Summary: Beka’s busy with chores when she thinks she hears an intruder.
A/N: Written for my darling @impala-dreamer for her birthday. There’s a lot more to come ;)
Warnings: NSFW, Non-Con, Bondage, Fear Play, Knife Play, Fingering
*Please heed the warnings.
Sudsy water sloshes, painting her hands and wrists in tiny little bubbles as she washes the dishes. She hums as she works, a tune she doesn’t quite place looping in her head. She stops suddenly, stilling, ears sharp. There was a sound, she’s sure of it, something like a thump. She listens for a good few seconds and shrugs, considers turning on some music, but her phone’s in another room, and she’s nearly finished anyway.
When the last dish is cleaned and dried, she pulls the plug and watches the water swirl and drain, then turns on the faucet to wash away the last clouds of soap. She turns off the tap and picks up a neatly folded kitchen towel to dry her hands when she hears it again. She whirls around, white sundress flitting around her legs - and holds her breath, waiting for the noise.
Nothing.
She laughs at herself, thinks maybe she’s been inside for far too long, then turns back to the sink. There’s a sudden warmth against her back, and that’s weird-
A heavy arm hooks around her middle. Her scream is clipped, muffled against the damp rag that presses over her mouth and nose, and then everything fades.
Hi saw ur one word drabbles hope I’m doing this right! Lol
Dean of course, genre-smut
One word- sensual ❤️
It’s cheesy as hell, over-the-top for your tastes; the candles, the rose petals - it’s a bit… much.
You’d never tell him though, how could you with the way he’s moving over you; hot and heavy, scratchy-soft lips dragging over every soft curve of you. Your head goes a bit staticky when he licks a nipple into the wet hot of his mouth, makes you gasp at the ceiling, hips curling up.
Dean hums against you, pulls off with a slick sound, then drags sloppy kisses down your middle as he elbows his way down the length of you.
You curse when his tongue flattens against your cunt, arms fitting around your thighs, huge hands curving and pressing as he holds you open. The slippery swirl has you breathless, head pressed deep into the pillow as your hands find the warm round of his shoulders, smoothing back and forth, nails scraping because that always makes him moan, and when he does-
And there it is, that deep vibration that rattles everything inside, buttering you up even more so he can lick into you, the flickering of it somehow in time with the candle flames - it’s almost hypnotic.
He’s still breathing hungry noises into you when he works a finger inside, underneath his tongue. He gives you a quick pump; in and out, then slips in a second finger, working your cunt like only he can.
Heat bursts when he curls just right, fingertips scratching that deep itch - and he only goes harder when you choke and squeal - faster and faster until it all comes crashing down in fiery waves.
“G-god,” you manage, finding the remnants of your voice. Dean slowly pulls his fingers free, smearing your own slick over your hip as draws up to kneel between your jellied thighs. He rubs the warm head of dick through your drenched folds as he gets a hand at the back of your knee, lifting your leg up until your heel is over his shoulder - groaning when he pushes in.
You’re still rippling as you stretch around him, mouth gaping as the incoherent sounds punch out of your throat.
He fucks you with slow, maddening drags, and it makes you want to claw at your own skin because it’s so good, but not enough.
“Please,” you gasp, but Dean closes his hand around your knee, plastering you to him, and glitters down at you with those sparkling emerald eyes as he languidly rocks back and forth.
He gets a thumb on your clit, pressing hard, tight little circles until you crack around him.
You’re on your back, head crushed into the pillow, knees spread. Dean’s on his belly in between, thumb hooked into the crotch of your panties, holding them aside so he can lap at your cunt.
It feels like heaven; the velvety slick of his tongue, the scratch of his scruff against the wet soft of you.
It’s everything you didn’t know you needed.
You’re moaning at the ceiling as he works at you, his own deep grunts seemingly answering back, the vibration of it amplifying the pleasure. You get a hand down on his head, nails scraping through silky spikes. He shifts, works two thick fingers into you, pumping and twisting as full lips suck at your clit.
“Shit!” you gasp, lurching and tightening. Dean hums into you, fucks his fingers faster - deeper.
God, you’re so fucking close, hot all over with it.
“Please!”
