Helloooo :33 I was wondering if you could do a Sam x reader nsfw? Sam and reader are cuddling, one has the other’s head in their lap and things get steamy? I love your works so much and I can’t wait to see more from you!! lots of love, anon 🫶🫶
𓂃⋆.˚ lap of luxury,
pairing. sam winchester x reader ( gn )
wordcount. 922 genre. smut
warnings. oral sex (m!receiving), lap pillow cuddling turning steamy, teasing, begging sam, soft to filthy progression, reader in control, sam whiny and undone
It’s one of those rare quiet nights in the bunker. No hunts. No calls. No apocalypse creeping in. Just the hum of the lamp and the soft weight of Sam Winchester stretched out on the couch.
Your head is resting against his thigh, his hand running idly through your hair. He’s reading, or pretending to—book propped open in one hand, the other lazily combing your strands, fingertips brushing your scalp in slow, grounding strokes. You feel boneless, lulled by his warmth, the solid heat of his body against yours.
“Comfortable?” Sam’s voice is low, almost a rumble in his chest.
“Mhm,” you hum, eyes half-lidded as you turn your face into his leg. His jeans are worn soft, smelling faintly like detergent and leather.
The silence stretches, but it isn’t empty. Every shift of his breath, every glide of his hand, every slow, affectionate pass of his thumb over your temple—it all buzzes under your skin until comfort starts bleeding into want.
You roll your head lazily and glance up. Sam isn’t even looking at the book anymore. His eyes are already on you, heavy, thoughtful, a faint smile tugging at his mouth like he knows exactly what’s stirring in your head.
“What?” you whisper, suddenly shy under the weight of it.
“Nothing,” he says, voice pitched low, “just… you’re beautiful like this.”
Heat blooms in your chest, racing south. You shift, cheek brushing against the thick line of his thigh, dangerously close to where his jeans tent at the front. And oh—he’s already hardening under the denim, the outline of him unmistakable from this angle.
You smile slow, wicked. “Looks like someone’s enjoying this more than reading.”
Sam chuckles, deep and rough, tipping his head back against the couch. “Can’t help it when you’re lying there. You have no idea what you do to me.”
You bite your lip, pulse kicking up. Then, before he can say anything else, you slide down just a little, tilting so your nose grazes against the bulge straining his zipper. His sharp inhale tells you enough.
“Sweetheart…” he warns, though the tension in his voice betrays how much he wants it.
“Relax,” you murmur, fingers already working the button and tugging the zipper down. The fabric parts easily, revealing the thick press of him straining against his boxers. You nudge at the waistband until he lifts his hips for you, letting you tug them down enough to free him.
God, he’s beautiful—thick and long, flushed, already slick at the tip. The sight alone makes your mouth water.
You glance up once more, catching the way he’s looking at you—wide-eyed, jaw tight, every bit of that control he wears so easily hanging by a thread.
“Can I?” you ask softly, just to see him break.
He groans, fist clenching against the couch cushion. “Please.”
That’s all you need. You curl your hand around the base, giving him a slow pump, watching the muscles in his stomach tighten as you lean down. Your tongue drags a hot stripe from base to tip, lingering to swirl around the swollen head before closing your lips over him.
The sound Sam makes is obscene, deep and guttural, his hips jerking despite himself. “Fuck—”
You hollow your cheeks, taking more of him inch by inch, until your nose brushes against the coarse hair at his base. He’s big enough to make your eyes water, but the way his breath shudders above you, the way his hand immediately comes down to cradle the back of your head—it’s worth every second.
“God, that mouth…” he rasps, thumb stroking your cheek gently, guiding but never forcing. “So good, sweetheart. Taking me so deep.”
You moan around him, and the vibration makes him curse, hips twitching. You pull back slowly, saliva slicking his length, before sinking down again with steady determination. The rhythm builds—your hand working what your mouth can’t reach, your tongue teasing the underside, lips tightening around every inch of him.
Sam is unraveling, head tipped back, throat working as he struggles to hold it together. His free hand fists in his shirt, knuckles white. “Fuck, you’re perfect. Look so pretty on your knees, just… worshiping me.”
The words make you burn, make you greedy. You bob your head faster, take him deeper, gagging slightly but refusing to let go. His thighs tense under your cheek, muscles hard as stone.
“Careful—” his voice breaks, sharp with need. “You keep that up, I’m gonna—”
You swallow around him deliberately, pulling a broken moan from his chest.
That does it. His control snaps. His hips thrust up, shallow but desperate, his grip tightening just enough to hold you there as he spills hot and heavy down your throat with a choked cry of your name.
You take it all, swallowing around him until he’s trembling, until the sharpness ebbs into shuddering aftershocks. Slowly, you pull back, lips shiny, chin wet. You wipe it with the back of your hand, smug.
Sam is wrecked—flushed, hair falling into his eyes, chest heaving. But the look he gives you is molten, all heat and awe. He cups your cheek with a hand so gentle it undoes you all over again.
“C’mere.” His voice is hoarse, soft but commanding.
You crawl up his lap, straddling him easily. His arms wrap around you instantly, holding you close, pressing kisses into your hair. “You’re gonna kill me one of these days.”
You grin against his chest. “Worth it?”
He laughs, the sound rough and fond, his lips brushing your temple. “Always.”
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summary. sam left his laptop open. you didn't mean to pry. you promise you didn't. but the things you discover are life-changing. and ego boosting.
pairing. sam winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount. 1137 genre. smut ( mdni )
warnings. explicit sexual content, reader finds Sam’s porn search history (teasing → smut), size kink, slight manhandling (pinned wrists, lifted), dirty talk, fingering & clit stimulation, unprotected sex (P in V), rough pace / wall sex, breeding implications (sam finishes inside), praise + a touch of degradation, possessive!sam vibes
ᯓ★ read part one first
The bunker is quiet, save for the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. You’re still grinning from your little discovery earlier, but the smirk lingers less from amusement now and more from memory—the way Sam’s blush had spread, the way his voice had cracked like he was seconds from unraveling.
He wanted to bolt. He did bolt. But you know Sam. He’s not made for bottling things up forever. He’s made for breaking.
And you kind of want to be the one to snap him.
You pad down the hallway, bare feet silent on the concrete. His door is closed, but light spills out from the crack at the bottom. You don’t bother knocking—you twist the handle and slip inside.
He’s sitting at his desk, laptop snapped shut, elbows braced on the table and his head bowed into his hands. His shoulders tense the second he hears the door.
“Y/N.” His voice is strained, low. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” you murmur, stepping inside and shutting the door behind you. “Don’t come in? Don’t tease you?” You tilt your head, eyes cutting to the edge of his laptop. “Or don’t mention your very specific tastes?”
His hands drag down his face, and when he looks at you, his jaw is locked tight. “I’m serious.”
“So am I.” You move closer, slow, deliberate. “You think I’m mad that you… fantasize about me? Sammy, I’m flattered.”
His eyes flicker—uncertain, then guilty, then dark. “You shouldn’t be.”
“Why not?” you whisper, stepping into his space, so close his knee brushes your thigh. “I mean… I’ve definitely imagined you.”
The words hit him like a punch. His lips part, and you swear his pupils blow wide.
“Stop.” But there’s no heat in it, not really. Just desperation.
“Make me.”
It’s the challenge that breaks him.
Sam surges up from the chair, his size dwarfing yours as he backs you against the door. His hands slam flat on either side of your head, caging you in. His breath is ragged, hot against your cheek.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he growls.
Your pulse stutters, but you keep your smirk. “I think I do.”
And then his mouth is on yours.
It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s filthy—hungry, teeth clashing, tongue claiming you like he’s been starving for years. Your hands fist in his damp hair, tugging, and he groans into your mouth, deep and guttural.
One massive hand grips your wrist, dragging both arms above your head and pinning them hard against the door. The other slides down, tracing your curves, until he’s clutching your hip tight enough to bruise.
“Always teasing,” he mutters against your lips. “Always pushing me.”
“Worked, didn’t it?” you gasp.
His answer is to grind his hips into yours, and your body arches involuntarily, a gasp tearing out of you. He’s already hard, and the press of him against your stomach makes your knees weak.
“You like this,” he says, voice a dangerous rasp. “Being pinned. Being caught.”
“Yes,” you breathe, shameless.
The corner of his mouth curls, wicked. “I knew it.”
He dips his head, mouth hot against your neck, biting just enough to make you cry out. His free hand shoves up your shirt, skimming over your stomach, your ribs, until he’s cupping your breast and rolling your nipple between calloused fingers.
“Sam—”
“You think I didn’t notice?” he cuts in, voice rough. “The way you look at me? The way you blush when I catch you staring?” He sucks at your throat, hard, and you whimper. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Your arms strain in his grip, aching to touch him. “Then let me touch you.”
He shakes his head, smirk dark. “Not yet.”
His hand slides lower, under the waistband of your pants, fingers slipping past your underwear. The first brush of his fingertips against your slick makes you gasp loud enough to echo in the room.
“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re soaked already. From what, Y/N? Teasing me? Reading my search history?”
“Yes,” you pant, shameless. “From you.”
That wrecks him. His fingers plunge deeper, curling perfectly, and your whole body jolts. He swallows your moan with a bruising kiss, his rhythm merciless, precise. He knows exactly what he’s doing, dragging pleasure out of you until your legs tremble.
“Say it,” he demands, voice low. “Say you’ve thought about me.”
“I have,” you gasp, hips rolling against his hand. “I’ve thought about you fucking me—”
His growl cuts you off, vibrating through your bones.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, fingers working faster. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”
Your head thunks back against the door as his thumb circles your clit, relentless. Pleasure spikes, white-hot, coiling low in your belly. You’re so close it hurts, every nerve buzzing.
“Sam—please—”
That’s the breaking point. He releases your wrists, and the second your hands are free, you’re tugging at his towel, ripping it away. He’s bare underneath, thick and hard and flushed dark at the tip, and your mouth goes dry.
He groans at your reaction, grabbing your ass and hauling you up. You wrap around him instinctively, legs clinging to his waist. He doesn’t bother with finesse—he lines himself up and thrusts in, all the way to the hilt, in one brutal stroke.
You scream his name, nails digging into his shoulders. He fills you so deep it’s overwhelming, stretching you perfectly.
“Fuck,” he groans, head falling to your shoulder. “You feel better than I ever imagined.”
He sets a punishing pace, hips slamming into yours, each thrust stealing the air from your lungs. Your back slams against the door with every movement, but you don’t care—you’re clinging to him, crying out, lost to the rhythm of his body wrecking yours.
His mouth finds yours again, messy and desperate, teeth catching your lip. “You love this,” he mutters between kisses. “Being fucked like this.”
“Yes,” you sob, clenching around him. “Sam, yes—”
Your orgasm rips through you like a tidal wave, body convulsing, walls squeezing him tight. He groans, burying his face in your neck, thrusts growing erratic.
“God—Y/N—” His hips slam once, twice more, and then he’s spilling inside you, hot and heavy, his whole body shuddering with the force of it.
