Hiiii omg first off I love your writing sm you’re too good
I had this idea where the reader and Sam are watching tv or a movie or something and she starts touching him and kissing him or whatever and obviously he’s into it and trying to be responsive but she tells him to focus on the tv and not do anything
Idkkkk I thought it might be good!!!!
The movie is good, but not good enough to keep your attention, not when you’re snuggled up with your back against Sam’s chest, your body nestled between his long legs. His chin is on your shoulder, watching the flickering images coming from the television, his arms around your waist comfortably. The movie had been his idea, some film you’d only pretended to be interested in seeing because he’d sounded so excited at the premise of watching together, but you have things other than the plot of the movie on your mind.
You subtly turn in his arms, and he smiles down at you. He takes the hint when you purse your lips, giving you a quick peck before letting his attention wander back to the screen. Inevitably, you want more.
Innocently, your hands start roaming. He sighs as you caress his chest over his shirt and leans his head into your hands as you gently scratch your nails against the back of his neck. You press a feather light kiss to his skin, just above his collar, and his breath catches, but he keeps watching the screen. You keep kissing random spots on his neck and jaw while one hand grips the firm bulge of his bicep.
Sam shifts underneath you, easily distracted by the press of your soft lips. With one giant hand, he brushes your hair away from your face before meeting you in a slow, deep kiss that has your heart beat resonating between your legs. He pulls you closer, handling you as if you weigh no more than a ragdoll, his tongue taking immediate ownership of your mouth. The audio from the television fades into the background, lost behind the sound of your joined ragged breaths and the shameless smacking of your lips.
“Missin’ the movie, baby,” You murmur, pulling away from his now glossy, saliva coated lips. His gaze is locked on you, your lips, then your eyes, pupils blown wide.
“S’fine,” He mumbles dismissively, leaning in to kiss you again, but you stop him with a soft hand to his lightly stubbled jaw. You turn his face towards the screen.
“C’mon, you’ve been talking about watching this all week,” You purr. “Don’t let me distract you.”
But the second you start kissing and gently sucking just below the ramus of his jaw, he wiggles underneath you, breathing shakily.
“But you are,” He asserts, hand sliding down your back. “Not that I mind-“
“I think you should be capable of multi-tasking,” You murmur with a teasing grin, again turning his face away from you and towards the screen. “Keep watching.”
He rolls his eyes but it’s softened by the covert lift of the corners of his lips. After relaxing against the arm of the couch, hands flexing against where they now loosely hold your hips, he obediently watches the television. Suspenseful music fills the room, but you really couldn’t care less about the plot or the characters, not when it’s much more fun to play with Sam.
Feeling particularly devious, you move from laying between his legs to fully straddling his lap, putting your body flush against his as you once again enjoy running your lips over the territory of his neck. You feel the stiff outline of his swelling cock through his sweatpants, only your little, soft cotton shorts separating you from it. As you start to create friction on his lap, his fingers dig into your hips. You’re partially lost in the feeling of his hardness pressing so snugly against your beating clit that you don’t immediately notice that once again, he’s abandoned the movie. With an unhinged jaw, he’s watching your hips move between his hands. A moment later, he’s guiding your movements.
You let your teeth scrape against his pulse point, your palms on his chest catching the way he shudders at the sensation. “Pay attention or I'll stop.”
“You won’t stop.” He challenges.
You smile. “Try me.”
He holds eye contact with you for a few seconds as if debating arguing further. Before his eyes slide beyond you, back to whatever is happening on screen, he calls you a brat under his breath. You reward him by continuing to rub yourself up and down the obvious shape of his erection, feeling your wetness dampen the thin material between your legs. Besides the occasional twitch and lift of his hips to meet your movements, he watches the movie with a tight jaw and an almost blank stare. But you can tell by the color rising on his cheeks and his breathing that you’re getting to him.
You give up grinding your pussy along his length to grip him through his sweatpants with one hand. His head rolls to the side in response, attention unwillingly pulled away from whatever cinematic action is unfolding in front of him in favor of the feeling of you rubbing him.