Dean takes the cue, fingers pummeling, mouth making deliciously obscene noises as he drags you to the edge-
Three more jabs and you go rigid and trembling as the warm rolls of your orgasm ripple through you.
“Fuck,” you breathe as Dean slowly pulls his fingers free, gives your clit a soft last kiss, then slithers over you.
“Better?” he asks, grin lazy.
“I… yeah. Mhmm. Wow.”
“I’m gonna take that as a compliment.”
“You should. Holy fuck.”
Dean tucks your hair behind your ear. “You’re gonna be okay. You know that, right?”
You don’t quite have the words, so you smile and nod.
“I gotcha, babydoll,” he says, and you know he means every word of it.
“I know,” you whisper, and then he kisses you like only he can.
Summary: In an unfortunate turn of events, you find yourself locked away with Michael.
Warnings: Dub-Con, Smut, Fingering, Rough Sex. Set during episode 14x10.
A/N: Please heed the warnings.
***
Shit.
Shit-shit-shit-shit.
You should have screamed, but you were too frozen, not that you’d be heard over Michael’s rage anyway. You’d hidden yourself back here thinking you could somehow ambush the Archangel, but hadn’t foreseen this.
It’s too late now, too quiet on the other side. How could they not have noticed? You regret volunteering now, wishing with everything that you could break that damned machine.
The refrigerated room is cold, but it has little to do with your trembling. You stay crouched down low, watching as Michael effortlessly lifts a keg, heaving it at the door, leaving a dent in the metal. He roars and everything shakes. You press a hand against the back of your mouth to stifle the whimpers.
You’d felt it coming on early; that creeping, nagging thing that builds up from the depths of you and blooms out and up until you’re antsy and dizzy with it. Tired, you’d said, when Sam had caught on to the fact that you hadn’t moved from the table a good hour after lunch, and he’d given you a look that only amped it up - because, no, you don’t want to talk about this invisible thing that just - happens with no warning or reason. You’re fine, really, but also… not.
It just is what it is.
You’d wandered the place a bit, even ventured outside in hopes that some sunshine and exercise would give you a little boost, even the tiniest something at least, but it had only left you tired and discouraged.
Napping did nothing but render you groggy and agitated, and the following shower had your skin soft, but still crawling. It’ll pass, you’d told yourself, but then those thoughts wouldn’t stop, and you knew you were way too deep in your own head, but fuck it. Fuck everything.
Warnings: Slight Angst, Dusting of Horror, Dean Feels
A/N: Written for @impala-dreamer’s Drabble Challenge. Titled after my prompt because I’m lazy. Starts pre-series, ends season 10-ish.
Out of all the billions, it was him. Of all the places you could have been at that exact moment - it was right there, on the side of the road.
It was a gray September afternoon, crisp, and you were panicked, circling your dead vehicle and cursing through clacking teeth. Frustrated tears were just beginning to sting your eyes when a gleaming black beast of a car rolled over the gravel and stopped behind you. Boots hit the ground and you’d startled a little; stranded alone on the side of a road with no means to protect yourself - can’t be too careful. He’d held his palms up though, stayed leaned up against the open door and asked if you were okay, if you needed help.
Three hours and a new battery later, you’d exchanged numbers. He was cute: pine green eyes and full, perfect lips, wicked-charming grin that made your pulse jump.
He was just passing through, he’d said as he walked you to your car, and that gave you an annoying sinking feeling that made no sense because you didn’t know the guy, but then he’d pressed you against the door and kissed you hard.
Summary: You find yourself buzzed and alone with Dean. In his bedroom.
Warnings: NSFW, Smut, Oral, Fingering, Creampie
It’s easy to blame it on the booze, but it’d be a lie to say you haven’t thought about this for, well, for years now.
Dean tastes like you always thought he would, but admittedly better; hot and slick and whiskey-spicy. It’s probably too bold to suck his tongue into your mouth, but the way he grunts into you and fits his hand over your hip tells you that maybe - it isn’t.
Some ancient 70’s Western is still playing in the background, monotone dialogue that could easily lull you to sleep, but the voices fade into a static nothing when he leans back, dragging you over him. Your knees tuck into the mattress, framing his hips. You crush down into his chest, licking into him even deeper. He gets a hand on the back of your head, the other slipping underneath your shirt, sliding up-up-up until he’s palming your tits over your bra.
