go tell your boyfriend, that i’m your boyfriend ⋆ ˚｡⋆
a little bit of toxic jealousy ft. soulless sam
word count: 890
part two
you had just gotten back from having drinks with some guy you met at a bar when sam backed you into a corner. it was a little over two in the morning, and you hadn’t expected him to be awake.
“i take it your date went well?” his tone was carefully even, but the mild look of displeasure in his eyes told you enough.
you ignored the slight chill that ran up your spine at his words and glued your gaze to the floor, “you could say that.”
ever since you found out that he'd lost his soul after everything that happened, you'd been on a subtle mission to avoid him.
it didn't help that you and sam had gotten physically intimate before it happened (on pure accident although it did involve some cheap whiskey that led to getting tangled up in messy sheets), and you had been biting back the urge to confess your all-consuming love since then.
tonight was the first time in years that you'd been on a date. when you met the winchester brothers a couple years back and joined them on the road, you made the absolute decision to go off the market.
it probably had something to do with your fairytale, love-at-first-sight thing with sam but you always pushed the idea of it down when your moments of self-introspection occured in the dead of night.
once the realization hit that nothing was ever gonna happen between you, you knew it was time to get over him.
you made a beeline towards the bathroom to avoid any more confrontation, but sam put a hand up to stop you.
his jaw was clenched and his eyes were dark, his feet slowly making their way towards you. you gulped and felt yourself step away until your back touched the wall.
“did you sleep with him?”
you nearly choked on air at that. the bitterness seeped through his words like a hand grenade thrown in your direction. “what?”
“w-what?” he mimicked, hazel eyes overly wide in artificial innocence, “i didn't stutter, did i?”
blood rushed up to your cheeks at his crudeness. you had to remind yourself that this was not the sam you knew. this was not the person you'd been hiding your feelings from since the moment you met. this was someone else, someone with no concept of empathy or morality.
“i don't think that's any of your business, sam,” you defended, knowing it was a weak argument against him.
he scoffed and rolled his eyes, further hammering the devastating reality of the situation. the real sam wouldn't do this, a voice whispered in the back of your head.
his movements were cold and calculated, perfectly encapsulating the way he’d been acting for the last few weeks.
“did he fuck you good?” you felt the air leave your lungs at his words, “did he make you scream the way i did?”
“sam...”
he pushed you further, pressing every nerve button in your body, “does he know you like to dig your nails down my back everytime you cum so hard that you see stars? how needy and loud you get when you’re close? you know that only happens when you're with me.”
he was being a cocky son of a bitch, but you had to admit he had every right to be. you only hated how much truth his last statement held, and you hated even more that it made you wet.
your lips crashed together in unison, wrathful and filled with need. his arms lifted you up from your previous postion, wrapping your legs around his waist. his hands made their way to your hair, gripping it with unrestrained intensity.
the kiss was hot and insatiable. his lips made their way towards your neck, leaving marks you knew would show up angry and purple in a few minutes. it was intoxicating how good he was with his mouth.
“oh god,” you moaned as your back hit the mattress. sam peeled your underwear off in a matter of seconds, fingers sinking in the soft skin of your inner thighs.
“actually, it’s sam,” he grinned like the devil himself, and his head was lost between your legs. you felt his tongue press flat on your aching clit, making your eyes roll back.
he noticed your hands inching towards his hair, and he pulled himself away, “keep your hands behind your head.”
you frowned, “i can’t-”
“do you want me to tie you up with one of the ropes?” he countered, and a whimper fell from you. you pouted, proceeding to follow his order anyways.
the next morning, you were sound asleep on the other side of the bed when sam heard your phone vibrate on the nightstand.
“i had a great time last night. when can i see you again?” the text read and sam smirked.
he looked over to see you fucked out from exhaustion over last night's events, a flickering memory passing through his brain of your sensual cries from the multiple orgasms he pulled from you.
the camera app opened, and he snapped a picture of your bare back wrapped in his blanket with his arm visibly in the frame. he hit send and hovered over the block button, deleting the text chain along the way, and went back to sleep.
if you want to be included in the taglist, just send me an ask! :)
ps sorry my writings have been rather short lately, my finals are coming up soon so i’m currently in the middle of hell week :’D but this was my little treat to myself so yeah!
and i know-- i know its freaking toxic BUT THE WAY HE TAKES A REVENGE PHOTO AND BLOCKS THE PHONE NUMBER. this man can wear me out and wear me down every day. i love how he doesn't listen and just knows that reader can give more. umphhh.
content: EXPLICIT 18+, sex curse, fuck or die, mildly dubious consent (because of the fuck or die of it all), fem!reader, mutual pining, unprotected piv sex, cumplay (just a little), nipple play, size kink
word count: 6.3k
summary: You fucking hate witches. Especially the one that hit you and Sam Winchester, whom you've been harboring a crush on for years, with a sex curse.
notes: i don't usually even read sex curse/fuck or die fics. i have no idea where this came from. i think i was possessed by some sort of horny demon or something. anyways i've been looking at this one so long that i have no idea if it's even good anymore. hope you all enjoy it lmao. also, divider by @cafekitsune <3 EDITING THIS TO MENTION THE TITLE IS FROM DISEASE BY LADY GAGA OKAY BYEEE!!!
crossposted on ao3
You fucking hate witches.
Some of them are alright. Some of them are kind and generous and only use their magic for protection and good luck and they only put hexes on people who really deserve it. You don’t mind those sorts of witches. Most of them, though, like the one currently throwing you across the room, are the fucking worst.
Your back slams into the wall before you tumble to the ground—maybe two, three feet away from where Sam is currently stumbling back to his feet—and the impact knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You groan, shoving up on your hands; you don’t have time to try and catch your breath. This witch is, frankly, kicking your asses. But right now, she’s focused on Dean on the other side of the room. If you’re quick, you might be able to get the jump on her.
You drag yourself up to your knees, just high enough to be able to access the gun in the waistband of your jeans and to aim it straight for her fucking head. Once you’ve got the gun in your hands, though, several things happen in quick, extremely unlucky succession.
The witch gets Dean on the ground and turns her head just as you raise the gun to aim right between her eyes, and she begins to chant, crackling, magical energy sparking in the space between her hands. You have just enough to time to think—fuck it. If I’m going down, I’m taking her out with me—before that energy is shot straight at you. You squeeze your finger on the trigger just as Sam, who has apparently recovered enough to try to take a bullet for you, jumps in front of you, knocking you back and sending your aim way wide so the bullet hits the wall instead of the witch’s skull.
And the worst part is it doesn’t even work. Six feet and four inches of pure muscle barrels into you, has you slamming right back against the wall with a pained, breathless grunt, and still, you feel the magic when it hits you, the energy of it spreading over your skin and sinking into your bones like an electric shock. Either you hit your head when you hit the wall, or the spell is making your head swim, leaving you too disoriented to tell which way the witch goes when she runs out the door.
Sam groans where he landed half on top of you. You blink in an effort to clear your vision, blindly reaching out to touch his face, to check if he’s okay. You don’t know exactly what that spell did, you were too far away to hear exactly what she was chanting, but you can feel it tingling across your skin, settling in like it’s making a home there. Sam got blasted too, that much is clear when your hand lands on his cheek and magic sparks across your palm.
He sucks in a breath, flinching away from the foreign feeling at the same time as you yank your hand back. “What the hell did she do to us?” he asks, shoving up on his arms to look down at you. And isn’t that just the million dollar question?
You’re on the phone with Bobby almost before you’ve even made it back to the Impala. All three of you agree whatever is going on with this hex you’ve been hit with, you’re in over your heads. You need some expert help.
“You get the witch?” Bobby greets, just rubbing salt in the wound.
“Uh. No,” you answer, climbing into the backseat of the car. You and Sam have been avoiding touching as much as possible, and it’s been shockingly hard. Honestly, you never noticed how closely you usually walk until every brush of your shoulders or hands sent sparks cascading over your skin. “There’s been a bit of a…complication.”
There’s silence, and then an exhausted, beleaguered sigh from the other end of the call. “You idjits managed to get yourselves cursed, didn’t you?” Bobby asks, his tone exasperated.
Ugh, God. The sun must’ve recently peaked in the sky, beaming down on the car and cooking you like you’re in a damn oven. You don’t remember it being this hot before. “Jesus—Dean, can you turn the air up?” you call out to the front before deigning to answer Bobby’s question. “Yeah. Yeah, she hit me and Sam with some sort of spell before I could shoot her. Problem is, we can’t really tell what sort of spell it actually is. It’s sort of creating like…static electricity? Every time we touch it’s kind of sparking.”
“Well, did she say anything?” Bobby asks.
You frown, irritated. “Don’t you think if I knew what spell she cast, I would’ve told you? I was too far away, I couldn’t hear what she was saying.”
From the front seat, Dean says, “I heard it, sort of. She was speaking Latin for sure, something about cupid?”
As Dean says this, you watch Sam’s eyes go wide and his face go a little pale, which really doesn’t seem like a very good sign. “Cupiditas?” he asks. And it’s strange, looking into the front seat, you notice Sam’s face is a little red, a sheen of sweat starting to build on his forehead. Clearly, he’s noticing the heat as you are. And though you have a bit of a hard time drawing your eyes from Sam—though, when don’t you?—you can see that Dean doesn’t seem to be hot at all, not seeming bothered by the way the car is cooking you.
“Yeah! Cupiditas con… something,” Dean confirms.
You repeat what Dean said to Bobby, and you hear the pages he’d been flipping through stop turning. “You know, I wish you three would stop putting me in situations where I have to explain shit like this to you,” he mutters.
You feel as out of the loop as Dean, which is not a very comfortable feeling to have. Sam seems to have some idea of what’s going on, if the look on his face is to be believed, and Bobby’s long-suffering complaints make you believe he knows exactly what spell you’re suffering from. “Explain shit like what?” you ask.
“She hit the two of you with a damn sex curse, is what,” Bobby says, and you feel your stomach drop out your ass.
“A sex curse?!” you repeat, incredulous. Of fucking course this would happen to you. “You’re joking. That’s not a real thing.”
“It certainly is. And deadly, too,” Bobby says, and you hear the turning of pages start up again until he finds what he’s looking for. “Says here you’ve only got about two hours before the, uh…lust heats you up too hot, cooks your brain inside your damn skull.”
Well. That at least explains why it’s so damn hot in here. “Well, how do we make that not happen?” You’re pretty interested in not getting so horny you literally die, thanks.
Bobby is silent for a moment, his discomfort with the subject warring with the knowledge that time is of the essence. “You’ve gotta…sate it,” he says haltingly. “You’re an adult, I’m sure I don’t have to explain how. It won’t break the curse completely, but it’ll buy Dean time to find the witch and kill her; that’s the only way to actually break the curse.”
Oh, fucking hell. “So…we’ve got two hours, unless we…” you trail off, your stomach flipping at the thought. Sam’s hands desperately tugging at your clothes, needy, he’s got to have you or he’ll die, literally. You tug at the collar of your shirt, sweating for real now, and shake it off. “But if…if Dean finds the witch before then, then we wouldn’t have to. Right?”
“If you wanna tempt fate like that, be my guest. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable as hell. Soon enough, it’ll be pretty hard to remember exactly why you’re tempting fate in the first place.” You hear Bobby slam the book shut. “But if you do decide to sate the curse, keep it to yourselves, please. I already know too much about this, and I don’t wanna know any more.”
You swallow, your mouth dry with the images swirling through your head again. Familiar ones, sure; this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever thought of Sam like that. But these images are so vivid, so intense, shooting arousal down your spine and building in your gut faster than you’ve ever known it to do so. “Alright. We’ll just…let you know when we—when Dean gets her, then.” You hang up the phone, turning your attention to the front seat where both brothers are staring at you, eyes wide. Right. They could hear your side of the conversation.
“A sex curse?” Dean asks, voice flooded with disgust. Like Bobby, he probably already knows way more about this than he’d like to.
Sam though…his expression is strange, a little unreadable. You wish you could get a better handle on his thoughts here because you have pretty mixed emotions, yourself. On the one hand, you’ve wanted Sam…God, since you met him. The only thing the curse is doing is amplifying it, turning that desire into something deadly. But this was never how you wanted it to happen, although you’re not sure who would ever want a sex curse to be the reason they finally got to kiss their crush.