“You really love making this hard for me,” He mumbles through shallow breaths.
“No,” You muse. “I love making you hard for me.”
“You sure you don’t want me to pause it?” He asks, eyes darting toward your mouth quickly as you sloppily lick the palm of your hand.
“Just keep watching.” You say plainly, as if you aren’t sliding your hands into his sweats to hold his hardness. He huffs the instant your hand wraps around him, hips driving forward slightly to thrust into your waiting fist. “We’re almost to the end, right?”
“Not even halfway,” He says around a gasp, as your thumb dips into the generous amount of precum oozing from his tip, spreading it around his throbbing cockhead.
“Then this is gonna be a long movie for you, baby.”
You tug at his cock slowly. Frustration is practically radiating off of him but he keeps his eyes glued to the screen, though his expression is a dead give away that he’s only thinking about the torture you’re putting him through. You smile to yourself as you have fun with him, massaging his cock too slowly to encourage his peak but enough to have his breath catching and his heart racing, his hips occasionally twitching against the urge to start fucking your hand at his own pace.
Minutes pass and his cock continues to leak as you play with him.
“Feel how wet you make me, baby.” You pull your damp shorts aside, then take his paw of a hand and guide it between your legs. Sam releases a shaky breath as you let his fingers brush your molten heat. You freely whine, using his hand to touch yourself while he maintains concentration on the television.
“Holy shit,” He groans under his breath, his fingers easily finding their way to your pulsing clit. “You’re fuckin’ soaked,” He turns his head to meet your eyes. “Let me take of care you, honey.”
You’re momentarily disoriented by the stroke of his skilled fingers, your hand pausing on his length as you let yourself get lost in the feeling.
“Y’clearly need my attention.” He murmurs.
“Mhm,” You lick your lips, surging forward to meet him in a sloppy kiss. He responds enthusiastically, wrapping his thick arms around your waist, practically crushing you against the solid wall of his chest. He keeps playing with your pussy, the slip of his fingers in your wetness competing with the sounds from the movie.
He takes your hand and brings it back to his throbbing cock, and you respond by grasping him automatically.
“Wait-“ You gasp as your thighs begin to tremble from the intensity of the pleasure sparking from your core. “You’re supposed to be watching.”
“I’d rather do this,” He says into your neck. “Dont act like you don’t want me to make you cum.”
You really can’t wait anymore. Fuck the stupid movie.
“Fine-“ You concede, grasping the roots of his hair in both hands as you begin to move your hips frantically against the firm press of his fingers, his stiff cock forgotten between your bodies. “Then you keep watching-“
It sounds like some pretty epic action is unfolding on the screen, but you’re effectively deaf from the rushing of blood in your ears as your orgasm builds and builds. Matching the motion of his hand, you grind down, chasing the friction that you so ruthlessly had been denying him.
“That’s my pretty girl,” He praises in a low, breathless voice. “Fucking love your sloppy little pussy. Love that you’re always fuckin’ soaked for me.”
You cry out weakly, tugging at his shaggy strands carelessly as your back arches, pushing your hardened nipples into his chest.
“Love that you can’t even watch a movie without reaching for my cock.” He presses his forehead against your temple, panting. “And fuckin’ love when you try to boss me around.”
“You’re always-fuck! Always such a good listener, Sammy.” You whimper, using your harsh grip on his hair to bring his mouth back to yours.
Your orgasm explodes suddenly, your body tightening and convulsing with the overwhelming force of it. He holds you tighter as you wiggle in his arms, crying into the kiss, until the heat stoked between your legs dampens enough for you to regain control of your body.
“You’re missing-“
He cuts you off with another searing kiss, grasping his cock and rubbing the dripping head up and down your throbbing seam. You forget the game you were playing and forget that he’s not watching the film anymore, completely losing your train of thought as he begins to stuff his cock inside of you. You gasp at the stretch, tightening your grip on the roots of his hair until he hisses, sharply snapping his hips upwards, fully impaling you on his full length. You swear you can feel him nestled inside you guts, unable to even take a full breath with him filling you so fully.