The room goes silent but for your ragged breathing. He slumps against you, holding you pinned to the door, both of you slick with sweat.
Finally, he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. His hair is damp and wild, his lips swollen, his chest heaving.
“You really shouldn’t have looked at my laptop,” he mutters, voice hoarse.
You grin weakly, still trembling. “Best decision I ever made.”
His laugh is rough, disbelieving. He kisses you again, slower this time, softer. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Worth it,” you whisper, tugging him closer.
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Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female Reader x Mr. Marathon
Summary: Soldier Boy interrupts you and Mr. Marathon, along with Homelander, who are searching for something called V1. But instead of putting him to work, he decides to interrogate you. Or at least that's what he tells his son.
Word Count: 1,055
Tags/Warnings: +18, smut, anal, p in v (unprotected), creampie, threesome, dacryphilia
Mr. Marathon’s super speed made your insides vibrate as he thrust his hips hard upward against you. You moaned and laughed on top of him, those vibrations even tickling you.
“Who’s my good girl, huh?” He murmured.
His hands held your breasts so they wouldn’t bounce so much and hurt.
“Me! I am, Mr. Marathon.”
And of course, he loved it when you called him by his superhero name.
Your ass slammed against his pelvis again and again at an incredible speed, and every second that passed was one second closer to orgasm.
“Well, this is definitely a good fucking view.”
You looked over your shoulder as soon as you heard that voice and screamed instinctively, sliding off Mr. Marathon and lying down next to him, covering yourself with the sheet.
“Whoa, whoa.” Your partner put a hand out in front of him, covering his crotch. “Wait… Homelander? Soldier Boy?”
Your breath was rapid, and you pressed yourself as close to him as possible. You stared in astonishment at the two men standing in the room in their suits. Homelander wore a look of disgust on his face, unlike Soldier Boy, who smirked and looked at you intently and with a perverse intensity.
“God, you guys are the ones from TV.” You said, your eyes wide.
“Ugh, this is disgusting.” Homelander said, rolling his eyes. “We’re looking for the V1, and we were told you had it.” He stood at the foot of the bed, and you turned to look at Mr. Marathon.
“Um, well, I’m kind of busy right now.”
“I need it now.”
You swallowed at his threatening tone.
“Relax, son.” Soldier Boy said, patting his shoulder. “Why don’t you leave us alone and wait outside for a few moments, huh?” He led him to the door, a hand on his shoulder.
“What? Why?”
“I’m going to interrogate them about the V1. Now go.” He closed the door in his face and looked at them, walking slowly to your side of the bed.
“Uh, I don’t know anything about something called a V1, sir.”
He smirked and stroked your chin.
“Well, aren’t you a total sweetheart?” He glanced at Mr. Marathon. “Would you lend her to me?”
“W-What?” You stammered.
“Sure, Soldier Boy. It would be an honor.” You looked at your boyfriend in surprise, and he just smiled gently and stroked your shoulder. “Relax, sweetheart. It’s Soldier Boy!”
You turned your gaze back to the man standing beside you. He started unzipping his suit.
“Have you been with two supes at the same time, doll?” You shook your head. “Awww, look, we’ve got a virgin in our hands. What about your ass? Have you taken a supe there yet?” Your eyes widened, and you shook your head again.
“No, I haven’t deflowered her down there yet.” Mr. Marathon added, pressing a kiss to your hair.
“Uh, so we not only have a virgin of supes, but also a virgin of ass.” He unzipped his pants. “Well, what the hell are we waiting for?”
⋆⋆⋆🝳✞✧★ఌ𐙚⋆⋆⋆
You felt your insides stretching deliciously as both supes pounded inside you. You were on top of Mr. Marathon, your hands on his chest as he thrust into your pussy again and again, while Soldier Boy was behind you, attacking your ass and making you feel things you never thought possible.
“Oh, this little fucking girl can really take it.” He said before grabbing your neck and pulling you back, pressing your back against his chest.
His balls slapped against you as Mr. Marathon’s cock pounded deep into your cervix, his hands holding your hips as he watched intently, licking his lips.
“Yeah, she takes it like a good girl.” He used his super speed to flick your clit with two fingers, making you tremble.
You were so close, and the pleasure was so intense, that you started to sob. It was simply too much, but you wanted more.
“Awww, look at her. She’s crying like a little girl.” Soldier Boy grunted. He licked a tear that rolled down your cheek and groaned. “Christ on a cross, even her tears are delicious.” He thrust his cock hard into you and you whimpered. “Yeah, that’s it. Keep crying. Quench my thirst, baby.” He licked two more tears from your face, moving your face to his liking with one hand.
“She’s close, I can feel her squeezing me.” The man beneath you groaned.
He began using his super speed again, thrusting in and out of you rapidly, making you bounce on his lap and causing Soldier Boy’s cock to move pleasurably inside you as well. You reached the peak of pleasure. Your body shook as if possessed, and your holes squeezed tightly around both cocks.
“God-Fuck, yeah, like that.” Mr. Marathon growled. “Y-yes, fuck!” He ejaculated his warm semen inside you, painting your pussy white as if his life depended on it.
“Shit, y-you’re squeezing me so good.” Soldier Boy closed his eyes tightly and tightened his grip on your neck, even making you gasp for air in those few seconds before he reached orgasm. “Yes! Yes, fuck!” He groaned deeply and he too released his semen, filling you.
You had never felt so full and tired in your life, and you were loving every second. Your body went limp, but Soldier Boy held you firmly from behind, so you stayed against him until he gently lowered you onto the other man’s chest. He slowly withdrew from you, feeling your walls wet with his semen, until he pulled his cock out. Immediately, his white fluid began to flow from you, and he laughed.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He slapped your ass, and more of his semen flowed out of you. “Look at that. Fucking perfect.”
He got off the bed and began to dress. Mr. Marathon stroked your back while his cock was inside your pussy, his semen oozing out all around under the watchful eye of Soldier Boy, who smirked.
“I’ll probably be back.” He winked at you. “Now, Marathon, get dressed and tell us what you know about V1.”
“Of course, Soldier Boy.” He nodded.
He gave you one last arrogant look before opening the bedroom door.
Homelander was on the other side, furious, his hands behind his back. He also looked horrified.
✧･ﾟ:when he loves you—and he does—after care becomes just as intimate as the sex itself. He’ll spend a few minutes after you’re done laying over you, his face pressed between your breasts as he collects himself, and then he’s moving. Starting a warm bath and heating a towel to clean up the mess he left between your thighs, then carrying you into the steaming water and sitting on the lip of the tub as long as you let him. He gets water and sits you on the toilet after you rinse off, then carries you back to bed. You don’t protest—you couldn’t if you wanted, your thighs made of jelly and your head still a little dazed from the pleasure he wrung from your body—and press you face into his neck and letting him coax a little more food into your before you knock out in his arms.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
✧･ﾟ:if you ask Dean, he’ll say he loves all of you, but both of you know the truth. There’s nothing he loves more than your breasts. Big and bouncing when you ride him, or small and able to fit in the palm of his hand, it doesn’t matter. They’re soft and pretty, almost a toy for him to play with when he has you beneath him. He’ll mouth at them and roll your nipples between his fingers, watching almost obsessively the way your back arches into his touch. It make it easy for him say that his favorite body part is his hands. Anywhere else they’re weapons, coated in blood and dirt and grime, but on your body they’re tools, and he never apricates himself more.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
✧･ﾟ:dean loves to mark you up in any way he can. It’s possessive and dirty, but he’s past the point of caring about such things. If he can paint it over your stomach and tits, it’s a good day. A better one when he can smear it on your face, his sore cock twitching when you lick the excess off your lips. But nothing is better than spilling inside of your warm, wet heat. Watching the proof of your effect on him dribbling out of your little hole, down your ass and thighs, it makes him want to bury his face back against you, pushing himself into your with his tongue. If he’s lucky you’ll let him fuck you with slow lazy thrusts after you’ve both finished, making sure he’s driven it properly inside of you. His messy girl.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
You pretend you don’t know, but he’s not that good at hiding it. Your underwear doesn’t just grow legs and walk off by itself. Before you were dating, Dean used to steal it used, clenching your panties in one fist and beating his cock with the other. He’d smell that little wet spot and moan your name against the fabric, the arousal and need in his chest just managing to outweigh the shame. Once you’re together, you start just passing them into his hands without a word. The day you let him eat you out through your panties, then keep them after? One of the best of his life.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Dean’s the first to call himself a whore, as if it doesn’t bother him in the slightest. And it didn’t used to. Sex was for fun, to feel good, to forget about the pain and—for once in his damn life—do something useful for someone else. But after you, it’s different. The experience was just practice, just building up to this. To knowing exactly what women like, exactly what makes them feel good, and using his mastery to turn you into a pretty little puddle beneath him. He’s a champion, and you’re quickly the only game he wants to play.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
There isn’t really a position Dean doesn’t like—he can make anything feel good, and he takes pride in it—but his favorite position soars above the rest of the already high standard. When he’s got you in his lap, brows pressed together, mouth slack and easy to kiss, it’s close to heaven. Your boobs bounce and push against his chest, your ass wiggles in his massive palms, and your cunt hugs his cock just right at the angle. You can ride him until you get whiny, and he can pin you down and fuck up like an animal, watching your face go slack with pleasure, your eyes glazing over and tiny moans of his name falling from swollen lips. You cling to him, and he holds on back, keeping you just as close as you’ll allow.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Dean lets you set the tone, every time. He’s just happy to be there, and he can make anything work. If you need to be treated like lace, he’s serious and gentle, murmuring low praise and worshiping every inch of your body. If you fall into bed after a date or climb on top of him in the middle of a movie, he’ll tease and joke until you’re whining and glaring at him under lidded, glossy eyes. His shit eating grin won’t fall until you’re screaming his name, and it turns smug and proud. He knows you love it, when it’s easy. He loves it too.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
He tries to stay groomed, but life on the road makes it hard. Even when he gets to settle in the bunker for a week or two, shaving isn’t very high on the list of priorities. He does his face because a beard is hard to maintain, and basic maintenance around his cock to keep it clean, but not much else. The look of the tool doesn’t matter much. He knows how to use it right either way.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
When it was just hookups, he sometimes wouldn’t even bother to learn the right name to moan. It wasn’t about being vulnerable or romantic, it was about being a fleeting, passing ship that lent another some warmth. A shadow of intimacy, to stead over the gap in his chest from sinking too deep. But then he had you, and even when you’re play fighting before sex or giggling while he fingers you stupid, there’s a thin layer of adoration under every single kiss and touch. It’s rawer and sharper in the dead of night, when he cradles you in his lap and presses his face against your neck, or folds himself over your body and drives in with slow, torturous thrusts. He’ll never say it allowed, but that’s how he loves you. With a real good show and undying attention, whether the sex is rough or slow or quick in the bathroom, it’s all just to be close to you.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Sam used to joke about him taking long showers, but he had no idea. Dean tries to ignore his cock when it gets demanding—when you’d bend over in a skirt or brush past him in the hall—but he started feeling like a teenager with no damn control, and he’d storm into the bathroom to care of himself, quickly and brutally. It gets better after you start dating, but sometimes you have to be apart. Then old habits return, and he finds himself kicking Sammy out of the motel room just so he can pull out a picture of you and jerk himself off.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
There are more of them than he cares to count, but three stand out above the rest. There the only three that can still make Dean, of all men, blush.