You relay what Bobby told you to the boys, everything Bobby told you, even when the mention of sating the curse makes Dean’s lip curl in disgust. It doesn’t escape your notice that Sam visibly relaxes when you say that you don’t necessarily have to do anything, so long as Dean is quick enough, and it stings a little, the idea that he would rather push through the discomfort of arousal burning him up from the inside out than touch you.
Dean nods, untwisting his body to face the front of the car again. “Alright. We’ll get you two back to the hotel, and then I’ll kill the bitch.”
By the time Dean drops you and Sam back at the room, the effects of the curse are in full swing. You’re so hot, stripped down to shorts and your sports bra and still sweating buckets. Sam is in a similar state of undress, his shirt tossed somewhere across the room after the heat became unbearable. Of course, you only know this from quick glances because if you look at him too long, the urge to touch him, lick him, bite him, starts getting almost too strong to ignore. Every time you see his pecs out of the corner of your eye, your mouth starts to water. It only takes half an hour for it to start to get a little bit too much.
“Do you think Dean’s found her yet?” you ask, striking a conversation just for any type of distraction from the ache between your legs. And it does ache; you think you may have ruined both your underwear and these shorts from the way your cunt is dripping.
Where you’re looking at him in your periphery—in an effort not to exacerbate the flooding of your panties—Sam shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is low and rich and almost rasping, and you squirm where you’re sitting as it hits your ears. “He texted me a few minutes ago, said he thinks he’s getting closer, but…” But it’s not looking good. The words hang unsaid in the air.
You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “We might not have a choice,” you mutter, glancing at him through the gap between your fingers. Your eyes zero in on the hollow of his neck, your entire body buzzing with the need to attach your mouth to it, to see what noise he’d make if you did. You can’t drag your eyes away. “He’s not gonna find her in time.”
Sam’s gaze turns to you, and you finally manage to lift your eyes to watch his drag down your body, his pupils blown so wide you can no longer see the hazel of his irises. “He might,” he protests, but the argument falls flat with the way his eyes are locked on your cleavage, glistening with sweat.
“And if he doesn’t?” you ask, lifting your head from where you’ve been hiding behind your hands. Seeing him full on, no hiding in your periphery or stealing quick glances, it’s like staring straight into the sun. Blinding. You have to take a deep breath and dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you to keep from reaching out. “How long are we gonna push it? Are we gonna let it kill us just so we don’t have to—”
He interrupts you with a rasp of your name, and you almost groan out loud at the sound of it. Fuck, you’ve never needed anything like you need him right now. Like air, like water. “That’s the thing, I don’t want to have to. I—God, it feels like…forcing you. It feels wrong.”
Is that his hold up? He thinks you don’t want this? Jesus, you’ve gone this whole time thinking he’d literally rather die than fuck you, and it turns out he was just scared you didn’t really want him, that the curse was making you feel things you’d never feel otherwise. “Sam, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you’re hot. I’d way rather have sex with you than die.” You watch his hands flex, his fingers spreading before he balls them into fists, and your cunt flutters. “Actually, the list of things I’d rather do than fuck you is probably significantly shorter than the opposite. Not…not just because of the curse.” Of course, the curse is definitely making it worse. You can’t stop thinking of how good his thick fingers would feel curling inside you, imagining how attentive he’d be. How generous. Normally, you can curb it a little, save those thoughts for late at night, guilty and shameful. But right now they’re sticking at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you try to think about literally anything else.
You watch the conflict in his mind playing out on his face before he groans and rubs his hands over it. “You don’t get it; it’s not—I don’t want to just be someone you fuck, I want…I want everything,” he tells you, and if your heartbeat wasn’t already erratic, it would be skipping in your chest right now. “And this is just absolutely the last way I wanted you to find out, but that’s why I’m not…I just don’t know if I can do this if this is all I’m gonna get.”
“Oh, Sam.” His name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re saying it. You stand up and cross the room to sit next to him on the bed, and you don’t miss the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes flick down your body for just a moment, the way he twists his fingers into the sheets. You set it aside for now; this is more important. He is more important. “You really don’t know?”
He’s silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face; although for what, you don’t know. “Know what?” he asks, his voice quiet as a breath.
You lift your hand to touch his face, and this time, when the magic sparks across your skin, it feels like a salve, cooling the skin of your palm. From the way he sighs, you imagine he’s feeling the effect as well. “Of course I want that. Who wouldn’t want everything with you?” You’re so engrossed in the look on his face—wide-eyed awe, as if he truly never believed you could want him too—that the sparking of his hand touching your waist makes you jump. Oh, but God, the relief is instantaneous. If just this, your hand on his cheek, his hand on your waist, feels this good, how good would it feel to kiss him? To drag his shorts down his legs and sink down onto his cock, feel the way it stretches you out— “Now if you’re properly reassured, could you please, please fuck me already?”
Sam may have the self-control of some sort of divine being, but he is, in the end, only human, and the curse is deep, and hot, and needy. You can see it the moment his restraint snaps, and even if you couldn’t, he drags you in and plants his lips on yours. Every feeling is amplified tenfold, and as you gasp at his hungry kiss, Sam takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, his free hand coming up to the back of your head to hold you close, guide you how he wants you. It’s not how you imagined he would kiss you, not really, but it’s exactly what you need right now, and the magic sparks down your spine in a wave of cool respite from the heat that had been eating you up.
Then he pulls away—to speak, or maybe just to breathe—and the heat surges back in instantly, stealing your breath and leaving you panting into his mouth as you frantically drag him back in. “No,” you groan, shoving your hand into his hair to keep him from pulling back again. “We have to keep—oh, fuck.”
The feeling of his hand shoving under the fabric of your sports bra, pushing it up to expose your breasts, shuts you up quickly. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you moan, pleasure sparking across what feels like every nerve ending you have. He doesn’t pull away to speak this time, well aware now that the relief you’re both feeling is very dependent on the contact. “I wish I could take this slow,” he mumbles, and you feel his voice buzzing against your lips. “Lay you down and taste every inch of you until you’re begging for my cock.”
As if you needed to be any hornier. “I’m already begging for it,” you tell him, before dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. The noise he makes goes straight to your cunt, and you scramble to climb onto his lap. Fuck, you can feel how hard he is underneath you as you straddle him—even through the layers of fabric separating you, he feels huge. You need him inside you yesterday. “Next time—” you start, although it’s a little hard to speak with Sam’s tongue dragging over yours on nearly every other word— “we can have slow and sweet and whatever you want. But if you’re not inside me in the next two minutes, I’ll kill you before the curse even gets a chance, I swear to God.”
Sam laughs, like you’re joking. You’re absolutely not. “Alright, I got you,” he mutters, and your brain registers the magic sparking across your skin before his hand as he shoves it under the waistband of your shorts. Your entire body jolts as he brushes a finger over your center through the fabric of your panties, but only because it feels so good, more intense than it has any right to be. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”
You hardly have the brain power to even kiss him anymore, but it doesn’t matter as much now. His hand in your pants is providing infinitely more relief than kissing him could hope to achieve. You drag your lips down his neck before laving your tongue over the hollow of his throat, tasting the sweat that’s gathered there. “I need it so bad,” you mumble against his skin, and apparently you’re so fucking desperate for it that you’ve been reduced to cheesy, porny dirty talk.
Sam doesn’t seem to mind. He tips his head back on a groan as you scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his throat. “Yeah? I can tell. You’re soaked,” he says, and then his fingers deftly tug the fabric of your underwear aside so he can press a finger inside you. You’re pretty sure you see God. From the look on his face, Sam might be in the same boat. “Fucking hell—off. Off, take them off.” Tragically, he removes his hand from your cunt, and you could actually cry at the way the overwhelming heat comes slamming back into you the second his touch leaves. But it only takes a moment before magic is sparking over your skin again as his hands brush your hips in his efforts to drag your shorts and underwear down your legs.
You take over once he’s got them halfway down your thighs, crawling off his lap in favor of ridding yourself of the offending garments. And while you’re at it, you drag your sports bra over your head too. In the time between you crawling off him and tossing your bra carelessly aside, Sam has followed suit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s entirely bare, having tossed his pants and underwear to the same careless void you’d abandoned yours to.
Despite your desperate urgency, you take a moment to let your eyes fall to his lap, and fuck, your mouth waters at the sight of him, hard and leaking. He’s…God, you expected him to be big—he’s six foot four for fuck’s sake, of course he’d be big—but this is just absurd. You can’t help but reach out, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his length. You’re so engrossed in the way your hand looks wrapped around him that you almost miss the choked little moan he gives, his body bowing towards you.
“Please,” he groans, and then he reaches out to grab you by the shoulders, tugging you back in close again, urging you to reclaim your perch on his lap. “I wanna feel you, I need to—God, you’re so hot; please let me fuck you.”
You aren’t sure if he means it as a compliment, or a comment on the insane waves of heat radiating off your skin. Either way, you’re more than willing to fulfill his request. “Yeah. Yeah, anything,” you murmur, ducking your head to press your forehead against his. From this angle, you can almost see as you use your grip on him to guide his cockhead to line up with your entrance. Where you touch, the magic between you sings. It’s nearly automatic; you sink down onto his cock without so much as a second thought.
Despite Sam’s…considerable size, somehow, you expected the slide to be easy, what with the aching desperation of it all. You’d expected your dripping cunt to suck him right in, make the stretch of taking his cock bearable. It seems even sex curses can’t work miracles, though. “Fuck, Sam—” you choke out, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. The stretch doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it’s so much—would be so much anyway, even without the curse amplifying it and making it so much more. You have to stop and take a moment just to remember how to breathe before you’ve even sunk to the top of your hand, wrapped no less than halfway down.
“I know.” His voice when he speaks is rough, teeth gritted like it’s a real test of his strength to keep still, to keep from fucking up into you, to keep from making you take it. God, you almost want him to, but the soothing tone of his voice is nice too. It rumbles in his chest, echoing through your body just as sure as the pleasure of his cock stretching you out. He brushes his hands over your shoulders and down your back to finally land on your hips. You think maybe he means to keep his grip gentle, because the pressure of his fingers digging into your skin fluctuates, like he’s fighting the urge to bruise you. He’s not doing a very good job of it, though, and it sends a thrill up your spine to know he’s going to leave his mark there, even if that’s not his intention. “I know, take your time. I’ve got you.”
It’s a sweet sentiment, but you both know time is something you actually don’t have a lot of right now. You can feel the heat crawling up your spine even now, though Sam’s cock spearing you open is holding it at bay. Somewhat. So you dig your fingers into Sam’s hair to steel yourself, and you sink down. And down, and down, until you can’t imagine how there could possibly be more to take, and then, finally, your hips kiss his, and he’s bottomed out inside you. “Fuck,” you groan, panting against the skin of his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. It feels like your lungs emptied out in an attempt to make room, like he’s buried so deep inside you they can’t quite fill right anymore. “Oh, fuck.”
Sam makes an attempt to soothe you, laying hot, open mouthed kisses over your neck and shoulder. “So good, you’re so good, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling over your skin. His hands abandon their stations at your hips to pull your face up so he can press those same kisses all across your face. “Taking me so well, so perfect for me.”
Fuck, but he’s got your number, doesn’t he? The praise hits like a drug, zipping down your spine to your cunt and making you flutter around him. It’s frankly entirely unconscious when you shift your hips, but the stars that erupt in your vision when he moves inside you have you moaning in tandem with him.
“Shit—” He drags you into a messy kiss, all open mouths and panting breaths, his hands buried in your hair. “Can I—God, please, can I move?” You’ve never heard him sound like that before, just the very edge of a whine in his voice as he pleads against your lips. He sounds wrecked, and it feels…good, heady. Powerful. You want to drag that voice out of him a hundred more times, make him whine for you like that for the rest of his life.