“Don’t care about a fuckin’ movie,” He grunts into your ear, his darkened eyes holding your heavily lidded gaze. “How the fuck am I supposed to focus on anything when you’re actin’ like such a desperate little slut for my cock, hm, honey?”
“Sam-“ You moan, tightening your arms around his neck as he roughly thrusts into you, using his hold on the plush globes of your ass to manipulate your body to meet his movements.
“Always got this cock on your mind, is that it, baby?”
He fucks you, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s the opposite of what you intended. Of course, you always wanted this to be the outcome of the night, but you hadn’t wanted him to miss out on whatever’s happening on screen, even if you personally couldn’t care less about whatever the main characters name is.
He comes fairly quickly, with all the teasing he’d endured, spilling into your pussy as you grind down onto him. With his cock still buried deep inside of you, he circles your clit with his thumb until you’re gushing around him again, crying weakly and gasping for air as your pussy uncontrollably flutters.
You collapse forward onto his chest, ignoring the mess of liquids spilling between where you’re still connected.
Suddenly, the light in the room is gone and you realize the credits of the movie are playing, the screen dark.
“Oh shit.” You blurt. “We missed it.”
“There’s this thing called rewind.” Sam says with a smile, hand rubbing up and down your back.
Summary: What you and Dean have is casual with no strings attached, so why do you get so upset when he shows interest in another woman?
Content warnings: smut, dissociation during sex, reader has less emotional intelligence than dean but we love her for it, mentions of bruising from sex, semi rough sex, doggy style, angst, kinda shameful feelings relating to sex, angst, cursing, lowkey self worth issues
wc: 5k
a/n: requests open!!! there most definitely will be a pt2!!
~~~
“You’re unbelievable.”
Dean’s eyes move to the scowl on your face, cutting short his beholden gazing at the waitress’s ass. He’s entirely unapologetic to be caught staring. The fact that he looked at all irritates you, but him doing it so brazenly in front of you infuriates you so much you lose your appetite.
“Easy there, tiger.” He says with an aloof smirk. “M’just appreciating the scenery, that’s all.”
He’s allowed to appreciate whoever he wants. That’s not the problem. The problem is that it's happening in front of your face this time, and you dislike this pretty waitress a little extra. She’d been so focused on calling Dean sugar and sweetie that she’d brought you out the wrong eggs. You’d been surprised she remembered your order at all, with how little attention she paid you.
You give Dean a sour smile. “Can you at least try to keep the drool to a minimum? I’m trying to eat.” Really, you’re just pushing the food around your plate.
He watches you for a second, then he waves the tacky waitress back over, and you stop yourself from rolling your eyes.
“What can I do for you, sugar?” She asks suggestively, only acknowledging Dean.
“Sorry to bother you, sweetheart,” He apologizes with a charming grin. “My friend here ordered over-hard.” He gestures to the two eggs on your plate, which are very obviously undercooked. “Think you could run them back and get her new ones?”
“Of course,” The waitress smiles and then takes your plate without even looking at you. She seems delighted by Dean’s labeling of you as a friend.
When she’s gone, Dean stares at you expectantly. You ignore him, so he says, “Y’know, it’s polite to thank someone when they do you a favor.”
“How is wooing the waitress a favor for me?”
“C’mon, we both know you won’t eat eggs like that. You don’t like when the yolk is runny.” He raises his eyebrows as if to say you know I’m right, why are you acting crazy.
He is right. You think runny yolks are gross. In any other situation, you might even think the gesture was thoughtful, and that it showed that he paid more attention to you than you thought. But right now, you’re annoyed and dedicated to maintaining your attitude. So the most logical explanation for the whole thing is that Dean cared less about getting you what you could eat, anx more about about getting another view of the waitress walking away.
“I’m not hungry, anyway.” You say.
“You gotta eat. Y’need to keep your energy up after last night.” He winks at you like he’s sharing some inside joke, as if he’s totally oblivious to how exasperated you are.