Cockwarming until the sun comes up. Holding you around him until you’re dripping and wiggling and whining his name, until he’s so hard it hurts and ends up just rutting into you like a dog. It’s not the filthiness of the act that gets him, but the intimacy of it. You’re so close he can’t tell where he stops and you end, and it makes him so dizzy he almost loses control. He’d trade a life to keep you like that all the time. Soft and completely, totally his.
The first time you call him sir, he almost feels something in him shift. He’d always said he didn’t get that kind of shit—sex was supposed to be give and take, not just a girl doing everything for him—but then he had you below him, babbling the word by sheer accident, and his cock twitched like it had been jumpstarted. He liked it. He liked it too much. He’d follow you like a dog to the end of the earth, but right here, when he was making you feel good, he was the one in charge. He had a handle over the situation, you trusted him to be in charge of you like this, and that tiny whimper of sir made him lose his goddamn mind.
And the breeding kink he tries to hide. He’s not trying to baby trap you, or reduce you to just a body for him to knock up, but the idea of it makes his mouth water. Fucking you so good a little bit of him sticks. Forcing his cum into you until you’re stuffed up, your eyes rolling back in your head from the pleasure. Making you round and glowing with his baby, letting the whole world know just how well he treated you. You notice it, because you always do, and son of a bitch, you encourage him. You let him press his hand flat on your stomach so he can feel his cum spurting into your heat, you cling to his shoulders and moan when he asks if you like it, and he can’t help it. He wants you good and bred. He wants you to be his.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
He wouldn’t call himself an exhibitionist, but there aren’t many places he won’t do it. As long as it’s not a crime and you’re comfortable, the bathroom in a police station is as good to go as the kitchen in the bunker. However, there’s nothing he loves more than his bed. A good mattress, the sheets sticking to your skin, the smell of you all around him, it’s almost enough to get him hard all on it’s own.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
The list is so long, he stopped trying to understand it a long time ago. There are the simple things—your mouth around a banana, the curve of your ass, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, when you get mouthy and bratty and he wants to drag you over his knee or pin your to the wall—but then there’s… other stuff. The time you shoved him and spat in his face after a fight, and he was seconds from splaying you out on the table, squeezing your jaw with one hand and fingering you with the other, all while rutting against your leg like an animal, kissing away the drool when dribbled down your chin. The other time you drove baby for five seconds, and he made you pull over so he could eat you out in the backseat. He’s starting to think it might just be you. He doesn’t really care, either way.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
When he was younger, Dean would try anything once. The benefit of that is that now he knows what he really doesn’t love. He doesn’t get piss stuff or age play, but he doesn’t count himself one to judge. The one time he let a girl tie him up, he ripped his hands out of the bonds and had a knot in the top of his chest for a week after. Life is hard enough as it is, and as fun as a lot of that kind of stuff looks, there can be too many deep, serrated scars in him for it to feel good.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
While he’ll never say no to getting some head, the only sight better than you on your knees with his cock in your mouth is you flat on your back, grabbing at anything you can reach as he tongue fucks you into oblivion. He thinks he could live and die between your legs, your pussy gushing on his face and his name falling from your lips. And he’s good at it. He knows he’s good at it. He’ll shoot you a wink before he kisses his way down your body, because he knows you’re never even try to resist him. Once he convinced you to sit on his face, and he’d never known anything closer to heaven.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
He can read and match the tone well, depending on what you want. When he’s rough, he bullies his cock into your like a drill, making the bed creak and tears spring into your eyes from the almost overwhelming pleasure of being fucked over and over and over like some sweet little doll. When he’s slow, he’s slow, taking his time to make your feel every thrust, every kiss, every brush of his fingers over your clit. But even when he’s slow, he drives into you with the force of a man falling into a black hole. He can’t help himself. The way your gummy walls squeeze him just feels too good, to not make them clench and flutter around him.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
If you’d let him, Dean would just fill the whole day with quickies. Wake up and fuck you between the sheets, get breakfast then have a second meal between your thighs, interview a few vics and cradle your head while he drive, pulling off to the side when you suck his cock a little too well, and his vision starts to go blurry. Sometimes he’ll spend a whole day teasing you, just to try and get you to start it. It’s a great victory, if you drag him into a supply closet to bang one out. It’s all he’s ever wanted in the world.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Anything once really did teach him to know what he liked, so at this point it’s more indulging any risks you’d want to take. He knows his lines, and he’s more than willing to help you find yours. If you shyly ask him to tie you up or wrap a hand around your throat or fist you, he’d have to be a madman to tell you no.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Even at his age, Dean counts himself impressive. He might not be pulling the day long marathons he did in his twenties, but he can go the whole night if he keeps the focus on your pleasure, which he finds easy to do. If you make him cum in your mouth or hands, he’ll dedicate as long as he needs to teaching you a few lessons and opening you up, before he’s hard and ready to go again. Once he’s in you, though, he’s no chump. He can hold himself off for over an hour on the best of nights. Sure, there were the few cases when you were just too soft and pretty and he couldn’t stop himself, but you found it hot anyway. The loss of control, just from looking at you, you’d never felt more beautiful. And it wasn’t like he didn’t make it worth your time.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
He’s tried a few toys on himself, but they’re all complicated, and he lives with his damn brother. Knowing each other’s porn habits is bad enough, the idea of sex toys getting exposed makes him feel a little sex. He’s got a perfectly good hand, and a hot girlfriend, and that’s all he’s never going to need. If you want him to pull out that vibrator you keep in your nightstand, though, he’s never going to protest. Watching you come apart—your thighs rolling against the head of the toy and your mouth hanging open—is always too good an opportunity to pass up. The toy might be the one giving you the pleasure, but Dean’s the one holding it. He’s the person you’re crying for when you cum, and he usually gets to fuck your already swollen pussy after. Doesn’t get much better than that.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Some might call him a monster. And the some is you. You didn’t know how much you could get worked up, until Dean came around and showed you. Through the day he’ll make you flush with little comments, then trace his fingers over your inner thigh in the car, making you flush and pant before he just kisses your cheek and walks away. And you thought that was bad, until he actually got his hands on you, and you learned how much the asshole loves edging. Getting you so wet and flustered your almost sobbing for him, whispering dirty praise until your face is burning, somehow keeping you on the edge with teasing touches, even as his cock drives right into that gummy spot inside of you. He says you’re too adorable not to tease. You roll your eyes, but never ask him to stop. It’s always, just a little, too good.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
The mouth on him should be worthy of a lawsuit. Between the moaning and grunting, the strangled, rumbling sound he makes when he pushes himself inside of you, and the deep, filthy dirty talk, you think you might just be able to cum from his voice. It’s not fair, but Dean doesn’t play fair, and you don’t want him to. One day, when you’re brave, you’ll ask him to test the theory. He’ll oblige, and you’ll certainly end up right.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Dean’s never in it for himself. If his partner wants him to hand over control, he’ll do it, but it’s never going to be what he prefers. He spends every day of his life begging for the people he loves to listen to him, for once in their damn lives. He’s got a grip over his own world, even if his hands shake on the worst of nights. It’s not liberating for him to be degraded in sex when all he’s known is bruises and spit from the people who were supposed to love him. He wants to be trusted more than he’s ever going to be able to say, to be the only person you turn to for pleasure, to take his hands and mouth and body and have them feel safe for just one, one fucking person. He might be in control during sex, but it’s still all about you, and that’s exactly how he likes it.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
He doesn’t get his confidence from nowhere. For a while—before you—it was sort of the only kind of confidence he had. Dean didn’t count himself for much, but no one could deny their own eyes. The size of him is one thing—long enough to hit spots you didn’t know you had, veiny and uncut and almost pretty—but the girth- It makes your mouth fall open, the first time you see it. You’re not sure you can stretch that wide, and when Dean tells you that you will, sweetheart, you almost roll your eyes. But, damn him, he’s right. You mold around that thick, big cock like a glove, and feel him in every inch of your body.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
If anything, he only gets worse with age. In his younger days, fucking was something he could work himself up to almost any day of the week, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted to an hour ago. A pretty girl and a good drink, the engine could get itself going. Then you came along and made him feel things, and then he let you get close and start making him eat well and drink water and go for stupid walks, and suddenly there isn’t a second that’s enough. If life didn’t get in the way, he’d never let you leave the bed.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
He’ll push through the exhaustion for some proper aftercare, but the moment he’s sure you’re good, Dean’s out like a stone. He doesn’t sleep well under any other circumstance, but you work him hard, then let him use you like a human body pillow, and he finds the closest thing he knows to peace, right there, with you in his arms.
