pr4ktical

she/her | every week is a new obsession | ao3

[pr4ktical]

21, she/her, pisces, nsfw!!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ masterlist ⋆⭒˚.⋆ kinktober 25 ⋆⭒˚.⋆ ao3 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

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⭑.ᐟ recently added - be a freak like me (dean winchester x reader)

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⭑.ᐟ authors favorite(s) - can’t turn you down! (dean winchester x reader), is your daddy home? (joel miller x reader)

mostly all my fics are song titles/lyrics if you can’t tell🌚

all works are by me! please do not copy, repost/claim as your own, or translate!

[arimari81-70]

How it feels logging onto Tumblr to read fics after joining a new fandom

[pr4ktical]

be a freak like me, too

dean winchester x gn!reader

warnings: no plot, all porn! head in the car, dean doesn't shut up, praise

synopsis: dean has the tattoo 'it wont suck itself' right on his pubic mound, and you find it!

author notes: sequel!!

original | sequel

The night air is cool against your skin as you lean back in the Impala. You sit in the passenger seat, legs crossed, fingers drumming impatiently against your thigh as you wait for Dean to return from the small gas station.

Suddenly, the driver’s side door swings open, and Dean slides into the seat beside you, a six-pack of beer tucked under his muscular arm. He turns to face you, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Took forever.” He sighed, setting the pack down in the back, before climbing in his seat.

Without waiting for a response, you lean over, your hand trailing up his thigh, feeling the firm muscles flex beneath your touch. Your fingers dance along the waistband of his jeans, teasing him through the denim. Dean inhales sharply, his abs clenching as your hand inches closer to his crotch. “Fuck, baby,” he growls, reaching down to unbuckle his belt. “You’re eager tonight, aren’t you?”

Your answer comes in the form of tugging his zipper down, freeing his already hard cock from the confines of his boxers. In the dim light, you see it spring forth, long and thick, the tip glistening with pre-cum. But, as your gaze moves around it, you notice something else. Something etched into the skin right above his cock—a tattoo, bold letters stating, “It’s Not Gonna Suck Itself.” A surprised gasp escapes your lips, followed by a small giggle.

Dean chuckles, tangling his fingers in your hair as you take him into your mouth. “You like it?” he taunts, hips bucking upwards slightly as you begin to bob your head. Your tongue swirls around his shaft, savoring the salty taste of his skin, the weight of him heavy on your tongue.

Your hand pumps what doesn’t fit in your greedy mouth. Soft slurping sounds fill the confined space of the car as you worship his dick. Saliva drips down your chin, then onto him. Dean grunts and curses under his breath, fisting your hair tighter as he guides your movements.

“Such a little good whore, baby,” he praises huskily, hips thrusting shallowly to meet each downward motion. “Fuckin’ love seeing those pretty lips wrapped around my dick.”

Emboldened by his praise, you double your efforts, sucking harder, faster, deeper. Your free hand sneaks between your own legs, rubbing yourself through the damp fabric of your pants as you service him. “Ah fuhhck, just like that sweetheart…take it deeper,” Dean commands breathlessly, pushing your head down further until your nose presses against his tatted skin. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop. You try to relax your throat and swallow around his thick cock.

He pants harshly, balls tightening as his climax approaches rapidly. “Gonna paint that slutty throat white..”

His dirty talk only makes you wetter, you suck harder, hungry for his release. Within seconds, Dean throws his head back against the headrest with a loud groan, his cock erupting in your mouth. Thick ropes of hot seed splash the back of your throat as he rides of his intense orgasm.

Finally spent, Dean releases his grip on your hair, allowing you to pull off his softening member with a lewd pop. You sit up slowly, swallowing the last of his load and wiping your swollen lips with the back of your hand.

[pr4ktical]

be a freak like me

dean winchester x afab!reader

warnings: no plot, all porn! dean loves to eat you out, slight dirty talk

synopsis: you have the tattoo 'eat me' right above your pussy, and dean finds it!

author notes: i didn't really base this off of 'freak' by lana but i listened to it on loop when writing this so if you want to listen, listen!! also im working on a sequel so stay tuned... :3

dean vers!!

The leather seats of the Impala creaked softly as Dean shifted, his eyes locked on the words tattooed right above your panties in stark red ink. “Eat me,” he read aloud, his voice dropping to that rough, gravelly tone that made your stomach flip. The moonlight filtering through the foggy windows cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw.

He reached out with one hand, fingers trailing along the edge of your tattoo before moving higher, his calloused palm finding the curve of your hip. His thumb pressed into the soft flesh, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm against the seat. The scent of leather mixed with his cologne created an intoxicating cocktail that made your head spin.

“Well, shit,” Dean muttered, his eyes dark with hunger as they traveled up your body. “Can’t argue with that, can I?” His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, fingers digging in possessively as he leaned in closer. The heat of his breath ghosted over your exposed skin, making you acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies.

Without warning, he hooked one arm under your legs and lifted them slightly, positioning you exactly where he wanted you. His face was mere inches from your core now, his gaze fixed on those two simple words that apparently given him all the permission he needed.

“Gotta follow orders, baby,” he growled low, before his tongue made its first contact. A long, slow lick that traced the outline of your tattoo. The wet heat of his mouth was overwhelming, and you couldn’t help but gasp as his fingers spread your thighs wider, giving him better access.

His fingers tightened on your thighs, holding them open as he positioned himself between your legs. He dove in, burying his face against you with an intensity that left you breathless. His tongue worked its way higher, lapping at the fabric of your panties with increasing pressure until you could feel the wetness soaking through the thin material. The rough texture of his stubble scraped against your sensitive flesh as he pulled the fabric to the side with his teeth, exposing you completely.

“Fuck,” he groaned against you, the vibration sending jolts of pleasure through your body. “You’re soaked.” His fingers joined his mouth, one sliding into your slick folds while his tongue lapped up your clit. The combination of his tongue and fingers was overwhelming, making you arch on the seat.

Dean’s tongue was relentless, alternating between long, slow licks and quick teasing flicks. He sucked gently on your clit, then pulled back to take a breath before diving back in. His fingers pumped in and out of you in a steady rhythm that matched the pace of his tongue, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

Your body started to tremble, every nerve ending on high alert as Dean continued his relentless assault on your core. He took his fingers out of you, only to replace it with his tongue. You bucked against his face wildly, hands tangling in his dark hair, pulling him closer as your body screamed for release.

“Take it so well f’me,” he muttered against you, muffled and rough. The synchronization of his tongue and hand drove you wild. The wet sounds of his mouth on you filled the car, mixing with your ragged breaths and his low growls of approval.

Dean shifted in his position, angling his head so he could look up at you while he ate you out. His pupils were blown out with lust, locked onto your contorting face. One hand moved from your clit to your breast, squeezing through your thin shirt as his thumb found your nipple and began circling it. The added stimulation was almost too much, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

“Tell me when you’re close,” he commanded, his tongue flat against you, licking from slit to clit. “I wanna hear you scream my name when you come.”

Your body was a coiled spring ready to jump, every muscle tensing as pleasure radiated through you in waves. Dean’s tongue was still working you over, sucking your clit gently and swirling his tongue around it.

“Dean…I’mmmfhhh… so close..” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking as your hips bucked wildly against his face. Your hands were fisted in his hair, pulling him harder against you even as your body prepared to explode.

Dean growled in response, redoubling his efforts. His tongue was now lapping rapidly at your clit while his fingers slowly curled inside you again. He perfectly hit the spot in you that made your vision blur. The pressure was building, coiling tighter and tighter until—

“Fffuhhck.. Dean!” you screamed as your orgasm crashed over you. Your back arched off the seat as far as it could as your body convulsed. Your velvety walls clenched around his fingers as your juices started to flow down them. Your thighs trembled, slamming shut and trapping Dean’s head in between them.

Dean drank every drop, his tongue working to lick you clean as your body slowly came down from the peak. He pulled back slowly, his face glistening with your release, and looked up at you with a dazed, pussy-drunk smile.

[pr4ktical]

if i play my cards right

remy ‘gambit’ lebeau x afab!reader

warnings: piv smut!, pwp, riding, sub!remy, slight power play, author doesn’t know a lot about blackjack

synopsis: you go to a club solo after your friends ditch you, and end up playing strip blackjack with a very beautiful man!

author notes: heyo! lately i’ve been having a huge writers block moment, like i have ideas but i can’t write them. so im sorry for the lack of posts recently, hopefully i am better/back soon!

song: promiscious

The warmth of the velvet booth clung to your skin, thick and heavy. You sat stripped down to nothing but a matching white lace set. The bra hugged your chest, the straps thin and taut against your shoulders, and your panties sat low on your hips, offering nothing in the way of modesty. The club beat below—low and muffled.

Gambit lounged across from you, legs spread, one arm draped casually along the curve of the booth behind him like he owned the space. The other hand toyed lazily with the edge of the playing cards scattered across the table, fingertips moving with that deceptive grace of someone who always won. Bare-chested now, he had lost one round, making him reveal the lean muscle of his chest to you. He had scars all over, tempting you to lick every inch of him. His pants hung low on his hips, boots still on.

How did you end up in this position? Well, it started out simple. You made plans with a few of your friends for a night out. A club downtown, half dance floor, half casino. But, they all backed out one by one—texts full of apologies and excuses filled your phone. You could’ve canceled too, but you didn’t. You went anyway.

You ended up at the club, dancing by yourself. You managed to catch the gaze of the man sat across from you now, watching you from above. You caught his gaze, and he smiled at you, before raising two fingers in a silent invitation to his little gambling booth. You should’ve ignored it, just another creep. But, something in you was drawn to him, so you walked up.

Back in the booth, he hadn’t looked at his last card yet. Your king and ace hit the table clean. Twenty-one.

Remy lifted his brows in a slow curve. “Merde,” he drawls, tapping one long finger against the side of his card. “Looks like you get to choose.”

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat. It’s not just the win—it’s the sudden weight of the moment. You could ask him to take something off. His pants, boots, anything. You could ask for a make-out session. For his hands. To leave. Anything.

You lean in slightly, letting the words from your mouth fall soft. “I get anything I want?”

He smiles at that, his teeth gleaming in the soft light. “Anything, chère.”

Confidence flooded through you like a shot of adrenaline. You were in control, you had won and he knew it.

You smile wickedly, before shifting your weight. You uncross your legs, and let one foot glide across the floor as you stood. You round the table, each step measured. Your hips swayed naturally, and you caught the way he followed every curve of your body.

When you stopped in front of his spread legs, looking down at him. You quickly placed your hands on his shoulders, feeling the lean muscle and raised scars beneath your palms. He immediately leaned back against the booth, spreading his legs wider to accommodate you.

Without breaking eye contact, you climbed into his lap, straddling him so that your thighs pressed against his. His hands immediately moved to grip your hips, guiding you. You could feel the hard length of him through his pants, pressing against you.

You reached down, your fingers finding the buttons of his pants and working it open. He lifted his hips slightly to help you. Once his pants and boxers were pulled down just enough, you almost started drooling at the sight of him.

“Take what’chu want,” he said, accent growing thicker. “‘M all yours tonight.”

You wrapped your hand around him, stroking slightly. He was long and hard in your hands, the shaft pulsing with need. His head fell back against the booth. “Merde..” He bucked up into your grip, desperate and needy.

You picked up the pace, your other hand coming down to cup and massage his heavy balls, rolling them gently in your palm. His eyes snapped open. “Chère… you gon’ make me lose my damn mind.” He groaned, his fingers digging into your hips.

His cock throbbed in your grip still, pre-cum leaking from the tip and coating your hand. You used it as lube, stroking faster now, your palm pressing against the swollen head with each stroke. “S’il te plaît..” he begged, his voice breaking. “Need you…need t’feel ya wrapped ‘round me..”

You let go of him, to pull your hands up to your face. He watched you, eyes hazy with lust. You spat into your palms, the sound obscene in the quiet booth, before lathering your pussy and his dick with it. You then positioned yourself over him, legs trembling slightly as you felt the thick tip hook your entrance. You looked down at him, taking in the sight of his flushed face.

“Look at you,” you purred, “So desperate for me.”

You dragged his dick along your slit, watching his face contort. He growled, hands gripping your hips still.

You then slowly lowered yourself, feeling him stretch you open inch by inch. His name escaped your lips in a gasp as he filled you completely. “Fuck,” you breathed, your hands braced against his chest for support. “You’re so big.”

He let out a low groan, his hips grinding into yours.“Mmm.. you feel dat, hm? How good we fit? Like we made f’r eachhother.”

Saying you did would be an understatement. The stretch was perfect, the fullness making you feel complete in a way you’d never experienced. You slowly began to move, lifting your hips, and slamming down. “Fuck yes..” you moaned softly.

His hands moved to guide your movements. “Faster,” he pleaded. He sounded so sweet begging for you, so of course you obliged. You picked up the pace, your thighs flexing as you rode him. The wet sounds of your bodies joining over and over again filled the small space, along with your soft cries and his harsh groans.

“Feel so good,” you panted, your head falling back slightly. “So fucking good..”

His hands roamed over your body with increasing desperation, one large hand gripping your hip while the other moved higher to cup your breast. His slender fingers pinched and twisted your nipple, sending jolts on pleasure through your body. You cried out, your back arching slightly as he worked your sensitive peak.

He leaned forward, his lips finding their way down your chest, planting soft kisses to your sternum. The sensation was maddening— his mouth trailing until he reached your other nipple. He caught it gently between his teeth, sucking softly before his tongue flicked against the sensitive bud. You moaned, your hands gripping his shoulders enough to leave marks from your nails.

The dual sensation of his mouth on your breasts and his cock filling you completely was overwhelming. His tongue worked at your nipple, alternating between gentle sucks and teasing flicks, making your core clench around him. “Yes,” you gasped, your voice breathy and desperate. “Don’t stop…”

His hips bucked up into you harder now, matching the rhythm of your bouncing. His free hand moved from your hip to your ass, giving it a playful slap before his fingers dug in, pulling you down harder onto his throbbing length.

“Please,” you panted, “Make me come on your cock.”

His eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction at your command, and he immediately obliged. His hands gripped your ass even tighter as he pulled you back down harder with each of your upward movements.

“You’re so tight,” he groaned, his words coming out in harsh, desperate bursts. One hand moved from your ass to your clit, his thumb rubbing slow circles as you rode him.

“Don’t stop,” you moaned, your thighs trembling. “I’m so close…” Your words were breathless, your voice high and desperate. Pleasure coiled tight in your core, your body tensing as your orgasm approached.

His cock throbbed inside you, and you could feel him getting close too. “Gonna fill you up,” he growled, his hips bucking up into you with renewed vigor. His thumb rubbed faster, and you cried out, your back arching as your orgasm crashed through you. Your pussy clenched around him, squeezing him tight.

That was all it took to send him over the edge. With a harsh groan, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing and spilling inside you. You could feel the hot flood of his release, and the knowledge of it sent aftershocks through your own orgasm. “Merde…” he gasped, his body going rigid as he finished.

[fricks]

"this is my birthday present?" ☆

your best friend geto holds a pair of purple, fuzzy handcuffs in his big hands, testing the weight with a more-than-amused look on his face.

"look a bit more excited," you sit criss-cross-applesauce in front of him, sinking into his plush mattress with his shirt hanging off one shoulder. it smells like him. and sex. "you don't know the will power it took not to pull these bad boys out last night and ruin the surprise."

you wiggle your eyebrows as suguru holds the cuffs up, dangling the so-called 'bad boys' from his hand. his hair is in a long and now-messy plait, as per his sleep routine you've recently learnt all about. "they're handcuffs."

"they're purple handcuffs."