Him bringing that up irritates you even more, which you didn’t think would be possible. You look at your arrangement with Dean for what it is. You sleep together occasionally, partly because it's convenient and partly because he’s good at it. Scary good, sometimes. There’s no romance between you. The sex is hard and dirty. It’s not a situation you’re particularly proud of, especially when the nonchalant, non-committal nature of your relationship is thrown in your face, like it is right now. But the sex has proved too good to walk away from. The longer it's gone on, the more apathetic you’ve become to the arrangement, and Dean himself. You sometimes aren’t sure if you even like him.
Sometimes, you wonder why you bother answering when he calls. The easy answer is that it’s safer for you as a lone female hunter to work with someone else watching your back, but you know that’s not the entire truth. There are a handful of other sole hunters and groups that you work with when you cross paths, but Dean is the only one you see so frequently. And the only one you sleep with.
And you two certainly argue. A lot. It’s kind of your thing. Every so often, you team up to work cases, inevitably end up bickering, and then unavoidably end up fucking. The circle of life, as Dean would call it. He’s capable and reliable on a hunt, and you’d guess he felt the same about you, but once the job is done and all sexual frustrations are relieved, you don’t stick around. You don’t overstay your welcome or wait for Dean to ask you to leave. You find your next case and are gone by the next morning. He never asks you to stay.
That’s how it works. Just a few days together and then you leave the man with the emotional capacity of a teaspoon in your rearview.
Maybe the problem now is that you’d slept with him before finishing the case. So now there’s no avoiding him the morning after. Instead, there’s sitting at the dinghy town diner, forcing yourself to stomach breakfast while he openly lusts after another woman after being inside you not even twenty four hours ago.
Not the best start to your day.
“I could’ve handled it myself.” You snap. “I just didn’t want to get in the way of your eye fucking.”
“How considerate of you.” He says flatly. “Really, what’s got you so pissed?”
Literally everything you’re doing. But you say, “I’m not pissed.”
“You sure? You’re looking at me like you wanna murder me.”
You’re spared from having to answer when the waitress comes back, giving Dean big eyes as she sets the plate down in front of you. He smiles at her.
He catches you glaring at him. “I’m just teasing you, sweetheart.” The corners of his lips twitch into a smirk. “Don’t you worry. You don’t have any competition.”
You recoil. “That’s not- I’m not-” Stammering, you give him a look of disbelief. “I don’t care about competition. There is no competition, I mean.”
Dean smiles wider at your reaction. “Then what’s with the attitude?”
You stare at him as he eats for a second, trying to formulate a thought that isn’t kick him hard in the shin under the table. “I always have an attitude.”
“Ain’t that the damn truth.” He agrees around a mouthful. He swallows before continuing. “But you’re extra feisty today.”
This time you give in to the urge to roll your eyes. You’re reaching your wits end and he’s smiling at you, acting like this is all a game for his entertainment.
“I didn’t sleep well.” You say sharply. “I’m used to sleeping alone. You know, without someone taking up all the space in the bed.” You cross your arms over your chest.
“I don’t think that’s it.” He muses, still smiling smugly. “Looked like you slept like a fuckin’ baby to me.”
Your face heats up at that comment. You internally cringe as you're confronted with the thought of him perceiving you while you were asleep. It just feels like something too intimate for the insouciance between you. And even though Dean truly did take up the majority of the bed with his large frame, you’d slept well. You hadn’t even stirred when he got up to shower, so now you don’t have a good defense.
“Whatever, Winchester.”
“Y’sure you’re not jealous that I’m giving attention to-”
“Now I’m pissed.” You interrupt. “Get a grip, Dean. I don’t care what you do or who you give your attention to, alright? Now can you hurry up and finish eating. I don’t want to stay in this town any longer than I have to.”
Though your tone had been cutting, Dean appears unaffected, simply shrugging in response. “What’s the rush? Got your rocks off and now you’re ready to skip town. M’starting to think you might not enjoy my company.”
“Well, don’t think too hard. Might hurt yourself.”