✦Dean Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
✦Author's Note: i think about him. all the time <3✦
✧･ﾟ:there are two versions of Ben. The one before you, and the one after. If you had just been another hookup, aftercare would’ve been nothing. Maybe an offer for a joint and a pat on the leg for a job well done, but then he’d be gone. After you, it’s different. Everything’s different. You wormed your way under his skin and made him feel things, good things, good, disgusting things like love, and he’s turned into something a little north of soft. He’s still Ben, but the sharper edges have dulled, and ice around his old heart has thawed, and his hands are learning how to do things that just for you. He won’t coddle you, but he cleans up between your thighs, gives you a rough assessment for anything dumb and soft—if you’re extra braindead, which happens a lot, he’ll carry you to the bathroom without a word—and lies at your side. The joint still gets smoked, but now you’re tucked against his chest. Safe and warm, and his.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
✧･ﾟ:his cock. He says it with smug triumph and not a second of hesitation. It’s his favorite part, your favorite part—if he’s the one in charge of deciding that—and overall just a gift to humanity all around. If you push him a little on it and demand something besides his cock, he’ll roll his eyes and say his balls. If you push a little deeper—which only you can do—you get the truth. He loves his chest. Yeah he’s got a bomb in there, but you love the warmth, and he loves covering you completely, just a sweet little ball beneath him. He’d keep you there all the time like a sex kangaroo if you let him. He tells you that, and you smack him, and he laughs. He’d say his favorite part of you is your pussy, but with a raised brow he’d admit it’s your mouth. It gets real sassy when you’re confident, and drools his name just right, when you’re stuffed up with his cock.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
✧･ﾟ:he gets possessive with it. He’ll never admit to it—he won’t admit to anything—but after he cums inside of you, he’s going to make sure it gets in there, nice and deep, and then he’ll smear it everywhere else he can. Over your thighs and on your tummy, up to your tits and down your ass, anywhere he can see himself shining on your pretty body. A lot of times he cums hard enough that he can fill you up until you’re moaning, and still have plenty left to shoot onto your back or breasts. Just how he likes.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
Most of Ben’s dirty secrets aren’t exactly… secret. He’s tried to fuck you in front of the team multiple times, he always tells you to moan his name loud enough that they’ll hear, and if he can get away with it he’ll make you walk around with his cum dripping out of your cunt. He proudly declared that you gave him your panties to keep, and tell you like it’s romantic that he only jerks off to the thought of you now. If anything, the deepest secret he holds is that he does find it romantic. That he’s capable of that now, with you, and he wants nothing more than to just… be near you. Without sex. To love and touch you like some boring, normal pussy. Maybe a little sex. He’ll probably be able to talk you into it.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Body count rivaling Genghis Khan. He got around in his day, and it’s taught him to know every body almost like he knows his own. You have to give him a rule, that he’s not allowed to say that he did this position with Princess Diana, because you don’t really want to hear it. You just want to see him do the position. He rolls his eyes and calls you a brat, and you smile and say he loves it, and damn him, he does. He loves that he got all that experience, too. Real easy for you to benefit, from all that hard work.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Ben can brag about his past and throw around your panties all he wants, you always get to know the truth. That at the end of it, he’s just a romantic old man who wants to do missionary. He likes being fully wrapped around you, likes how easy it is to manhandle you, like how your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his bicep as you get the air fucked straight out of you. He likes that he can kiss you, open-mouthed and sloppy, and that he can push your knees to your chest and turn it into a mating press, giving him easy access to your swollen, sensitive clit. You only tease him about it a little. The sex is too good to do anything else.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
He’s more serious with you, than he ever was with anyone else. Especially at the start, when this was something that mattered, and he’d never had that, and for the first time in a hundred years there was a fist in his gut that was trying to hold onto something. That clenched hard enough to make him sick, that made him paranoid and tense, because what if he lost you. He fucked you like it was a job. Like that would prove his dedication to this, to you, without him having to say it. Over time, he relaxed. Jokes get cracked, and the teasing gets insatiable, and you can’t go a day without something suggestive that makes you laugh, then moan as his hand presses between your thighs.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Ben didn’t bother grooming until you. His actions and face and body spoke for themselves. Whatever was going on down there was what you got, and you’d better be fucking happy with it. And you were. You are. But he saw you taking care of your bush and got curious what the fuck you were doing, and you explained that it was still hair, it needed to be washed, and now he does that for you, then makes you clean him. He gets cocky, his hand in your hair as you lean down, and doesn’t bother to stop himself from getting hard while you touch him. It usually ends with you pressed against shower tiles. You never complain about that either.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
He’ll deny it to the ends of the earth and over God’s ballsack, but he’s more romantic than you would’ve ever guessed. Once he learns what that strange, warm feeling he got when he looked at you was, he’s committed to it. It’s annoying, but nice, and he really fucking loves nice things. Just like he loves you. And there’s nothing better than whispering that against your skin, or fucking you nice and slow and loving until you’re sobbing, then making you admit that you love him back.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
If it was a sport, he’d take gold. And silver, and bronze. If someone were to take a blacklight to his bedroom it would look like a crime scene, especially before you got together. He doesn’t deny himself, ever, and that meant stomping away at seemingly random points during the day, just to jerk himself off and moan your name to the walls. Once he did it in a Chili’s bathroom, just because you smiled at him. Not his best moment, but real far from his fucking worst. And you deserve to be worshipped like that, enough that he can’t even control himself. He counts it as romantic, and you never admit it, but you kind of think it is too.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Ben walks a fine line between an exhibitionist and overly possessive. He marks your neck up with hickies and parades you around like his most prized thing, but gets narrow eyed and rigid when people watch for too long. He wants you to scream his name loud enough for everyone to hear, but clenches his jaw at the idea of fucking where someone might actually walk in and see you naked. He records a video of you and puts it in a safe. Fucks you in a bathroom with the door locked, puts you in his shirt and nothing else, but barks at anyone who’s gaze lingers on your legs. You’re his to worship and adore, not some other nosy fucking pussy’s.
He’s only a fucking man. A man who wants things he won’t talk about, like kids and a simple fucking life. If he could he’d knock you up for the rest of your fucking lives, keep your tits swollen and belly round with his kid. Making them is the fun part, breeding you like you’re begging for it—and you are—and then a few times after to make sure it sticks. Then you get all glowy and gorgeous, beaming and fucking Ben’s. Everyone knows it, from that swell of your stomach, and you get so horny you give him a run for his damn money. Perfect.
Pet names are cute, but detached before you. Doll for most women, sweetheart if he’s trying to piss them off, and not much else. But you, you get kid and darling and babydoll and pretty girl falling from his lips without thought. And then there’s the shit you call him. Benjamin when he’s in trouble—which is fucking hot—and Benny when you’re extra fucking needy. If you’re desperate enough he gets sir, and if he fucks you just right, he can pull a daddy from your swollen lips. You flush and get embarrassed and deny it later, but he knows what he fucking heard. And he’s going to get you to say it again.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
As much as Ben loves the bed, or the shower, or the table or the counter or the floor or the dresser, there’s something about the wall and the couch that make him feral. If he’s got you against the wall, he can pin you with your hands over your head and his arm cradling you against him, and he gets to make your whole body bounce with every thrust. Maybe he can even drag you off the wall, and just fuck you standing in the center of the room, his arms the only thing keeping you up right. On the other side of that is the couch. Bending you over it and smacking your ass, pushing you down until you’re limp and dangling forward, stupid moans falling from your lips as he fucks you dumb and pretty. Completely at his mercy, and happy about it.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
It would be quicker to list the things that don’t get him going. Sometimes it’s the way you said a word, a look you gaze him, the way you squeezed his hands or glared at him all hot, and now he needs to be inside of you or he’s going to go fucking insane. Once you screamed about a spider, he killed it, and suddenly you were being fucked into the sofa. More times than you can count he just wants to. No foreplay or real motivation besides seeing you, and deciding you really needed a good fuck.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
He makes the list clear, when you get together. He’s tried damn near everything, and he won’t be pissing, shitting, or getting cucked. You can get on top, but he’s in control. You can try and tie him up, but he’s just going to break out of it and fuck you like you deserve. Giving up control isn’t really something he knows how to do, let alone tolerate after Russia. He spent too long in a box, and he’s not fucking letting anyone get one over on him again. You tell him that’s shell-shock. He rolls his eyes and tells you to hire a shrink about it. You do, because you’re the only one who can get away with it. You might be able to get away with anything, around him. He likes finding out.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Of course he prefers fucking receiving, he told you once. Getting a girl with nice lips and a warm mouth around him, fucking her face until she’s choking and still begging for more, nothing fucking better. Of course, your mouth is another story. Almost brings him to his fucking knees, when you get going. He’s broken the kitchen counter three times, to the point that you just leave it wrecked and tell him to grab there. And then he gets between your legs, and works out how all those men he thought were pussies could get off on just this. Tastes like fucking Heaven, gets you gushing and screaming and squirming for him, opens you up like nothing fucking else. You get caught in his beard and he refuses to wash it out. You cum on his face and he rolls on his back, pinning you down until your body gives out and you fold over him like a toy, trembling with the pleasure he’s devoured out of you.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
There aren’t many ways Ben doesn’t like it, but slow and rough is always going to take the cake. Pulling almost all the way out of you before slamming back in, watching your eyes roll back and hearing that perfect little whine. You milk his cock whenever he drives against your g-spot and beg him to go faster, but he holds the pace. Not like there’s much you can do about it, limp and mindless under him. Eventually he’ll take mercy and start to fuck you like you’ve earned, the brutal pace turning into micro thrusts when he falls over the edge with a groan.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
You have to limit him. There are too many times where he’s pulled you into a closet or dragged you off to bed with guests over, just to pull one more out of your greedy little pussy. And you know you’re always going to let him, even when he shouldn’t. Three a day, you tell him, but that quickly becomes four, then five, then six, and then you give up all together. It’s as if he gets energy fucking you. It’s almost scientifically amazing, and it feels like fucking heaven, so there are worse quirks for a boyfriend to have.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
There isn’t something Ben hasn’t done. If risks are being taken, it’s you, trusting him when he says he’s got some shit you’ll like. You believe him—he’s good at knowing about that, and it would scare you how good he was if it wasn’t deeply helpful—and trust him, because he’s your Ben. He’d never hurt you. One time, you do try to suggest something he might not have done, and he laughs in your face and calls you cute. He’s been slinging cock like a gun before your grandparents were alive. You tell him he’s never allowed to say slinging cock again.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Once, you made a bet with him that you could take it until he was out. It was one of the best and worst choices of your life. He came about thirty times, you came so much you stopped counting—and can’t even remember what number made you give up—and it only ended because Ben started to get worried that you would go into sex hibernation. You told him that wasn’t a thing, and tried to tease him that he was just out. He’d been rock hard when he stopped. You have a feeling that he could’ve done that all over again ten times and still be ready for round one thousand, but he let you have the win. It’s the only kind you have, in the sheets.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
At first, he’s offended by the idea that a fucking robot could get you off better than he could. He still is a little offended. If you use your vibrator, he also gets a shot at it, to remind you which is better at knowing you and your body. But then you show him remote control vibrators, and he turns into a monster. He shoves it into your hand and orders you to put it in, and when you laugh you end up pinned to the mattress and kissed everywhere while he slides it in himself. Ben becomes obsessed with it. Making you glare at him while your thighs shake, smelling your arousal, knowing that you’re probably going to climb him like a fucking tree the second you’re alone. Maybe before, if he does this shit right.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Ben has a talent. A gift, even, and it’s going to ruin your fucking life. He thinks of working you up like a sport, trying to you right up to the edge of screaming before he pulls you into his lap and makes you fall apart with a single, light touch. It’s even more fun then, because you’re sensitive after you cum. And that’s just how Ben fucking likes you. Wet and needy and sensitive, all his to ruin however he likes. You thank him after, and he feels about a million feet fucking tall.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He doesn’t see any point in trying to keep quiet. Sex is meant to be loud and raw. Skin slapping on skin, hands grabbing and moans being forced out of your throat for him to swallow. He dirty talks you loud enough for it to be heard through the walls, and groans you name loud enough to be heard from space. He’s proud of it. The way you get all turned on by his moaning, then adorably embarrassed when the team tells you they could hear .