You shake your head, tilting your head down to press a biting kiss on his jaw. “No. No, I’m gonna…” With that, you brace your arms on his shoulders and your knees on either side of him and lift your hips until you’ve nearly moved off him entirely, just the tip of his cock still pressed inside you. And then you drop back down. You feel every inch of it as he drags along your walls, and though it’s easier to take this time, the stretch is still intense, still nearly makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.
You force yourself to keep your eyes forward, though, because the look on Sam’s face is almost as good as the stretch of his cock. His brows furrow, face twisting in his pleasure, and his mouth falls open, like he wants to moan but something is holding him back. And, well. That just won’t do.
You lift yourself up to drop down again, satisfied when Sam groans and drags his hands down your back to dig his fingers into your hips again, pressing into familiar aches. You duck to press your smug smile against his neck, and find it so slick with sweat that you can’t help licking a stripe up his throat. “I’m gonna ride you so good, Sammy,” you mutter, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. His hands help guide you when you bounce this time, and it only makes the slide more delicious, makes your words drag out into a moan before you can continue, “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this? See your face while I make myself come on your cock?” You start up a steady rhythm with Sam’s grip spurring you along, lifting up to slam back down again, his cock spearing you open again and again and again.
Once you’ve got into the rhythm, his hands move from your hips to your upper back to drag you closer until he can lean down and press his face in the valley between your breasts, kissing and biting and licking the soft skin there, and all the while his hands keep pressing you closer, keeping your chest arched into his mouth. “How long?” he asks, his voice muffled as he drags his lips over the swell of your breast to leave his biting kisses there too.
You drag your hands up into his hair as you roll your hips, moving in more of a grind now than a bounce, and the new movement means his cock is frankly unrelenting against your g-spot, the pressure of it never leaving, only shifting. The feeling is near overwhelming, has your hips faltering so much that Sam has to bring his hands back to your hips just so you keep moving. “Mm, God, forever, feels like,” you answer, once you’ve gathered enough brain power to even process that he had asked you a question. “Since the first time I saw you, probably.” Saying it out loud, it feels a little bit creepy to confess that you’ve been fantasizing about riding him since the moment you met him, but you’re a little too blissed out at the moment to feel embarrassed about it.
Besides, judging by the way Sam groans against your chest and fucks up into you, he clearly doesn’t find it creepy at all. “Guess I’d better make it worth the wait, then,” he mutters, before dragging the blunt of his teeth over your pebbled nipple and then moaning against it when the shock of pleasure makes your grip tighten in his hair. And, fuck, if you thought it was good before…
He digs his heels into the bed to brace and starts thrusting up to meet every roll of your hips, his cock pounding so deep inside you now that you swear you can almost taste it. If there was enough room in your mind to even process it behind the fog of lust, you’d realize he’s fucking needy, desperate little moans from your throat with every thrust. And all the while he keeps his face buried in your tits, despite the way they bounce with the force of his thrusts. He drags his teeth over the skin between them, laves his tongue over your nipples, making noises like there’s no place he’d rather be. It’s intoxicating.
And you’re so close, toeing the edge and hurtling ever closer with every thrust Sam pounds into you. The entire energy of the curse settles in your core at the same place the coil of your impending orgasm grows ever tighter. “Sam,” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you use your grip in his hair to drag him up, to kiss him messy and deep. You swallow the sweet, hungry noises he’s making, and he nips at your lip, and you are so fucking close. “Please.”
Sam’s got you. Of course he does. He brings one hand from your hip to press between your legs and rub his thumb over your clit in quick, firm little circles. “Come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “let me feel you come on my cock.”
And who are you to deny him anything he wants? You cry out as your orgasm explodes through you, whiting out your vision with the force of it. You’ve never come so hard in your life, and it just keeps going, burning up your spine like it’s singlehandedly eating up the energy the curse had created in your body. You’re just conscious enough to feel when Sam’s cock twitches and spills inside you, the frantic spasming of your cunt milking him for all he’s worth.
You do come down, eventually, your fingers aching where they’ve been white knuckled in Sam’s hair. You bury your face in his neck and try to catch your breath, and his nose presses against your hair as he seems to do the same. It takes you a moment to notice—and you think you can be excused, considering you just came so hard you saw God—but despite the cum that you can feel slowly beginning to seep out of you, Sam is still hard, and doesn’t seem to be softening. Like, at all. And once you notice that, it’s a quick step to realize that the heat at the base of your spine, while significantly lessened, has not completely subsided.
Fuck. “She’s not dead,” you groan, which morphs into a whimper when an involuntary shift of your hips makes Sam’s cock press against your oversensitive sweet spot. “God, we’re still cursed.” You can feel the awful heat starting to build again, that same devastating arousal eating at you despite the way you’re still trembling all over with the aftermath of your last orgasm.
You feel Sam’s lips press against your hair, soothing hands rubbing up your sides as they do. “We’ve probably bought enough time,” he offers, smoothing his thumbs over your hip bones. It seems sweet, until he smooths his hand down your thigh and keeps talking, “If you can’t go again.” And that? Well, that sounds like a challenge.
Pushing through the oversensitivity, you rock your hips down, dragging your nails down the back of Sam’s neck and shoulders in an effort to dull the feeling. “Oh, I can go again,” you retort, with a confidence that you’re not sure you’ve really earned, considering the way your thighs are shaking. “Just…not on top.”
The rumble of Sam’s laugh in his chest is your only warning before you’re suddenly bouncing on the bed on your back, a shocked yelp passing your lips at the sudden movement, and the sudden emptiness—your cunt clenches around nothing but air, Sam’s spend spilling from your fluttering hole.
“There,” Sam says, his face smug as he climbs over you. “Problem solved.”
You roll your eyes, ready to shoot back some sassy retort of your own, but Sam’s not looking at you. Not at your face, at least. Instead, his eyes are trained between your legs, and simply because it seems like it would be more effective than a sarcastic comment—and not because of the way his eyes glaze over a little while he’s staring, definitely not—you let your legs fall open a little further. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and then he reaches between your legs to press two fingers in your cunt. It takes you a moment to realize he’s pushing his cum back in, gathering up whatever had spilled from you when he pulled out and fucking it back into you with his fingers.
You groan, tossing your arm over your eyes. It’s not really something you’d thought you’d be into, but now that he’s doing it… “Fuck, Sam…”
Sam laughs, but it comes out a little breathless, and you lift your arm to watch him as he draws his fingers from your cunt and brings them right up to his mouth to lick them clean. Holy fucking shit. “Yeah,” he mutters, tucking his hand under your thigh to lift your leg up onto his shoulder, “That’s sort of the idea.”
He doesn’t waste much time after that, lines himself up and pushes in. You’re so sensitive; it’s so good it almost hurts, and though this angle doesn’t allow him to get nearly as deep, it’s clearly better for him to drive into you. His thrusts are quick and punchy, drawing little ‘ah’s from your throat as he drags you back to the edge faster than you would’ve thought possible. Maybe that’s the curse. Maybe he’s just that good.
“Come on, baby,” he mutters, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face, down your neck. “You can give me one more, yeah?” You don’t even notice his arm move, but between one blink and the next, he’s got his thumb back on your clit, rubbing circles over the sensitive bud.
Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back as you arch your own. “God, don’t stop, fuck—”
You feel it the second it happens. It’s completely instant, the sudden and total disappearance of the magic that had been consuming your and Sam’s bodies. The witch is dead, the curse is broken, and the complete relief in tandem with Sam railing you into the fucking bed sends you careening over the edge in an instant, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.
Sam groans and digs his teeth into your shoulder, following right after you as the curse dissipates from his body as well.
The two of you don’t talk for a long while after that, going about the motions of recovery and cleaning up in silence. He pulls out—the both of you hissing with oversensitivity at the motion—and heads into the bathroom to get a rag. He wipes himself down and then you, mindful of the way you wince when he presses too hard.
You catch his wrist when he goes to walk away. “I meant what I said.” You wait until he turns to look at you, and then you tangle your fingers in his. “It wasn’t just about the curse for me.”
You can see it on his face, the hesitance. Like he really never thought he could have this. Fuck, if you had known, you’d have told him years ago, just to make sure he knew how adored he was. How adored he is, always.
“Yeah?” he says, his voice quiet as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s sweeter, much more tender than any of the kisses before, and this is exactly how you had always thought Sam would kiss you. With his entire heart on his sleeve. “Me too.”
Maybe you’ve got a little to thank witches for after all.
Anon requested: Priest!Sam or Priest!Dean who jerks off in the confessional booth while you confess your sins -🫎
A/N: Giving Priest!Sammy a bit of love
They call it a dog collar.
He's never known why, he's never cared to.
But right now he gets it- he's a fucking mutt.
He's already got his belt undone, the small clink of metal hidden by your voice.
He feels the guilt eating at him, like he always does. That festering guilt that tells him he's wrong, perverted. It's not gonna stop him, not when he's got you only inches away.
He can only see your outline, your lips parting as you talk, your chest rising and falling when you take a breath. Your modest white dress- pure.
He wants to ruin you. Wants to cut your pretty white dress off your body, wants to push his crucifix into your hands and make you beg for forgiveness as he fucks you. He can picture it, the way your palm would bleed as you clutch the cross. He wants to press his tongue to it, lap at your blood like a dog licking its wounds.
He stuffs the bottom of his shirt into his mouth, half to muffle his moans and half to stop it getting ruined by the sin he's about to commit.
His hand goes into his pants, a tight hiss only just suppressed. It's disgusting how hard he already is, just from hearing your voice- just from picturing you on your front as he mounts you, just from imagining his hand wrapped over your mouth to stop you making a sound. No- no he'd wrap it around your throat, he'd make sure you can't make a sound.
For a moment there's silence. You've stopped talking. You're waiting for him- for his voice, for his encouragement, for his forgiveness. But he knows that's not everything. Pretty, innocent girl like you- you have more sins to spill.
"Keep going-" he murmurs, voice hitched, his shirt tumbling back down his body. He pulls it back up, biting down on the fabric hard.
You wouldn't suspect the illicit acts being performed only a touch away. You never could- sweet Father Winchester who reads sermons from the heart and has eyes like a doe. He could never be so twisted, so desperate to corrupt.
When he cums he'll make sure you hear it. It's more fun that way- if you go home with doubt on your mind and the memory of his groan on your lips. He wants you to picture it, he wants you to think about it tonight and sin against your own fingers. It's the only way he can be sure you'll end up right back here, right where he wants you.
summary ﹏ You know you shouldn't have those types of thoughts about your History professor. All that lust and all those fantasies about him. But is it really your fault when he's that fucking hot? Plus... Professor Winchester seems to also think about you a lot.
cw ﹏ ( +18 ) mdni / smut fic. afab!reader & professor!sam. age-gap (20s & 40s). power imbalance (student & professor). quickie / rushed sex. doggy-style. kissing. praise. petname (baby). slight worshipping&gentle dominance. semi-public. drooling. protected piv. clit stimulation. mid overstimulation. short but caring aftercare. sex with feelings (implied).
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!
You told yourself you wouldn’t do it.
No, it was actually more than that; you promised yourself you wouldn’t even think about it. It was wrong—those were the words that repeated themselves in your mind each time you thought about your History professor, Sam Winchester. Because all the thoughts you had about him were depraved and perverted and it filled your mind with too much imagination.
But was it really your fault, in the end? Was it your fault when professor Winchester was so good-looking and so… hot? Surely, you weren’t the only student fantasizing about him and you surely wouldn’t be the last either. God, him and those luscious brown hair, those big puppy eyes and those shoulders… those veiny arms… those long fingers. He wasn’t called The Shoulders on campus for nothing.
And yes, it was disrespectful to think about him that way when all the man did was teach with a bright smile and the best explanation you had ever heard in your academic life so far. He liked his job and it showed on his face each time you saw him. So why couldn’t you stop thinking about him fucking you against the desk of his office? About his tongue against your cunt and him whispering praise in your ear?
The truth was—it was your fault as much as it was his. Because while you imagined his hands on your body, you also knew the way he looked at you; whenever you entered the amphitheater a bit late, when you laughed with your friends outside the class, when you passed by him and waved his way. You saw his eyes following you, lingering on parts of your body you thought he’d never look at. He wasn’t so discreet either.