“Cute.” He sneers. “But you seemed to enjoy my company last night, though.” He pretends to think. “In fact, you couldn’t get enough of my ‘company’ last night, if I’m remembering it right.” He leans across the table towards you and drops his voice, mirth glittering in his verdant eyes. “Hell, I’ll give you ‘company’ right now if it’ll fix that attitude-”
The more primal part of your body stirs at his provocative tone and the deep timber of his voice, but your annoyance quickly beats that side of you back into submission.
“At this rate, you’ll never have my company again.” You lean forward and taunt. You know it’s a total lie but it feels good to threaten him anyway. You’re also curious how he’ll react. You've tried to be done with him before, but for some reason, when he calls, you feel inclined to answer.
In his typical withdrawn nature, Dean deflects with a dismissive joke. “Oh, come on, woman, y’know it breaks my heart to argue with you like this.”
“But you have such a talent for it,” You say with fake sympathy.
“Fightin’ with you is just a hobby. My real talents lie elsewhere.” He counters with a smirk.
You recognize the innuendo immediately. Dean practically defaults to making sexual insinuations, and does it frequently that it frankly annoys the hell out of you. It’s just a constant reminder that the only thing between you two is sex. Sex and hunting. And you know he’s more than capable of handling a spirit or two on his own, so that makes your true value to him more than clear.
“Yeah, like driving me insane?” You mutter.
“If I’m driving you insane, sweetheart, it’s only because you gave me the wheel.” He gives you a deliberate look with his eyebrows raised. A look that somehow says and we’ll keep riding until we crash.
You roll your eyes and check the time. “Whatever that means. Hurry up. Library’s open.”
A few minutes later, the same waitress brings over the check. Dean snatches it off the table quickly, but not before you see the phone number written in pink glitter ink at the top. The corner’s of his lips lift as his eyes sweep over the digits, and you’re not sure why that makes your stomach flip.
You spend the next several hours at the library looking through old paper records. The research takes you both much longer without Sam but you’re thankful he’s not here. Though he’s easier to get along with than his brother, you don’t enjoy the looks he gives you and Dean when you fight, like he’s dealing with children. Like he knows something you both don't.
Eventually, you find the death certificate you were looking for. A hitchhiker had been struck and killed in a hit and run accident over thirty years ago, and now the spirit was apparently haunting the isolated stretch of road where he’d been hit, alongside the big cliffs on the east side of the town. The remains were buried by the family on the side of the road, at the site of the accident.
You meet Dean outside in the parking lot outside the library. He’s busy looking at his phone, so he doesn’t see you coming at first. Despite yourself, you find yourself admiring him as you approach. God knows he might be annoying and callous at times, but he sure is good looking. Tall and broad as he leans against his car, and when he looks up and sees you coming, his smile is blinding. No wonder you keep coming back. How does a girl say no to someone like that?
Dean slips his phone into the pocket of his jacket. “We ready to go?”
“Yeah.” You put the road map on the hood of the Impala and point out where you’ve circled the radius the burial site should be located in. “Bones should be somewhere in here.”
He’s standing close to you and you can smell the rugged mix of leather and cedarwood that follows him around. It makes your head swim for half a second, so you focus your attention on the map. He glances at the map, but then you feel him staring at you.
You flinch when he brushes hair away from your neck, stepping away from him immediately. “What are you doing?” Your heart races at your confusion from the intimate gesture.
“You’re a jumpy thing, aren’t you?” He muses. “Just noticed you have a bruise on your neck.”
Using the side mirror of the Impala, you examine your neck. There are three little bruises at the base of your throat, the exact size of Dean’s fingers you’re sure. He has a habit, which you enjoy but would never say it out loud, of holding you by the throat when he fucks you.
“So?” You ask with regained composure. “S’from you. Now let’s go.”
“From me?” He asks but you’re already getting into the passenger seat. He climbs into the car as well before glancing at the bruises again. “You mean from last night?”
“Yeah,” You say impatiently. “Can you start driving now?”
“In a second. Why didn’t you say anything?”
You give him a bewildered look. “About what?”
Dean looks away and starts the car, drumming his fingers on the wheel. He seems unusually tense. “I must have fucking hurt you last night, then.” He finally says. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
You roll your eyes. “You didn’t hurt me. Seriously. I always have bruises after.”