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Ben really fucking loves cock warming. Sitting you on his lap for no reason at all, burying himself in your hot little cunt, and just keeping you there until he’s had his fill. You get so fucking whiny and gorgeous, calling him names when he won’t move and then pleading and sweet talking him when that shit doesn’t work. He gets drunk on it, how you flutter and pulse around his rock hard cock, looking at him with those glossy eyes and whimpering his name. Sometimes he shoves a book into your hands and makes you read it, because you’re always trying to get him to fucking read. When you’re gasping for air and leaking down his thighs, he’ll give in and fuck you. Then, the next week, he’ll do it all fucking over again.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Horsecock. World ending. Tree trunk thick and uncut. Next question.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Of Ben’s many experiments on your body, one of your favorite quickly grows to be somnophilia, simply because he’s a fucking dog. You know he has self control, and he’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to, but he gets twitchy when he’s been pent up too long. And for Ben, too long is about twelve hours. You could give him a whole night before you went on a work trip, and he’d spam call you until you landed and picked up, demanding that you come back now. He’d spend the rest of his life fucking you, if he was allowed. Sometimes he tries to talk you into that, and you flush, because you’d be more “up for it” than you want to admit.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Ben doesn’t sleep much, after Russia. Been asleep too fucking long, he grunts, and you don’t push. But you notice—like you always do—that the rule doesn’t really apply to you. You wake up in the middle of the night, still where you passed out. Held against his chest like a child’s blanket, cradled like a baby bird, both of you bare as the day you were born and completely at peace. His lips brushing your brow and breathing steady. It’s beautiful to see. Almost sacred. You brush the hair from his eyes and kiss his nose. His eyes flutter sometimes, and you just stare at each other in the dark. You press your chin to his chest, and his mouth twitches into something like a smile. You both fall back asleep, and don’t speak of it in the morning. But—just like always—it will happen again.
✦Soldier Boy Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on aO3✦
✦Author's Note: i need him in a way that's concerning to feminism✦
In the bunker’s bathroom, Dean was sitting on the closed toilet lid while you stood between his legs, all the things you needed laid out on a small counter beside you.
His stubble had gotten a little too grown out lately. Not enough for a beard, but enough to get all rough and spiky againt your skin, which is exactly why you were here helping him shave.
Dean looked entirely too pleased about the situation.
“You’re bein’ real sweet right now” He murmured, looking up at you with a lazy, smug smirk.
You chuckled slightly while reaching for the shaving cream “Mhm?”
“Yeah. My beautiful girl helping me shave” He continued with a smirk, eyes dragging slowly over you.
You smile.
“I always enjoy having you this close” He leaned forward and nuzzled playfully against the valley between your breasts.
You laughed softly “Dean”
“What?” He asked innocently against you.
You shook your head fondly before tilting his chin up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips “Behave”
“No promises”
You squeezed a bit of shaving cream into your hand before gently applying it along his jaw and cheeks.
Dean watched you the entire time with the most satisfied expression imaginable, like this was the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
And of course, with you standing this close?
He absolutely could not keep his hands to himself.
His arms wrapped loosely around your waist while you spread the shaving cream carefully over his jaw.
Then his hands slowly slid lower.
You immediately laughed when he squeezed your ass.
"Hey!" You scolded with a laugh "Stop distracting the person with the sharp objects"
"Can't help it" He mumbled through the cream, looking completely unrepentant.
You rolled your eyes while trying to stay focused, but Dean kept lazily rubbing his hands along your hips and waist anyway.
Once his face was covered in shaving cream, Dean suddenly leaned forward without warning and stole a quick kiss that left a bit of shaving cream right on the tip of your nose.
Dean pulled back looking entirely too proud of himself “Looks cute” He grins.
You shook your head, laughing softly while wiping it off with your fingers “You are impossible”
“And yet” Dean said smugly “Here you are shaving me”
You cleaned your face before finally reaching for the razor, pointing it lightly at him in warning.
“Stay still” You said, eyebrows raised.
Dean immediately lifted both hands dramatically “Yes, ma’am”
He obeyed for approximately thirty seconds.
Then his hands slid around your waist again, his gaze fixed on you.
“You’re very pretty, y’know that?” He murmured while you shaved carefully along his jaw.
“Dean”
“I’m serious” He chuckled lowly "You have no idea how pretty you look when you're all focused on me like that”
“You’re distracting me” You chuckled.
“That’s kinda my thing”
You rolled your eyes fondly while he grinned up at you.
You work in silence for a few minutes, the spiky stubble disappearing and leaving only smooth skin.
Once you finally finished and wiped the last bit of shaving cream from his face, you applied aftershave carefully along his jaw.
He hissed softly “Damn”
You laughed quietly “You’ll survive” You said, tilting his chin lightly, inspecting your work.
Dean immediately grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap.
“Well?” He smiled “How do I look?”
You leaned in, kissed his freshly shaved jaw once, and then his neck.
“Very handsome” You smiled against his skin.
Dean smirked triumphantly.
“You know” He murmured teasingly, rubbing his hands slowly along your waist “I could get used to this”
You smiled “To what? Me shaving you?”
“Mhm” He pressed a lazy kiss against your shoulder “Way better than doing it myself”
oh, nothing just thinking about dean winchester waking up from a nightmare in the dead of night. and he literally screamed himself awake this time, alerting you in your own room a few doors down— and you almost take his door off the hinges because you thought something was in the bunker.
but upon realizing that there was no threat, you don’t leave dean like this. not when he’s upright in his bed, chest heaving and face damp with sweat— and he can’t meet your eyes. or won’t.
without saying a word, you step in dean’s room, shutting the door and enveloping you both in darkness. thinking about taking his hands clenched into tight fists in his lap and smoothing them out, grasping your own hands with his as you sit next to him on his bed. thinking about how he’d usually protest or try to pull away— but he realized how much he needed it. so he doesn’t. he just lets you.
thinking about you getting bolder, wrapping one of your arms around dean’s still-shaking shoulders and leaning your head against his— a silent reminder that someone else was here with him. thinking about the fact that he still hasn’t said anything.
“‘m sorry,” is the first thing to come out of dean’s mouth, his face now burying into your shoulder and neck. you immediately shake your head, shushing him before he could say another apology that he didn’t need to say.
thinking about squeezing dean tighter after that as you’re still sitting upright with him on his bed, letting him get the physical comfort he so desperately needed— the comfort he deserved, and not letting go of him once as you do so.
“stay,” is what dean whispers— begs from you next after god knows how long of just sitting there with him. “please.”
and you do.
thinking about guiding dean winchester and all six feet of him to lay on top of you. you could still breathe— but it wasn’t your concern right now. dean was. you held him like that, with his arms tight around your waist, face buried in your chest— and you stayed with him.
hey pretty! i love love loveee your work, and youre so talented! i have a request for you, which ill put righttt here 👇🏻
can i get a dean x fem!reader smut, where dean is like, really really subby (ive got a problem), and he tries to stay silent while reader rides him and teases him half to hell, but she coaxes sounds out of him by getting him to moan or whine or whimper by doing a sort of 'bribing' thing? like, she tells him he can eat her out if he makes a sound, or he can watch her play w herself?
im so so sorry, this is so self indulgent and ugh i feel like a freak but i knoww you can do it justice! also, i know you did something sort of similar with a hoh!reader, but after reading that this came to mind and i just !!!
⋆｡ ˚ make a sound for me
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ you ride a desperately quiet dean and bribe those pretty sounds out of him with the promise of your pussy on his tongue and the sight of you fucking yourself with a toy.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ sub!dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 1003 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ smut !!
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, sub/dom dynamics, riding, teasing/edging, begging, female masturbation, sex toy use
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
you’re straddling dean’s hips, his cock buried deep inside you. the motel room’s dark except for the cheap lamp on the nightstand, throwing warm light across his flushed chest and the sweat beading on his collarbones.
he’s trying so hard to stay silent. jaw clenched, lips pressed tight, green eyes glassy as he stares up at you like you’re the only thing keeping him tethered.
his hands fist the sheets instead of grabbing your waist. always so stubborn, even when he’s deep under, cock leaking inside you while you roll your hips slowly.
“so quiet tonight,” you murmur, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. you lift up until just the tip catches at your entrance, then sink back down torturously slow. his hips jerk once. a tiny, strangled breath escapes him but he catches it fast.
you smile, soft and mean. then, you lean forward so your breasts brush his chest, lips near his ear. “you know i love hearing you. why do you make me work for it, dee?”
dean swallows hard. his cock twitches inside you but he doesn’t answer.
you grind down, clit rubbing against him with every circle of your hips. his breathing gets ragged. you feel every inch of him, hot and perfect, stretching you open. still, he stays mostly quiet. just those tiny hitched breaths he can’t quite hide.
“tell you what,” you whisper, nipping at his earlobe. “make one little sound for me… just a moan… and after i’m done riding you, you can bury that pretty face between my legs. let eat me out until i come on your tongue. you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
his eyes flutter. lips part. a soft, broken whimper slips out before he can stop it.
“good boy,” you praise, voice sweet as you pick up the pace. long, rolling thrusts that take him deep every time.
the wet slap of skin fills the room. dean’s head tips back, exposing the line of his throat, and another low sound escapes him. half moan, half whine.
you sit up straighter, hands braced on his chest, and really ride him. bouncing on his cock, thighs burning, breasts moving with every drop. his hands finally fly to your hips, gripping hard but not controlling. just holding on.
“louder,” you demand, slowing again just to torture him. “let me hear how bad you need it, dean.”
he whines then, high and needy, hips bucking up to chase you. “please—fuck, swwetheart, i need—i’ll be so good, just let me taste you after—”
you reward him by riding him harder, faster, grinding down on every thrust so your clit catches just right. dean’s moans turn constant. rough. desperate. filling the cheap motel room like music. his thighs tremble under you. he’s so close you can feel it, cock swelling inside you.
you reach over to the nightstand and grab the slim pink vibrator. dean’s eyes widen, pupils blown black.
“you’ve been so good,” you tell him, voice breathy as you keep riding him slow and deep. “now you get to watch.”
you click the toy on and press it to your clit while still moving on his cock. the vibration hits instantly, sharp and perfect. your head falls back, a moan spilling from your own lips. dean’s eyes locks on the sight.
“fuck—look at you,” he pants, voice cracking. “so fucking hot. please, baby, let me see you come like that.”
you circle the toy faster, riding him in shallow rolls that keep him buried deep. the dual sensation of his thick cock stretching you with the buzzing against your clit makes it build fast. your thighs shake. dean’s hands tighten on your hips, thumbs pressing bruises you’ll feel tomorrow.
“gonna come,” you gasp. “watch me, dee. don’t look away.”
he doesn’t. his eyes stay glued to where the toy meets your clit, to the way your pussy grips his cock on every stroke. the sight pushes you over. you come hard, clenching around him, crying out as pleasure crashes through you in waves.
dean groans loud, hips stuttering like he’s fighting not to follow.
you ride it out, then click the toy off and toss it aside. your body’s still pulsing when you lift off him, legs shaky. dean makes a desperate sound at the loss.
“please,” he begs, voice hoarse. “let me—i need to taste you. please.”
you crawl up his body and settle over his face, thighs bracketing his head. “you earned it, baby. make me come again.”
dean doesn’t hesitate. his hands grab your ass, pulling you down onto his mouth. his tongue dives in immediately, licking through your soaked folds, groaning at the taste of your release mixed with his. he eats you like a man starved, sucking your clit, fucking his tongue inside you, moaning loud and shameless against your pussy.
you grip the headboard, rolling your hips against his face. “that’s it. just like that.”
he whimpers into you, the vibration making your eyes roll back. one hand leaves your ass to stroke his own cock, desperate and leaking. you watch him fist himself while he devours you, the sight so filthy it sends fresh heat curling in your belly.
