holding them down just like they were now. You bit down on your lip as you remembered the way he pushed into you, slow enough to tease but fast enough to make your legs shake. 

“Why didn't you come back after?” He finally asked, breaking you out of your memory.

“Because they lied to me. You still went to hell. How could I ever face you? How could I ever expect you to look me in the eyes again after I abandoned you? I can barely look at myself. I left you, Dean. I loved you so much. You were the air that I breathed. And I just fucking left. I could never ask you to understand.” You explained, your voice sounded wet from the tears. 

“Y/N…” He spoke, his body pressing into yours harder. 

You inhaled sharply, arching your back and allowing your head to loll back on your shoulders. Dean licked his lips, leaving a wet sheen on them. 

“I don't understand.” He said softly. 

“Understand what?”

“Why would they want you to leave? Why would it matter if you were with me or not?” He asked with a furrowed brow. 

“Because we knew you would never say ‘yes’ to Michael if you were clamored on to some chick.” A voice suddenly spoke. 

You and Dean broke apart, both clenching when startled. A man with balding grey hair stood in a black suit, a smile that made your mouth curl sat on his face. 

“Zachariah,” Dean practically growled. 

“Good to see you, Dean.” 

“Wish I could say the same.” 

“Well, now you know the big secret.” He said, shrugging his shoulders and turning down the corners of his mouth. 

“I always knew you were a son of a bitch, but now you’ve gone too far.” Dean stepped toward him, you could feel the hate in his voice. 

“You lied to me! He died anyway!” You screamed, coming to stand next to Dean. 

“No. No. I never lied. I said we would save him from hell, which we did. You simply heard what you wanted.” He said nonchalantly, as if he was describing what he ate for breakfast.

“That’s called manipulation, dick.” You shot back.

“Oh! Fiesty.” He held up his hand, pretending it was a claw. 

“I am going to say this one time.” Dean started, his arms pushed you slightly behind him as he moved toward Zachariah. “If you ever step foot near her again, I am going to rain down a world of hurt on you that you cant even imagine. You do not come near her again, do you understand me? Whatever you want to do to me is fine, but you leave her alone. All this bullshit, Michael, Lucifer, angels, demons, that’s your shit to clean. Not hers! And since Michael still wants to wear me like a fucking sock puppet, I suggest you listen to me and back the fuck off!” Dean thundered. 

You stared with eide eyes as he got closer and closer to the angel. Your breathing quickened and you nervously swallowed. You sat in a silent panic for his safety. 

“I may not have much in this world. Nothing but left overs from my father and his neverending crusade. But I have her. And I will die before I let you or any other winged bastard breathe near her again.” Dean’s voice was unnerving and low. 

“Jeez, give it a rest. When did we put on lifetime?” Zachariah asked without trying to hide his disdain. 

“Make your jokes, but don’t forget that I specialized in torture.” Dean practically whispered. 

Your heart skipped a beat, what? 

“Well, I do not pretend to know about coitus as I find it repulsive, but I have heard make up is the best!” Zachariah said with a gross mocking tone. 

“Don’t you fucking-” 

Zachariah was gone before Dean could finish his sentence. 

“Shit!” Dean yelled. 

His back was still to you. The air in the room was so thick it felt difficult to breathe. Your skin warmed under the tension. Just as you were about to speak, he turned. His face was hard and determined. You both stared at each other for a moment, trying to read the other person's mind. Dean acted first. He practically flew across the room back to you. His hands dug into your hair harshly, pulling your head back as a shocked moan left your mouth. Your mouth opened to his before he even kissed you. All teeth and tongue. Both relinquishing control and fighting for it at the same time. 

You and Dean had shared many kisses in your relationship: passionate, quick, raw, emotional, fast, and slow. This was different. It felt like an ache. It felt familiar and foreign at the same time. He kissed you like the ocean raged when a storm descended upon the land. His lips were out of rhythm and timing, but they still hit exactly where they needed to be. And like the warmed waters fueling the storm, you found yourself trying to grind your pelvis desperately into his, seeking any friction. 

Keeping one hand on the back of your head, he hooked his other around your thigh, yanking you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grabbing onto a fistful of his hair for yourself. He groaned into your mouth, twisting his tongue around yours. 

“I missed you so much.” You mumbled against his lips. 

“You’re the only thing I want.” He answered, pushing your back against the wall. 