“What?”
His scandalized expression makes you realize that he would have no idea about the bruises he leaves you with after you hook up because he never gets the chance to see you the next day. It irks you that he’s pretending to care about it, though. He’s not exactly the most gentle lover, so what did he expect? The bruises are always very minor, from getting caught up in the heat of the moment, and you’ve never held it against him.
“It’s just a bruise, Dean.” You murmur. “I’ve had worse.”
“Yeah but not from me.”
“It’s not a big deal. Now come on. There’s a three mile radius we’ll have to search. Better to get it done while there’s still daylight.”
Dean starts the car but he’s uncharacteristically quiet for the majority of the ride. Usually, you’re wishing he would shut up or turn the music down, but the volume is set at a respectable level and he’s not even singing along. You’re not sure what his problem is, but it puts you on edge. Part of the reason your arrangement with him works so well for you both is that it’s simple. No nuances, no extra baggage or anything like that, but today, it doesn’t feel simple. But it’s not your problem because you don’t let it be. He can be quiet all he wants. You don’t have to wonder why.
By the time he pulls off the road, there’s only a few hours until dusk. You grab the weapons and supplies you need from the trunk, which Dean offers to carry, and then start the tedious task of walking along the stretch of road, searching for any sign or marking of the grave site. After the first hour of walking and Dean’s phone constantly going off, you’re frustrated.
“Who’s even texting you, anyway?” You snap.
“Oh, that’s Sam.” He says, putting a hand on your shoulder as you step back from the side of the road the same moment a car goes speeding past. “Just checking in. You know how much of a tight ass he is.”
“Well, maybe you should answer, so he can stop checking in every five minutes.” You mutter, rolling your shoulder out of his grip. As far as you’re concerned, he’s only allowed to touch you in the bedroom. Any other time and anything else is off limits.
Another hour passes. A fairly strong breeze blows over the cliffs, blowing the dust and debris on the road, making the grass you’re walking through sway around your ankles. Your mind starts to wander and lands on the ghost of the hitchhiker. You cruelly compare him to yourself. At least he had someone who cared about him enough to mourn his death and bury his body. That’s more than you have. The thought surprises you, but there’s no time to grapple with its implications because Dean calls your name.
“Looks like a grave to me, what about you?” He asks.
Hidden in a tangle of weeds and tall grass, there’s a malformed wooden cross, desiccated from time and the elements, and an inscribed stone. Despite your arguments, Dean insists upon doing all the digging himself, even when you complain that it’s going to take longer than if you helped.
“Just be a doll and hold my jacket, will you?” He requests with an appealing smirk, holding it out for you to take. “Good girl,” He says when you do.
You narrow your eyes at him but stay quiet. He begins to dig while you just watch. In no time, he’s covered in a layer of sweat, glistening in the low hanging sun. You look away occasionally to avoid getting caught, but you sneak appreciative glances at his body as he continues the hard labor. His biceps swell with each lift of the shovel, the muscles in his back flexing as well.
“Rest in peace, you son of a bitch,” Dean mutters after salting the bones. He drops the match, and you’re just relieved you’ll get to skip town.
It’s after dark by the time you make it back to the inn on the edge of town. It’s a rare occurrence that a hunt goes so well, and you want to keep that momentum going. You see your truck where you left it in the parking lot and linger only to give Dean a half hearted goodbye. He’s texting, probably messaging Sam back that the case has been closed, but shoves his phone away at the sound of your voice.
“You’re headed out now?” He asks incredulously.
“Yeah. I can stop if I need to sleep.”
Really, three days with Dean has been more than enough for you. You feel thoroughly disoriented, like you’ve been adrift from yourself just by being near him. Driving through the night, alone with all the thoughts you’ve so savagely wrestled into tight little cages, doesn’t really appeal to you, but you know better than to linger where you’re not wanted.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Dean barks, jerking his head to gesture towards the inn. “I’ve got the room for another night, and I don’t wanna live with you falling asleep at the wheel on my conscience.”