“gonna come again just from your mouth,” you pant.
dean doubles down, sucking hard on your clit. you shatter for the second time, thighs clamping around his head as you grind through it, soaking his face. he keeps licking you through every pulse, moaning like he’s the one coming.
when you finally slide off, legs trembling, dean looks utterly ruined. lips swollen, chin shiny, eyes hazy with need. his cock is still hard, flushed dark, leaking steadily.
you lean down and kiss him slow, tasting yourself on his tongue. “you were so good for me,” you whisper against his mouth.
dean shudders, pulling you close. his voice is wrecked when he answers. “again?” he asks, already half-hard again against your thigh. “please?”
you smile, fingers threading through his hair, and let the ache settle warm between you both.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ cw — mdni, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, pet names, steve is kinda mean, he’s also very cocky, brat taming, no foreplay, he loves dirty talk, big dick!steve— please lmk if i missed anything
⋆.𐙚 ̊ summary — with your period looming right around the corner and the station’s ac blowing out right before the hottest day in indiana, you were an irritable mess. after hours of snappy comments and tantrums towards your boyfriend steve, he finally decides to show you who really calls the shots.
⋆.𐙚 ̊ authors note — hi guys idk what possessed me to write this but steve just gives brat tamer yk??? so excited to see djo and tame impala on monday so expect to be sick of me. also currently writing sparks and its the little things you do pt 2!!! please send in any smutty or fluffy requests you have :p
⋆.𐙚 ̊ wc — 3.78k
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ please do not copy, rewrite, or repost my works on any other platforms or pages.
today was undoubtedly one of the hottest indiana has ever seen. and of course, with the luck that your and your friends had, the AC at the squawk went down last night. you and robin had stood outside with flashlights in hand as steve fumbled with the fuses and plugs and such for an hour. no luck.
which meant for the station had an entire night to incubate with the blazing heat. walking in this morning felt like you had literally stepped into hell.
irritated was a massive understatement. you were hot, annoyed, bloated and puffy from your incoming period, extremely irritable, and exhausted all at once. it made for the worst combination in a situation like this.
and steve… oh bless him. he was just trying to be the supportive, sweet boyfriend in a time like this. and he was certainly in an affectionate mood— one where he was all soft and just wanted to cling to you at all times. the two of you had been practically cooking in the heat of the sound booth as you played each tape robin had requested and his idea of passing time meant touching any prt of you possible. and fortunately enough for her, she was out at the gas station grabbing some more ice for your water bottles to help cool you all down.
once you felt the uncomfortable beading of sweat form at your hairline, you stepped out and into the small living area, reaching into the fridge for some sort of snack. you could hear footsteps approaching.
steve slid up right behind you, his chest pressing against your back and his strong arms winding around your hips to hold you close. he buried his face in the crook of your neck and peppered sweet kisses to the skin there. “you smell so good, honey,” his voice a low, deep rumble that typically would make you melt.
but today, you just felt like a ball of raw, explosive nerves. you were so overwhelmed and hot and every single touch— even from steve— brought you closer to your break of overstimulation. the heat of his body against yours didn’t feel romantic like usual, it felt suffocating.
you stiffed and wiggled away from him, shoving his arms off of you in the process with a sharp, frustrated huff. “steve, seriously? get off,” you snapped, not even looking back at him as you closed the fridge and moved to the pile of unorganized records.
he blinked, frozen in the same position as he watched you aggressively shove the sleeves back into their intended place. he looked at you with these big, soulful eyes that made him look exactly like a kicked puppy. “i just wanted to be close to you,” he spoke softly, sounding genuinely hurt.
ten minutes later, he’s sauntered back in to find you on your knees, still organizing records. he leaned down over your shoulder, lips brushing the shell of your ear and his hands squeezing at your hips affectionately.
“stop touching me!” you snapped, practically jumping out of your skin to create distance between the two of you. “can you just leave me alone for a second? it’s a hundred degrees in here and i feel like i’m fucking melting. just… stop!”
steve visibly deflated as he stepped back. he didn’t get mad— he never really did the whole ‘angry’ thing with you— but he looked utterly defeated. he stood there for a moment too long, hands twitching at his sides uselessly, staring at you as if he couldn’t understand why his love was being completely rejected.
“i’m just trying to be sweet,” he whispered, his tone sounding small, guilty, and hurt.
you didn’t even look up from the records. “yeah, well your ‘sweetness’ is making me want to scream right now. just give me some space, steve.”
that was his breaking point. the kicked puppy look shifted into something much deeper. a flicker of tiredness behind steve’s eyes. he had spent the last four hours trying to be the most affectionate, attentive, and understanding boyfriend in a situation like this to lighten your sour mood. even ignoring the uncomfortable drip of sweat from his skin just to put your comfort first and all he got in return was snarky remarks and sharp shoves.
he sighed, a long, heavy sound that signaled a change in his mood. he didn’t move towards you this time. instead, he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall to watch you for a moment. the warmth in his gaze never vanished, but it was now tempered with a new simmering frustration.
“right. space. got it,” he said, his voice losing that sweet, playful edge and instead becoming dull and flat.
he didn’t try touching you anymore, just stood and watched you with that quiet, disappointed intensity. he wasn’t mad or upset with you, he was just tired of being the punching bag for your changing hormones. the silence that filled the room was suffocating and heavy. for the first time all day, the lack of his touch had felt suspiciously loud.
after another hour of organizing, the two of you were back in the stuffy control room, the space feeling even smaller with the stifling heat. the air was stagnant and the only sound heard was the low hum if equipment and the muffled tune of the song through the headphones.
steve was slouched back in the chair beside yours, entirely too comfortable and his legs spread too wide. his jean clad knee was pressed up against yours, attracting even more heat to your skin. he was playing with a rubik’s cube and failing miserably. after another minute or so of turning it endlessly, he dropped it down onto the desk and let his hand idly wander over to your bare thigh before he could even realize he was doing it.
you picked it up by his finger and tugged him off, letting his hand fall back into his own lap.
he looked at you then. the tight line of your clenched jaw, the way your brows pinched towards each other out of irritation, how your arms crossed over your chest like a physical wall you’ve just put up. he felt that familiar sting of rejection immediately. but he wasn’t ready to give up, not yet. he truly believed that if he could just make you smile a little, if he could crack the shell of your bad mood, everything would revert back to normal.
he shifted a little closer, practically trying to conjoin by your sides, completely ignoring the fact that you’re both almost sweating through your clothes. he leaned in, his voice dropping down to a playful, teasing whisper that always managed to make you giggle.
“you know,” he murmured, a small, hopeful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “i’ve heard the best cure for a bad mood is a very handsome boyfriend. and lucky for you, i’m right here. free of charge.”
he punctuated the end of his joke with a soft nudge to your shoulder. that alone would’ve been enough to make you crack a smile.
except you didn’t. instead, you sighed and rolled your eyes. “shut up, steve,” you retorted, your voice cold and sharp. “you’re not being funny, you’re being annoying. please, for the love of god, just stop talking and stop trying to touch me.”
the grin vanished instantly. his face fell as he recoiled back slightly as if the words hit him like a physical blow. he looked at you, his expression shifting from hopeful to genuinely bewildered. he wasn’t just feeling like a punching bag anymore, he felt like there was a real resentment towards him. he was trying everything— the sweetness, the humor, the patience— and you were treating him like he was a complete inconvenience.
the door to the booth swung open to reveal robin with two iced coffee’s in hand. “hey, so i got the ice and figured i’d get us something cold to—“ her gaze darting between the two of you, noticing the hard line of steve’s clenched jaw and the way your body was radiating anger. she took note of the immediate tension simmering in the heat of the room. “yikes. did someone die in here orrrr…”
steve didn’t answer, he just looked at her desperately for some kind if support, and then back to you. he tried one last time, a tentative, barely there brush of your hands.
that was the final straw. you pulled away like you’d been burned. “i can’t do this. i can’t deal with you right now!” you snapped, so incredibly overwhelmed and overstimulated that you could seriously just break down and cry right here.
steve’s hand stayed suspended in the air for a heartbeat before he slowly pulled it back. the soft, pleading eyes were gone. the tiredness was too. it shifted into something much colder and harder now. something much more assertive. he didn’t say a word to either of you, just stood and grabbed his keys from the small rack by the door with a sharp clink. “we’re leaving.” there was no room for argument.
the ride home was suffocatingly silent. his hands were practically white-knuckling the steering wheel the entire ride home. he didn’t touch you once. the lack of his hands on you, which felt like an annoyance an hour again, now had the air in the car feeling ominous and heavy.
the moment you guys were in the apartment, the cool air hit the two of you like a truck, yet the tension was still boiling. steve didn’t let you get settled, instead, his hands were on your waist with a firm grip as he guided you into your shared bedroom and shut the door behind him with his foot. it made you gulp.
he was on the verge of breaking. he turned you towards him and stepped back to create distance between the two of you. “alright, you done with your little tantrum now?” he asked, his hands on his hips like an angry father. “you gonna tell me what your problem is now? i have spent the last eight hours trying to be the best boyfriend i could possibly be. i’ve been sweet, i’ve been patient, i’ve tried to make you laugh— and you’ve just been treating me like shit all day. like i’m something you have to tolerate.”
“i told you, i’m just hot! you’re acting like i’m some big villain for not wanting you all over me when it was a thousand degrees in there,” you shot back, though your voice wavered slightly under the intensity of his gaze. “all i asked for was some space!”
steve let out a sharp, mocking laugh, his eyes darkening. “space? you didn’t want space. you wanted a punching back.” he stepped forward into your space, his presence suddenly overwhelming. “it was never about you being hot or wanting space. it’s about the things you said to me and the way you spoke to me.” before you could react, he pushed at your shoulders, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you fall back. your bottom hit the bed, your palms flying by your hips to keep you upright.
he didn’t give you even a second to breathe. he stepped between your thighs, cornering you against the bed with his large frame hovering over you and blocking out the rest of the room. he reached down, his fingers gripping your chin firmly as he tipped it up so you were forced to look at him.
the sweetness was completely gone, now replaced by a smoldering, dominant heat that made your stomach feel all tingly. he looked so devastatingly hot right now— his hair slightly messy from the day, his eyes narrowed and piercing. he looked like he was done playing nice.