But you could never act on those thoughts you had. What if you were only imagining things? What if he reported you to the provisor? What if he mocked you? (You stopped thinking about the last one, professor Winchester was way too nice for that). It was way too embarrassing to say you fantasized on him and how he could fuck you.
Though, that definitely changed on that faithful day. You were late to class again, blaming it on your car once more but you knew the real reason; the more time you spent in that History class, the more you wanted to jump your professor’s bones. You saw his eyes follow the movement of your body when you walked to your seat, the focus he had on you; how you breathed, how you smiled at your friends, how you even looked at him. It was too much.
It was actually so bad that you had to clench your thighs through the entire class—feeling both aroused while he spoke and moved around, and ashamed of feeling that way. What was wrong with you? Why couldn’t you like someone else? Because not only Sam Winchester was your professor but he was also the double of your age, probably. Maybe he had a partner, kids; you didn’t know.
It was only at the very end of the class when the bell rang that everything changed for you. Pushing your furniture and laptop back in your bag, you got up to meet your friends but the loud voice of Sam echoed through the amphitheater. “(…)? Can I have a talk with you, please?” He asked and you double-checked with your friends before waving them away.
You didn’t want to do that. Didn’t want to speak with him or see him alone or even be near him. It was torture for your hormones and fantasies.
Slowly, the room emptied as you walked down the stairs to meet him at the desk and finally, it was just the both of you in the large room. Sam turned his back to you, erasing the chalk on the board. “You have been late quite a few times now, is there anything I should be aware of?” He asked but you simply were unable to reply to him for a moment; the way his arm moved, how his muscles contracted under his flannel, how his broad shoulders moved; you were hypnotized.
He suddenly turned around when the silence took over and you blinked at him. “What? Uh… Oh, no. Everything’s alright.” You cursed at yourself when replying, because if everything was alright, why were you late all the time? Sam hummed, eyebrows raising up on his forehead but bizarrely, he seemed to try and not meet your eyes. As if, he too, was having thoughts of fucking you on this desk, not afraid of being caught by students and professors alike.
“I’m trying to look out for you, so don’t hesitate to tell me if something is wrong.” He ended up saying, leaning back against his desk and hands grabbing at the edge of it. You looked down at those big—large hands, realizing that his grip on the wooden furniture was so tight that you could see the white of his knuckles. Like he was stopping himself from doing something stupid.
“Yes, I know. You’re always so good to me, Professor Winchester.”
Those words; those simple and innocent words undone him. You licked your lips when you heard him grunt and before you knew it, he took a step closer to you and you gasped. The height difference between you two had always been consequential but having to tip up your head to look at him was something else, and that only made your pussy clench around nothing. His hands cupped your jaw, thumbs caressing your bottom lip like he was waiting for permission.
Your eyes widened at his actions; because did it mean he was thinking the same as you? Did he have those perverted and depraved thoughts about you? You could only nod your head at him and your hands grabbed at his biceps—so strong, so hard. Sam crashed his lips against yours without much ceremony. His hands held your face, cradling it, long fingers in your hair. You immediately whined against his mouth, gasping which made him able to push his tongue against yours.
You kissed him back like you had never kissed anyone before; with want, with need and with lust. You wanted to feel him everywhere on your body, to feel his fingers, his lips and his cock splitting you open. His tongue rolled against yours, your saliva mixing inside your mouth; it was wet and warm. You could already feel the wetness pooling inside your panties, making your hole slick and ready for more.
Sam’s hands moved to your waist, and he pushed the both of you until your ass hit the edge of the desk. Only then, he broke the kiss; a thread of saliva connected your lips with his, your breathing labored. “I’ve been waiting to do that for months now, ever since I saw how you were looking at me,” he started to say before one of his legs parted your own wider and he fitted his thigh between them.
“But if you want me to stop, I will, alright?” His voice was nothing but a whisper.
Your own hands moved to his broad shoulders, wishing you could feel the warm skin hiding under the flannel. “No, I really don’t want to stop now. I’ve been thinking about you a lot, Professor.” Those words made you a bit embarrassed but you looked up at his hazel eyes and the way he looked at you made the feeling disappear. “You can call me Sam.” He only replied before closing the distance between your mouths again. This kiss was slower, less hungry but his tongue still played with yours.
His strong hands caressed their way to your hips before he grabbed them tight and lifted you so you could sit on the edge of the desk. He slotted himself so good between your thighs that you swore he could feel the warmth of your pussy through your clothes. The thought of you both being surprised by someone else at any minute made you even wetter than you were, damping your panties so badly.
Sam’s hips started to grind against yours as he kissed you and a moan of yours echoed in his mouth which made him tighten his grip on your hips. The fabric of your jeans and damp panties were rubbing against your clit now, making it all sensible and ready to be touched. Above your own pleasure, you also felt Sam’s bulge against your thigh and almost gasped at his size.
He finally pulled away from the kiss and you saw how red his lips were now. “Am I allowed to have you on this desk?” He whispered to you, and you sighed at his words. Your hands lifted from his shoulders to run through his luscious hair, tugging on the strands just enough for him to feel it. “God, yes, please.” You told him and a little smile made place on his face like he was happy the feelings weren’t one-sided. He pressed a peck to your lips before his hands moved to the button of your pants.
“Do you want me to prepare you?” His breath was warm against your face, you heard the unzipping of your pants before you replied, eyes looking up at the clock on the wall. “I don’t think we really have time for all that, but I really want you now.” He sighed because you were right; anyone could open the door of the room and see you both in that predicament and report you. You didn’t have time for grand things but a quickie would suffice for now. For now.
The fabric of your pants was tugged on and you slightly lifted your hips from the desk so Sam could push it down. And he did so, all while crouching himself down, letting the clothing hang at your ankles so it would be easier for you to pull it up after. He pressed a few kisses to your thighs as he slowly stood up again before you, right after giving a little glance toward the very damp cotton panties you were wearing.
“You’re beautiful.” He said, kissing your jaw. You shivered from the cold air before hopping off of the desk.
Sam only watched you, eyes locked into eyes when his hands lowered and he unbuckled his belt, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. You bit down on your lips and sighed in anticipation; because all the thoughts you had about this moment weren’t giving it justice. Your stomach was burning up, your breathing was labored, your mind was a jungle at this point.
When his hands lowered his pants just down half his thighs and the boxer he wore followed, you couldn’t help yourself but give him a look. He was big; which wasn’t a surprise at all giving how tall he is, but God.
Your thighs clenched against one another when you saw the pretty pink tip, glistening with all the pre-cum at the slit. The heavy balls just waiting to be played with, or the bush at the base that you wanted to rank your nails through. The slight curve to the left and the veins all along it. It seemed to be heavy, and you wanted to warm him up now.
“You’re beautiful too.” You ended up telling him and he smiled at you. His hands gently moved to your hips and he twirled your body around so you’d face the desk. You immediately understood the position because it was the easiest one given the setup. Both your hands laid flat on the desk and you arched toward him, head looking over your shoulder just to see him.
Sam didn’t say anything as he slowly tugged down on the fabric of your panties—which were atrociously damp and uncomfortable now—until it was at your ankles too. Threads of thick essence connected your pussy to the cotton and Sam hissed at the view, before you arched even more toward him. His strong hands moved to your cheeks to spread them apart, his eyes able to see both of your clenching holes. He knew he didn’t have all the privacy and time for that and so, he let go before stretching his arm to the drawer of his desk.
You watched as he grabbed a single condom and you were glad he was responsible; because with all the lust inside your mind, you had totally forgotten about protection.
A sigh escaped your mouth when your eyes fell back on your professor, watching him tear the plastic open, seeing him slowly roll the condom on his hard and twitching cock. The latex was already perverted by the amount of pre-cum leaking from his tip but Sam ignored everything else but you now.
“Are you sure?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed. It was more about you than anything else; about how you felt and if you thought you’d regret it. It wasn’t too late for you to back away and he wanted to make sure you knew. But instead of pulling your clothes up, you nodded and rubbed your cheeks against his hard cock. A grunt echoed inside his closed mouth before he nodded too, one hand moving to your hips and the other grabbed the base of his cock.
His hazel eyes lowered to your dripping pussy before he slowly and gently teased your hole. He rubbed his latex-covered tip against the rim of your slick hole, before finally pushing inside softly. You gasped at the feeling, your eyes closing and trying to relax as much as you could. He was big, no surprise, but you could take him. “That’s it, I’ll go slow, okay, baby?” He spoke to you all the while pushing his fat cock deeper inside your pussy once his tip was in. You hummed at him, too stimulated for a second to reply.
You could feel every vein against the gummy walls of your cunt, his bulbous tip pushing deeper and stretching the spongy spots of your insides. Sam groaned behind you, both his hands moving gripping your hips with a gentle touch, which contrasted with how his cock fitted inside you. After just a few seconds, you felt him still and realized he was balls deep inside your dripping cunt. He didn’t try to move, giving you a moment to adjust to his size and the feeling of his heavy cock filling you up. “Are you alright? I’m not hurting you, am I?”
His words made your eyes open and you looked above your shoulder once more. “No, I just… I’m alright, it feels good.” You sighed the answer, licking your lips. It was almost overwhelming; the way he was so deep inside you, your cunt molding to fit the size of him, gummy walls stretched around his cock.
Sam’s hands caressed your skin just a few touches higher under your shirt and that made you relax. “That's it, just relax for me. Good girl.” He looked at you like you were the prettiest thing he had ever seen and for a second, you begged to know what was going on inside that mind of his. Your palms were sweating against the desk; not only he was finally fucking you, but the danger of being caught added to the fantasy and desire. “Can I move?” He ended up asking. Your pussy clenched around him at the question, like to keep him still for a bit longer.
But you nodded your head at him. “Yeah, of course. Please.” There was no teasing in the way Sam touched you, and so, when he heard those words, his hips started to move.
The pace was slow and timid at first; cock slowly pulling out and back in, tip rubbing your walls, your wetness smeared all around your puffy folds. It felt good to have his cock stretching your sticky walls, to have him so deep that his tip almost kissed your cervix. Each time his hips hit yours, you moaned—even though it was very quietly—your hands forming fists on the desk.
But Sam was attentive to the noises you made and how your body responded to his; and soon enough, the pace fastened. He straightened, his strong and large hands lifting your hips up so his cock would angle differently; he was so strong, just holding you like that. His cock thrusted inside your leaking pussy, gummy walls sucking him in. “God, fuck, you’re so good… I’ve been dreaming about this for months now.” He ended up cursing while using your pussy like it was his toy. His long fingers squeezed the fat of your hips while keeping them up.
You moaned his name, lips parted and eyebrows furrowing at the pleasure you were experiencing with him. “Professor Winchester—” Your calling was answered with loud squelching and splash-splash-splash noises from your pussy as his cock slammed inside. And once again, it wasn’t like you both had all the time in the world at the moment.
Sam moaned your name quietly at the title you used, his hips slapping against your ass which made the skin slightly warm from the friction. “You're doing so well for me, baby.” Your pussy dripped around his cock, a white creamy ring visible around his shaft and onto the latex of the condom. The pleasure was getting too much for your body to handle and your thighs squirmed, pussy clenching around him so tightly he gasped loudly. “I think… God, I think we are both close.” He whined behind you and you moaned his name in answer.
His hips started to rut and slap against yours which made slap noises echoe throughout the entire room. His tip hit deeper and harder each time, teasing that spot you loved so much, it was relentless. You heard him moan silently; mumbling your name and curses about how good you were. His fat cock was splitting you open but you mentally begged for more.
One of your hands ended up snaking between the desk and your body just so you could go tease your slick clit. Your wetness had dripped down there too, making it all slippery as you rubbed your bud of nerves to finish yourself.
“God, Sam, I—” You gasped, fingers pleasuring yourself when you felt the knot in your stomach suddenly undo itself. You cried out, your cunt squeezing Sam’s cock inside and clenching to milk him dry. Your thighs shook, muscles convulsing at the force of your orgasm.
Sam cursed when you came, his hips still thrusting inside you to get to his own climax. That only overstimulated you more; you drooled over the desk, eyes crossing and eyebrows furrowed. It felt too good that it was too much for your body but luckily for you, he only thrusted a few more times before his hips jerked and stilled inside you; his warm and creamy load squirting inside the condom. His breathing was labored and body was sweating under his clothes. Neither of you moved for a second or so.