You feel a bit like you’re fifteen again, making out like this, but it’s pure and easy as much as it’s new and surprising.
Summary: Trapped in Purgatory, you and Dean play a little game of Cat and Mouse.
Warnings: NSFW, spanking, fingering, dirty sex in the woods
A/N: I know it’s been a while. I’m trying to do better ;)
It’s just a game you like to play. Keeps you sharp out here; focused. You’d always considered any kind of exercise to be a necessary evil, but this…
This you could get used to.
Daylight now, the sky is a bleak gray, the trees naked and gnarled as their limbs stretch towards an absent Heaven. You’re gasping into the bark, grinning through a wince as Dean twists and pins your wrists to the small of your back.
“Gotcha,” he pants into your ear. You shiver in the best way.
You’re on your back, naked on Sam’s bed, wrists gathered at your front, expertly bound by one of his silk ties. Your legs are sprawled wide and obedient, and you’re slick and throbbing in between from the now-still wand that’s nudged up against your cunt. Sam’s fingers are wrapped around the handle of it, thumb set on the switch.
“Number?” Sam asks where he’s perched at your side.
“F-fifteen?” you get out, voice cracked and dry.
“You don’t sound so sure,” Sam says, head cocked, hazel eyes glittering in the yellow glow.
“Fifteen,” you say again, nodding this time. Your voice is a little stronger. “Fifteen edges.”
Sam straightens and smirks, satisfied, then slides the toy back on. You jerk at the buzz, gasping as the vibrations ripple into you. It’s on the lowest setting, but it’s enough to make your eyes roll back as everything inside melts all over.
Your fingers curl into your palms, jaw set as your legs spread wider. You groan through your teeth at the steady thrum-
“Good girl,” Sam rumbles, the low pitch of his voice somehow melding into the electric pulse, making you clench and curl up. The rounded head shoves harder against the buttery soft between your thighs.
Your climax swells, then abruptly dies.
“Sixteen,” you whimper, shaking.
The vibrations stop then, the wand warm and unmoving as you pant and twitch. A big hand squeezes your left breast. “So good for me,” Sam says. “Again.”
A new buzz starts, too soon - on high. You grit and squeal.
Your throat is tight, head pounding from keeping it all in. The stress. The pain. You’ve always been the glue, and maybe it isn’t fair, but it’s who you are; who you’ve always been.
But even the strongest adhesive wears after time and pressure.
You’re alone in the bunker’s library, tucked into your spot at the table, dragging your thumb over the lip of the empty tumbler. The booze didn’t help. Your thoughts grow darker with every passing second; bleak and hopeless. You shake your head to clear it, but it’s no good.
“Hey.”
Your head twists to Sam as he thumps down the steps. You look away as he walks over, trying your best to set the mask. The chair scrapes against the floor as he draws it back.
“You okay?” he asks from across the table.
You don’t answer, but manage a tight smile.
“You don’t have to fake it,” Sam says, voice a careful quiet. “Not with me.”
You press your lips together and look down a the glossy wood. “I’m good,” you say. “Just tired.”
“That bad?” There’s a flatness in his tone, but you catch the understanding in it. “Listen,” he says after a pause. “I get it, I really do, but-” Sam gets your left wrist in his grip; gentle and firm. “I’m listening if you want. It helps sometimes.”
You lose it then, face screwing up as the sobs punch out; wall crumbling. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry, I just…”
Sam stays quiet, listening as he sweeps his thumb over the top of your hand.
“I feel like shit,” you say, voice shaky. “I’m trying so goddamned hard, but I - I dunno.”
“It’s okay.”
“I scare myself sometimes. I don’t know why, but… Fuck, Sam. I don’t want to feel like this.” The tears fall free and hot.
“Look at me.”
You blink and lift your head. Sam’s blurry through the wet, but he’s leaned in, both hands dwarfing yours now.
“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he says. You suck in a breath and try a nod. “You can’t be. You’re human.”
“I know, but-”
“Stop. Breathe.”
You wipe your cheek on your shoulder, but the sobs don’t stop.
“You’re okay,” Sam says again, soft. “It’s okay to feel.”
“I-”
“Shh. Let it go.”