“you’ve been acting like a little brat all day,” he said, his voice dropping to that low dangerous purr that vibrated in your chest. he gave your chin a little shake, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that was demanding and possessive.
a small, mocking smirk played on his lips, his gaze scanning your face as if he was analyzing every bit of your stubbornness. “you think you can just be mean to me all day and then… what? go to bed like everything is fine?” he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “i don’t think so.”
he leaned in closer, his breath slow and controlled as it hit your skin in warm bursts. his scent was intoxicating from this distance. the grip on your chin tightened just enough to remind you who was in control. “say it,” he commanded, his voice dropping to that familiar octave that was nothing but raw and assertive. “apologize for being so mean to me today.”
even with steve looming over you, clearly in full control, you couldn’t help it. irritability was still humming through your body. you rolled your eyes and tried to pull your face away from him. it was no use. “i’m not apologizing,” you muttered, your voice still laced with that stubborn, snooty tone. “you’re just being dramatic.”
steve’s eyes flared, a dark, dangerous glint flickering behind them as he stared at you. he didn’t argue, didn’t plead. instead, he let out a deep guttural chuckle that sent chills down your body. “dramatic? of honey, you have no idea how dramatic i can be when i’ve been pushed.”
before you could snap back, he was lifting you in one fluid motion and flipping your position so he was sat at the edge of the bed with you straddling his thighs. one hand wrapped around the column of your throat— not squeezing, just resting— while the other tangled in your hair and pulled you into a searing kiss.
you gasped against him in surprise as he tugged on your roots to tilt your head back and gain more leverage over you. the force that he kissed you with was borderline predatory.
it was hungry and messy and completely uninhibited. your mouths moved together with a wet, slapping sound as your tongues tangled in a frantic battle for dominance. steve tasted like strawberries and the gatorate he’d been drinking at the station, a mix that made your head spin. he groaned deep in his throat, a vibration you could feel in your own chest he sucked your lower lip into his mouth, tugging on it hard before letting it snap back.
you fought back, hands roaming across his chest and neck, pulling him in closer as if you were trying to merge your bodies into one. you bit at his lower, a sharp, playful nip that drew a long hiss from him. he responded by deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping across the wet cavern of your mouth, claiming every corner and tasting every inch. his hands moved down to your hips, rolling them into his own.
the sounds each of you made were primal— wet, sloppy noises of tongues sliding against tongues, punctuated by deep ragged breaths for air that you both forgot you even needed. every time you broke away for a second of oxygen, it was only to snap back together with even more intensity, your lips bruising each others in their haste.
steve’s hands left your lips to fumble with the buckle of his belt, quickly shoving his jeans and boxers down to his knees and freeing himself while sucking on the pink muscle of your tongue. he was painfully hard already. he gave himself a few slow strokes while his free hand pulled your shorts and panties to the side, running his tip through your leaking slit.
he pushed into you with a devastatingly slow thrust, hands coming back to rest on your hips to keep you flush against him. you pulled away to let your head fall back in overwhelming fullness. he was fucking loving it.
he smiled up at you with that stupid cocky grin, knowing he was pressed right up against your cervix, making you go completely soft on him. “yeah? this was all you needed? just had to get you all dumb on my cock?” he teased before leaning forward to suck deep purple marks into your skin. “ready to apologize yet?”
you bit down on your puffy lip to suppress a moan, your stomach tensing every time he’d readjust the slightest bit. the stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, but you could surely feel the building pressure from the lack of warming up.
he took your silence as your answer, nodding slowly with that sly grin pulling at his lips. “got it. you still wanna be difficult then?” he asked, pushing up even further into you. your nails dug into his shoulders as you whimpered, feeling impossibly full. “that’s fine, honey. have it your way.”
“fuck you, steve,” you tried to snap out, instead, it just sounded like a pleading beg.
he smiled at you like he’d just received the best invitation of his life. “oh baby,” his hands moved to grab handfuls of your ass, holding you up just slightly as his voice rumbled. “i will.” his fingers dug into your skin with a bruising force as he thrust up into your sopping cunt with a violence that knocked the wind out of you. he buried his cock so deep inside that it felt like he was trying to reach your soul.
“you just can’t help yourself, can you?” he mocked, his voice dark and triumphant as he watched you absolutely eat this up. “you want to be all mouthy and bratty, but you fuckin’ love it when i take over, isn’t that right? love when i put you in your place?”
the moan that spilled from your lips was borderline pornographic as he fucked you with a slow, punishing rhythm that made you feel every vein and ridge of his cock against your gummy walls. he moved his hands to your hips, forcing you to take every single inch as he steered your body to meet his thrusts.
it was embarrassing how fast you could feel the coil in your stomach twisting tighter. he just looked so sexy like this— all dominant and messy and dark. you’d rarely seen this side of him.
every single punch of his mushroom tip against your cervix was a declaration of his ownership. he was driving into you with everything he had, his breath somehow still so slow and controlled while you were falling apart above him.
he began to pick up his pace rapidly, relentlessly pounding up into you. your eyes stung with tears as he stretched you out so perfectly, pulling you down to meet each thrust just to push himself deeper inside of you.
“that’s it, baby. fuckin’ take it,” he gritted through his teeth, his voice strained and raw. “feel every inch of me. want you to remember exactly how it feels when i’m the one in charge.” smack. his hand landed heavy against your bottom, making the unshed tears gush down your cheeks as the pleasure became overwhelming.
he moaned loud and unapologetic at the feel of your cunt squeezing him. “you’re so tight,” he groaned, his cockiness returning full force. “you love this, don’t you pretty girl? you love it when i stop being all sweet and kind and just take what i need.”
you couldn’t even scream. the only sounds coming out were little broken whimpers and cries as he hit that certain spot over and over again while you clung helplessly to his shoulders. “oh! mmph! i’m sorry, stevie! fuck, i’m— i’m sorry! please! oh god, please!”
steve let out a low, triumphant sound, but he didn’t stop. instead, he slowed down just enough to let the friction build, his eyes hooded and shimmering with something you couldn’t make out. he leaned in, his lips grazing your jawline, but he didn’t kiss you. instead, he let out a quiet hum.
“what was that?” he mocked, his voice a teasing and arrogant purr. he leaned in further, letting his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. “i didn’t hear you, sweetheart. are you sorry for being a mean little brat to me? are you sorry for treating me like trash all day?”
he didn’t wait for an answer from you. he began to pull out, slowly, agonizingly, until he was almost completely gone, only to drive right back in with a devastating, slow-motion punch. he wasn’t just fucking you anymore, he was claiming you. pushing deep into your guts, forcing you to feel every single inch of his cock as he stretched you open.
“god, this pussy’s so tight, honey,” he groaned, his voice now a thick, sultry drawl. “so fuckin’ pretty. just look at how she’s gripping me… she’s practically begging for it.”
he gave you a slow, deliberate roll of his hips, making you gasp and arch into him as he stretched you wide. he sounded and looked completely enamored by your body, but his teasing edge still hadn’t left. it was a reminder that he knew exactly how much power he had over you in this moment.
“it’s such a shame, really,” he whispered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy and he stared at the way your lips stretched around him. “it’s too bad you’ve been such a brat today. truly a tragedy.”
his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt to hold you waist, pulling you even closer to him as his cock pulses inside your warmth. “i would’ve loved to get my mouth on her,” he purred, his voice suggestive and dangerous. “i would’ve spent hours between these pretty legs, eating you out, tasting every single inch of you until you were shaking and cryin’ for me. i would’ve made you lose your fuckin’ mind on my tongue.”
he felt your core clench around him desperately, a needy spasm at the mere thought, and he chuckled a dark, cocky sound.
“but since you wanted to be so mean to me?” he pulled out just enough to make you mewl before slamming back into you, a hard, sudden thrust that made your eyes roll back into your skull. “think i’ll just keep you stuffed full of me for the rest of the night instead. think you need to be reminded who you belong to.”
a note: this was 80% finished and sitting in my drafts for months… decided today was a good day to finish it! super short and sweet for u. i hope you like <3
Steve’s so fun to play with. He’s quick to give in to any and all of your advances. Even when he’s wearing his stupid Scoops uniform, feeling like a goddamn moron while you’re stroking his dick in the break room.
There’s an unspoken, but obvious truth: Steve hasn’t had sex in months.
He’s so backed up that it’s borderline ridiculous. You’ve managed to make his tight shorts all sticky just from swiping your tongue across his bottom lip. He’s fully whipped for you, desperate for you to come around and make his life mean something more than waffle cones and butterscotch.
He’s never felt so low, and he’s never felt so good.
You give him anything he wants. It feels good to be so wanted and so helpful. And sometimes, you can’t stop yourself from planting ideas into his pretty little brain.
You’re jerking him off from the back. Pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along his freckled neck while he desperately tries to stop himself from fucking into your fist.
“Shouldn’t waste it,” you whisper, rolling your fist, making him moan. “Wanna paint my face?”
Upon the last syllable, he’s coming. Muscles flexing, his stomach trembling, ropes of cum landing on the break room table while his toes curl in his tennis shoes.
You pout over his shoulder while his chest heaves, his cock slowly softening in your palm, his big hands gripping onto your forearms.
“Should’ve made a mess on me instead.”
Another pathetic little shot of cum makes his legs weak. You smile and bite his earlobe, tasting the salt of his sweat.
“Does that sound like a good idea, Steve?”
He grits his teeth. It does, but he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding like a disrespectful asshole.
His cock speaks for him, though. Managing to stiffen again, his balls twitching, ready for more. Ready for the sight of his come on your face. Like he really fucking owns you. Like he’s on top and in control for the first time in a year.
“Pretty please?” you plead softly, the corners of your lips tilting up. “Ruin me, sailor.”
In a blur, you’re on your knees, and he’s towering over you. One of his hands wraps around his shaft, and his biceps flex as he begins stroking himself off. His shorts rest right below his aching balls, and he feels so goddamn dumb. But you’re still on your knees, and you’re looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.
He almost misses his chance. Anxious about taking too long on his break, or someone walking in. He’s working with the new hire today, not Robin, and he doesn’t know if that’s better or worse. He just can’t seem to come — until you softly whisper, “please?”
Steve’s stomach tenses, and then he comes with a long, low groan, eyelids hooded and his bottom lip bit pink by his teeth. You smile, eyes closed, each rope of come painting your beautiful face.
“Holy shit,” Steve mumbles, his voice gravelly in his chest, his legs shaking as he finishes. It’s hard to keep his eyes open, but he must — the sight of you is too good to lose.
Your hands find his hips and you hold them, trying to help him stay upright.
“Do I look pretty?” you ask.
Steve’s eyes roll halfway back. “Yeah, baby,” he drawls. “Gorgeous.”
cycle syncing headcanons
cw: mentions of spanking, fingering, p in v, toys
... ☆ ... c. page ... ☆ ...
MENSTRUAL
ie. hormone levels and energy are at their lowest while the uterine lining sheds
... ☆ ... Doctor Sam really gets to shine when you're on your period. He is absolutely fawning over you, ensuring that you get your rest, massages, and enough steak for a small army. He always has a heating pad at the ready, telling you that while your hips are physically widening you have every excuse to feel tired and lazy.