"for... purple BDSM?" he asks, grimacing. "you're my best friend, and i love you, but i don't think i'd like being sounded. and if i indulge any more of the perverted stories you read than i already have, you might fall too far through the cracks."

that earns him a smack to his stupid muscular arm. "i've seen your search history, asshole. if you want the sites i read my 'perverted stories' on, all you have to do is ask. fanfiction.net is real outdated nowadays."

"oh yeah?" he grabs you then, discarding the cuffs you'd so generously bought him on the bed in favour of pinning you down himself. "you wanna read them to me again? that would be a good birthday present."

he kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, and you turn your head just in time for his tongue to dart out and lick a long stripe up your neck. "you're so fucking gross, morning breath," you laugh despite yourself, squirming under the hold he's got on you. "oh my god suguru, stop."

so he does, lifting himself up to look down at you. his braid falls over his shoulder and tickles your face. "yes?"

"you don't like the cuffs?"

your voice softens the look in his eyes. what was once lustful is now sweet and lustful. "i don't know," he hums. "will i like what you have in mind with them?"

"nope," you deadpan. "you'll hate it. get ready for a world of pain."

"oh," he furrows his eyebrows into something sick and mocking. "i am just.... so fucking scared."

he should be. though you don't have plans to use and abuse him, you do hope that by the time you two need to get ready for his birthday celebrations, that he'll be so fucked dumb that he'll let you do his eyeliner before you leave. god, he'd look so good in eyeliner...

"i just want to make you feel good," you blurt, which makes you roll your eyes at yourself. "for your birthday, or whatever."

"or whatever," he nods, pulling off you and leaning back on his heels to grab the cuffs he had lost in the sheets. they jangle when he lifts them and glances from the purple fuzz to you. "i'm assuming you want to cuff me?"

though that would be a marvellous sight—and your devastated clit is suddenly throbbing at the thought—cuffing suguru wasn't what you had in mind. from the firsts he's given you so far, you've learnt one new thing about your best friend: he's a giver.

you want to let him take.

"no," you wet your lips, pushing your hips up a little to rid yourself of the tension gathering between your legs, and holding out your wrists to him. "happy birthday, suguru."

he likes that idea. before you can even warn him not to cuff you too tightly, you're hearing a few clicks and the snug feel of cheap purple fuzz around your wrist.

so this is what an active sex life is like. you look up at geto, smiling at the hungry look in his eye as you hold out your other wrist and wait to be bound.

you hear the click, but no tightness around your free wrist. it's only when you look down that you see what geto has done. your idiot friend-with-benefits has handcuffed you, yes... but to himself.

"what—" you start, but geto is already taking advantage of your gift, and flipping the two of you over so that he's sat against the headboard and you're sat right on his thick thighs. you'd pictured this as more of a 'lay-down-and-let-him-ravage-you' thing when you bought the damn cuffs.

when his hands go to your hips to right you, your wrist follows uselessly. tugged down to your side to let suguru explore—wrested behind you when his hand wanders to your ass. he lifts the shirt of his that you wear to find a beautiful lack of panties beneath, and taps his fingers against your ass a few times for good measure.

"i like this view," he says, using the hand that's cuffed to yours to trace up your stomach under his shirt and grab at one of your breasts, forcing your hand to follow. "happy birthday to me."

"you were meant to cuff me to the bed or something," you complain, shifting forward a little to better straddle the hardening erection in his sweats. "you know, take what you want."

"this is what i want," geto's reply is simple. he pulls his hand back, yours in tandem, and gives the handcuff a rattle. "connection. am i poetic or what?"

"you're stupid," you retort, but can't get much else out when geto pulls your joined wrists down between you and drags a finger through your already-wet folds. "ah, suguru—"

"it's a sweet gift," suguru gathers your wetness on his finger and rbs it around your clit a few times. you can't do much but stare at him, his messy bed-head and eyes that are still just a little tired. "and don't get me wrong, there are some fucking disgusting fantasies in my head when it comes to you. but they're things i want to do with you, not to you."

ever since you two started sleeping together, the lines of your friendship have ultimately blurred. you're more than best friends, really. but is 'couple' the right term to define it? maybe you're still half asleep, because you find yourself comparing your relationship to the handcuffs keeping you together right now.

there's something binding between you. and you can decorate it all you want with pet names and sweet labels and scratchy purple fluff, but at the end of the day... it's not something you can just take off and on at will.

"touch yourself," he orders you, though not before pulling your hand away to free his cock from his pants. you shuffle a little closer to ease the limited movement the cuff gives you, and oblige, pulling at the restraints to rub at your clit as geto strokes his length.

"suguru," you exhale, attention caught between his pretty face and even prettier cock. you can see him squeeze it at his name from your lips.

"i'm right here," he says, using his free hand to tilt your chin up and redirect your gaze to his eyes. "with you. like this."

you don't need to watch what you're doing, because every upward stroke of suguru fisting his cock pulls at your wrist, and consequently forces friction against your clit. he sets the pace, but you follow it willingly.

the blurring purple of the moving cuffs is nothing like the purple of his eyes. you had picked it out with them in mind, but in moments like this you find it very easy to realise that there's no emulating anything about your geto.

including his touch.

"want you," you manage. "not as good when it's not you. please, sugu."

"you—" geto releases his cock and uses the cuff to jolt your hand away from your cunt and replace it with his own "—are so bossy."

you roll your eyes and move for his cock, wrapping your fingers around his throbbing length and doing your best to work with his motions. "fuck me," you whisper. "please. please."

his grin is disgusting. "i will," he says. "but later. come on, do this with me. let me see your eyes."

you do your best to lift your gaze and meet his, the both of you panting at the stimulation of each other's bound hand. suguru's fingers speed up against your clit, these little infuriating circles that have your vision blurring more and more with each passing second. you speed up in turn, squeezing your fist to emulate your tightening core.

geto's hips snap up into your fist, jolting the both of you dangerously close to orgasm. you've never really touched each other like this before—it's always been one of you devoted to the other's pleasure. finding that mutual release together is... almost cathartic.

suguru kisses you deeply, groans into your mouth as you get greedy and start sucking on his tongue like you would his cock. his free hand cups the side of your face, rubs his thumb under your eye like he's trying to sooth the pathetic noises bubbling up in the back of your throat.

you greet your orgasms at the same time. just as suguru spills his hot release all over your fist, he's replacing his fingers on your clit with his thumb and pushing two digits up into you and curling them harshly. a few repeats of his motion and a quick retreat of his fingers has a weird feeling explode in your pelvis and a choked gasp lodge in your throat and...

everything is wet.

the purple fluff that pad suguru's cuffs is now soaked. as are his grey sweats, and the sheets that bundle up around the two of you. what can be covered is covered, and you aren't even finished.

"did i just..?" you pull away from his lips, which chase yours with a pathetic whine. "suguru. did i just pee on you or did i not."

you'd slap him for how he laughs at you if you weren't still fucking shaking. geto leans forward despite the mess you've made on him and presses an open-mouthed kiss to your jaw.

"i made you fucking squirt."

"well shit" you look down at the mess between you, your chest heaving with exertion. guess you have laundry to do. "happy fucking birthday to you."

"best present ever," your best friend laughs some more, though he pauses when he lifts your conjoined wrists and looks closely at the now-soaked purple cuffs. "hey, these came with a key... right?"

oh. shit.

a/n: happy smurfday to geto my girlfriend. best friend geto masterlist here.

[pr4ktical]

AHHHHH YHIS IS SO HOT

[ryosbaby-deactivated20260215]

man fuck ice if you think otherwise fuck you too

[lanaloveydove]

like oh um… haha

[pr4ktical]

glory box

sam winchester x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw!! masturbation (f! and m!recieving), porn w/very little plot, switch!sam, teasing, needy reader with equally as needy sam, slow burn(?), reader and sam have an established relationship!

synopsis: you, sam, and dean are all living in this motel for a few days on a hunt. while dean is out asking around for details on disappearances, you and sam are stuck in the room together. while he reads a book, you start to feel very very needy for him!

author notes: happy new year everyone! sorry its been a while! school has been kicking my ass but we are back with sam smut (yummy!) :3

also here is what inspired me to make this.. (x)

The buzz of the cheap motel lamp hummed softly in the background, its golden light catching in the dust particles drifting lazily through the air. Rain whispered against the window, soft and rhythmic. Somewhere out there, Dean was poking through town—talking with gas station clerks, sweet-talking librarians, maybe even charming a local bartender into spilling too many details. Wherever he was, he wouldn’t be back for hours.

Inside, it was just you and Sam.

He sat on a chair a few steps away from one of the motel’s bed, hunched over an old volume cracked open on his lap. His brow was furrowed in concentration, hair falling on his face as his eyes tracked each line like it might hold the key to everything.

He looked good like that, and that pissed you off.

You shifted where you lay on the bed closest to the chair, curled up on your side, arm tucked beneath your head as you watched him. The TV was off. The silence stretched long, only broken by the faint noise of rain tapping against the glass window. Your skin tingled beneath your clothes, every nerve on edge. It was one of those nights.

You weren’t sure what triggered it. Maybe it was the way his voice had sounded earlier when he read aloud to you, rough around the edges from too little sleep. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was right there, less than five feet away, and hadn’t touched you in days.

He hadn’t meant to be cruel. That wasn’t Sam. He just got like this when he was hunting something—mind in lore, body forgotten. You knew it, understood why. But, that didn’t make the ache dull, let alone go away.

You stretched like a cat, long and slow, letting the motion lift your shirt just enough to expose the strip of bare skin above your waistband. His eyes didn’t flick up. You cursed under your breath.

You let your legs slide open just slightly, not lewd, but just enough to feel the cool motel air against your exposed skin. Still nothing.

“Sammy,” you whined, voice soft.

“Hm?” He didn’t look up.

You bit your lip, sitting up a little, propping yourself on one elbow. “I’m bored.”

He turned a page. “I told Dean I’d go through the Hemlock case notes again. There’s something weird in the dates…all the disappearances line up with the lunar cycle, but they’re off a day, give or take. It might not be a werewolf after all.”

You nodded slowly. “Mmm.. sounds important.”

“Could be. If we prep for the wrong thing, more people could get killed.” He ran a hand through his hair, fingers leaving it tousled. “I just need to—”

You exhaled, louder than necessary, flopping back onto the pillows, staring at the ceiling. The bed creaked under you. “I’m not asking you to stop.”

Sam glanced at you briefly, eyebrows raised in silent question. It passed with a blink, his eyes dropping back to the book.

God. He was so damn focused, it made you want to strangle him. You tried again, swinging your legs off the bed this time. The floor was cold under your bare feet as you crossed the narrow space between the chair and bed. You let your fingers trail over his shoulder when you circled him—barely a brush, just enough to feel the heat of his body, the muscle beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

He tensed for a second, then relaxed. “Everything okay?”

You leaned down, arms draping loosely over his shoulders from behind. “Mhm.”

He turned the page again. You almost screamed. How is he still not paying attention to you!?

Your mouth found the curve of his neck instead, lips barely grazing skin. Just a breath. A silent plea wrapped in warmth and nothing else. But, still, he didn’t react. A pause in his reading, a blink, but no shift. No pull. No hand reaching for you.

Your fingers curled around the edge of his chair. “Sammy?”

“Yeah?”

“….Nevermind..”” You trailed off, swallowing the rest. You couldn’t ask outright, not yet, not like this. So, instead, you let the silence hang again, stepping back, slowly returning to your bed. The ache burned hotter now, deeper. But so did the frustration. Under it all though, something darker began to curl in your stomach.

Fine. You thought, watching him lean over to make another note in the margin. If he wanted to ignore you, then you’d make it very hard for him to keep doing it.

Sam didn’t notice at first when the rustle of fabric started. The page numbers blurred together as he read, mind locked into sigils and half forgotten rites—until the room shifted. The air felt heavier, warmer. Then, he heard it. A soft sound, barely there.

He glanced up without thinking. You were standing beside the bed, fingers curled into the hem of your shirt. Your eyes were dark, unfocused, with parted lips like you were already somewhere else. You didn’t look at him as you pulled the fabric up and over your head, letting it hit the floor.

Sam froze.

Your denim shorts and panties came next, slow and deliberate. The sound of the zipper seemed impossibly loud in the small room. When they slid down your legs, you stepped out of them. He swallowed hard, as you climbed onto the bed again. “I tried,” you murmured, almost to yourself. “I really did, Sammy.”

His book slipped a little in his hands. “Tried…?”

You reached behind you and unclasped your bra, letting it fall away. Sam’s breath stuttered. His eyes dropped, then snapped back up to your face.

“Look,” he started, already losing the thread of whatever he meant to say. “I just—”

You shifted closer, falling onto your side as you stared at him. Your hand slid down your own body, slow and unashamed. You dragged your fingers down through your slick, teasing. The sound you made was small, broken. A whimper you didn’t even try to stop.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “Jesus.”

You leaned forward, grabbing onto the white sheets beneath you as you rocked gently against your own hand. He shuddered at the touch. You started slow, but your movements quickly became less careful, more frantic. Each motion drew another breathy sound from your throat, each noise sinking straight into him.

His cock slowly started to twitch in the confines of his jeans.

“Sam,” you whispered, heavy with want. Your hand crept higher on the bed, almost as if you were reaching out for him. He shifted, spreading his legs just a little to try to ease the strain in his pants. He wanted nothing more than to shove the book aside, drag you into his lap, free himself, and take what you were offering. Placing the book on his knee, his hands started to twitch toward his belt.

“Stop,” you said softly.

The word stopped him cold. He froze, eyes snapping to your lust-blown ones. You smiled. “Take them off slowly.”

His chest rose and fell once, then twice, before obeying. The book stayed on his knee as his right hand worked open his belt, fingers clumsy with tension. Before you knew it, denim dragged down his hips, boxers following. His cock sprung free, red and flushed. Pre-cum glistened at the angry tip. He hissed under his breath at the cool air meeting his hot shaft.

You remained on the bed, and he was still on the chair. The distance between you both was an arm’s length now, as he moved the chair closer. The book rested open in his hands again, spine creaking softly as his grip tightened.

“Start over,” you said.

Sam blew out a shaky breath through his nose and lowered his eyes. Your smile was slow. Knowing.

“Read.”

And he did. His voice was steady, filling the motel room with words that had no business being spoken in a moment like this. Sometimes Latin spilled from his mouth, careful and deliberate, the cadence practiced.

You wrapped your hand around him in the middle of a sentence.

His breath stuttered so hard it nearly knocked the words clean out of him. His back pressed into the chair, shoulders locking as his hips jerked forward before he could stop himself.

“Fuck—” He caught himself, jaw tightening. You didn’t scold him. Your grip was confident, slow, sliding just enough to make him aware of every inch of desire. “Keep going,” you commanded quietly.

His voice resumed eventually, rougher now. He tried to keep his rhythm even, but your hand had its own agenda, stroking him with unhurried precision, teasing rather than rushing.

His thigh trembled. You shifted again, free hand disappearing between your own legs again as you grinded against your palm. You whined, making him falter mid-sentence.

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, eyebrows creasing. “You’re distracting me.”

“That’s the point.” With that, your hand tightened slightly, thumb brushing over his tip every other stroke, making his hips lift again and again. He groaned under his breath, a raw sound he didn’t bother hiding this time.

The book shook under his grip. His voice dropped, growing uneven as his breathing grew shallow. The words he spoke tangled with soft whimpers coming from your mouth, as well as the slick, obscene sounds of your movements as you rocked harder against your own hand.

His control frayed visibly. His knees spread wider, feet braced against the floor like he needed the leverage just to stay upright. Sweat beaded at his temples. His free hand fisted in the arm of the chair, knuckles white.