“God, it was so…” He interrupted himself, slowly pulling out of your used pussy. His hazel eyes caught the dripping of your come down your thighs and the mess he had made of your cunt. You sighed, hearing the shifting of clothes behind you; Sam throwing the full condom, dressing himself back up, grabbing something in the drawer.
It was only about a minute or two later that you felt something soft on your pussy and realized Sam was cleaning you up. He also pressed a few kisses to the back of your thighs, but knew he didn't have time to be so slow.
He was gentle, attentive as he pulled your panties and pants on to hide your body and threw the tissue in the bin too while you buttoned your jeans. “Are you alright, baby? Is everything okay?” He asked, walking back to you when you turned to face him, a smile on your face and some sweat on your forehead. “I’m more than alright. That was… something else.” He smiled at your answer and nodded, before leaning to press a peck to your lips. “I wish we didn’t do that in this setup because you deserve more than just leaving for classes.”
You understood what he meant; and you also wanted more than just leaving for classes right now. “Is it too much if I invite you for dinner tonight?” He suddenly asked and you looked up at his face, once more wondering what he was currently thinking about. This was more than sex to him and surprisingly, you appreciated that.
“No, I think it’s perfect,” you looked at the clock up on the wall, “I should leave now or I’ll be even more late.” He nodded at those words and you grabbed your bag, ready to leave, a smile on your face and hair maybe a bit too disheveled for a talk with your professor. You were closer to the door when Sam called your name, stopping you. You turned back to him, curious before he took a few steps, a book in hand.
He extended it to you. “In case anyone asks you why you were late.” He winked before swiftly pressing a kiss to your lips and you waved at him, finally leaving. “I'll see you tonight, Professor Winchester.”
One thing for sure; having fantasies about your college professor isn’t always a bad thing, especially when said-professor also has fantasies about you.
summary ﹏ History professor Sam Winchester and his sweet, soft-hearted student have perfected the art of loving each other in secret—hidden in stolen office kisses, quiet afternoon visits, and tender moments between classes. What starts as quick check-ins slowly becomes the favorite part of Sam’s day: listening to you ramble while holding you close in the privacy of his office.
cw ﹏ fluff / slice-of-life fic. fem!reader. college au & professor!sam. established secret relationship. age gap (20s & late 30s). soft intimacy. praise. soft petnames (sweetheart, baby). lovesick behavior. gentle touches.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
By the middle of October, you’ve developed a routine so dangerous in its softness that Sam sometimes catches himself thinking about it during lectures.
It starts after your morning classes, usually sometime between eleven and noon, when the history building fills with the sound of students shuffling through hallways carrying coffee cups and half-finished assignments. The campus always feels busiest then, voices echoing off old brick walls, backpacks bumping into doorframes, professors trying to navigate crowds with stacks of papers balanced in their arms.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it is you—moving through the chaos in oversized knit sweaters and soft skirts that brush your knees, your bag slipping down your shoulder because it’s always too full of notebooks, lip balm, pens with little flowers glued onto them.
Sam notices you before you even reach his office most days. He hears your laugh in the hallway or catches the soft sound of your voice drifting through the partially opened door while he’s pretending to grade papers.
The first time you stopped by his office just to see him, he thought it would be quick.
A hello, maybe a kiss; a few stolen minutes before one of you had to leave again.
But then you sat cross-legged in the chair across from his desk while telling him about a girl in your literature class who cried because she spilled coffee on her laptop, and Sam found himself listening so carefully that he completely forgot he was supposed to be answering emails. After that, it became routine. Yours.
Now you show up between classes with sleepy smiles and stories about your day, and Sam—despite being a respected history professor with a terrifying amount of grading to do—starts unconsciously waiting for it.
“You’re late,” he says one afternoon, though his voice carries none of the sharpness the words should have. You pause in the doorway dramatically, one hand clutching your chest. “I was gone for six minutes longer than usual.”
Sam leans back slightly in his chair, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at his mouth. “Exactly. I was beginning to think you found another history professor.” You gasp softly, scandalized in the prettiest way possible. “Never. You’re my favorite one.”
His eyes flick briefly toward the open office door at that, instinctively cautious, before settling back on you again. “Careful,” he murmurs, lowering his voice slightly. “You keep saying things like that out loud, people are gonna start getting suspicious.”
You soften immediately at his tone, stepping fully inside before gently nudging the office door mostly shut behind you; not closed enough to look strange, but enough to give you a little privacy. “Sorry,” you murmur automatically, moving closer to his desk. “I forgot.” Sam’s expression changes instantly at the apology, warmth replacing the teasing almost immediately. “Hey.” His voice drops softer. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“That.” He sets his pen down fully now, attention completely shifting to you. “Apologizing every time you say something sweet.”
Your cheeks warm up faintly at that, and God, he loves when you do that. Loves how easy it is to make you fuzzy, how your softness never feels performative or calculated. You’re just… genuinely sweet. Warm in a way that catches him off guard even now.
“I can’t help it,” you admit quietly, coming around the side of his desk until you’re standing close enough for his knee to brush your thigh. “You make me nervous sometimes.” Sam lets out a quiet breath through his nose, amused and fond all at once. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to look at you properly, “you’ve been dating me for six months.”
“I know.” Your voice turns smaller somehow, shy despite yourself. “You still make me nervous.”
That does something unfair to him.
Sam reaches for you instinctively then, one hand settling gently around your wrist before sliding down until his fingers lace loosely through yours. “C’mere,” he says softly.
You go immediately, stepping between his knees without hesitation, your skirt brushing lightly against his legs. Sam’s hands settle carefully at your waist, familiar and warm, and the second he pulls you just slightly closer, your whole body relaxes. He notices that every single time; that unconscious softening whenever he touches you, like your body trusts him before your mind can even think about it.
“You have class in ten minutes,” he murmurs, though he makes absolutely no move to let you go. “Mhm.” You nod at his words.
“And you walked all the way over here just to see me.”
“Mhm.” His mouth twitches. “You’re clingy.” You blink down at him innocently, a ghost of a smile on your face. “You like it.” Sam actually laughs quietly at that, low and warm enough to make your chest tighten pleasantly. “Yeah,” he admits, fingers pressing slightly against your waist. “Yeah, I do.”
The relationship is ridiculous, honestly. Not the feelings: ever the feelings but just… the logistics of it.
The sneaking around, the stolen moments, the way Sam has to carefully school his expression during lectures whenever you walk in wearing soft pink sweaters and glossy lips and looking entirely too pretty for his own sanity or the way you have to pretend you aren’t completely in love with the man discussing nineteenth-century warfare while students around you struggle to stay awake.
And God, the office visits; those are the worst or the best part.
Sam still hasn’t decided.
Because every time you wander into his office between classes, carrying iced coffee or pastries or some tiny story you absolutely need to tell him, he forgets how to act normal for a few minutes. He stops being Professor Winchester and just becomes Sam again—your Sam, the one who kisses your forehead while reading essays, who keeps strawberry candies in his desk drawer because you like them, who listens with complete seriousness when you ramble about café playlists or pretty bookstores you found downtown.
Today, you’re talking animatedly about a tiny bakery near campus while perched on the edge of his desk, your legs swinging lightly as Sam pretends to organize papers beside you. “And they put little heart shapes in the whipped cream,” you’re saying earnestly. “Like actual little hearts. It was so cute.”
Sam hums like this is the most important information he’s heard all day. “Sounds life-changing.”
“It kind of was.”
“There she is,” he murmurs dryly. “The dramatic side finally comes out.” You nudge his shoulder lightly with your knee. “You’re mean.”
“I’m realistic.”
“You kissed me goodbye this morning and said my sweater made me look ‘dangerously adorable.’” Sam freezes for half a second, then slowly looks up at you. “You remember everything I say, huh?”
“Yes.” Your answer comes instantly, soft and honest. “Especially the sweet things.” Something in his chest pulls tight. You do that to him constantly without even realizing.
Sam steps closer before he can think too hard about it, one hand settling automatically against your thigh where it rests near the edge of the desk. There’s nothing sexual about it, no; it’s warm and lovely and sweet. His thumb strokes once through the soft fabric there, absentminded and affectionate, and your voice falters immediately.
His eyes flick up to yours, catching the way your lashes lower slightly, the way your fingers tighten faintly around the edge of the desk.
“You okay there, baby?” he asks quietly. You nod too quickly. “Mhm.” Sam smiles a little because you always do that when he affects you more than you expect. “You sure?” Your cheeks warm. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” You trail off helplessly, your expression growing more flustered under his attention. “Like you know things.”
“Oh, lovely.” His voice lowers, gentler now. “I do know things.” You duck your head slightly at that, and Sam feels unbearably fond all at once. He steps between your knees carefully, his hand sliding from your thigh to your waist instead. “You’re cute when you get shy,” he murmurs.
“You make me shy.”
“Good.” Your eyes widen slightly. “Sam!”
“What?” he asks innocently, though his hands are pulling you closer now, guiding you carefully toward the edge of the desk. “I like knowing I can still do that to you.” You let out the softest little laugh then, warm and breathy and embarrassed all at once, and Sam swears he could live inside that sound. “You’re impossible,” you whisper.
“And you still came all the way over here just to kiss me and tell me about your day.”
“…Maybe.”
“Maybe?” His eyebrows lift. You try to hold onto your dignity for approximately three seconds before failing completely. “Okay, yes,” you admit softly. “I missed you.”
God. Sam’s entire expression softens instantly. There’s something almost unfair about how openly you love him sometimes. How easily you say things like that. No games, no hesitation, just warmth offered so freely it leaves him a little stunned every time.
“C’mere,” he murmurs again, quieter this time. His hand slides gently up your side before settling against your jaw, thumb brushing softly along your cheek, and then he kisses you. It’s slowly and carefully like he’s savoring it.
You melt immediately, your hands finding his shoulders without thinking, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Sam kisses like he does most things—with intention. Just steady warmth and quiet affection that builds slowly until your heart feels too full to hold it all. You sigh softly against his mouth, and Sam feels it everywhere.
“Missed you too,” he murmurs when he finally pulls back slightly, his forehead resting briefly against yours. Your eyes stay half-lidded for a second longer before you smile, small and dreamy. “You’re supposed to be grading papers.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“You let me.”
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, brushing another kiss against the corner of your mouth, “I practically encourage it.”
You laugh quietly then, your hands smoothing absentmindedly over his shoulders while he keeps you tucked close between his arms. Outside the office, students continue moving through the hallways, voices drifting faintly past the door, the normal rhythm of campus life carrying on around your secret little world.
But in here, tucked into the warm quiet of Sam’s office with his hands steady on your waist and his mouth still lingering close enough to kiss again, everything feels softer somehow.
Safer.
Like love folded carefully into stolen afternoons between classes.
Professor Sam always notices when you arrive a few minutes early. At first you sit in the third row, then the second, and eventually the front in the short notice of weeks. He pretends he doesn't notice the pattern, but he starts looking for you the moment he walks into the lecture hall.
He keeps office hours ridiculously late because he knows students have jobs and busy schedules. Somehow, your questions always end up turning into hour-long conversations about history, books, and life when you stay in his office even when you should be home.
Sam starts recommending books that might interest you. Every recommendation has little sticky notes tucked inside with comments like, “Read chapter six, you'll like this argument.”
Professor Sam is painfully aware of professional boundaries but he just can't stop myself from getting you coffee early in the morning, driving you back home after a long day or smile at you when you disagree about his class. He looks out for you, lets his eyes follow you, thinking about you more than he should.
Sam hates himself the moment he realizes his feelings have become something more: one innocent smile from you after class lingers in his mind far longer than it should, and he spends the entire drive home trying to force himself to think about anything else. He starts avoiding being alone with you, keeps office-hour conversations painfully short, and refuses to meet your eyes for too long because every stolen glance feels like another failure of the standards he's spent his whole career trying to uphold.