You do, your entire body jerking with it. Sam releases you as you weep, pushing back in his chair to rise and circle behind you.
“I’ve got ya,” he murmurs, strong arms coiling around your shoulders, lips at your ear. “I promise.”
Your hands grip onto his forearms, anchoring yourself to him. “Thank you,” you heave, dizzy now, but calming.
Sam presses a warm kiss to your temple. “You’re not alone,” he says. “Ever.”
“There we go,” Dean says, hands hot and heavy on your thighs as he drapes them over his own. His jeans are rough against your skin where they’re bunched down underneath you. Your back is flush to his chest, hands braced on the arms of the chair as he spreads you open.
You make a strangled sound, cunt clenching around the thick of him stuffed deep and stirring inside as he positions you.
“That’s better, isn’t it?” he says, low, then humps his hips just as you’re choking out a yeah. He gets his hands around you, gathering the hem of your shirt, and roughly tugs it up under your chin so he can grope at your tits over your bra, squeezing-
She’s on her back, sprawled across the bed, clothed in everything but her shoes. Her mouth’s cracked open, thready breaths pulsing through flushed-pink lips. So soft.
Sam’s perched just beside her, slender fingers combing through the wild mess of her hair. He smirks and tilts his head, watching the way she slowly blinks up at him. Waiting.
“My good girl,” he whispers, dragging his hand down to map the silky curve of her neck.
“Wanna be your good girl,” she breathes back, then bites the plump of her bottom lip. Sam notes the twitch of her hips, loves the way she squirms for him.
“Always my good girl.”
She nods and makes a desperate sound deep in her throat. Sam swells in his jeans at the noise. He wants to get right to it, wants to rip her clothes off and take her right there - but he doesn’t.
Her eyes close when he leans in to kiss her, and he tries to keep it soft and easy -
But Sam’s no stranger to addiction.
The slick warmth and taste of her - fuck. He doesn’t waste time; licks into her mouth and sucks on her tongue, reveling in the tiny little whimpers she breathes into him. He groans when he pulls back, gets both hands on her tits, palming her through her tee and bra. She gasps when he pinches her nipples. Sam grins.
He wants to draw this out, wants to get her begging, but he’s painfully hard now and she’s - she’s right there.
One hand on her chest, he brings the other down to squeeze her cunt through her jeans. She cries out, hips surging.
“Goddamn,” Sam murmurs, can feel the warm wet of her bleeding through the denim. She moans and writhes as he starts to rub her in firm, thorough strokes.
He works her faster, sets the pads of his middle and index fingers right over her clit, and swirls.
She’s rocking up against him, dry moans punching out of her throat. Sam goes harder and faster until she’s nearly sobbing, thighs squeezing around his wrist.
Fuck it.
Sam gets up on his knees so he can pull at the brass button. “Let’s get ya outta these,” he mumbles, almost panting in his own desperate need. She nods and hefts up, knocking his hands away as she shoves her jeans to her knees. He takes over then, tugging her pants down and off.
Dipping down, Sam licks her where she’s hot and swollen, and fuck - he wants to drink her dry. Flattening a hand on her belly, he sucks her clit into his mouth and swipes a finger up and down the drenched soft of her folds. He tries, really tries to tease her, but he needs to feel her, needs to be inside.
Sam shifts, watches her face as he sinks a finger into her. Her eyes flutter, jaw clenches. She needs more. He gets another finger inside, slowly working in deep - then starts to wildly pump.
She’s already squeezing, thighs spreading. Sam gets down on a forearm so he can piston in and out. His hair falls down into a curtain when he ducks down to lick her, tongue flicking as his fingers thrust. He thinks he might be drunk on the taste of her.
Breaking away, lips and cheeks wet with the hot slick of her, Sam stretches up until his eyes level with hers.
“Come,” he grits, only now aware his teeth are clenched tight.
She breaks then, fucking FLUTTERS around him, then climaxes, a jet of hot wet spurting right into the palm of his hand.
“Fuck, yeah,” Sam grunts. “Again.”
She makes a keening sound, and squirts again; warm and splashing.
Shit.
Sam kisses her again, fucks his fingers faster while she whimpers into his mouth.
“Good girl-”
She comes again. Sam wants to count, but he’s lost inside her, so close to losing it himself.