You gathered a fair amount of your slick on your digits, before plunging them into your needy hole. The sounds you made grew louder, more broken. You tipped your head back, throat exposed, moaning freely now. Sam’s eyes flicked up despite himself—just one glance— and it nearly ruined him.

The sight of you spread out on the bed, flushed and desperate, hand moving frantically while you watching him struggle—it punched the breath from his lungs.

He growled softly, frustrated, and reached out suddenly, thumb brushing against your soft lips. “So loud.” he huffed, breathless.

You parted them immediately. Your mouth closed around his thumb, warm and salty as it hit your taste buds. You swirled your tongue around it, making his head fall back against the chair. His hips twitched violently, and he bit out a curse, chest heaving.

The idea was not a good one to say the least. Your muffled moans vibrated around his thumb, sending shivers through him. Your hands also never slowed. If anything, you grew more relentless, for him and yourself. You fucked yourself harder, while pulling him closer to the edge with every twist and stroke of your other hand.

He tried to keep reading. Tried to keep the words straight. But, his breaths were coming too fast now. His voice unraveled, sentences dissolving into half-spoken fragments. His entire body was taut, every muscle straining with the effort not to give in.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

You didn’t stop. You leaned back, arching, fingers moving faster as your breath broke into sharp, desperate gasps. Your name fell from his mouth without thought. His whole body tensed, a sharp inhale locking in his lungs as hot, sticky cum flooded out from the tip of his dick. He cried out, head falling back against the chair, hips jerking up into your hand as everything unraveled.

Your own released followed hard and fast, your body seizing as you cried out, hips stuttering, pleasure crashing through you in waves that left you trembling and boneless on the bed. Your hand slowed only when you couldn’t keep it moving anymore.

Sam slumped back in the chair, chest rising and falling heavily, hair plastered to his forehead. His hands were loose now, on the sides of the chair as his thumb was pulled out of your mouth. The book fell to the ground at some point.

You lay still sprawled on the bed, fingers still inside yourself, with a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips.

After a long beat, Sam huffed a breathless laugh. “Dean better not come back right now.”

You giggled softly, before pulling your own fingers out of your gushing hole with a gasp.

He glanced at the book on the floor, then back at you, eyes dark and still burning despite the exhaustion. “Next time,” he said quietly, promising. “I’m not letting you stay on the bed.”

[pr4ktical]

not good at not!

dean winchester x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw!! piv smut, porn w/plot, dirty talk, like 2 secs of nipple play

synopsis: you'd been staying at a motel in georgia for a few days while you were there visiting some family. what happens when your neighbor starts to stare a little harder each time you exit your room?

author notes: two fics in a row set in summertime....can you tell i miss it..... anywho, this one is a little longer but please enjoy! also idk if you can tell because its easy to miss but this is intended to be a tall(er)!reader, but again you cant really tell lol

They’d been driving for twelve hours straight, the leather seats of the Impala starting to feel like a punishment on Sam and Dean’s backs. Dean had one hand wrapped tight around the steering wheel, the other braced against the open window, letting the thick Georgia air roll over his knuckle— hot as sin and twice as heavy. July in the South didn’t mess around.

The motel was nothing special. Single story, faded yellow siding, a cracked Coke machine that buzzed like it might explode if you touched it wrong. Their room; Number 8; was all warped wood and stale air conditioning, but it had two beds and a working lock. That was enough.

Sam was already digging through his duffel, standing with the car door propped open, while muttering about some research he needed to do for the upcoming hunt. Dean, meanwhile, popped the trunk and grabbed his gear, dragging his bag toward the door, sweat already blooming under his shirt.

He picked up his head for a second before heading inside—and that’s when he saw you.

He hadn’t noticed the car in the next lot space, some dusty, red little beetle with a Georgia plate and a sticker in the corner— Georgia Tech Alumni. But there you were, stepping out of Room 6, keys in hand, phone tucked into the waistband of your shorts.

Shorts.

Jesus Christ.

They weren’t even shorts, not really. More like denim suggestions. Frayed and soft, hugging the curve of your ass like they’d been sewn directly onto your skin. Your legs—tan, and smooth—caught the sunlight like you were a damn vision. And your top? Loose, cropped, and barely hiding the sway of your chest as you moved.

Dean froze.

You didn’t look at him. Hell, you didn’t even notice him. You just locked the door behind you, turned toward the parking lot, and started walking. Your shoelaces snapped against the hot concrete, with your hips moving in lazy figure eights as you walked.

His mouth went dry. For a moment, he just stood there, one hand still on the door frame, eyes tracking every step you took. His heart gave a low thud, and for a half second, he forgot everything. He forgot why the hell they were even in Savannah, Georgia, what they were hunting, and even Sam’s voice behind him.

“Dude,” Sam’s voice snapped from where he stood, flat with judgment. “You serious right now?”

Dean blinked. Swallowed. “What?”

Sam took a few strides to be in whispering distance of him. “You’re gawking. You look like a dog watching a piece of steak walk by.”

Dean shrugged, eyes still following the sway of your ass as you made it to your car. “She’s hot,” he said simply.

“She’s our neighbor. And needs nothing to do with you.”

Dean gave a crooked half-smile, one shoulder hitching up. “She’s got legs that go up to her goddamn neck,” he muttered. “I’m just appreciating the scenery.”

Sam rolled his eyes, pushing past Dean, and making his way inside the motel room.

But Dean? Dean lingered. Bag now half-slung over one shoulder, muscles tight. You pulled out of the lot with a quiet hum of your engine, windows down, sunglasses on, completely unaware—or maybe completely aware—of the chaos you’d just left in your wake.

As your car disappeared down the road, Dean finally exhaled, slow and quiet. “…Shit."

....

Around two days passed with you arriving to the little motel room you booked. You weren't gonna be in Georgia for very long, just visiting family for the week. The house was full now; cousins on couches, aunts, uncles, and grandparents in the spare bedrooms, younger kids on air mattresses in the hallways, so you offered the stay at the motel instead. You didn't mind. It gave you space to breathe, and be a little selfish with your time.

Today was supposed to be the hottest day yet, easily topping the last two. It was also the one day you'd carved out for yourself. No family breakfast, no small talk with your grandparents, no errands with your aunt, no catching up with second cousins you barely remembered. Just you, the heat, and the promise of doing absolutely nothing.

The motel’s pool wasn’t anything special—maybe twelve feet across, surrounded by old white fencing and plastic lounge chairs that gave under your weight if you didn’t sit just right. The pavement scorched your bare feet, and a crooked sign warned NO LIFEGUARD ON DUTY in faded red letters. But, it was the only place within ten miles where you could lay half-naked under the sun and feel like you might survive this heatwave.

You hadn’t planned on putting on the bikini, it was definitely a choice. It had been shoved in the bottom of your suitcase since the trip of visiting your family started. You hadn’t worn it since college. It was too small, too revealing. Definitely not the kind of thing you’d wear around your aunt. But now?

Now something about that man in Room 8—those shoulders, that mouth, and those goddamn eyes—that had unlocked something reckless in you. Something that wanted to be seen.

You waited until the sun was high, then walked to the pool without a second thought. You had a towel slung over one shoulder, a small tote bag on the other shoulder, with your sunglasses perched high on your head. The motel lot was quiet, no doors opening.

Fine. Let him wonder what he missed.

You laid out on one of the loungers, skin slick from the tanning oil you’d put on, thighs bare and glistening in the sun. You reached in your bag and picked out some paperback you brought. Within two pages maybe, you let it drop to your chest. You closed your eyes, letting the heat sink into you. You imagined him watching. Imaged that stare—hard, heavy, shameless. The way his jaw would shift. The way his fingers might twitch.

But, he didn’t show. Not until you were already in the pool.

The water clung to your skin as you stepped up the ladder, dragging from your body in thick, lazy drops. You rang out your wet hair, and tossed it back over your shoulder. You dried off for a few moments, before grabbing your things and heading back to your room—bare feet slapping lightly against the pavement, bikini clinging in all ways that left nothing to the imagination.

That’s when the door to Room 8 swung open.

You didn’t look in that direction. Not at first, just slowed slightly. You heard footsteps—a few heavy strides on concrete, then the click of a car door opening. A moment later, a slam of a door.

Then, a voice—deep, rough, too casual to be accidental. “Hope you’re not charging for the show,” he said. “Cause if not, I owe you….what, two days of backpay?”

You stopped. The pavement burned under your wet feet, the sun hammered into your shoulders. Your fingers tighten on your towel where it’s draped, and for a second. Then, you turn.

The man stands beside his Impala, green eyes locked squarely on you. His stance is loose, confident—weight balanced on one hip, one hand braced on the roof of the car like he owns the whole damn lot. The sunlight hits him just right, casting sheen across his arms, all tan skin and muscle under a dark tee that clings in all the right places. There’s the hint of a smile playing at his mouth. “Don’t worry, I tip well.”

You cock a brow. “Didn’t realize someone was watching.”

He gave a small, crooked smile. “Yeah, well, wouldn’t be the first time I saw something I probably wasn’t supposed to.”

“You spying on me from behind your curtains?” you asked, bikini gleaming against your skin. “That your thing?”

The man’s grin widened a little, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Can’t blame a guy for lookin’ when someone like you comes around.”

You felt your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself. You stepped a bit closer to him, adjusting the towel on your shoulder. “You got a name, mystery man?”

“Dean,” he said easily, “Room 8.”

You smiled, exchanging your own name with a shake of his hand.

Dean met your hand and nodded, silently. You both pulled apart, before he pushed off the car, slow and easy. He didn’t come closer, just moved to stand in the full sun. There was a light sweat at his temples, a heat-halo clinging to his skin. “I’ve got a…thing tonight,” he sighed after a beat. “Might run late. But I’ll be around after.”

You stood there for a second longer, the tension between you both warm and buzzing. “Well,” you sighed, finally shifting your weight back toward your door. “good luck with your ‘thing’ tonight.”

Dean watched you turn, and just before you reached your door, he called out again. “Don’t get too bored without me here watchin'.”

The smile that flickered across your mouth wasn’t one you meant to show. You didn’t answer. Just turned, let yourself into Room 6, and shut the door behind you with the soft click of a lock sliding into place.

….

The sky had gone deep navy hours ago, but the heat hadn’t let up. Even after midnight, the air felt thick, almost syrupy in your lungs. The hum of crickets was a steady background buzz, broken only by the occasional truck rolling down the highway or the flicker of a neon light trying its best to stay alive.

You sat outside your room on a plastic chair that leaned if you shifted too far left. One knee was pulled up, your arm draped over it, beer sweating in your hand. You were barefoot, damp-haired, dressed in sleep shorts and an oversized tee that hung low on one shoulder. You hadn’t meant to sit out long, you just needed air.

It was peaceful enough that you almost forgot to be restless.

Almost.

The door to Room 8 creaked open just as your eyes started to close. You blinked them back open, head turning lazily toward the sound. And there he was.

Dean stepped out of the light spill from his doorway, same black shirt, same jeans, but something looked..different. He looked disheveled. His hair was tousled like someone had run their hands through it a few too many times. He paused when he saw you, caught mid-step, hand on the doorknob. His gaze swept you once. A second passed.

You smiled before you could stop it. “Long night?”

Dean huffed a soft laugh, dragging a hand over the back of his neck as he stepped forward. “Didn’t think I’d catch you still up.”

You tilted your chin up. “Didn’t think I’d see you again today.”

He gave you a one-shouldered shrug, eyes tired but amused. “My ‘thing’ ran short.”

He lingered, hands slipping into the front pockets of his jeans, posture softening. You watched him quietly, then lifted the once forgotten beer bottle in offering. “Wanna come in?”

Dean’s eyes held yours for a beat longer than casual. That smirk ghosted back into place. “I do now.”

You stood without another word, the chair creaking as you shifted, and stepped back to open the door; he followed you in. You ended up tossing him a bottle from the mini-fridge, and he caught it with one hand.

“Looks like you got the nicer room,” he said, glancing around, uncapping the bottle.

You smirked, settling on the edge of the bed. “Doubt that.”

He smiled, leaning against the dresser, bottle loose in his hand. His eyes flicked to you—just for a second. You met the gaze, and held it. There was a long silence, before he finally said something. “You been thinking about me?”

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing playfully. “Why? Ego running low?”

Dean grinned, and pushed off the dresser. “Nah. Just wondering if I’m the only one playing that little pool scene on a loop in my head."

You set your own beer down on the side table, slowly. “You’re not.”

Dean took a single step forward, then another, and another—boots creaking against the floor. He stopped in front of you, close enough that you had to tilt your head only slightly to keep eye contact. The air between you had gone heavier, charged almost.

Dean leaned down, his weight shifting as he braced one hand on the mattress beside your thigh. The other hand came to rest on your leg—it was light, barely there. Your skin buzzed beneath it. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his chest, close enough to count the freckles at the curve of his collarbone.

You smiled, just a little, nodding once.

His mouth was on yours in the next breath. It wasn’t soft—it was needed. His lips were warm and a little rough, his hand gripping your thigh now, pulling you forward as he stepped between your knees. You parted them without thinking, hooking your hands into the hem of his shirt, dragging it up as he kissed you deeper.

Dean groaned low in his throat, pulling back only long enough to tug the shirt over his head and toss it somewhere behind him.

“Jesus,” he muttered. The golden spill of the lamp light caught on his skin, highlighting muscle and faint scars, the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing deepened. “You look at me like that again and I’m not stopping.”

You reached for him instead of answering, palms pressing flat against his chest. He sucked in a breath when you touched him, head tipping forward. “Yeah?” you purred.

Dean’s mouth curved into something wicked. “Yeah.”

Then he kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he was savoring it. His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing under the hem of your oversized shirt, dragging it up inch by inch. When it cleared your head, he tossed it aside with the same careless confidence, eyes darkening at the sight of you beneath it.

You pulled him closer, fingers digging into his shoulders as he nudged you backward. You fell onto the bed fully now, as he followed, bracing himself above you.

Dean kissed down your jaw, your neck, lingering where your pulse raced beneath your skin. His stubble scraped just enough to make you gasp, hips lifting without permission.

“Someone’s impatient,” he teased quietly.

“Don’t pretend you’re not,” you shot back.

That earned a grin, brief and boyish, before it vanished. He hooked a finger under your sports bra, tugging it up to reveal bare skin. His mouth followed the movement, kissing the newly exposed skin like it was owed to him.

“Fuck,” he whined when he finally got a full look at you, “you’re gorgeous."

You tried to answer, but then his lips closed around your nipple and the words dissolved in your throat. His tongue flicked before he sucked—light at first, then harder when he felt the twist of your fingers in his hair.

“God—Dean—”

He growled low in response, moving to the other side, giving it the same attention, while his hands slid up your thighs. He pulled away, moving his attention to your shorts now. He dragged them down in one smooth pull, letting them drop to the floor along with the other clothes.

Then, he pushed his jeans and boxers down together, kicking them off carelessly. He was fully bare now, shoulders heaving. Your eyes dragged down his body, down to in between his legs more specifically. His cock was heavy and hard, curved slightly up toward his stomach. It was thick and flushed at the tip, heavily veined, and already slick at the head.

You felt your breath hitch at the sight it, fear and arousal forcing a sharp clench out low in your cunt.

Dean flipped you onto your stomach in one smooth movement, his hand firm at your shoulder, guiding you down. Your cheek pressed into the sheets, with your hands braced next to your head.

You feel him behind you, pressing against you with an uneven breathing pace. His hand slid between your thighs, spreading them open again as he lined himself up.

He pushed into you in one deep thrust. You gasped, fingers curling into the sheets as the stretch stole the breath from your lungs. He filled you completely, groaning as he sank into the hilt.