He spends the semester convincing himself you're just another student… until it's not working anymore and he suddenly doesn't know what excuse he has to avoid you; you're always in his office, trying to talk about books and mythology and he think you might feel the same as he does.
Sam kisses you like he's been holding himself back for months—which, in truth, he has. The first kiss is slow, hesitant, almost questioning, until you smile against his lips and all that restraint melts into something impossibly tender; the professionalism is gone out of the window.
He becomes quietly affectionate in private: his hand settles naturally on your waist when you pass beside him in hallways, he'll brush a kiss against your forehead while you're visiting his office, and if you sit on his desk, he'll step between your knees without thinking, smiling every time you loop your arms around his neck.
He absolutely melts when you steal one of his sweaters: seeing the sleeves hanging over your hands does something to him he can't quite explain, and he has to look away for a second just to gather himself.
But Professor Sam isn't just a gentleman, no. He tells you to be quiet when you cockwarm him while he grades paper, slapping your cunt when you make too many noises and press kisses to your neck to reward you when you clench around his shaft.
He loves fucking you on his desk or in his class room when everyone is gone; he can make you come as much as he wants. Seeing you drool on the wooden desk makes him so fucking hard, and he often thinks about it as he teach History.
Sam makes you call him Sir and Professor while he has you folded on his desk, looking at the way his cock disappears inside your sloppy hole. “You like it, uh? You like having your professor's cock inside you, baby?” He'd tell you, caressing your face gently, on contrary of his crude words.
Having you suck his cock while he's in the middle of a zoom meeting, needing to keep his moans to himself or he will automaticy get fired and probably sued. The thrill makes him come so fast and so much in your mouth, filling it up with his thick semen. You want him to be proud, so you swallow it all. Sam pats your head under the desk, throwing a quick but soft smile at you.
Sex with Professor Sam is good, but it's more than just that. He's more than just an older, experienced man to you. You love him and you know he loves you too, no matter how secret your relationship is. Sam often feels guilty about it, some small part of him always worries people will assume he took advantage of his position but you know the truth.
𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 smut. nsfw content. set in s2. witch!female reader. spells. wet dreams. secret crushes. male masturbation. sammy is very very desperate and down bad. one single use of y/n. small plot-ish. lowercase intended. english is not my first language and idc if there are any mistakes. this is not ai. :)
˖Ი𐑼⋆ 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 i lowkey rly hate this but i just wanted to get it out and also i got the spell from reddit lmfao
the first thing sam registers is the softness of your skin. he's trailing his hands down your body, your warm, welcoming and pliant body. your naked body. he's gripping the skin just hard enough to leave marks and drive those velvety whimpers out of you.
then it's your voice. your lips close to his ear, enough to make him shiver. you're moaning out his name and sam feels like you're luring him in a place that he can never escape from.
then it's the warmth and tightness he feels around his cock. he looks down and it's the most beautiful sight he has ever seen. you're practically split open under him, for him to use as he'd like, to do whatever he'd want to.
your hair is falling perfectly in your face as your eyelashes flutter to look up at him. you look angelic. but you sound even more beautiful. "i'm all yours sammy, you can have me however you want", you say and sam almost falls apart.
he doesn't know how he got in this position, but whatever satisfaction he is feeling is enough to overpower anything and everything.
"you know i love you, right?" sam's voice breaks near your ear and you nod. "i know... i know, baby", you respond with a husky voice, your fingers gripping his hair, "i love you even more."
then sam wakes up.
he wakes up in cold sweat. his eyes flushed. pupils dilated. breathing heavy and shaky.
he looks around frantically. it's dark. very dark. the only light he notices is the moonlight illuminating in the room from the open window.
right. he's in his motel room. with his brother.
with his brother. dean.
shit.
he glances over dean's bed. he's passed out on the mattress, his bedding all messed up between his legs, with his mouth ajar and sam immediately feels a sense of relief for not waking him.
another thing he feels is the sticky, wet substance coating his underwear and his shaft.
his head drops back on the pillow under him, an annoyed and embarrassed sigh leaving his lips. he's rubbing his eyes, but your image is still not leaving his mind.
it's like he can still feel your presence. it's like he can still hear you.
"you can have me however you want".
sam shakes his head, shutting his eyes so hard it almost hurts.
he finally removes the covers off his body, as he sits up on the bed, his feet touching the cold floor. he feels a shiver run down his spine. his head lazily drops down.
sam is embarrassed. ashamed. he feels like a hormonal teenager all over again.
he wants you right there next to him. for you to put your arms around his shoulders. to kiss his neck, his jaw, his lips. he wants to run his fingers through your soft hair, touch your soft face, kiss your soft lips.
his hands fist the bedding.
he wants to feel you. to touch you. he desperately wants to touch you. he wants to dig his fingers in your skin, not the sheets underneath his hands.
he sit up from the bed, quiet enough not to wake his brother.
he wants to have you however he desires. and right now he wants you on his bed, maybe dressed in just your undergarments, or his t-shirt, or nothing at all.
he grabs his clothes from his duffel bag and enters the bathroom.
he wants to show you how he feels. to show you all the desire he has for you. all the longing, all the craving. he also wants you to feel the same way, even for just a tiny bit.
his hand reaches to turn the water on. he undresses himself and throws his dirty clothes on the floor. the water is cold when it hits his skin, opposite of how warm your touch felt. it's like a punishment for him.
he washes the shame away from his skin, but his mind is still getting flooded by you.
the most embarrassing thing for sam is that this isn't the first time something like this happened. sam can't even count how many times he has ended up in the shower after dreaming about you.
it has become a routine for him now. go to sleep. have you in his dreams. wake up. take a shower. try falling asleep again. fail. go on a walk. be sleep deprived the rest of the day.
it's like you're a ghost sam is touching every single night but still can't quite fully reach.
but still, he prefers being exhausted and having you like that, even if it's a dream, than have nothing at all.
3 months ago, sam saw you for the first time at the harvelle's roadhouse. and he felt immediately captivated by you.
dean got busy talking with jo. and you and sam got busy having a drink together. that night was the first time sam lost multiple rounds of pool to someone else.
you were beautiful. magnetic. you had a smart mouth. and a smart brain too.
2 months ago, the brothers joined you on a hunt.
they happened to stop by the roadhouse again. where, of course, sam wasn't dying to see you. after 2 drinks, he asked ellen where you might be. she told them that you were hunting down a ghost just 2 hours away with a small smirk on her face.
he managed to convince dean to check on you, which, of course, wasn't suspicious at all. he was just worried, right?
the second he saw you, he felt captivated again. you were like a breath of fresh air.
and the second you parted ways again, sam felt weird. really weird. he felt miserable. and alone.
1 month ago, the dreams started.
it started pretty innocent at first. you and sam doing casual, everyday things. hunting together, grabbing coffee together, research together. he kissed you in his dreams for the first time and sam woke up with a feeling of longing weighing heavy on his chest.
then one night it took a drastic turn. for better or for worse, sam still hasn't figured out yet.
the last thing he remembered is turning all the lights off and going to bed. exhausted. but what he was feeling in that moment felt so real.
he was walking out of the bathroom when he saw you sitting on his bed. he was dressed in his pajamas and you only had your undergarments on. they were black, lacy, hugging your body just right. your cheeks were flushed and the soft yellow light from the bedside lamp was hitting your face in a way that made you look angelic.
sam stopped dead in his tracks. he couldn't take his eyes off you.
"come closer." you whispered, but it felt like your voice was everywhere. it felt like a siren.
sam's feet moved on its own. he stood right in front of you, staring down to you.
your eyes fluttered to look up at him. you took his hand into yours and moved it on your chest, your gaze never leaving him. his rough, calloused hand covered your breasts and sam shuddered.
you trailed his hand lower. slow and careful. making him feel the soft skin of your stomach, your waist. then you moved it on your thigh, making him dig his fingers in your flesh.
your other hand reached to the back of his neck, slowly moving his face down to yours. your touch was featherlight, but sam was on his knees in front of you in a second.
there was barely an inch of space separating both your lips. but you weren't kissing him. not yet. not on the lips anyway. you mouthed right below his ear, your breath hot and heavy on his skin, it was making his own breathing shaky.
"touch me" you whispered, like poison, your bottom lip grazing his earlobe. if sam was awake, he would most definitely freeze right then and there, but this sam, the bold and eager sam, moved his hand between your legs. his fingers felt the wetness pooling in your panties, the way you started grinding your hips against them, the way your hand gripped his hair tighter.
your body laid back down on the mattress, your head resting on the soft sheets, your lower back arching, making him feel your clothed cunt even more. both his hands moved to the sides of your underwear, slowly pushing them down your legs and discarding them on the floor.
he hooked his arms under your legs, making you rest them around his shoulders. that's when your scent hit him, so close to his face, so magnetic and yours. his tongue immediately moved to your slit, licking up to your clit and, jesus christ, you tasted so divinely sweet.
he mouthed and sucked on you like you were his last meal. oh, and the voices you were making, the soft whimpers, the repeated "my god-, sam", they were music to his ears.
his gaze never left your face, your body, the way your chest moved up and down so perfectly on his bed. your fingers desperately clawed at his hair and sam could swore in that moment that you were his salvation.
that was the first time sam made a mess in his bed by dreaming about you.
that night, he finally admitted to himself that maybe, maybe, he had a crush on you.
next time it happened, you were on your knees for him.
his hands were gently removing the stray hairs from your face and wiping the tears away from your face, as you gagged on his length, drool dripping down your lips. you kissed the tip of his dick and that alone was enough to make sam cum all over your face and tongue.
next time, sam was fucking you in the cramped backseat of the impala. then in the abandoned house, where you both were hunting down that ghost. then back in his motel room, but this time it was soft and so loving. the latter did the most damage to him. he barely talked for 2 days.
tonight, in the shower, sam finally admitted to himself that he definitely is in love with you.
the water is still cold when it hits his skin, he doesn't even bother to reach for the handle to make it warmer. all he can think about is you and the pain of not having you.
if sam didn't know any better, he would think that you were doing something to him. but he actually doesn't know any better.
what sam doesn't know is that these dreams didn't appear out of nowhere, or just because he was thinking of you every time he went to sleep. or, to be fair, every minute.
no. sam is clueless.
he doesn't know that you're not so cold-hearted to him as he thinks.
he doesn't know that hunting's not your full time job either. not really.
he doesn't know that a month ago you dug deep into your grimoire, deep into the spells and the ancient latin.
all you needed was a piece of his beautiful hair, a red skull-shaped candle and a full moon. you put some herbs in a bowl, light the candle and drew your blood over his eyes on his picture and sam was completely gone.
that's when his dreams started.
you redid the spell every full moon.
he thinks it's only because he's obsessed with you. he really has no idea. he's completely unaware that everything is going according to your plan.
he scolds himself as he dries his body. he thinks he's a disgrace as he puts a new pair of boxers on and goes back to bed.
and he thinks he's miserable when he's not able to go back to sleep. couple hours later, the sun starts slowly shining on his face from the window. he spent the whole night thinking about you again.
he thinks you have no idea.
the next day goes by relatively easily.
they found who the vengeful spirit might've been, found his grave and burned his bones.
both of them were supposed to go back to a bar close to their motel (because dean just wanted a beer, not to talk to that blonde waitress who gave him her number), but sam was so tired.
dean just ended up dropping him off to their room and drove straight to the bar.
sam opened the door thinking of you. he took a shower thinking how pretty you would look with water droplets on your face. he dressed himself thinking how good his shirt would look on you.
he turned the lights off and got in bed thinking how soft you would look next to him, under the covers. jesus christ, he was going crazy.
sam closed his eyes, trying not to go insane by imagining you in the same bed as him. and as he slowly felt the exhaustion take over him, his hand instinctively reached out to where you were supposed to lay.
he opened his eyes again, but this time, he saw you.
you were already looking at him, a small smile on your face, your hair messed up in the most perfect way. you were wearing his shirt, he felt the familiar cotton feeling from where his hand laid on your waist. the sheets were barely covering your bare legs. the moonlight was illuminating on your face in a way that made you look like a work of art.
sam felt like the heaviness on his chest disappeared the moment he saw you. somewhere deep down in his heart, sam knew this wasn't real, but lately he's only every felt good and normal in his dreams, with you.