His head dipped down. You squeezed your thighs around his waist as his teeth nipped at your neck and breasts. Using his hips and the wall to hold you in place, he undid the buttons of your shirt, opening it before taking your breasts in his hands. His thumbs stroked just above your bra while his mouth continued to suck and nip at your neck. He grabbed onto your hips again, his fingers digging into the globes of your ass. He threw you down on the bed, quickly crawling on top of you and reattaching his lips to yours. You undid the button on his jeans, hearing the sharp hiss as you palmed him through his boxers. He grabbed your hand and pulled it out of his pants, grabbing your other hand and pinning both above your head. His mouth found yours again, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip, pulling on it harshly.

“Don’t move.” He commanded. 

He left your hands above your head as his body lowered down yours. Teasing you by keeping his lips just hovering over your skin. His pointer finger dipped below the waist of your jeans, running it across your belly slowly. Your body was almost squirming as the anticipation built within your core. Your fingers twisted together when he opened the button on your jeans and yanked them down your legs. His mouth moved over your thighs, his hot breath fanning your skin. His teeth playfully pulled on your panties. His tongue teased you through the fabric. You lifted your head to look at him. God, you had missed this. That soft brown hair is just asking to be pulled. Those green eyes rolled back in his head as he decided he couldn't wait anymore, yanking your panties off you and taking you into his mouth. His freckled nose scrunched when he knew he had found a particularly good spot. And, of course, that mouth. Those lips and tongue, tasting every part of you. Dean ravaged you. Hooking your legs over his shoulders and lapping at your entrance, sucking and licking your clit. His breath was heavy, and his eyes closed. You were sure no one could paint a more beautiful image than Dean Winchester between your legs. 

Your first orgasm came quickly, taking both of you by surprise. Dean held you down with one forearm across your hips as he continued. Your hands were wrung together. You wanted to touch him so badly. Your body rapidly built up another orgasm. Dean kept you on the edge for this one, extending the pleasure but building the tension. By the time he let you tumble, you were covered in sweat and practically begging him. You couldn’t stand it anymore, and your hands flew to his head, yanking on his hair as your orgasm released throughout your body. He held you through it, moaning around your cries of pleasure. 

He came back to you, face to face. “I’ll let you have that one.” He said with a crooked smile. 

The tone shifted then, and a new reality settled over the two of you. Dean’s eyes softened to your favorite shade of them, the green grass of the first cold morning in fall. Fresh dew lay in a wet blanket over young blades, their mossy color diffused by clouds against the low-hanging sun. 

“You know I never stopped loving you, right?” You asked, running your fingers over his arm. 

“I do now.” He answered, pushing your hair away from your forehead to kiss your hairline. 

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you. When you were gone, no matter how hard I tried to deny it or how much I shoved it down, it was always there. You were always my girl.” His voice was thick with need and emotion. 

From that moment on, the night felt different. It was more than a reunion. It was more than hashing out old times. It was a vow. You both knew that marriage was not exactly in the cards for hunters, but this night was as close as the two of you would ever come. Words that should have been exchanged in a ceremony were written on each other's naked flesh with wet tongues and eager lips. Names that should have been signed on a document were inked onto each of your hearts through the whispered pleasure filling the air. And oaths that should have been pledged for all to hear were found in the dilating pupils of your locked eyes. 

Slow and passionate kisses turned heavy and deep as you recommitted yourselves to each other and your relationship. Dean's hands touched every part of you, dipping into all your crevices, tracing every scar and freckle. You tasted him, feeling the thick drag of him through your mouth, holding onto his deep groans of ecstasy. He pushed into you, spreading your legs with his before looking you in the eye as he filled you completely. His perfect rhythm brought you to your peak, grasping at his back and shoulders. You found yourself on top, rolling your hips over his, watching his teeth bite into his tongue to keep himself from crying out. His eyes open, showing his blown-out pupils, all traces of morning dew gone. Dean’s hands pressed into your hips so hard, moving you with him as he neared his own peak. Face to face, his fingers dragging down your back, you both fell together. 

Tangled in limbs and sheets, you let your beating heart slow to an average pace. Dean dreamily traced a pattern over your arm, occasionally kissing your forehead as dawn began to break. You didn’t say it and he didn’t ask, but you were never leaving his side again. Finally feeling safe in the arms of the man you loved, you let your eyes drift closed for a moment. You heard his breathing become slow and even, knowing he was also falling asleep. You smiled, healing yourself in the light of a new day before closing your eyes and sailing into a restful sleep.

Tagging: @thinkinghardhardlythinking @watermelonlipstick

[katelyn--renee]

This was so beautiful! Hot as hell with a hint of angst. I loooove it! 😭❤️