“Fuck!” she squeals, thighs clamping.
Sam slicks his fingers free, watches her pant for a beat, then dives down, licking her in long, fat strokes. He gets a thumb on her clit, then shoves his tongue deep inside of her.
Yeah. He’s addicted.
A glance at his watch tells Sam that Dean won’t be home for at least forty-five minutes.
He kisses her clit and rises to his knees, tugs at his belt.
“Such a good girl,” Sam rasps, gleaming.
She shivers, gaping up at him from lust-drunk eyes. “Please, baby,” she begs, voice high. “I want your cock…”
A/N: This was originally a Kinky Drunk Drabble with @impala-dreamer’s prompt Michael + Pain, but I got a bit too into it ;) Please heed the warnings.
You’re on your back, cold stone bleeding in through what’s left of your t-shirt, wrists and ankles secured with invisible, Grace-fueled restraints. The last slice has just healed shut, leaving a faint itch at your bare shoulder.
Michael sets the knife down on the altar, Dean’s full lips twisting and curling up into a sick smirk. You suck in a sharp breath when he jams a hand underneath your jaw, thumb and fingertips roughly pressing into your cheeks. He angles your face to his, mossy eyes flickering; studying.
“Fascinating,” the Archangel murmurs, voice smooth and thick.
You clench your teeth and blink away the last remnants of pain, but stay silent and seething. You had him, fucking had him, but then your phone had buzzed with a text from Sam - you knew you should have turned the thing off. Caught off guard in distraction, you’d quickly found yourself - here.
He smiles then, teeth gleaming in the blue glow of the chapel. “You, a human, find… pleasure? In pain?”
You try to scoff, but it comes out more of a whimper, making your face heat up in some kind of bizarre mixture of shame and fury - and something else you refuse to acknowledge.
Warnings: NSFW, public fingering, male dominance, voyeurism, could be read as dub-con
A/N: Kinda wanna continue if I remember this one. Could get interesting, idk lol. Hope you enjoy!
~
Public
“Shhh,” Dean hushes, palm loose, fingertips bruising into the meat of your neck. “That’s a girl…”
You’re stunned still, mouth cracked open in shock and want, pressed up against the cool wall of the hallway leading to the restrooms. The strip club lights pulse down the corridor, lighting his stubbled cheek and jaw in flashes of reds and pinks. You can feel the heat of him bleeding in through your clothes, can smell him; earth and spice.
“This whatcha followed me for?” Dean glitters, teeth pearly against the flush of his lips. You choke out a gasp when he wrenches your jeans open, massive hand shamelessly delving down to roughly cup you there. “Look at me,” he demands.
There’s a blur of traffic behind him, none seeming to notice just what exactly is happening as they stride by, but the thought alone only rockets the heat into a decadent simmer; the absolute danger of it all. You look at him, at Dean, and-
He swirls a finger through the slick gathered at your entrance, hums out a fuck yeah, then pushes a thick finger up and in.
“Oh, f-fuck!” you manage, right hand gripping his forearm, the other around the broad wrist nestled between the open V of your jeans. His hold on your throat coils tight.
“Shhh,” he warns again, lips a soft brush against yours. “Quiet.”
You nod faintly, cheeks scalding, sucking in sharp when he works a second finger into you. He squeezes harder as he starts to pump, lazy and deep. Your vision goes hazy.
A woman passes behind him, eyes widening. She smirks, but continues on, and fuck - those fingers are goddamned good. His palm is crushed against your clit as he works your cunt, and it feels - yeah, but you need more-
You look down - where his sleeve is rolled up to his elbow. The Mark burns a hot, fiery glow. You can feel the seething hunger of it against the bare soft of your belly where your shirt has ridden up, and - this shouldn’t be so-
Dean’s inching his ring finger into you now, fucking you open. “Yeah,” Dean hisses between clenched teeth, sounds almost angry as he thrusts faster. You shift on your feet; spreading wider to let him in knuckle-deep. “Feel how sloppy your fuckin’ cunt is for me?”
Fuck.