"missed you", sam whispered, barely audible. you reached your hand to his face, thumb caressing his cheek.
"are you feeling okay?"
"only when you're here." he admitted, his hand tightening on your waist.
you raised your upper body, resting on your left arm. "want me to make you feel better?" you whispered, bringing your face closer to his and sam nodded immediately.
you kissed him so softly, your lips so sweet against his. you put your hand on his abs under his shirt and sam could feel his cock twitching in his boxers.
your lips moved down to his neck, kissing up to his earlobe, as your hand trailed down to his clothed shaft, touching him. sam groaned near your ear, his hand shaky as it gripped your shirt.
you put your hand in his boxers, pulling his hardening dick out and moving your palm up and down around him.
"i love you so much", sam confessed, "i don't like not having you close to me."
"then have me however you want sam."
then he woke up. again.
a wave of disappointment and frustration washed over him. he checked the clock on the bedside table. it has only been 40 minutes since he went to bed.
he moved his hips against the mattress and that's when he noticed. he awoke earlier than usual. his dick was still hard and aching.
he groaned immediately, his breathing heavy. he could barely open his eyes, let alone properly take care of his situation.
but he couldn't help it. his hand covered his shaft instinctively.
he rubbed his clothed dick first, exactly like you did in his dream a minute ago, then he pulled his rock-hard dick out, precome dripping down his length . his hand started moving up and down in a fast pace. he was desperate for relief.
but that alone didn't satisfy him. not really. so sam closed his eyes and imagined it was your warm mouth that wrapped around his dick instead of his own hand. he imagined his hand holding your hair up for you, maybe pushing your head down to gag on him if he was feeling a bit selfish.
he imagines all the things he would do to you after that. "then have me however you want sam", your voice still lingers in his head and he almost combusts.
sam wonders if you have ever thought about him like he does, if you have dreamed about him. or if you have touched yourself thinking about him. god you would look so beautiful, your fingers working on your clit, your back arched, mouth slack. you would probably be loud. if not, he would drive out every single moan and whimper out of you.
he thinks how beautiful his name would sound if you screamed it out.
he felt his thigh muscles tighten immediately, as he stroked himself one last time. whispered curses and your name fell from his lips repeatedly as he came all over his boxers.
sam feels relief everywhere in his body as his head drops back down on the pillows, chest moving up and down franticly.
but then again he feels shame, he feels guilty, because of course he does. it's sam winchester.
if only he knew.
he goes in the shower again, washing away all the sweat and humiliation.
as he exits the bathroom, he hears the door click open.
dean comes in the dark room, his cheeks rosy, evidently satisfied and a little tipsy.
"i thought you were exhausted" he speaks and sam almost drowns in his shame.
"couldn't sleep" he barely gets the words out, but it was enough for drunk dean to not suspect anything.
"pack your stuff, we're going to nebraska" dean reaches for his own bag and clothes.
"what's in nebraska?"
"ellen called. said they got a lead on yellow-eyes."
sam let out an exaggerated sigh as he sat on the corner of his bed. "can't this wait till morning?"
"nope. get your ass up sammy, you can sleep in the car."
it's not that sam didn't want to go. or wasn't interested. he just didn't give a fuck about anything right now other than you.
"oh and guess who found the lead" dean turns to look at his brother. his tired, irritated, annoyed brother, whose head just dropped down dramatically.
"who" sam replies, his voice muffled and barely audible.
"y/n. she's at the roadhouse already", dean speaks.
sam's face immediately shots up. you? you were there at the roadhouse?
he was gonna see you? in a couple of hours?
"i'm telling you man, she's one hell of a smart girl." dean exits the room, leaving the door open, walking to the impala parked right outside.
sam feels like someone threw a bucket of ice over his head.
"don't take all night now, grab your stuff." dean yells out. but sam can't really hear him. he isn't really listening anymore.
sam was going to see you.
but how the hell was he supposed to look at you in the eyes? after all of... this.
"shit" sam breathes out.
he was fucked.
hated this but ykw.. at least its not ai. i CANT promise pt2 but... we will see...
No but this was so GOOD. fckn love premises like this that are so different. The “see you in my dreams” trope is legit one of my all time favorites. If there’s ever a part 2 I’ll be all over it. 😍😍😍 loved it
imagine dry humping sam winchester and he's getting too desperate...
the mini cotton shorts you wore to bed, which was barely even covering your ass, is what got you in this position. being seated on sam's lap, desperately grinding on his clothed shaft. you didn't even need to see his cock to know he was leaking precum and getting so painful.
your neck was completely covered in hickeys and bite marks, from when he couldn't control himself anymore. a few purple pigments covered his skin beautifully too. however, he has been pulling you off his neck by grabbing your hair every time he felt you sucking on his skin, because he was going to cum in his pants right then and there if you continued for a second too long.
he was rock hard underneath you. and it felt so good every time your clit rubbed against him. you could feel the thickness, the length, that one specific vein through his plaid pajama pants. you could feel everything even through 2 pieces of clothing separating you.
his hands are shaky when he grips your thighs around him, desperate to hold onto something. he grabs your face and pulls you in a kiss yet again, his tongue tangling with yours. you press your hips even closer to his and he moans in your mouth. deep and loud. god, he feels like a teenager all over again.
he pulls away slightly, a string of spit still connecting your lips. the beautiful mess of both your saliva mixing together is completely covering both your mouths.
"jesus- don't-" his shaky voice cracks, his head dropping back to the bed's headboard, "please don't stop."
you start speeding up, the feeling so overwhelmingly perfect for both of you, sam has to immediately grab your hips in a tight, painful grip to ground himself.
then he starts whimpering, and boy, can he whimper. he was a sight for sore eyes. sweaty, desperate, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.
his hands start gripping and clinging on everything. your hips, thighs, clothes, chest, anything.
he looks at you like you're the only real thing left in his life. and in this exact moment, you really are.
he really is too desperate.
notes this may be too short im sorry its 4am for me :3
✶ notary nsfw content. hello world.... i am back with a small drabble that i wrote in 10 minutes before i upload my long ahh fic
sam winchester is the most respectful, polite and soft spoken man you've ever met. the one you would be proud to introduce to your parents. but behind closed doors? he can be a fucking menace.
your high-pitched whimpers are filling the impala. hands clawing at his arms, his hair, abs, almost everywhere, as sam's on top of you pounding himself into you so deep, you can feel him in your stomach.
your parents think you're on a movie date. i mean, he showed up on your doorstep with flowers and puppy eyes, who would not believe him? who would think that he would have you begging for mercy for an hour straight?
the windows are getting fogged up, your body is probably on it's 10th orgasm, but sam is nowhere close to stopping.
"sam-" you choke on a moan, because sam is choking you himself. his hand is tight around your throat, just enough for your world and senses to narrow to only him and nothing else. and it's working. your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, you're seeing white, you almost can't breathe but it all just feels so good.
he leans down to capture your lips into another messy kiss, filled with tongue, spit and desire. you struggle to kiss him back, because you just can't seem to stop moaning.
"look at me" he says between his own groans and whimpers.
you try. you really try to. but it's all just too much. too much pleasure. your body's almost gone numb.
"fuckin' look at me or i'll stop" he urges now, just with a hint of desperation.
that's when you got desperate. "no- please" you whimpered, fluttering your eyes open.
and god, he has never looked better. sweaty, rosy cheeks, eyes filled with lust and desire. but then a small smirk appeared on his face and before you could register anything, his second hand wraps around your throat too and he starts rocking his hips impossibly fast inside you.
♱ content warning smut !! mdni fem!reader dubious-ish consent very dom!sam yumyum established relationship unprotected sex small plot lowercase intended set somewhere between s1 - s5
♱ notation author was horny asf and wrote this at 2 am after dissapearing for 3 months so pls be nice lol. english isn't my first language and idc if there are any mistakes.
it was already way past midnight when the black chevy passed your city's entrance sign.
sam and dean had finished up with the endless hunt as the younger brother had called it and hit the road couple of hours ago. it wasn't supposed to take this long, "3 days max, i suppose" he told you on the phone, but it's been almost three weeks and sam is slowly going insane.
his bed has been cold. lonely. he has instinctively reached out for you in his sleep too many times. but now he's finally coming home to you and sam feels like he can properly breathe for the first time in forever.
tonight was one of the rare instances where sam was driving the whole way instead of the older brother. dean was out cold, snoring like a fucking bear, however sam was wide awake.
now if this was any other night, both of them would stay over at your place. you have a spare bedroom, where dean has slept dozens of times before.
but no. sam had left his brother at the nearest motel near your place, because tonight was one of those nights when sam felt a bit selfish. he needed you only to himself. alone.
the second dean closed the passenger side door after getting out of the car, sam hit the gas pedal like he was running from death.
your place wasn't too far. just 10 minutes away.
okay, that was too far for him now.
he lowers the window, letting the breeze hit his face in hopes of some relief for his overheating body, gripping his aching fingers on the steering wheel, dying to touch you.
he remembers your texts from last night again. he has been thinking about them since the second you sent them.
"i've never missed u this much before."
"fuck i'd let u do anything if u were here rn."
"i'm going crazy baby i miss ur dick so much."
sam is practically foaming at the mouth when he enters your driveway, tires screeching on the asphalt so loud he almost wakes up the whole neighborhood.
he gets out of the car quickly, reaching for his pocket as he's approaching the front door. he takes out the spare key you gave to him couple of months ago after his frequent night visits.
"you want me to be your night boy?" the memory hits him.
"night, morning, evening, whatever you want to call it" you had said with a fucked-out smile on your face.
sam closes the entrance door behind him, dropping his duffle bag on the floor and quickly taking off his shoes.
he almost sprints up the stairs, but when he reaches your bedroom door, his movements slow. he knows you're most definitely sleeping, he wouldn't ruin this moment by waking you.
so he quietly opens the door.
and there you are. tangled under the white sheets, the moonlight creeping in from the window illuminating your silhouette. you're facing the wall, but sam can immediately recognize his shirt covering you. he knows you always wear his clothes when sam is gone, it always smells like him too.
"it helps me sleep better" you told him once and sam carried that sentence in his heart ever since.
he approaches your bed with a few quiet steps, just enough to reveal your sleeping face and he curses under his breath. it takes everything in him to hold his composure, but he loves seeing you like this, all soft and relaxed and so beautiful.
his dick is literally throbbing and aching in his pants when he finally sits down on the bed behind you. he takes a second to take the sight in, before his shaky hand ghosts the silver of the skin that's not fully covered by the shirt. he trails his fingers down the soft sheet covering your hips and legs, slow and careful.
god, he can feel his restraint breaking each passing second.
he softly removes the linen from your figure, exposing your skin to the night breeze. but sam's hand freezes when he sees you dressed in only mini cotton shorts thats not doing a good job at covering your ass... at all.
if sam winchester had any kind of restraint or moral left, it's all gone by now.
the linen drops from his hand somewhere above your knees, then his hand rests on your hip. he can't help but dig his fingertips in your flesh. gosh he feels like a teenager.
only then do you stir, confused and a little alarmed by the feeling. you're supposed to be alone.
"it's me, baby" sam instantly reassures as he noticed your pretty eyes fluttering.
"sam?" you say, voice almost inaudible, "when did you get back?" you try turning on your back.
but sam immediately stops you, his free hand gripping your shoulder, pinning you on the bed.
"shh... don't move" he whispers, "stay just like this". his voice is calm, steady, however his fingers are betraying him, where they tremble on your hip.
"what are you doing?" you say in a hushed tone, but sam doesn't answer. not yet. his mind is too foggy and his hands are still busy trailing your soft skin.
"sam?"
"missed you" he finally mumbles like it's eating him alive, like it's the only thing he's feeling. well, except for lust.
his fingertips dig in your ass again, this time hard enough to let a small moan escape your parted lips and sam almost looses his mind. you can hear him inhale through gritted teeth, a hushed "fuck" leaving his breath.
"missed you too." you whisper.
"fuck i'd let u do anything if u were here rn."
would you?
"get on your stomach." he urges. his voice is quiet, almost casual, but you can feel the command in it.