“Fuck,” Dean swore, forehead dropping between your shoulder blades. “You feel unreal.”

He moved in deep, deliberate strokes at first, savoring it. He quickly picked up the pace though, pulling back before slamming in again. The bed creaked beneath you, the mattress shifting with every thrust.

“Oh—God—Dean—”

“That’s it,” he rasped, one hand gripping your hip, the other pressing into the mattress beside your head. “Take it. Just like that.”

The position had him hitting everything—every thrust dragging pleasure tight and sharp through your core, your body lighting up with it. Your moans came out muffled against the sheets, broken and desperate, and he loved it.

“Listen to you,” he gloated, thrusts growing rougher. “Teasing me for two whole days. You were just planning on this to happen, right?”

You pushed back against him, desperate and needy. Dean’s grip tightened, fingers bruising, as he drove into you with zero restraint. His hips snapped, and curses fell from his lips like prayers. Sweat slicked his skin, heat everywhere, while the room was full of gasps and groans. The headboard knocked faintly against the wall.

“So fuckin’ good,” he groaned. “So tight—shit—”

The pressure built fast, coiling hot and unbearable in your belly. Every thrust dragged you closer, pleasure spiking sharp and blinding, your body trembling beneath him. “I’m close,” you gasped.

Dean’s thrusts stuttered. “Yeah?” he asked, breathlessly. “Come on, sweetheart—come for me.”

Your body locked up, pleasure tearing through you as you cried out, clamping down around his cock. Dean swore loudly, hips jerking as he chased you through it. His hips snapped at an unforgivable pace, before he broke with a strangled groan, burying himself inside you as he filled you.

Dean finally slowed, staying inside you, his body slumped over yours, chest pressed to your back. He kissed your shoulder—soft now, bringing you back down to earth. His hand slid up your side, holding you there.

[pr4ktical]

is your daddy home?

hbf!joel miller x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw!! fingering, piv smut, porn w/plot, husband's best friend!joel, dirty talk, praise, wall pining, cheating reader...........

synopsis: while your husband is out for a job, you're left home all alone. one night, his best friend, joel, comes over with a pack of beer and food. what starts as a little shared meal in the kitchen, ends with something that makes you think twice about the man you married.

author notes: this was based off the song 'im on fire' by bruce springsteen! :3

The heat pressed against the windows long after the sun went down. The cicadas outside were still singing in waves, slow and drawn out. The air smelled like cedar and newly mowed grass. Inside, the only light came from a dull lamp in the corner of the room, casting everything in amber and shadow. You sat on the old couch, barefoot, legs curled under you, with a sweating glass of water untouched on the small table beside you.

Your husband had left for a two-week job out west, some contract work he’d said would be good money, and it wasn’t like you’d argued against it. You both needed the break, the space.

You were halfway through the same page for the third time. The book sat open in your lap, your fingers curled against the spine, but your eyes had drifted past it again, unfocused. The overhead fan clicked in its slow rotation above you. Sweat beaded at the back of your neck, warm and irritating. You shifted slightly, trying to focus.

You weren’t even sure what the book was about anymore. Something historical. Something heavy. You’d picked it up because it had a pretty cover and you’d liked the way the paper felt in your hands. Now, it was just something to look at so your mind didn’t drift too far into what-if places.

You set the book down on the table, and then reached for the glass. Condensation had puddled underneath it, bleeding out in a perfect ring. The water was on the warmer side now, but still, you took a sip.

Knock, knock

You blinked. Waited.

Another, slower this time.

You turned your head toward the door. The knock wasn’t rushed, wasn’t insistent—just there. You let the glass rest back on the table again, your knees sticking for a moment to the couch cushion as you rose.

You made your way to your front door, questioning who could be here at this hour. Stopping for a moment before reaching for the brass knob, and opening the big wooden door. You were met with one sorry sight.

Joel.

He stood with one shoulder leaning just slightly against the frame. His eyes found yours fast—no hesitation, no pause. He held up a bag and a six-pack of beer like an apology.

Your hand tightened, moving to the edge of the door. You didn’t know what you were going to say until the words came out. “…Just passin’ through?”

Joel shrugged once, slow. You hesitated, you knew he shouldn’t be here, but you also knew you wouldn’t be the one to tell him to leave. He looked at you, eyes dark and unreadable under the heavy curve of his brow.

You stepped back, letting him in without a word.

The door closed behind him with a soft click of the latch catching, no harder than necessary, but it still sounded loud in the quiet house. You stood there for a second, hand still on the wood, watching Joel’s back as he moved toward the kitchen with that slow, grounded kind of ease he had.

A soft flick was heard before the kitchen lit up. The six-pack made a soft thump on the kitchen counter top, glass bottles clinking against one another as he set them down. He placed the food beside them—barbecue, you could tell from the way the smell hit the air immediately, thick and smoky. The scent crawled up the back of your throat, almost making drool come dripping out of your mouth.

You walked towards the kitchen, arms crossing loosely over your chest, the cotton of your tank top catching slightly at your ribs where the heat made it cling to your skin. The floor was cool under your feet—cooler than the air, at least.

Joel didn’t turn to look at you. He was unpacking the bag slowly, setting out wax-paper containers on the counter like he was laying out tools at a job site. You stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt, the way the fabric clung slightly where his skin had sweat through it at the short sleeve. He moved his fingers almost in a dance—calloused and blunt, but precise and careful.

“I brought too much,” he said, finally glaring at you over his shoulder. “Figured if you weren’t hungry now, you might be later.”

You nodded, though you weren’t sure he saw it. Your voice didn’t want to come out when you tried to call it.

Joel moved, opening a drawer, grabbing a bottle opener without asking, and popping the top off the beer like he’d done here a dozen times before. He slid one of the glasses across the counter toward you, his hand lingering on the marble for a second too long—not touching, still, but just there.

You stepped forward and took the glass, letting your fingers brush the counter instead of his hand. But, you felt it. That nearness. The deliberate almost.

Joel took a swig of his own glass, eyes on you over the rim. You sipped yours too.

He moved to settle into one of the kitchen chairs, a soft grunt leaving his throat. You stayed standing for a moment longer, watching him from the other side of the counter, one hand curled loosely around your glass. He opened the box of brisket and slid it between you both on the counter, the scent of it so strong it made your mouth water. Another box—slaw, hush puppies, something sweet-smelling and fried— and then silence again.

Joel took a plastic fork and ate some of the brisket. You watched his jaw work, slow and thoughtful. He acted like there wasn’t anything strange about sitting in your kitchen, past nine on a Tuesday night, with no warning.

“You eat yet today?” he asked, not looking at you.

You shook your head. Then, realizing he wouldn’t see it, you answered. “No, I was trying to read.”

Joel made a sound, and took another bite. He met your gaze this time.

There was a kind of war happening in the silence between you, invisible but palpable— your breath moved slower now, his eyes flicked once to your collarbone. You sighed lowly while setting your bottle down, before walking around the island.

You sat next to him, and he didn’t flinch when you did. You pulled a container toward you and dug in, not speaking at first. The slaw was cold and sharp, vinegar biting your tongue, but you barely tasted it. All you could feel was the weight of Joel’s stare resting somewhere low on your body, like gravity had shifted between your legs and he was caught in the pull.

He shifted, moving to face his body towards yours. “He know you dress like that when you’re alone?”

You didn’t answer right away. Joel’s eyes had dipped. Your tank top, soft and clinging, had pulled tight across your chest, the fabric thin enough to betray the shape of everything beneath. Your shorts rode up without you noticing.

And oh, did he notice.

You held his gaze and took a slow bite of brisket. “You think you would be here if he did?” you asked softly, almost absently, not because you needed the answer— but because you wanted to hear what it would sound like in Joel Miller’s voice.

He sat back, just a fraction, the chair creaking beneath his weight. “Maybe not,” he gruffed out. “…I ain’t been able to stop thinkin’ about it since the last time I saw you. That dress, those legs. Him talkin’ your ear off while you just sat there quiet, like you wanted to be anywhere else.”

You swallowed. Your thighs pressed tighter together, involuntarily. Joel saw. He always saw.

He leaned into you, slow, like he had all the time in the world. “What else do you do when he’s gone?” he asked, voice dropping to a darker pitch now. “You just sit around? Wait for him to come back like a good wife?”

Your breath caught, you stared down at the food, then back up at him.

You smiled. A small, dangerous thing.

Joel’s eyes narrowed like he could see right through it— through the sweet wife act you barely wore anymore. You dragged your fork through the slaw, slow, not eating, not looking. Your breath was still caught high in your chest.

“I used to think about you.”

You looked at him, letting it hang for a moment, your pulse beating high in your ears. “I mean, before,” you added, voice growing raspy. “Back when he’d bring you around all the time. You’d sit in the backyard, while he talked about money and tools and all the bullshit that made him feel like a man. And you’d just sit there, drinking, listening. But, I knew what you were doing. Watching me.”

He didn’t deny it.

“I used to go inside just so I could breathe,” you continued. “Stand in the kitchen, cool off. When you looked at me like that—” you paused, shaking your head. Joel exhaled through his nose, barely audible. “You never said anything,” you murmured.

His mouth twitched, not a smile, but regret. “Wouldn’t mattered if I did.” he said. “You were already wearin’ his ring.”

You looked down at your hand, at the metal you’d stopped noticing months ago. The thing was— he was right. You had been your husbands long before you wore the ring. You remembered that version of yourself. Naive, young, willing. You thought the quiet spells were normal, thought the long silences were just tiredness. But they weren’t. They were the cold undercurrent of a man who didn’t really want a wife—he wanted something to own. You thought he loved you, then he stopped pretending.

“You still think about me?” he asked, his voice stripped down and thick with something darker. He moved his hand, setting his fingers lightly over your wrist. He could feel your pulse spike.

You leaned forward, lips parting just slightly. “Every time I hear his truck pull up,” you whispered, “I hope it’s you.”

The chair scraped back, quick this time. He stood, not fast nor rough, but sudden. His hand slid from your wrist to your fingers, gripping, then tugging. Joel pulled you off the chair then against him, your shorts brushed against his jeans. He stared down at you for one suspended second, chest rising slow and heavy.

Finally, he reached for you again. It wasn’t rough, but also wasn’t gentle. His hands came down to your waist, dragging over your ribs. His mouth was on yours in no time. His hand immediately slid up, fingers curling around the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. The heat of his lips makes you shiver, his speckled beard rough against your chin, cheeks, and edge of your throat when he kisses down briefly before coming back up again. He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls softly. You gasp, sharp and quiet.

You can feel him everywhere. The heat of his chest against yours, the flex of his stomach through his shirt where it presses into your ribs, and the hard line of him already forming where his hips meet yours. Your thighs tense, heat spiraling low in your belly as his tongue licks into your mouth, hot and sure, making your knees go weak.

Your hands find his chest, gripping his shirt, needing something to hold onto. He breaks the kiss, pulling back just a half inch. He grabs you by the waist and lifts, strong arms locking under your thighs as your legs go around him. He moves around, before pinning you against a nearby wall—cool drywall against your exposed skin. His hips press forward between your legs, and you feel him—all of him— thick and hard against the cotton of your shorts, a strap of your tank top slipping off your shoulders as his mouth crashes back into yours.

You moan softly into the kiss, fingers finding their way into his hair. He growls. “You’re killin’ me,” he mutters against your mouth, breath hot. “I can feel how wet you are through your fuckin’ shorts.”

You whimper when he mentions it. You feel his hand slide down more as he holds you, fingers stroking the soft curve just beneath your ass. You buck into him, chasing friction, and he laughs. “You want me to take ‘em off?” he asks, mouth hot on your throat now, tongue tracing just below your jaw.

You nod. 

“Say it,” he breathes, voice ragged. “Say what you want, sweetheart.”

“I want you,” you whisper, coming out broken.

He groans, then moves his hands to shove both your shorts and underwear aside. His fingers slide through your folds, the wet heat of you coating his skin as he groans deep in his chest. “Fuck,” he groans, kissing you again, thumb circling your clit before two fingers slid inside. “You were made for my fingers.”

Your head falls back, lips parting in a cry that’s too loud for how quiet the room is. You clench around his fingers, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders as he finger fucks you against the wall, hand pressed deep between your thighs.

You’re wet—soaked, really— and he loves it. The sound of your hole’s obscene sounds as he works you harder and deeper only pushes him more. Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the top of his ass, trying to pull him closer, trying to make the angle better. His hand is so big between your legs, thick fingers like he knows exactly what you need. He’s watching your face, your mouth, your fluttering eyes, the way your hand curls into him like you might fall if you don’t hang on.

“Look at you,” he mutters, breath hot against you neck. “Such a dirty girl..”

You make a noise—high, and broken, your hips buck. Your thighs shake as the tension starts to coil deep in your belly, tight and molten. You can feel it building, wave after wave, every thrust of his fingers pushing you closer o that edge you’ve only ever chased in the dark, alone, when no one else was home.

“Yeah,” Joel growls, lips at your ear now, “There she is. Gonna come on my fingers, baby?”

You nod—or try to. Your head won’t move quite right. You’re too full, too fucked. He speeds up just a little, fingers fucking into you faster now, his palm rubbing perfectly against your clit in tight, practiced circles. Your stomach clenches. Your toes curl. You can feel the throb between your legs grow sharper.

It hits hard— your whole body tightening around him as the orgasm rushes through you like a flood, hot and fast. A cry rips from you as you grind down into his hand, thighs trembling uncontrollably. Joel holds you through it, fingers still moving, slower now. Your cunt pulses around his fingers, aftershocks making you twitch as he finally pulls back.

You look at him, dazed and ruined. And you reach for his belt with shaky hands. You can see the way his cock strains behind the denim. You start to imagine how it’ll feel inside you, stretching you out, hitting deeper than anyone else ever has.

But, before you can get the buckle undone, Joel grabs your wrist. You look up at him, confused, but he’s already moving. He slides his hands beneath your thighs again and puts you down with care, setting your feet to the floor. Your legs are shaky, but he steadies you. He walks you a few steps toward the counter, before pressing you against it. The marble is cold under your palms as your waist hits it.

Joel steps in behind you, hands slipping around to undress you, throwing the clothes somewhere you will find them later. Then, he steps back to work his own clothes off. You hear the clink of metal, the zip of his jeans, and the soft rustle as he pushes them down. He also threw his shirt off in the middle of the movement.

His hand moves to the small of your back, urging you to lean forward, to fold over the counter. You let him guide you—chest against the cool surface, arms braced, and legs spread. You feel completely exposed, but not shy. He spits in his hand, a filthy but perfect sound. Then, finally, you feel him slide between your legs, the swollen head of his cock dragging through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

“Joel—” you gasp, needy now.

“Shhh,” he breathes, one hand gripping your hip, the other guiding himself into place. “I got you, darlin’. Just let me—”

And then he pushes in. Slow, deep. You cry out, fingers clutching the edge of the counter as he fills you. Your walls stretch around him, your body tightening to take him.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips trembling as he bottoms out. “She’s grippin’ me so hard, honey.” he speaks, like he’s talking less to you and more to himself.

You moan, hips pushing back instinctively, chasing more. One large hand splays on your lower back, keeping you in place while he pulls out just to slide back in again, harder this time. The wet slap of skin meeting skin echoes through the kitchen. Your mouth drops open as he sets a rhythm that slowly undoes you.

His cock drags against your inner walls, every stroke sending sharp, white-hot sparks up your spine. He hits that spot deep inside you with every thrust, pounding into it again and again, and soon your legs are shaking. Your moans come uncontrollably, slurred and begging.

“Jo-el.. fuck, don’t stop—please—”

He pants behind you, fucking you deeper, the sound of his hips slamming into your ass relentless. “Takin’ me so well, sweetheart.”