You’d nod if you could, because he’s right, but you’re - god, you’re fucking close, and he’s-
“Goddamn!” an unfamiliar voice says, low and muffled underneath your own blood. Male, you think. “Get it, dude!” You’re vaguely aware of the stranger’s hand clamping down on Dean’s shoulder, and that’s - what? But everything is zeroed in on Dean’s heat and fingers as the pleasure swells and crests into something icy-hot.
“Y’know ya wanna,” Dean huffs, palm slapping your swollen clit now as his grip on your throat loosens. His eyes are dark and unblinking, settled hard onto yours. “So fucking come.”
You go rigid at his words, eyes rolling as you climax harder than you think you ever have. That heavy hand closes around your throat again as you jerk, body shaking violently as you clamp down around his still-thrusting fingers.
You blink after several seconds to the sound of cheering and clapping, vision clearing to Dean’s beyond-satisfied smirk. Asshole. There’s a small group behind him, drunken voyeurs, but fuck it all. You’re still breathless and weak and shivering when he pulls his hand away to smear his hot, sticky fingers down your left cheek.
“Good start,” he says, eyes brilliant with threat and promise, “but we ain’t done here.”
Warnings: NSFW, rough sex, handcuffs, some dirty talk
~
Handcuffs
You tug against them; not so much testing, but some kind of seeking confirmation that you are indeed bound and helpless.
At his mercy.
The clanking of steel on brass thickens that delicious loss of power, ratcheting you higher and higher until you can feel the simmering thrum of your own blood.
Sam’s as naked as you are now, looks almost golden underneath the yellow glow of lamplight; too perfect. You take in the hard lines of his chest as he shifts over you, arching yourself into him as he moves. He huffs a laugh, autumn eyes a stern sort of playful as he gets a hand snug under your jaw.
“Patience,” he says, voice a low rasp. “You’re not in charge here.” He smirks, moving his hand up to plunge three long fingers into your mouth, pumping in and out, then reaches down between you to grip the full heft of his dick. You squirm as he strokes once, twice, three times, breath catching at the back of your throat at the blunt press-
You choke out a fuck as he shoves in swift and deep, can feel the hot flush blooming across your cheeks when he starts to thrust. There’s nothing soft or romantic about it; it’s hungry and demanding and relentless-
Perfect.
You get your legs up and around his waist, ankles crossing just above his ass, and god - the change in angle has him hitting home so good that your eyes are losing their focus, your mouth gaping open as he pumps and punches deep-deep-deep.
He’s on his forearms, boxing you inside the hot bulk of him as he grunts and pants out his own pleasure. You can feel the rolling flex of his muscles working under your heels, can feel every heavy-slick bump and drag as he pistons in and out-
Your climax hits out of nowhere; strong and forceful enough that it’s got your goddamned toes locked and cramping. Even the aftershocks feel like fresh mini-orgasms - cresting and rolling as Sam keeps fucking into you. He comes just as your own ebbs away, goes stiff and trembling as he spills inside, filling you up hot and wet.
“Fuck,” he breathes, hefting himself up before pulling out of you. You watch him as he starts to round the corner to the bathroom.
“Little help?” you croak, limply jerking on the cuffs.
Sam pauses, flashes you a grin that seems a bit… off.
Summary: You attempt to seduce a hunter-turned-demon into capture. It doesn’t exactly go as planned. Read part 1 here.
Warnings: NSFW, dub-con (not exactly, but to be safe), dominance, rough sex, dirty talk, degradation, face slapping, D/s themes implied, a dusting of angst
A snap of his hips and then you are screaming; voice raw as the best feeling burns and pulses right through you. Your nails scratch into the headboard as he curls over you and dips down-
“That’s it,” he hisses. “Don’t hold back.”
“Fuckkk!” you screech into nothing as he brutally fucks into you; sharp and deep and perfect.
Your knuckles ache in their grip and your eyes are rolled back into whites as you take the relentless bump and drag-
“Goddamn,” Dean grits out behind clenched teeth, gets down on both forearms so he can pant into your ear. “Take it, tough girl.”
Holy shit, that makes everything buzz and clench all over, makes your vision glaze in pure melting ecstasy.
“Fuck, yeah,” he rumbles over the clap of skin as he mashes into you. You let out an ungodly stream of strangled moans as he pumps and fills and thrusts. It’s wrong, horribly wrong, but it feels so fucking good, and Sam would be furious, but-