"what-"
"on your stomach." he doesn't even let you finish your sentence.
you've never seen him act like this before. sure sam likes rough sex as much as he likes it soft and slow. he loves control, domination, loves having you under his mercy. but this time, it feels unusual. just his presence alone feels different. it's almost like possession.
and, jesus, it makes you so nervous but it sends heat right to your core.
you did as he said. on your stomach, your elbows on the bed. and somewhere along the rustling of the sheets, you heard his shirt and jeans hit the bedroom floor.
you can feel him move behind you, then his knees digging in the sheets near your thighs, trapping you under him. his movements are fast and your half-asleep mind can barely keep up with it.
his breaths are deep, shaky and god it makes your own breathing tremble.
his hands find your waist under the shirt and you shiver at his touch. it feels so possessive, like he's telling you "you're only mine" without ever needing to say it.
and you are. you are only his. it's like your body has only ever known sam, the way it reacts to his touch, his words. he can have you begging for him just under a minute.
"fuck, you're so beautiful like this." he says, as he trails his fingers on the soft skin of your waist, back, hips, everywhere he wants to touch and you let him.
sam closes the gap between your bodies, his chest resting on your clothed back and you can feel his erection perfectly on your ass. he's so hard, long and thick, you bet he's already leaking too. god, your mouth fills with saliva just from imagining it alone.
he mouths at the back of your neck, all teeth and tongue, leaving traces of saliva near your shoulder. you can feel his hot breaths near your ear and the whispered curses when his lips reached your neck, sucking on that sweet spot he knows makes you lose your mind
and you're so responsive to him, soft moans leaving your pretty lips, your fingers shaking, gripping the sheets. your back arches instinctively, his clothed dick fitting perfectly between your cheeks.
and suddenly, he stills. you've never felt him still this fast. his breaths grew more erratic, fast and hot. your pulse quickly elevated, your own movements freezing.
"sam?-" you softly called out but it was cut off by your own gasp. in a fast motion sam had grabbed both of your arms and pinned them to your lower back.
"you don't move a finger until i tell you to" he urges instantly, voice sharp, demanding, "don't make me order you." his tone gets even lower, laced with... threat?
whatever it was, it was for sure ruining your cotton shorts with arousal.
his other hand finds the back of your head, grabbing your hair in a tight, firm grip and raising your head from the pillows.
"do you understand?" he says as his lips reaches your ear, his hot breaths sending a shiver down your spine.
you can barely breathe, barely speak, your mind short-circuiting from just his voice alone. a small nod and a moaned out "yes" is all you can manage.
"good" he breathes out and you don't even have to look at his face to know he has that devilish smirk that drives you insane. his hand lets go of your hair, your face falling back in the pillows, moving from the back of your neck to your ass. there's a sharp inhale behind you before his fingers dig in your flesh once again.
"open your legs f'me" he says and just his tone alone makes you whimper.
you do ask he asks. spread your legs wider. and sam doesn't even waste a second to trail his hand between them. his fingers find your clothed core, that wet spot formed on your cotton shorts. you shiver at the contact, even with the fabric separating you, it makes sparks run through your body.
you turn your head to the side, your hair still covering your face. now your whimpers were not muffled by the pillow and sam is going to lose his mind.
"sam- please" your breathing is shaky, "i need you." you confessed.
yeah sam has definitely lost it.
his fingers quickly remove themselves from your clothed cunt, only to hook themselves in the waistband of the shorts, quickly discarding it on the floor. along with his boxers.
his hands are trembling when he reaches for his dick, aligning himself between your folds. "you missed me?" he whispers, his voice coming out shakier than he intended.
"i did."
"yeah? how much?" he says as he pushes himself fully inside you.
you almost scream out in surprise. he has always given you at least a second to prepare. but not tonight, jesus, he needed you so much.
"tell me how much you missed me." he whispers in your ear, his hand moving the hair out from your face, to get a good look on your expression. your pinched brows, your mouth shaped in a little o expression.
he starts moving. fast. deep. controlled.
"a lot, sam," you manage to cry out "every single night, i've thought about you."
"be more specific." he commands.
specific like how you spent almost every single night touching yourself to him. your fingers deep inside you, wishing they were his, because you can never go as deep as he can.
how you fantasized about his hips slamming inside you under the sheets, making you legs shake, like he always manages to do, several times in a row.
"i've touched myself thinking about you sam. so many times." you finally confess. and you hear him moan behind you.
"yeah? how did that work out for you?" he knows. he fucking knows. that you can never please yourself in a way sam does. it's like he knows your own body better than you do. what makes you moan, shiver, come.
"it didn't. i couldn't-" you choke on your words. god, he's so impossibly deep inside you, it makes your brain go dumb.
his hand finds your hair again, grabbing it in a tight grip, raising your face up. "you couldn't what, baby?" his breath is hot on your skin, his tone is soft, but his movements are far from that.
"i couldn't finish sam-" you finally confess. "i never can. without you."
a deep, guttural sound leaves his lips at that. his other hand moves to your shoulder, keeping you pinned to the mattress, your hair not leaving his tight, painful grip.
his speed increases, and so do your moans. your hands fly to desperately claw at the sheets, pillows, anything, as his dick is repeatedly hitting that spongey spot inside you.
"you wanted me like this, baby?" he hisses "you missed me fuckin' you like this, huh?"
the bed is starting to creak beneath you and you feel yourself tightening around him, your gummy walls almost swallowing his dick. a moaned out "yeah" is all you can manage.
"so take it- fuckin' take it."
your orgasm hits you instantly. your hands still gripping the sheets, legs shaky, eyes closed shut. you're tightening around him and, god, sam can't hold back any longer.
two more thrusts and he spills inside you. hot, deep, loud with his moans.
sam's grip eases up instantly, his heavy body collapsing on top of you.
he's breathing so hard and you can barely manage to take a breath yourself. you're so close to passing out.
after giving both of you a second to recover, he slowly pulls out. his hands find your back again. this time much more gentle. soft.
you feel his lips on your neck, planting loving kisses along your jawline.
sam moves to lay next to you, taking a second to admire your half asleep, fucked-out face. still, you look like the most beautiful girl he's ever seen.
his fingers reach for your face, tucking the stray hairs behind your ear. your flutter your eyes open to take a look at him. he looks so beautiful. rosy cheeks, puppy eyes, a small smile at the corner of his lips. like he didn't just fuck your brains out 2 minutes ago.
"you still with me?" he whispers, as his thumb caresses your cheek.
you simply just nod. talking, moving your limbs feels like too much work.
"worth the wait?" he asks with a small chuckle and you would hit him on his chest if you had the energy. which you don't. so you just smile and mumble out a "mhm."
it's enough for him anyway.
more notes yea i just realized that the smut part didn't really live up to my expectations but whatever maybe i was too horny or tired to function
Being delivered to mafia Steve as a birthday present - with a pretty bow (and nothing else)
Oh yesssss 🥴😮💨🫠
I’m imagining you kneeling on the floor in the middle of his study, trembling and silently crying as you hug yourself and try to cover as much of your nudity as possible.
You can’t help but recoil when Steve’s fingers tickle along your bare shoulder as he slowly circles you—the penultimate predator.
He tuts at your attempted retreat from his touch as he comes to a stop in front of you. His fingers catch beneath your chin, not only to tilt your tear-stained face up, forcing you to meet his gaze, but to reel you in closer, too, so you’re only inches away from his pelvis.
“You’ll learn very quickly not to try to run away from me, sweetheart… I don’t take kindly to defiance, no matter how small the act.” His touch was surprisingly gentle as he drew his knuckles down your cheek. “And something tells me that a delicate thing like you wouldn’t be very good at enduring my brand of punishment.”
You shudder at the steel in Steve’s voice, the hard glint in his eyes.
His outright threat.
Your breath hitches on an aborted sob as he drags you even closer to him, until your face is pressed against the growing bulge at the front of his slacks.
But this time, you don’t try to pull away. Swallowing down your tears, you force yourself to go pliant and sink against him even more.
Steve huffs a quiet, delighted laugh, his voice much warmer now as he coos, “Good girl.”
This Steve has been eating away at my whore brain 🥴 So, naturally, I had this thot…
You’re perched on Steve’s lap at one of his clubs so he can steal moments of enjoying you in between business—how good you look in the dress he picked out, how soft the skin of your bare thighs are beneath his fingers, how you’re trying so hard not to curl in on yourself and risk his displeasure even though he can tell you’re extremely uncomfortable.
God, you’re just so fucking sweet.
Needless to say, Steve is enjoying himself. Until the business associate across the table from the two of you makes the mistake of looking at you. Of commenting on Steve’s pretty new toy. Of reaching out and brazenly touching your cheek.
Which is the last thing he ever does with that hand.
Or at all.
It happens so quickly, Steve shifting you off his lap, pulling the largest knife you’ve ever seen from behind his back, and stabbing it through the asshole’s hand, pinning it to the table top.
But that isn’t enough retribution for Steve. Before you can blink, he’s on his feet, reaching across the table, and snapping the man’s neck with his bare hands.
You watch in horror as his former business associate slumps across the table.
Dead.
Right out in the open, surrounded by a club full of people, very few of whom seem even a tiny bit surprised or disturbed by this display.
You’re not quick enough—or in your right mind enough—to suppress the terrified whimper that bubbles up as Steve retakes his seat and sweeps you back onto his lap.
“Shhh,” he shushes you with a gentle caress up your side. Until his big hand—one of which he just used to kill someone—is softly cradling the side of your neck and reeling you close.
Steve nuzzles your cheek with a quiet hum, breathing you in on deep breath before letting it out on a sigh.
His fingers tickle beneath your chin, turning your wide, disbelieving gaze his way, and he grins at your complete and utter shock.
“No one touches what’s mine,” he winks before running his thumb along your lower lip then reaching for his drink.
Rewinding back to that first night with mob!Steve 👀
Once you figuratively roll over and show your belly, so to speak, things escalate quickly. You’re on your feet now, practically pinned against the wall by Steve’s sheer size and bulk as his big hands take their time learning the curves of your body.
You’re trembling so hard you know he can see it, but you’re so out of your depth that you can’t help it.
You’ve never been touched by another before, not like this, and you don’t want to be here. You don’t want to be his gift. You don’t want to be anyone’s possession, least of all a ruthless mobster’s.
But maybe, just maybe, if you’re good for Steve, if you let him use you and you don’t fight him—because you already know he doesn’t like to be defied—maybe he’ll at least let you go once he’s done.
Once he’s satisfied.
A tiny spark of hope ignites in your chest at the thought, and you can’t help but tremble this very thing as Steve touches his lips to the spot where your shoulder meets your neck.
“W-will you let me go? After?”
You feel the way Steve goes absolutely still against you, and you instantly regret your question. It takes everything inside of you not to flinch away as he slowly raises his head and looks you in the eye.
For a long, tense, terrifying moment, his handsome face is a mask of stoic indifference, giving nothing away.
Distantly, fleetingly, you think that this is why Steve is so deadly. So notorious and widely feared. The best at what he does. Because his enemies never see him coming.
After another long, drawn out beat, Steve smirks at you, lips twitching at the corners and eyes shining with a wicked kind of mirth.
You can’t help but get the sense that it’s almost like he knows something that you don’t.
Once again, he shocks you with the gentleness of his touch as he draws his knuckles down the slope of your cheek.
“I’ll tell you what, sweetheart,” he starts, his voice tinged with condescension. “If you don’t like what I do to you, if you don’t enjoy it at all, if you don’t beg me for my cock, or to make you cum, then sure, I’ll let you go.”
At the sound of your breath hitching at his lewd words—at the sinful picture he paints in your mind’s eye—his smirk morphs into a wolfish grin.
Because if there is one thing Steve Rogers knows for sure in this moment, it’s that he’s going to fucking ruin you. He’ll have you begging and cumming and boneless—utterly annihilated and so thoroughly claimed—before the night is through.
And that’s without even fucking you at all.
Because splitting you open with his cock for the very first time? Sheathing himself inside that tight, virgin pussy of yours?
Claiming you as his—and only his?
Well, Steve is saving that for your wedding night 😏