You can barely breathe, barely think. He reaches around you, one hand sliding between your legs to circle your clit again, and your entire body snaps. Your orgasm hits hard and without warning, tearing through you with a force that bends your back and arches you off the counter. You cry—raw and ruined as your cunt tightens around his cock, pulsing in waves that won’t stop.

Joel groans loud, and he slams into you. Once, twice, then buries himself to the hilt and spills into you. His grip was bruising on your hips, his cock twitching deep inside as he paints your insides, gasping your name like a prayer he forgot to say.

[pr4ktical]

he is good to me, he's a good man!

dean winchester x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw! pure filth, stress relief sex, dean has a dirty mouth, piv, dom!dean, established relationship, reader cries too much!

synopsis: riding dean after a hard hunt is always a good way to get him settled down!

You hear the front door slam, the sound of Dean’s heavy boots thudding against the floor as he makes his way into your home. He’s been gone all day, off on some hunt in your town. As he enters the room, you can see the anger etched onto his features, his jaw clenched tight and green eyes narrowed.

“Hi, honey,” you greet him softly, setting down your fork and wiping your mouth with a napkin. You made dinner over an hour ago, before just deciding to eat. Dean never cared that you ate without him, he knew he was always late. Of course he felt bad, but he didn’t expect you to starve yourself for him. “How’d the hunt go?”

Dean just grunts in response, not meeting your gaze as he heads straight for the bathroom to wash off.

You finish up in the kitchen, eating, then washing dishes and wiping the counters down, before making your way upstairs to your shared bedroom. Slipping inside, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casts a warm, inviting light over the room. You lay down on the bed, pulling out your phone to scroll as you wind down.

Time passes quickly, and you hear the bathroom door creak open. Footsteps make their way to your ears, before the door swings open. Dean stands in the doorway, a towel slung low around his waist. His hair is slicked back, water dripping down his muscular body. His eyes are ablaze with a desperate, almost primal hunger. He walks in heavy strides to the bed, before getting in and crawling over you with a feral intensity. “Fuck, I need you,” Dean growls, his voice raw and ragged.

His hands are everywhere, roaming your curves with a feverish desperation. He’s tugging at your clothes, then yanking them off your body. His towel was long gone, fell off when he made his way towards you. His hard, thick cock sprang free, pressing urgently against your plush thigh.

He pants, nipping and sucking at your neck, leaving dark marks on your skin. He hikes your leg up around his hip, grinding his cock against your sopping core. “Tell me you want this, baby,” he demands. He’s positioning himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock nudging your folds. “Tell me you need my cock as much as I need it to bury it inside of you.”

His eyes bore into yours, searching, pleading. He’s on the edge, desperate to lose himself inside you. He needs you, all of you. And god help you, but you need him just the same.

“Please, Dean,” you whimper, voice high and needy as you buck your hips up against his. The movement makes your greedy hole catch on his tip. “I want you to fuck me, make me yours.”

It’s all the encouragement Dean needs. With a groan, he thrusts forward, burying his cock inside your soaked, aching cunt. You cry out at the sudden intrusion, your back arching off the bed as he fills and stretches you out. With how many times you both fuck, you’d think your cunt would mold shape around him, but apparently not.

Dean flips you both over, leaving you straddling his hips, cock still buried deep inside you. “Ride me, baby,” he says before smacking your ass, “Show me how much you want me.”

You don’t hesitate, lifting your hips and slamming back down onto his shaft with a sob. You set a hard, fast pace, your ass bouncing with each rise and fall. Tears spring to your eyes as the pleasure becomes more and more intense, your body starts to shake and tremble above him. “Fuck, Dean!” you wail, grabbing at his chest, and throwing your head back as you continue to impale yourself over and over on his dick. “F-feels so go-good…”

“Fuck, look at you,” Dean groans, his head falling back against the pillow. His eyes start to flutter shut as he loses himself in the feeling of your tight hole gripping him like a vice. “Riding my dick like a fucking slut. You love it, don’t you, baby? Love having your little pussy being filled by my big cock?”

You can only sob in response, tears streaming down your face as you fuck yourself stupid. Dean grasps at your ass, kneading the flesh and pulling you down harder with each bounce. The obscene sound of your wet, sloppy pussy being pounded fills the room, mixing with your desperate cries and Dean’s filthy words.

"Thaaat's it, fucking take it,” Dean snarls, gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises. You lean forward, running your fingers from Dean’s still-damp hair, down to his defined chest.

His hands slide up your sides, cupping and lifting your tits. He teases your nipples, rolling and pinching the sensitive buds between his fingers as he bucks his hips to meet yours. “So fucking perfect..” He pants.

Suddenly, he snakes one of his hands down between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen, aching clit. He rubs the nub in tight, fast circles, his calloused touch sending jolts of pleasure through you. Your cries pitch higher, your body shakes more violently as he continues to play with you. “F-fuuuck, Dean…I- I’m gonna..” You choke out, your body going stiff above him as your walls start to spasm and convulse. He grunts in response, before grabbing both sides of your waist to fuck himself into you.

You lean down onto his chest, letting him ruin your pussy even more. He moves, having his arms around your back, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you. Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. Your cunt clamps down hard on Dean, trying to milk him. “I’m coming, fuck, fuck fuck!” Dean groans, his voice echoing off the thin bedroom walls. You feel Dean’s cock throb in you, and with a guttural roar, he slams into you one last time. His seed paints your insides, warm, sticky, and thick.

Dean’s hip jerk and stutter as he fills you, his eyes rolling back into his head with bliss. Finally, with one last gasp, Dean goes limp beneath you. Both of you pant, both covered in a sheen of sweat as you come down from your highs. You feel Dean rumble a sound, before pulling you closer. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, as your bodies are still joined. He kisses your head.

[6fangz]

beautiful. around my neck next!

[pr4ktical]

like the salt and the sea

sam winchester x mermaid!reader

warnings: slight fluff, angst, trauma

synopsis: you are a mermaid being hunted by fishermen, and end up hiding in an abandoned motel pool. the winchester's find you, and attempt to comfort you.

author notes: it's implied that its a sam x reader fic, but its hard to tell when reading (at least i think), so yes just keep that in mind. also you have human legs when you aren’t in water!! this is lowk my first time actually writing a standalone angst fic but enjoy!

The abandoned motel pool is the closest thing you’ve had to shelter in days.

The concrete is cracked like a dried riverbed, blue paint peels from the sides, rust climbs the old ladder, and the deep end is painted with a faded “10 FT” that hasn’t meant anything in decades. A single streetlamp buzzes above you, flickering like it’s trying to stay awake. You curl at the bottom of the pool, arms wrapped tight around your legs, pulling yourself into the smallest shape you can manage.

Your chest aches.

Your throat burns.

And when the first tear slips down your face, it isn’t clear like a human’s is. It’s not soft either. It’s salty, thick and heavy—like a drop of the ocean being pulled straight from the deep. It rolls down your cheeks in a shining path, leaving a faint chalky trail in it’s wake. When it hits the concrete, it splashes in a tiny scattering of white grains, each one sharp-edged like broken seashells.

Another tear falls. Then another.

Soon, your knees are dusted with pale, shimmering salt crystals; like the sea is trying to rebuild itself on your skin. Your tears sting your lips, taste of tides, the taste of home.

Home.

God, you just wanted to go home. Back to the place in where you were stolen from.

The fisherman’s hands, roped burning your wrists. Their voices arguing whether to sell you or keep you rang through your ears.

You escaped, but the moment they told news reporters they had caught a “real mermaid”, that’s when everything changed. They sketched a picture. People pointed, stared, followed. You ran from town to town, covering your face, hiding your voice, praying that they didn’t see what you truly were.

Now, you’re here. Alone, exhausted, and horrified someone else will find you. Someone that will drag you back.

A soft crunch of gravel pulls you away from your thoughts and makes you snap your head up.

Your breath freezes in your chest. Boots, two sets. The noise of them walking sounded slow, searching.

You scramble farther into the shadowed corner of the deep end. The crystals on your cheeks sparkle under the streetlamp, betraying you like stars scattered across your skin.

…

The motel is barely a motel—more like a forgotten skeleton of one. Half the lights are dead, the paint is peeling, and the cracked pool out back looks like a grave someone forgot to fill in. Dean kicks their door open with his boot, dropping his bag onto the nearest bed before groaning.

“I swear,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, “If this case turns out to be another kid pulling pranks… or even a raccoon—”

“It’s not,” Sam says before sitting down on the edge of his bed. He grabs his laptop out of his bag, and quickly starts to search through police logs. “Three sightings in two towns over. Somethings there.”

“Well, it’s not in THIS town,” Dean grumbles, gesturing around the shabby room. “Why are we here? This place looks like tetanus got bored and built a motel.”

Sam ignores his remark, “You need rest. We’re still 30 miles from the place. Better to stop now than crash in the middle of nowhere.”

Dean stops mid-rant, hesitates, then sighs. “Fair point.” He tears his boots off, stretching with a long groan. He flops back dramatically on the mattress.

Silence settles for a moment—the rare kind that actually feels comfortable. Sam scrolls, Dean breaths, the motel AC sputters. Then, a faint sound slips in through the half-open window. A sob.

Sam’s head lifts immediately. “Did you hear that?”

Dean doesn’t move. “No?” Another cry, broken, sharp.

Sam closes his laptop and stands. “Dean. Someone’s outside.”

“Sammy,” Dean groans, “It’s midnight in a crap town. Could be a drunk, stray cat—”

“That’s not a cat,” Sam snaps, already moving for the door. Dean curses under his breath but throws his boots on again and follows.

The night air is cold, sharp enough to see your own breath. The gravel crunches beneath their boots as they follow the sound around the backside of the motel. “Seriously,” Dean sighs, “if this is a cat—”

“It’s not,” Sam says quietly, slowing down. The sound is clearer now, closer. A broken, trembling sob that doesn’t sound human, but also not like anything monstrous.

Dean stops beside him, listening. “Where the hell is that coming from?”Sam tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “There.” He points toward the old, empty pool.

Dean sighs dramatically, “Fantastic. Exactly where I wanted to be tonight. Creep-ass murder pool.”

Both the brothers fall silent the moment they reach the edge.

…

You flinch as you hear people stop directly above you. Silence falls so suddenly it feels like time stopped.

You don’t look up, you can’t. If you look, they’ll know. They’ll see what you are. They’ll drag you back to those boats, the nets, the hands—

A sharp inhale breaks the quiet, then another.

They’ve spotted you.

You curl tighter, trying to disappear into yourself, but all that spills out is one strangled sob. A thick tear drops from your chin, and shatters on the concrete like a tiny crystal.

A shadow moves at the edge of your vision. The taller one crouches and starts climbing down the rusted ladder into the pool.

You scoot back so fast your palms scrape the concrete, leaving streaks of your tears behind. Your breath stutters, catching on every inhale.

“No-no, please—don’t,” you choke out, shaking your head hard. Saltwater spills faster, heavier, each tear rolling thick and bright down your skin. “Please don’t take me back—don’t take me back—”

The man pauses halfway down the ladder. His silhouette shifts, wrapping and arm around the ladder. He lifts his hands as if to show he’s not holding anything. “It’s okay,” He jumps down, landing on the concrete with a thud. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

Your whole body trembles. You don’t believe him, you can’t.

He watches as your tears fall and his expression changes.

The second man stays at the edge, looking down like he’s measuring threat and distance. “Sammy?” he calls, tone cautious. “You sure about this?”

‘Sammy’.. Sam, maybe?

He glances back up for only a moment. “Yeah, she’s terrified.”

Terrified. You can hear the word echo in your skull like a wound being touched.

Sam steps toward you slowly, keeping his hands visible. You scoot until your back hits the cold concrete wall, and panic spikes so fast you start sobbing—really sobbing. He sees this, and kneels down several feet away, not daring to cross the last bit of space between you. “Hey,” he says softly, warmth threading through every syllable. “Look at me.”

You don’t want to, but you do.

His eyes are warm, brown. Concerned—not calculating, not greedy. “If someone hurt you,” he says, tone still impossibly gentle, “we’re not taking you back. We aren’t handing you over to anyone. I promise.”

You flinch, more tears spilling silent onto your knees.

The other man shifts above, crouching down to get a better look. His demeanor loses some of its edge. Sam notices the way your eyes keep flicking to his face and back down. He inches a little closer, as slow as a tide creeping in. “Who took you?” he asks carefully.

Your throat tightens at the memory. Your voice cracks, “Just… some people I know…they—they caught me and keep looking. People keep telling them they’ve seen me and I can’t—I can’t outrun them—”

Your words dissolve into a choked sob. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re safe. You’re not going back to them.”

You look at him, tears still pouring down your face in shimmering drops. “How do I know?” you whisper. “H-how do I know you’re not lying?”

Sam holds your gaze the way most people hold fragile things. “Because I’m right here,” he says softly, “We’re gonna help you, not hurt you.”

Dean finally climbs down the ladder, landing with a soft thud behind Sam. He keeps his distance but watches you with an oddly gentle curiousness. “We’re not the bad guys,” he adds simply.

Sam nods once, standing before slowly offering you his hand. “Let us get you somewhere warm,” he murmurs, “We can talk there, you don’t have to be scared anymore.”

You stare at Sam’s hand. The softness in his eyes. The sincerity in his voice. You let yourself want to believe him.

A tear slips from your eye before you can stop it. It falls slowly, gliding down your cheek in a bright streak before dropping onto your wrist and shattering like glass. Sam notices this, and stares at it for a minute. He tilts his head a little, moving his eyes to the other tears dried up around you.

Those don’t look like normal tears..

Another tear slips free. And another. Not from panic—you’ve run out of that. It’s from pure, exhausted stress. You don’t know these men. You don’t know if they’re like everyone else. You don’t know if they’re telling the truth, or just waiting for you to slip up.

Sam moves just a fraction close, slow enough that you don’t recoil. Without touching, he raises his hand and gestures gently towards your face. “May I?”

Your throat knots. You pause. Then nod—barely.

Sam’s fingers brush your cheek, light as a breath. He catches one tear on the pad of his thumb. When he pulls back, crystals cling to his skin, glimmering faintly.

He turns his hand slightly, examining the salt like it’s something precious. Dean steps closer, peering at Sam’s thumb. Sam’s eyes return to you. “Ocean tears,” he murmurs. “That’s….something.”

You swallow, voice barely there. “It happens wh-…I-”

“You don’t have to explain,” Sam says.

Dean narrows his eyes, not harsh, just assessing. “Saltwater tears… fishermen chasing you…people spotting you and freaking out..” His gaze flicks between you and Sam. “You thinkin' what I'm thinkin’, Sammy?”

Sam meets your eyes before he answers, giving you one last moment to pull away. You don’t.

“You’re a mermaid, aren’t you?”

You don’t answer. You just lower your gaze, fingers curling around your knees. Another tear slips free and lands on your leg. You don’t answer his question, you don’t nod, you don’t show any sign of communication back. You sit there, shaking, salt clinging to your skin like the ocean is trying to claim you again.

Sam doesn’t push. He watches you with that steady, patient softness that makes your chest hurt more than any rope burn did. “It’s alright, you don’t have to say it.”

Dean exhales behind him, the sound less skeptical and more…concluded. Like he’s made his mind up about something already. You hiccup, another tear rolls down your cheek. Sam moves carefully again, catching it before it falls.

You don’t pull back, you’re not sure why.

Dean shifts his weight, dusting off his jeans. “Alright,” he says, voice firm but not unkind. “You’re freezing, scared, and you look like you haven’t slept since the Cold War. Let’s get you inside.”

Sam nods slowly. Then, with the smallest movement, he extends his hand again—still not pushing, nor demanding.