... ☆ ... He buys you period panties because he thinks that always having synthetic materials so close to your skin isn't good for you, and you can't deny that you feel decidedly less pathetic when you don't have to wear a diaper to bed.
... ☆ ... He knows that you're probably not feeling up for it... but the way he fucks you on your period makes you wish it could feel this good all the time. He's handling you like you're made of glass, his palms big and soft and wide every time he touches you. He goes so slow, not wanting to jostle you or put too much pressure anywhere that's uncomfortable. Usually he's making you cum before he's even thought of himself, but he knows that sometimes you're one and done at this time of the month and doesn't want you to miss out on that big stretch and gentle internal pressure that feels so good right now.
FOLLICULAR
ie. estrogen levels start to rise, and the fatigue of menstruation is clearing
... ☆ ... Now that your period is over, sam decides it's about time for you to get back in the gym. He takes pride in acting like your personal trainer, and you just follow him around the gym like a little puppy while he chooses machines and workouts for you that seem totally random, but you're guessing they're not by the way he's writing down what you're doing in a little notebook. You don't mind the gym nearly as much when he's working out with you in a wifebeater.
... ☆ ... Sometimes if your period was especially bad he'll surprise you with a tiny scrap of white or pastel lace, a little reward after you had to sit through hell with ugly panties on as a reward. Even for your cute underwear the 100% cotton or silk rule applies, and he is staunchly against victoria's secret or anything of the sort that uses all synthetic materials
... ☆ ... After a week of shackles (not feeling up to fucking like you normally do) you are back to regularly scheduled programming. If you racked up any punishment or spankings during your period this is when they get doled out. Sam knows that during your period any punishment will just make you weepy and upset, and you won't want to accept any help. He also has a little notebook where he writes down exactly what you're due for. 'Bratted after given a chance to apologize - 8 hits,' 'snuck more caffeine than allowed - 5 hits,' 'acted miserable during our daily walk - 2 hits.'
OVULATORY
ie. hormones and energy peak with the release of the egg
... ☆ ... Even if the oura ring he bought you didn't show your cycle, sam would know when you're ovulating. He'd know from the way you beg him to make you cum on his fingers, from the way you wake up with a wet spot on your panties, and from the way you leave claw marks on his back when he tries to pull out of you. Most of the time he doesn't even bother wearing a shirt around you because it's just going to end up on the floor anyway.
... ☆ ... He tries to keep you as busy as possible, knowing this is when you have the most energy for workouts and getting things done, but it's hard to care for you while you're so easily... distracted. More than once he's had to take you out to the car in the middle of your workout, knowing you can't control the way that you're leaking for him but teasing you anyway. 'Can't handle a couple squats without getting worked up, can you, baby? Seein' your boyfriend all sweaty is just too much for a needy little thing like you? Gonna get you all fixed up and then it's back to work.' When you walk back in the gym together, you clinging to his side with a crushed ponytail, it doesn't take a genius to figure out what the break was for.
... ☆ ... This is when sam likes to get... experimental. He knows that if you're wet through your panties over a kiss on the forehead that you'll do just about anything to be satisfied enough to sleep through the night. If he's feeling thoughtful he'll break out a little vibrator, but if he feels like you're being an insatiable little monster he'll use a thick g-spot wand vibrator alongside his cock. It makes you feel like you're about to split in half but the way he coos and swipes at your tears, telling you 'you're taking your medicine so well' makes it worth it. If he's feeling really mean he'll just make you ride him until you tire yourself out. He won't guide you with his hands or thrust up, he just lays there until you either give up or start grinding into him so hard that he's worried you're going to bruise your cervix.
LUTEAL
ie. the dropping of hormones creates a loss of energy and increases cravings
... ☆ ... As you wind down from ovulation sam helps you into a more normal routine, and he keeps telling you that his sweet little girl is here to visit for a few days. Before he was dealing with a sex addict and he's about to be a slave in the kitchen to satisfy your pms cravings. As much as he might tease you about your mood swings the adoration in his voice and the way that he caters to your every whim takes the bite out of the words. He always grumbles that you're a 'needy little thing' right after a forehead kiss on his way to do whatever it is that you need.
... ☆ ... Right after ovulation you still have a decent amount of energy so he tries to plan a couple activities to make your week of rotting feel a little better. He takes you on some light hikes, go grocery shopping to pick out your snacks and help him decide what to cook, and run any errands so you're not rushing out for anything when you feel like crap.
... ☆ ... Sam is sure to get his fill of pussy before you start your period. He's gentle enough that shark week isn't also celibacy week, but he can't manhandle you the way he wants to. In the days leading up to your period he's always in grey sweats to show you exactly what you have access to, and you feel like his hips are glued to your ass from how obsessed he is with hitting you as deep and hard as possible from behind. This is also when the majority of your maintenance spanks fall. Partially because pms can make you act like a brat, but mostly because he needs to give you a good reminder to behave for the next week even if he rarely bends you over his knee
BONUS: anal during ovulation
... ☆ ... If it's a really bad one, none of the usual tricks getting you to quiet down, he'll take your ass. Sam plugs you up pretty frequently, thinking the little gem nestled inside of you is quite cute, but it rarely goes further than that. But when you're on your third round of the day and showing no signs of stopping he has to do something. It's the only thing he can do to you that makes you stop begging for more, the deep stretch of his cock occupying your entire brain. 'If your cunt's not gonna listen we gotta try something else, sweetpea. Maybe this will make you sore enough to be ready for a nap."
... ☆ ... read all doctor!sam ... ☆ ... doctor!sam m. list ... ☆
Dean's looking down at you, driving into you with slow, deep thrusts that fill up your lungs.
You're forcing laboured breaths, trying to get some kind of oxygen in when it feels like your air supply has been cut off.
Your fingers are digging into the pillow hard, back arching off the mattress when he hits that spot inside, making your toes curl.
"Tha-that's it Dean, please!" You cry out, eyes squeezed shut tight.
His breaths come out heavy, the layers you were both too needy to shed earlier weighing on him, warm, drowning in an addictive way.
His eyes scan over your face, your strained expression, the sneaky little tear falling back into your hairline, your lips swollen from biting, both from you and him.
He sees the way you crumbled underneath him, the way you give yourself over so willingly, the trust you have in him, and it breaks him more than any orgasm could.
He gives a few more thrusts, pushing you right up to that edge, lowering his head down.
His breath tingles against your skin, voice rough with more than just lust.
"I love you, baby"
He slides back home one more time before burying his forehead into your shoulder, shooting ropes into you with a broken moan, hips rolling to ease you through your own aftershocks.
Your shaky arms curl around him, one hand cradling his head against your neck, saying nothing as a few droplets fall onto your skin.
You press a kiss to his temple, settling into the soft warmth, hoping he'll feel the same in the morning when the dopamine wears off.
summary: while helping you clean your room, dean gets distracted by your lip balm collection and uses it as an excuse to kiss you over and over
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You were in your room in the bunker, trying to organize the small disaster your room had slowly become over the last couple weeks.
Clothes were scattered around, the laundry basket was half full, and your bedside counter was full with makeup, skincare, hair ties, perfumes, and random little things that somehow always accumulated there.
Dean was "helping", though mostly he just wanted to be in your space.
While you organized the mess on your bedside table, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, helping with your clean clothes, though his version of folding laundry involved a lot of "inspections"
He suddenly held up a lacey pair of your panties between two fingers with a grin.
“Oh yeah” He said casually, nodding approvingly “These are definitely one of my favorites”
You looked over your shoulder.
“Dean” You laughed, shaking your head.
“What?” He asked innocently “I’m just being appreciative”
You rolled your eyes playfully and tossed a shirt at him “Fold the laundry”
“I am folding the laundry” He defended himself.
Another pair appeared in his hands a minute later.
“Ooh, and these ones?” He added “Strong contender too”
You snorted, shaking your head as you turned back to your bedside counter “You are unbelievable”
Eventually, after a lot more teasing than actual productivity, Dean finally finished folding the laundry and wandered over to where you stood organizing your bedside table.
“What’s all this?” He asked, snooping through your things.
“Just stuff that I need to put away”
Dean picked up one of your makeup products, inspecting it with squinted eyes.
“You don’t even need this stuff, y’know” He said "I like the way you look when we wake up. Messy hair and all"
You chuckled softly at that and leaned over to kiss him quickly “That’s sweet”
“I mean it” He said, setting it back down “You’re pretty without all this”
You smiled a little at that before continuing to organize things.
His eyes wandered over the counter until they landed on a small army of colorful tubes.
“Why do you have so many of these?” He asked, picking up one of them “There’s like a hundred of them”
“Those are my lip balms”
Dean counted dramatically “One, two, three— Sweetheart, this is a problem”
“I like them” You laughed, shrugging a little “They keep my lips soft”
Dean paused, then slowly looked at your mouth.
“…Oh” He smirked “So that’s your secret for soft lips, huh?” He leaned in, pecking your lips “That’s why you’re so hard to stop kissing?" He murmured, leaning in to steal a few more lingering kisses.
You laughed softly against his lips “It is”
“Huh” He murmured thoughtfully, pressing another kiss on your mouth "Yeah. Works. I'm a fan"
You shook your head, smiling.
Then Dean picked one of the lip balms up again, squinting at the label.
“'Wild Cherry'?” He read the label “They’re flavored?"
You nod “Yeah, most of them are”
“Huh” He hummed "And here I thought you were supposed to wear 'em, not eat 'em” He teases “You got a secret snack habit I should know about?"
"It’s for the scent, you dork" You snort, poking his chest.
“The scent, huh?”
Immediately, a playful grin spread across his face.
He scooped up a handful of the tubes and held them out to you "Try 'em on"
You snorted “What, now? Why?”
"You try 'em on…" He said, his voice dropping to a low, playful tone "I’ll close my eyes, and I have to guess the flavor. It’s a very important scientific experiment"
Dean shut his eyes and puckered his lips, waiting patiently like he was taking the challenge very seriously.
“Ready” He announced.
Laughing, you picked one and applied it. Then you stepped closer and kissed him softly.
Dean kissed you back deeply, his hands finding your waist. Hhummed against your lips thoughtfully, like he was genuinely analyzing the flavor.
"Hmm, I don't know" He whispered, his eyes still firmly shut "That’s tricky. I’m gonna need another taste. Just to be sure"
You chuckled “Dean”
“What? I’m concentrating” He said innocently “I need to be sure, y’know, for the accuracy of the investigation. So c’mere”
He pulled you back in for a much longer, slower kiss.
Each time you switched to a different flavor, he’d give the same performance; furrowing eyebrows, pretending to be confused, and insisting he needed "one more sample" just to be absolutely certain.
"You know exactly what the flavors are" You chuckle.
His lips lift in a small smirk.
"I have no idea what you're talking about" He said, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you "I’m a very thorough investigator. I think I need to go through the whole collection. At least twice. Just to be sure"
You laughed. The sound making him smile before leaning in and kissing you again.
dumb idea lol i got it while shopping for lip balms because my lips are in fact very dry 🥲 anyway