“Come with us,” he says. “That’s all we’re asking.”

Your heart beats hard enough to shake through your whole body. You’re exhausted, you’re scared, and God, you are so unbelievably tired of running. So for just one moment—just one fragile moment, you make your mind up.

You reach out. Your fingers brush Sam’s. Their warm, human, safe.

He tightens his grip, pulling you gently to your feet. The world tilts for a second, exhaustion making your knees wobble. Sam steadies you with a hand at your elbow. “There we go,” he mutters. “Easy.”

You bite your lip, tasting the salt clinging to them.

Sam guides you to the ladder, Dean close behind, the night air sharp against your tear-stung cheeks. Gravel crunches under their heavy boots as they lead you out of the dead pool, the old motel looming ahead like a tired shelter.

For the first time since you broke free from those nets, since you ran barefoot across cold docks with ropes still scraping your wrists—

You feel safe.

[pr4ktical]

the other woman

sam winchester x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw! pwp, slight angst, revenge sex, recording, piv, oral (f!recieving), soft dom sam

synopsis: being in a relationship, you have to be somewhat paranoid. you had your suspicions, he was always going out, turned off his location, etc. going through his phone, you find he's been cheating on you. you run to your best friend's house in seek of some kind of comfort, not wanting to be in a house alone with the man whose been lying to you for who knows how long.

author notes: lowkey feeling very motivated so be ready for more fics... also bf's name for reader is trey!! (some random one that i came up with T-T)

You’d been lying awake for an hour, staring at the ceiling, gut twisting in ways that you couldn’t explain. Trey was asleep beside you, the room lit only by the dim glow of the streetlight and far off city-lights bleeding through the curtains. His breathing was even, steady.

You told yourself not to. Going through his phone wasn't right, you should trust him. But, when it buzzed on the nightstand, your heart stuttered. He got home late again, saying he was out with “a friend from work,” but you’d heard that excuse too many times now.

Slowly, you turned over on your side. He was out cold, arm thrown lazily across the blanket, face relaxed in the dim light. You stared for a moment, hoping that just looking at him would be enough to silence the storm in your chest. It wasn’t. You reached out over him carefully and slid the phone off the nightstand.

Holding the phone, you sat up. Your hands shook as you entered the password—four numbers you’d memorized months ago but never used. The screen unlocked, becoming met with a picture of you and him together as the background. Standing in front of the ocean, you had your arms around one another smiling under a shared kiss. You almost stopped there.

But, you needed closure, making your thumb move. Tapping on the messages app, the foreign contact was open already. The words on screen were unmistakable proof.

Trey - I can’t stop thinking about last night.. you looked so good in my shirt on top of me

I wish you were here rnn :(

You froze, blinking at the screen to make sure what you saw was real. Your chest began to feel hollow. A trembling sound left your throat—half laugh, half sob. You scrolled further, each message slicing a little deeper. Pictures, plans, voice notes. Some things you never even heard, words he’d never even said to you. You dropped the phone on the mattress like it burned.

For a moment, you just sat on your bed, turning to watch the rise and fall of Trey’s chest. He looked peaceful, innocent, unknowing of what you just found out. You wanted to scream, to wake him and demand answers. But instead, you felt your chest constrict while the tears built, hot and fast, vision starting to blur.

You pressed your fist against your mouth to stop the sound. Your breath came in shallow gasps, shoulders shaking. The air felt wrong, like the whole room was closing in on you.

You slid out of the bed as quietly and quickly as you could. The floor creaked once, but he didn’t move. You grabbed your jacket from the chair in the corner of the room, throwing it on over your shoulder. You fumbled with the zipper, then made your way to grab your car keys, along with your phone.

Outside, the night air was cold enough to sting. The road shined under the streetlights as you stumbled toward your car, heart pounding so hard it drowned out every other sound. You didn’t know where to go, at least not at first. But when your hands stopped shaking long enough to turn the wheel, you knew where you had to go.

...

Every red light, every empty stretch of road—it all blurred together until you were pulling up outside his place, headlights washing over the familiar front porch. The house was quiet, warm light glowed faintly from the living room curtains. You hesitated, your breath catching as your reflection stared back at you in the rear view mirror— eyes red, cheeks streaked with tears, hair a mess, and still wearing the shirt you’d fallen asleep in beside Trey.

You pulled yourself out of the car, not caring to lock it. The porch boards creaked under your feet. You knocked once, a beat, and then the door opened.

Sam filled the doorway—barefoot, and in an old band t-shirt and sweatpants. “Hello?” he asked, before becoming instantly alert and saying your name. He wanted to question why you were here so late, but when he saw you, the words immediately died in his throat. His eyes softened, calling out your name, “.. what’s wrong?”

Your throat tightened, tears threatened to spill from your eyes. The words came out as a broken whisper. “He’s been cheating on me, Sam.” Making his jaw clench. For a beat, he didn’t move. Then, he stepped back and held the door open wider. “Come in.”

You didn’t even try to stop the tears this time. The second you crossed the threshold, Sam’s arm came around your shoulders, guiding you in. His place smelled faintly of old books and leather; comforting in a way. “C'mere,” he murmured, pulling you against his chest. He held you, your fingers quickly fisting in the fabric of his shirt.

“I—” your voice cracked. “He was right next to me, Sammy. Sleeping beside me, and I saw everything. I just— I didn’t know what else to do.”

He exhaled slowly, jaw tight against your hair. He huffed, low and angry but not at you. “You didn’t deserve that.” He rubbed your back to try and comfort you.

You shook your head, still trembling. “I feel so stupid. Like— I should’ve known.”

Sam pulled back just enough to look at you. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself for someone else's choices.” His voice softened, the rough edge fading.

You swallowed hard, tears dripping down from your face, onto your jacket. “I thought he loved me.”

He brushed a tear from your cheek with the side of his thumb, his touch careful. “He’s an idiot. Anyone whose ever been around you for five minutes knows you’re… worth a lot more than that.”

You met his eyes, and something in his expression made your chest ache. The space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving. The old clock in the corner ticked quietly, filling the silence. Sam’s thumb still lingered against your skin, his other hand resting lightly on your back. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm where it rested against his chest—steady.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words small but true.

He gave a faint smile, “Don’t thank me, I’m just glad you came here instead of trying to deal with it alone.”

Your voice broke again, “I didn’t know where to go.”

“And you came to me.” He said quietly. Something in his tone hit deeper than anything else tonight. You didn’t realize until that moment how much you’d always trusted him, how often his name was the first one you thought of when everything went wrong. The sadness stopped falling from your eyes, replaced with comfort now.

Sam guided you to the couch, cool under your clothed legs as you sat. You took off your jacket, placing it next to you on the sofa. He disappeared for a moment, and returned with a glass of water before pressing it into your hands. He sat beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours.

There was a silence after that. It wasn’t the kind of silence that was uncomfortable—just thick with things neither of you knew how to say.

“I always thought he didn’t deserve you,” Sam said finally, voice low. “I just didn’t think he’d prove it like that.”

You swallowed, “I don’t even know what to do now. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

His eyes lifted up to yours, a hand reaching to be placed on your thigh. “You want to stop thinking about him?” You nodded wordlessly.

Sam’s touch stayed light, just enough to keep you anchored. His thumb brushed slow, soothing circles against the fabric of your pajama pants. “Okay,” he murmured, voice low and careful. He hesitated for a minute, exhaling softly through his nose. “Can I be honest?”

You nodded.

“I ...really like you,” he said quietly. The words hung above your head like a chandelier, fragile but sturdy. “More than I should, more than I planned to. I always hated the way he treated yo-”

You felt your lips part before the thought formed. You leaned in, slow and unsure, until the space between you finally disappeared. Sam’s hand stalked up your neck, and into your hair as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, growing more urgent, more demanding. His tongue stroked against yours, the taste of him spreading all over your tongue. It was intoxicating, you found yourself melting against him.

You slowly pulled back, a slow panting leaving your lips. His hand lingered, moving to your cheek now. The scent of him surrounded you—leather, pine, and something uniquely Sam. “Can I take care of you?” he sighed, voice low with an intimate rumble in it. You smile sweetly, cupping his face with your hands and nodding.

He smiled softly, leaning into your neck. His lips trailed light kisses along the column of your throat. You threw your head back, allowing more area for him to mark you up. He pulled away, before leaning up and nipping at your earlobe. “Maybe we can record a little video for him?” He whispered right beneath your ear, before pulling away to look at you; the offer hanging right in front of you.

You felt a thrill run through you, a dark excitement that made your core clench. “Yes,” you breathed, voice growing husky with need. Sam’s face broke into a slow, satisfied grin. “Follow me.” He stood up, before walking down a nearby hallway.

You followed him, before he led you to his bedroom. The room was tidy, but lived in; a few open books on his desk, an old flannel tossed across the desk chair, and the faint smell of Sam's cologne coming from his clothes. You stood near the doorway while he moved across the room to a shelf and pulled something from it.

When he turned back, he was holding an old video camera. The same one the brothers used sometimes for hunts—old but functional. You looked at the camera, pointed at you, before meeting his gaze again. Sam took a small step closer, “Remember.. we don’t have to do anything,” he added quickly. “Not unless you want to..”

“Stop, Sam,” You stepped forward, closing the small distance between the two of you, “I want this, I really do.” You placed a hand on his chest, you could feel his heartbeat quicken.

His eyes gazed down at you, a tender smile playing on his lips. He covered your hand on his chest with his free one, giving it a gentle squeeze. He guided you to the bed, sitting you down. You watched him with trusting eyes as he stepped back. He placed the camera down on the nightstand, and angled it towards the bed more. He clicked a button, and a red recording light started blinking.

“So beautiful,” he said to himself, his eyes roaming over your entire body after moving away from the camera. He knelt down in front of you, strong hands sliding up your thighs once more. He wrapped his fingers around your waistband, before looking up with pleading eyes. You nodded, giving him permission to your entire body now. You were at his mercy.

He peeled them off, along with your panties. He licked his lips as he took in the sight of your glistening pussy, a low groan falling from his lips. He leaned in, nose brushing against your folds, breathing you in. Then, he licked a slow stripe up your slit. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he growled, the sound vibrated against your sensitive flesh. He sealed his mouth over your pussy, eating you out like a starving man at a feast. His tongue delved deep into you, before zeroing in on your clit; sucking at the bundle of nerves, and flicking it with the tip of his tongue. Your head fell back, a long moan tearing from your throat. You leaned back against the bed, propping yourself up on your hands.

Then, he slipped two fingers inside your dripping cunt, pumping them in and out, curling them to hit that spot that made you see stars. His other hand slid up your body, groping at your tit.

You got lost in the sensation as he devoured you, along with the feeling of his fingers curling in and out of you. “Come for me, baby,” he urged, and you do. You clamped down on his fingers like a vice, not letting them slip out of you. Sam groaned in satisfaction as he felt you cum on his face; the vibrations of his voice only intensified your orgasm. He didn’t let up, continuing to fuck his fingers into you, prolonging your climax.

He finally pulled back after you finish, taking his fingers out of you before placing them in his mouth, sucking your arousal off them. Pushing himself up to stand again, he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss again. You could taste yourself on his lips, which made a wave of new arousal start to drip out of you. You could feel his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.

He pulled away for a moment, shedding his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. He kicked off his pants and boxers next, his cock springing free, long and heavy between his legs. You couldn’t help but question if it would fit in you or not.

Meanwhile, Sam moved again, grabbing the camera and holding it in his hands. You grabbed your night shirt, before throwing it over your head and into the corner of the room somewhere along with your pants. He stepped back over to you until his cock was pressing against your folds. “Wrap your legs around me, baby,” he commanded softly, his free hand sliding up your thigh to grasp your ass. He pointed the camera down at where your most intimate parts met.

After giving a small smack to your ass, you wrapped your legs around his waist. He moved his free hand back to his cock, sliding it up and down your folds to soak it. Then, he moved it to meet with your hole. The thick tip parted you, teasing your opening. You whimpered at the small stretch starting to happen.

Slowly, he pushed forward, sinking into your tight pussy. He paused, letting you adjust to the stretch, “Breath, sweetheart,” he coaxed softly, before pushing deeper. Inch by hard inch, he disappeared inside you, and the camera caught every moment. The lens zooming into focus on where your bodies met, the sight of Sam’s cock that just vanished inside of you. “Look at the camera, baby,” he encouraged, moving it so that it pointed at your face. It caught the way your stared the camera down with knitted eyebrows, while your mouth fell open in a silent moan.

He gave a reassuring smile, before burying himself in you, his hips nestled against yours. He started to roll his hips, grinding against your clit. Making you squeeze even tighter around him, forcing a choked groan from him.

He eventually pulled out slowly until just the tip remained inside you, before pushing himself back into you. He set a steady, deep rhythm, hips rolling against yours with every thrust. “Oh god, Sammyy..” you gasped, your cheeks flushed a pretty pink, your tits bouncing slightly with each thrust. “Tell him how good I’m making you feel, baby.” He teased, moving a hand down to play with your clit again.

“Your cock feels so good inside me, Sammy, S-stretching me out so goood…” Your voice was breathy. You grabbed your tits, rolling a nipple in one hand. Strands of hair started to cling to your newly damp forehead. Your lips were parted, glossy and kiss-swollen, it was a look of pure ecstasy.

Sam groaned at your words, moving the camera back down from your face, to your tits where you held them, then to where you two met. “Taking me so well…” he echoed quietly. He started pistoning his hips, driving into you with a new-found vigor. The bed creaked beneath you, repetitively hitting the wall it was against. He gripped your thigh, and pushed it away from your other one, driving into you even deeper. You looked down, watching as Sam’s cock disappeared into your stretched, dripping pussy. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to the sheets below. The wet, obscene sounds of your bodies meeting filled the quiet room.

His thrusts grew erratic quickly, his breathing ragged. He gripped the camera until his knuckles went white as he slammed into you with a final thrust. With a groan, he buried himself inside you, his cock pulsing as he came inside you. Rope after rope of thick, creamy cum painted your insides. Your pussy clenched and fluttered around him at the same time, milking him until he was dry as your own orgasm started crashing through you.

Sam pulled out of your pussy, a small wet sound filling the air. He got the camera close to your cunt, capturing the sinful sight of both of your releases. Pearly white cum oozed out of your hole, pooling down onto the sheets. Sam reached down with two fingers and scooped up the cum falling down onto the sheets, and fucked it back into your weeping hole.

With a soft click, the red light stopped blinking.

…

New Message

To - Trey Williams

Subject - How’s Your Girlfriend Doing?

[VIDEO ATTACHMENT]

[pr4ktical]

some kind of monster

kinktober, day 5

vamp!sam winchester x afab!reader x vamp!dean winchester

warnings: nsfw!! dubcon!! facefucking, dp, tied up, blood play(?), hunter/prey

synopsis: being a hunter had its perks, but when it comes to running into old partners that became vampires, isn't very lucky. hunting you down, you run for your life trying to escape them. they end up catching you, and you see that their fangs slowly become more elongated than usual..

author notes: happy halloween! that's a wrap on kinktober! thank you all SOOO much for the support and likes recently, it pushes me to actually want to write because people enjoy them! so, with that being said i have a bunch of fics planned for the future! i have NOOO tolerance for wincest, there is none of that in this.

The forest is alive with sound—every branch crackling, leaves crunching, your breath slicing through the cold night air. Every inhale burns, your lungs raw, throat tasting like rust and rain. You’ve been running for what feels like forever, legs heavy, heart pounding, but you don’t dare stop. Mud splatters your jeans, your face, your hands. There’s blood too—warm once, now sticky and half-dried on you. You don’t know if it’s yours or someone else's. You don’t want to know.

Then you hear it. Footsteps behind you. Quick, confident, too close. And a laugh—low, dark, and familiar. Dean’s laugh. You used to trust that sound, used to smile to it. Now it sends chills up your spine. There’s something wrong in it, something feral. As if the devil learned to smile.

You tried to save them, God, you tried. The Latin spells, blood wards, salt circles—everything you could remember, everything you could find. You tore through the lore until your eyes burned, until your fingers split open turning brittle pages.

Another snap of twigs, and an echo of a breath that isn’t yours. You stumble forward, chest splitting open with every gasp. Something makes you stop. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s the silence that follows, heavy and wrong. The forest feels as if it’s holding it’s breath.

You turn, eyes scanning the trees. The shadows move just enough to make your stomach drop. Every direction looks the same—black, endless, closing in. You take one hesitant step back, boots sinking into the wet ground. That’s when you hear it.

Footsteps. From your right. Then another, from your left.

They’re circling you.

Your pulse stutters. You whip around, trying to track the sound, knife raised, cross tight in your grip. The air feels colder now, thicker, and for a moment, you swear you can feel eyes on you—waiting. Watching.

Then, Dean’s voice slices through the dark, lazy and cruel. “C'mon, sweetheart,” he calls, his tone dripping amusement. “You’re makin’ us work for it.”

You spin again. The forest goes dead silent once again. No wind, no insects, and no heartbeats—except yours. Loud, human, terrified.

Then he steps out of the dark. Dean Winchester, but not the one you knew. His skin is too pale, veins shadowed blue beneath it. His eyes are still green—but the warmth is gone, replaced by hunger. Moonlight glints off the blood smeared around his mouth, streaked across his chin and down his neck like war paint. Some of it’s old, dried in dark patches. The rest is fresh—wet enough to glisten when he moves. His grin flashes fangs that catch the light like tiny blades, the red on his teeth shining dark in the glow. “Still cute when you’re scared,” he teases, voice sweet poison.

“Stay the hell away from me.” Your voice shakes, knife trembling in your grasp.

A rustle to your left. You whip your head toward it—Sam.

He steps out from between the trees, tall and silent, his expression unreadable. But the sight of him still knocks the air right out of your lungs. You used to see kindness, warmth, life in those eyes. Now they’re all hollow. Cold.

And you see the blood staining his face too. It’s worse on him. It stains his mouth and jaw, smeared up across his cheeks like he’d tried to wipe it away and gave up halfway. A dark trail runs down his throat, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

“Dean,” Sam states, tone flat. “Stop playing. End it.”

Dean glances over to Sam. “Always so cold, Sammy. Where’s your sense of fun anymore?”

Your heart hammered loud enough for both of them to hear it. Dean tilts his head, listening. “Hear that, Sammy?” He grins wider, pressing a finger to his ear in mock delight. “That little heartbeat says ‘run.’”

For a second, his grin falters. Just enough for you to catch a flicker of something else—something that isn’t hunger. But before you can name it, he takes a slow step forward, boots sinking into the damp earth with a soft squelch.

You lift the cross, hand shaking. “I said stay back.”

Dean chuckles, low and dangerous. “You really think that’s gonna stop me?”

The world tips sideways before you can take a breath. A blur of movement, the smell of blood and and wet earth— and Sam’s cologne, faint and familiar. You were suddenly on the ground; the knife torn from your grip. The air rushes from your lungs. Mud pressed cold against your cheek as weight pins you down.

Sam straddles you with eerie precision, one hand locking around your wrist, the other pressing down on your shoulder. His face doesn’t change, his eyes are empty glass. “Stop fighting,” he says.

You thrash anyway, every muscle screaming. Your free hand clutching the cross so tightly it digs into your palm, the edges biting into skin.

You twist beneath Sam’s weight, swinging the cross up towards him, desperate to make contact. It grazes the side of his neck, and the reaction is instant. His skin sizzles beneath it, the smell of scorched flesh filling the night wind.

Sam jerks back with a painful hiss. The movement loosens his grip just enough for you to wrench one wrist free, your breath coming in ragged gasps. But before you can strike again, Dean’s boot slams down, kicking it from your grasp. The cross flies from your grasp, landing somewhere in the trees with a dull thud.

“Nice try,” Dean drawled. He crouched beside you, his shadow spilling over your face. You looked up at him—the veins along his throat pulsed, dark and thicker now. His fangs were extended fully, gleaming white in the moonlight. It wasn’t just thirst; you heard something about this before when reading up on vampire lore. The elongating of his fangs were a sign of dark, primal arousal. The sight of you, terrified and at their mercy, had aroused him in the most visceral way possible.

Dean’s smile curves wider when he sees the realization flicker across your face. He can practically see the thought forming, the way your fear tangles with disbelief. His laugh is low, humorless, crawling beneath your skin. “I can see that pretty little brain of yours working,” he says softly, his tone almost affectionate in it’s cruelty. He drags his thumb along your jaw, slow enough to make you flinch.

His eyes flicked down at your chest, smashed against the muddy ground. He could practically smell the adrenaline pumping through your veins, hear your heart hammering against your rib cage like a trapped animal desperate to escape. “Realize what you’ve done to me, right?” He asks, making your skin crawl.

You let out a scream, loud and blood-curdling, hoping that someone, anyone, might hear your distress. But, Dean silenced you swiftly. He clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling any further sounds. His cold, dead fingers dug into your warm cheek. “Ah, ah, ah, none of that.” he chided, voice dripping with mocking disapproval. “No more of that now, sweetheart.”

With a sudden, sharp tug, Dean tore a strip of fabric from your shirt. The night air hit your skin like ice, and before you could speak, he shoved the torn cloth between your teeth, twisting it tight around your head. He moved down now, you could feel the rough, calloused skin of his hands winding the remaining fabric around, binding your hands together. He gave the knot a sharp tug, ensuring it was secure, before releasing your hands once again. Dean ran a hand down your arms, tracing he curve of your shoulder blades through the ripped shirt. “Can’t have you trying to fight us off anymore, can we?”

Sam backed up after Dean tied you up, his gaze raking over your helpless form, lingering on the way your hips and ass were upturned, legs kicking feebly. A dark hunger gleamed in his eyes as he drank in the sight, his tongue darting out to wet his blood-soaked lips. He could see the fear in your expression, the way your breath came in short, panicked bursts. It sent a thrill of anticipation through him, his cock twitching in the confines of his jeans.

Dean, never one to miss an opportunity, reached out and delivered a sharp smack to your ass. The sound of the impact rang out in the night air, followed by your muffled yelp of pain and surprise. “She’s got a nice ass, doesn’t she?” Dean commented, a grin spreading along his face as he glanced at his brother.

Sam’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He said nothing, but the intensity in his gaze only grew, his eyes boring into your exposed flesh like a predator eyeing its prey. Dean took his silence as confirmation, making him laugh. You felt the heat of Dean’s body move to press against your backside as he leaned over you, his breath cold against your neck. “You’re in for a real treat, sweetheart,” he cooed, sliding a hand down to grip your hip. He gripped it hard enough to leave a bruise, before sliding them further and further down.

His fingers met your waistband, and with a sharp tug, he yanked them down to your thighs. The denim scraped roughly against your skin. You tried to squirm away, but his grip on you held you in place. He roughly pulled your jeans the rest of the way off, along with your panties. He groaned at the sight, licking his fangs. He plucked the fabric from the inside of your jeans; making your eyes widen as he held up your thong. The crotch part of them were visibly damp, showing the two men how your body betrayed you.

Dean slowly brought your panties to his nose, inhaling deeply. His eyes fluttered shut as he savored your scent, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Fuuuuuckkk, she smells good,” he mumbled, before holding the thong out to Sam, offering him them. Sam glanced at the garment, then back at your tightly pressed together thighs. He plucked the thong from Dean’s fingers, bringing it to his nose as well. He inhaled just like Dean did, his pupils dilating as your arousal filled his senses. He groaned, before taking another smell. Dean laughed at him, dark and low. He crouched back down, hand sliding down your ass again. He groped your ass, landing a few light smacks to it as well.

A single tear rolled down your cheek as the humiliation of your exposure sank in. You were utterly vulnerable. But, despite the shame and fear coursing through you, you could feel a traitorous heat building even more between your legs. Sam noticed your tear-streaked face and the ways your thighs clenched together, as if trying to hide shameful excitement. He tucked the thong carefully in the pocket of his jacket, a wicked glint in his eye. Dean watched as Sam joined him, both men now crouching on either side of your helpless form.

They exchanged a look, silent communication passing between them. “You gonna go first, or me?” Dean asked. Sam’s eyes flicked to your face, taking in your fearful expression and flushed cheeks. He could smell your arousal, see the way your hips twitched. “After you,” he said coldly.

Dean’s hand slid down to your inner thigh, squeezing the soft flesh. He started to force your legs apart, wider and wider. You tried to resist, to keep yourself covered to the best of your ability, but they were stronger. Sam gripped your other knee, fingers digging into your skin as he pulled your leg out to the side, spreading you open completely.

“Please, Sam— Dean—” You whimpered. You tried to beg, tried to plead, but your voice was muffled by the gag. He simply tightened his grip, holding you in place as Dean leaned in closer. “Just relax, sweetheart.” He purred, caressing your jaw. “We’re gonna make you feel so fucking good.” He moved from your ear, to in between your legs. You felt the first brush of his tongue against your folds. A jolt of electricity shot through you at the contact, back arching.

His tongue started digging deeper into you, flicking in and out of your hole. You could feel the sharp points of Dean’s fangs pressing against your flesh, making your head spin. “Fuck, she tastes even better than she smells,” Dean sighed, the vibrations of his voice sending waves of pleasure through your core. He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.

Meanwhile, Sam watched his brother work, eyes dark with lust as he stared at your leaking cunt. His hand slid up your side, calloused fingers brushing against the side of your breast, through the torn fabric of your shirt. He palmed the soft mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh. His thumb found your nipple, pinching and pulling at it too. Sam’s other hand drifted on his own body, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his jeans, popping the button open. The zipper followed, and he was shoving his jeans and boxers down in no time. His cock was freed; springing up, long and girthy. The swollen head already glistened with precum.

Dean stood up, quickly shedding his jeans and boxers as well. His cock was thick, a bit shorter than Sam’s, but still so much wider. Dean stroked himself a few times, spreading spit and his precum down the length. “Get ready, sweetheart,” Dean stated flatly, a cruel smirk on his face as he notched the swollen head of his cock at your entrance. “I’m gonna ruin this little pussy.”

He gripped your hips hard, pulling you up so that you rested on your hands and knees. With no further warning, he thrusted forward, burying his cock into your dripping hole. A guttural groan tore from his throat at the feeling of your walls stretching around him, gripping his invading length. “Fuck! So goddamn tight,” he whimpered. Dean gripped your hips hard, bottoming out before he started to move. He pulled out just until the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in. He stretched you out deliciously, you never felt so full. He set a hard and fast pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the night air as he took you from behind, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with each powerful thrust.

Sam shifted to kneel in front of you, gripping your chin and tilting your head up at him. He tugged the gag down, letting it fall around your neck. His cock bobbed inches from your face, the scent of him filling your nose. “Open your mouth,” he demanded, smacking his cock against your cheek. You flinched at the feeling, your cheek becoming slightly red. He did it again, on the other cheek, before rubbing the leaking tip all over your face, smearing your skin with his precum. Sam gripped your hair, yanking your head back further and trying to force your mouth open. “I said open, bitch.” he growled. “You’re gonna fucking choke on my cock while he fucks you.”

As if on cue, Dean slammed back into you, particularly harder this time. The intrusion made you gasp, your mouth falling open. Sam took the opportunity to thrust forward, burying his cock down your throat in one push. “Take it all, slut.” Sam snarled, holding your head still as he started to fuck your face. “This is what you were made for, isn’t it? Being used like a fuck toy?” Dean teased, smacking your ass hard.

Each thrust from Dean made your body jolt forward, tits bouncing with each slam of his hips. The lewd sounds of you choking on Sam’s cock, mixed in with the sound of skin on skin was almost overwhelming. Drool leaked from the corners of your stretched lips, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the assault. They both used you like a piece of meat, like a toy they got gifted to play with.

They matched each other’s pace, slamming into you with equal need. Your pussy squelched obscenely as Dean stirred up your organs. He smacked your ass hard, the stinging pain mixing with the intense pleasure. Suddenly, after a while, Sam pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, his cock slapping against your spit-slick face. Dean followed suit, pulling out of your pussy, and meeting Sam’s eyes and nodding with a smile. You whined at the sudden emptiness, your throat hoarse from the abuse it just had experienced.

Sam laid back on the grass next to you, stroking his cock as he watched Dean step away from you. He grabbed you and positioned you on top of him, legs on the sides of his hips. He sliced away the cloth that bound your wrists together, knowing you wouldn’t run away anymore. He gripped your thighs, lining himself up with your dripping, stretched out hole. The head of his long cock nudges against your folds, making you shiver.

"C'mon, sit it on it.” Sam growls, voice rough. “I’m not doing all the work, slut.”

With a deep breath, you sink down, feeling Sam’s shaft filling you to the brim. You gasp, falling over slightly and digging your nails into his chest as your walls started to stretch again. Sam groans, his fingers gripping your plush thighs as his tip kisses your cervix. He started to roll his hips, thrusting up into you.

Sam angled his hips, grinding into your g-spot with each thrust, making your pussy clamp down on him. Dean moved, kneeling behind you, and spitting into his hand. He spread his digits, pressing two fingers against your puckered asshole, rubbing in slow circles. He pushed his fingers past the tight ring of muscle, sinking them deep into you. He pumped them in and out, scissoring and twisting, preparing you for his cock. Meanwhile, Sam’s thrusts grew harder, more demanding.

Dean pulled his fingers out of you abruptly. He gripped your ass cheeks hard, spreading them wide as he placed his cock against your virgin asshole. Without warning, he thrust forward. A groan tore from his throat as your hole clenched around him. They set punishing paces, pistoning in and out of your holes. When Sam would pull out, Dean would push in, and vice versa. The sensation of being so utterly filled, of having your most intimate places being claimed by the two of them, sent jolts of intense, shameful pleasure coursing through your body. Your nerves were alight, your body shook.

Dean’s lips found your neck as he pounded you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh. A sharp cry escaped you, quickly muffled by his hand being placed over your mouth. Sharp, intense, pain flowed through you as he pierced your skin, hot blood welling up to meet his hungry mouth. Dean groaned around the mouthful of your neck, his tongue lapping at the crimson liquid as it flowed, savoring the coppery taste of your blood. The sensation of his mouth on your neck, drinking from you, only seemed to inflame his lust. He gripped you harder, slamming into you with renewed vigor, grunting and growling as he used you.

Sam also reached up and grabbed one of your wrists, and yanking it towards his mouth. Before you could try to do anything, he sunk his own fangs into the delicate skin, piercing the veins. The dual sensations of them feeding on you, combined with the relentless pounding into you, pushed you to the brink of a shameful climax. Your body trembled and shuddered, tears of pained ecstasy streaking your face as they used you.

They could feel your pulse racing, your blood trickling down your body from the wounds, fueling their own dark desires. The taste of you, the feeling of your holes squeezing their cocks, drove them wild with primal urge to conquer, to possess, to ruin. Dean’s hand slid around to your front, gripping your throat, squeezing, as he drank deeper, fucking you harder, faster, driven mad with lust and the taste of your blood. Sam’s hand tightened around your wrist, fingers digging into your skin, as he drank to his fill.

Dean’s hips stutter, his grip on your throat tightening even more are he felt his own climax building. With a hiss, he buried his fangs deeper as his cock throbbed and pulsed in you. Hot, thick ropes of cum erupted from his dick, painting your insides white as he emptied his balls deep in your guts.

Sam snarled, sucking harder into your wrist, drawing more of your sweet blood into his mouth. You could see the blood smearing all over his mouth, his pupils pulsed with his cock. He slammed into your cunt, his own cock pulsing and twitching as he pumped your womb full of his cum.

Your body convulsed still, back arching as you felt their releases seep into you. It pushed a second orgasm through you. Your pussy shamefully clamped down on Sam’s cock again, milking him for every last drop as your asshole squeezed Dean’s cock aswell. Wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure crashed over you, your mind going hazy and dark as you were filled by the brothers. The last thing you heard their voices, distant and muffled, as your vision swam and faded to black.

“..take her with us. Can’t let a prime piece of ass like this go to waste."

Then, nothing. Darkness claimed you, their voices fading as you slipped into unconsciousness, their thick seed leaking out of your used holes. The last sensation you felt was the feeling of strong arms scooping you up, carrying you off into the night.

...

cred to @/cafekitsune for dividers! :33

[pr4ktical]

step on me

kinktober, day 4

soldier boy x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw!! dubcon!! hunter/prey, knife play, sadism, skull fucking, and pussy slapping!

synopsis: you were an old member of payback, and little did you know, soldier boy was hunting down every single one of them. living in a cabin in the woods, you tried to stay out of public eye because of what happened. you stayed off the grid, not wanting him to find you if he ever did get out. and little did you know, one day coming home, you'd be face to face with america's war hero.

author notes: hi everyone! this might be one of the weaker kinktober writings...i wrote this within an hour because i'm a day late, i had to work today and tomorrow, so i knew i had to get it done, so i'm very sorry if it seems repetitive and rushed. (because it was.. >:C) thank you for so much love on the other writings! i'm gonna attempt to keep active, i have many ideas i conjured up for dean and sam after kinktober! anyway, i'll stop yapping, and please enjoy!

You were gone—out. Your boots slammed into the frost-hardened ground as you sprinted down the slope behind the cabin, crashing through the underbrush like an animal with its leg in a trap. Cold air clawed at your throat, your lungs burned. But you didn’t stop, you couldn’t. You didn’t look back. You already knew what you’d see. Ben didn’t yell, didn’t rage. He let you run. He wanted you to run, wanted to give you that head start just to make it sport.

The trees blurred past as you pedaled downhill, deeper into the woods you thought you knew well enough to survive in. You’d lived out here for nearly three years now. You mapped every stream, every ridge, every deer trail. You knew how the ground bent and twisted, knew which paths turned to swamp, which roots would trio you if you didn’t watch out. But with all that knowledge, it meant nothing when your heart was trying to punch its way out of your ribs.

You heard it then—behind you. Not stomping, not shouting. Just movement. He wasn’t running, not yet. He was stalking, following. Letting you spend your fear, knowing you’d run out of energy soon. You cut left, leaping over a split log. Your foot slipped, but you caught yourself. Get up, keep going. Branches slapped at your face, tore your jacket. Your breath came out in ragged clouds. You hit the dried riverbend and followed it, boots skidding on the slick rocks. Your calves screamed, lungs begged you to stop, just for a second—but your mind screamed louder. If you stop, you die.

Up ahead, there was a tree. Fallen years ago, massive and thick enough to hide behind. You dove toward it, dropping into the brush beside the trunk. You pressed your back against its cold, damp bark. Your body shook. You placed a palm over your mouth, forcing your breath through your nose, counting in your head to slow your heart. You had to get your pulse under control—had to stop it from roaring like a drum that he could follow.

You heard him somewhere up the ridge. Leaves crunching under heavy boots, deliberate and measured. “Damn,” he called out, “Still fast, huh? Gotta admit—I figured you’d be slower after all that hidin'. Livin' off beans and canned chili in a shack like some doomsday prepper." He was getting closer.

You shrank lower behind the trunk. Your heartbeat screamed in your ears. You felt every thud like a countdown to a bomb. “I gotta say,” his voice echoed through the trees, “this whole ‘feral-woman in the woods’ thing? Kinda hot, real gritty. Makes me wonder what you’ve been doing with all that time alone.”

You didn’t move, not a twitch. You closed your eyes. He was playing, like a predator with it’s prey. A branch snapped somewhere to your right, you tensed. You heard the foot steps growing closer and closer. You didn’t dare breathe. “I can hear that little heart thumping,” he whispered, smiling. “I know your around here, little rabbit.” His voice dropped to a low rasp, each word dripping with mocking amusement. Suddenly, a shadow fell across the forest floor, and you knew he was right behind the trunk. Your heart jack hammered so hard you thought it might burst through your chest. The seconds stretched into an eternity as you waited, frozen in terror and anticipation, praying he would go somewhere else to try to 'find' you.

Without warning, you felt a large hand clamp down on your shoulder, fingers digging into the fabric of your jacket, and pulling you up to stand. You couldn’t help but let out a strangled yelp. Ben’s grip tightened, wrenching you around to face him. He loomed over you, his tall, muscular frame casting you in shadow. “Found you,” he growled, a cruel smile twisting on his lips. He tossed you into a nearby tree, holding you there. His other hand came up, fingers curling around your throat. Not squeezing, not yet at least— but the threat was clear. He could snap your neck like a twig if he wanted. His thumb brushed over your racing pulse, feeling the frantic beat. “I think it’s time we had a little... 'chat', don’t you? Catch up on old times,” he purred, darkly.

You swallowed hard, your mouth bone-dry with fear. You knew you had to say something, anything, to try and reason with him. But your words failed you. A whimper escaped your lips as you stared up at him, eyes wide with terror. “Ben, please… I never meant for this to happen. I swear, I didn’t know they were going to-”

He cut you off with a harsh laugh, fingers tightening briefly around your throat in warning. “Shut up,” he snarled. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You think running away and hiding like a coward makes up for what you did? For leaving me to rot in that hellhole?” His other hand released your shoulder, only to grip your chin roughly. You could feel the calluses on his hand, the strength in his fingers as he tilted your head around, examining you like a piece of meat.

“I’ve thought about this moment for a long time,” he murmured, voice dropping to a low, menacing rasp. “Dreamed about all the ways I could make you pay for this. And now, here we are.” His thumb brushed over your lower lip, pressing down hard enough to make you wince. “I’m going to enjoy breaking you,” he promised darkly. You shuddered at his words, a cold sweat breaking across your skin. You knew what kind of man he was, the things he was capable of. And now, all that cruelty and hatred was directed at you.

“Please, Ben..” you begged, voice breaking on a sob. “Don’t do this. I’m begging you, just let me go. I’ll do anything, just please.. don’t hurt me.”

A wicked grim split his face, eyes glinting with feral light. “I know you will,” he agreed, voice dripping with sinister amusement. “You’re going to do whatever I say, whenever I say it. Right, sweetheart?” He moved his hands to grip your chin tightly, forcing your mouth to fall open in a silent cry. You could only whimper in response, your body shaking like a leaf. You were at his mercy.

Ben’s hand slid from your chin to wrap around your throat again, squeezing just hard enough to make your breath come in short, desperate gasps. His other hand moved to grope roughly at your tit, fingers sinking in the soft flesh and pinching your nipple through your jacket and shirt. You let out a choked out moan, attempting to pull away, but failing. “Look at you, so fucking responsive,” he taunted, rolling your nipple between his fingers. “I bet this cunt of yours is drippin' already, isn’t it?”

To punctuate his words, he thrust his knee between your legs, grinding the rough material of his uniform against your clothed core. The friction sent a jolt of reluctant arousal through you, and you couldn’t help but buck against him. Ben chuckled darkly, feeling your hips move against his thigh. “Fuck, you’re already humpin' my leg like a bitch in heat. I’ve barely touched you, too.”

He released your tit to grab your hip, yanking you harder against him. His hand gripped your jaw again, squeezing until your mouth fell open. He took advantage, thrusting two thick fingers past your lips, making you gag and sputter around the intrusion. “Suck,” he commanded, pumping his fingers in and out of your mouth roughly. “Get ‘em nice and wet. You’re gonna need this prep for when I shove my cock down your throat.”

Tears streamed down your face as you struggled to obey his commands, drool dripped down your chin, down onto your shirt. The taste of the salt from your tears, and the dirt from his fingers mingled and mixed together. All the while, Ben ground his knee harder against your clothed sex, rubbing against your sensitive folds until you thought you might cum just from that alone.

Suddenly, he moved his knee away, leaving you aching. He took his fingers out of your mouth, a string of saliva left you connected. But before you could catch your breath, he pushed you down on your knees. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and wrenched your head back, forcing you to look up at him. His other hand fumbled with his pants, you could see the massive bulge straining against them. “I’m going to fuck your skull, bunny,” he growled, freeing his thick, veiny shaft. He slapped it against your cheek, smearing your tear-stained skin with his pre-cum.

You whimpered in fear and reluctant anticipation as he gripped your hair tighter. You opened your mouth, crying out in pain. He took advantage of this, slapping his heavy cock against your mouth, smearing your lips with his musky essence. The swollen tip pushed past your lips. “Open wider, whore,” he mumbled, slamming his hips forward and burying his cock down your throat. Your eyes widened as your mouth stretched obscenely around his length, your nose quickly becoming pressed against the curls at the base above his cock.

Ben set a punishing pace, fucking your face with short, but precise thrusts. Each made you gag and choke, tears and drool made a mess of your face. The taste of his salty pre-cum coated your tongue, the scent of him flooded your senses. “Cry like the pathetic slut you are,” he laughed, finding this so incredibly arousing. He punctuated his words with hard thrusts, before stopping balls-deep in your convulsing throat. Your eyes rolled back, leaving you gagging and gasping for air around his dick.

Quickly, Ben tore your mouth off his throbbing cock, leaving with a wet pop noise. You gasped for air, coughing, chest heaving and lungs burning. But, he didn’t give you long to recover. In a flash, he spun you around and shoved you face-down over the fallen log you previously hid behind; your cheek pressed against the rough bark.

He pulled your leggings down to your thighs, exposing your ass to the autumn air. The thin fabric of your panties did little to protect your sex from the cold air. You felt a sharp smack against your ass, the sting of his palm making you yelp and jump forward. Laughing behind you, he squeezed and kneaded the abused flesh, fingers sinking into the skin. The hand moved down, sliding between your legs. Moving even lower, he circled your clit with rough circles, making you gasp and twitch.

“Look at you, fuckin' soaked.” he taunted, hand sliding up to your thigh, gripping the soft flesh hard enough to keep you in place. You shuddered at his touch, equally terrified and aroused. “You gettin’ off on being used like a set of holes, aren’t ya? Dirty girl.” he purred.

Before you could protest, you heard the unmistakable sound of metal clicking against each other. Ben drew one of his pistols from the holster at his hip. Your heart leapt into your throat, becoming even more terrified than before. Oh god, he’s going to kill you. You tried to scramble away, but the grip on your thigh tightened. You feel the cold barrel of the gun start to be pressed against your clothed sex. “N-no please, don’t do this!” you begged, looking back as your voice shook. Chuckling darkly, he pressed the gun harder against your cunt. “You don’t get to make demands, slut.”

He moved your panties to the side as tears streamed down your pink cheeks. Despite your pleas, he started to move the gun, rubbing the cold metal up and down your soaked slit, covering the mussel with your arousal. Your begging turned into a sharp cry as he thrust the gun into you. The sensation of the hard metal pressing into your sensitive, soft flesh made you see stars. Slowly, he started pumping the gun in and out of your pussy. You could only whimper and moan, your body writhing beneath him as he used the gun to fuck your pussy. The fear and pleasure mixed together, short circuiting your brain until all you could do was feel.

Ben could see and feel your walls fluttering around the cold metal shaft plunging into you. Your whimpers and moans grew louder and more desperate as he fucked you with his gun. “I just cleaned this gun, and here you are, getting it all dirty again with your slutty fucking pussy, filthy bitch.”Your arousal dripped down the gun, his hand, and onto the forest floor. He thrust the gun fully into you now, before pulling it out abruptly. He shifted behind you, and you felt his heavy cock start to be spread along your gaping opening. “Beg for it, dirty whore,” he growled, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. The gun was long gone now, “You want to make your betrayal up to me?” You nodded eagerly. “Then beg me to ruin your fucking cunt.”

His words dripped with disdain, each one that only seemed to turn you on more. Your pussy clenched around nothing. The head of his cock caught on your entrance, tip only slightly stretching you out. “Please, please fuck me with your cock!” you babbled, too far gone to care how pathetic you sounded. “I need it so fucking bad, I wanna m-make it up to you! I’m s-so bad.. f-fuck!”

Your begging turned to a yelp as he suddenly slammed his hips forward, balls-deep inside you. Your body spasmed, cunt fluttering around him like it was trying to adjust around the sudden intrusion. Ben gripped your hips again, and began to pound into you with brutal force. Each thrust shook your entire body, tits bouncing with the impact. You could only sob and wail as he used you like a fuck toy, hips slapping against your ass with insane force.

His other hand grabbed a fistful of hair again, moving you to have your back against his chest. Your back arched, forcing him deeper into you. “I’m gonna fucking ruin you.” He ground his cock deep into your womb, making you scream. Tears continued to pour down your cheeks as pleasure bordered on pain. He laughed at you, as his balls slapped against your ass with each thrust. The sound of flesh on flesh broke through the silence in the forest.

A hand left your hair, coming down to slap you hard across your face. “Stop fucking screaming, bitch.” Moving your head, you look at him. Your makeup was smeared, and left streaks along your cheeks. “I’m sorry, ‘m sorry! P- I just wanna make it up to you..please-please let me fix this..”

He barked out a laugh again, “Make it up to me? You think this was gonna fix what you did, stupid slut?” He shook his head; he looked feral. “No- not only this. I’m gonna keep you around, keep your cunt handy when I need it.” He slapped you again, cheeks growing redder with each touch. “You’re mine now, understand? My fuck toy to ruin, whenever I want, wherever I want.” You knew he meant every word, knew that he would keep you. And in that moment, the thought of being his to use and abuse sent a dark thrill through your veins.

He could feel you pussy start to clench around his pistoning cock, your body tensing as your orgasm approached. He knew you were close, especially with the way your cunt was milking his cock, trying to coax his own release. He smiled, a wicked gleam in his eye as he fucked you harder. “Gonna cum on my cock like a nasty bitch in heat? Do it. Cum for me, scream for me, let me feel this dirty whore’s pussy cum all over my cock.”

The words leaving his mouth, combined with the relentless pounding of his cock into your aching core, finally pushed you over the edge. You threw your head back and screamed. Your pussy clamped down on his shaft like a vice as your orgasm crashed through you. Your juices gushed out all over his dick, falling down to his balls and upper thighs. “Fuuuuckk yeahhh!” Ben groaned, continuing to slam into you as your cunt milked his cock.

His cock throbbed and jerked inside you, before slamming into you one last time, his tip kissing your cervix. Jets of hot, thick cum painted your insides, filling you up with his seed as he emptied his heavy balls inside you. He grunted and grinded his hips against your as he pumped you full.

His seed slowly started leaking out of where you both were connected. You felt your legs shake, as you lowered your head. He pulled out with a guttural groan, his cock slipping out of your abused hole with a gush of his cum falling out. You could feel it leaking out, and trickling down your thighs. He tucked himself away, lowering you down over the log.

“Get dressed,” he ordered, voice rough and dismissive as he tucked himself back away. You slowly sat up, and pulled your panties and leggings up. You winced at the feeling of the fabric rubbing against your dripping cunt. Standing up, Ben grabbed your arm roughly. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You’re not going anywhere, slut.”

...

creds for dividers to @cafekitsune !!