“I’m perfectly well rested-”
“Thought this morning you said you didn’t sleep well?” He counters with raised eyebrows.
You concede without much other convincing, mainly to avoid getting back into that whole argument again. If he wants to pretend he wants you to stay because he’s worried about you, that’s fine, but you know why he really wants you to stay.
Not even an hour later, he’s coming on to you. The events of the day have soured you against him, but your body still wants him, still responds more willingly than your mind ever does. He’s pressing you up against the wall, with one hand tangled in the roots of your hair, the other pawing at your ass in your jeans, lifting your leg to hook it around his waist as his mouth ravishes yours.
“This what you needed?” He pulls away a fraction to murmur, his wet lips brushing yours. He lets go of your hair to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Round two to get rid of all that attitude-” As if sensing that you’re going to say something snarky back, he rolls his hips against you, pressing the hard line of his erection against the seam of your jeans just right, so that you have to bite your lip to suppress a whine. “Such a bad girl all day, and now you’re playing nice ‘cause you want my cock.” His voice is making you wetter with how breathless, low and gravelly it is.
He dives in for another filthy kiss, his taste completely overwhelming you. His hand engulfs the base of your throat and he uses his hold on you there to pry you away from the wall and toss you onto the bed.
“Now you’ve got nothing to say?” He taunts, standing before you at the foot of the bed while you lay on your back, panting.
Dean pulls his shirt off before reaching for his belt and you feel your pussy spasm with interest. “Come on, you know the drill. Take all that shit off.” He gestures to your clothes.
A few moments later, he’s got you on your hands and knees, both of you entirely bare. He’d teased you with his fingers for what felt like forever, edging you until you left angry scratch marks down his chest. Stingy with getting you to your release as punishment for being mouthy all day.
“Fuck-” He hissed, pulling his hand away from the puffy, wet mess of your pussy to glance down at the fresh red lines running from his pecs to his ribs. “Kitty’s got claws, huh?” He smirked.
You hadn’t meant to hurt him, but the last time he’d stopped rubbing your clit right before you were going to come made you nearly deranged with desperation.
Now he’s dragging his cock between your legs, coating himself in all of your sticky arousal, before you feel the burning intrusion of him plunging inside. If he notices the little black and blue imprints from his fingers dotting your hips and the plush flesh of your ass from the night before, he doesn’t say anything.
He fucks you hard and fast, just the way you like, so that you can only focus on the sensations and not any of the shit flying around in your head. He fucks you like he hates you, and it brings tears to your eyes. Your jaw aches from clenching your teeth against the screams you hold back. You’re honestly surprised he has the stamina to fuck you so raw and aggressively, given he had exerted himself over digging up the bones not too long ago.
Dean folds his body over yours, so his sweaty chest sticks to your back, grunting in your ear with every slam of his hips into you. His hand is around your neck again, squeezing you in a firm grip but without really restricting your airway much. You like the drunk, fuzzy feeling you get from it, and you like the way he’s just making you take it.
“Such a fuckin’ bratty little thing,” Dean uses his grip on your throat to lift your head a bit, so he can murmur directly into your ear. “All fuckin’ day, until I give you what you’re too proud to ask for.”
His dirty talk is constant but you miss about half of it. While during the day your mind runs things, right now, with him pounding into you like it's his job to bruise your cervix, your mind turns off, and you’re just your body. Your pussy is throbbing, muscles in your arms and thighs shaking from the effort of holding yourself up, even with his help. You let him make you feel good. And you do feel good, like you’re floating, like you’re not real. Times like this might actually be the only time you do feel good, so you surrender completely to the feeling. You’re not yourself when you let him fuck you. You’re someone different, someone better and worse at the same time. Or maybe, when he’s using you like this, when you let him use you like this, you’re nothing at all.
He squeezes the flesh of your ass before slapping it hard, and you moan in response. He pulls at your hair, and you whine at the pinpricks of pain that you love, pussy clenching hard as you get dangerously close to coming.
“What a fucking whore,” Dean pants in your ear. “Can feel the way your pussy loves that,” He slaps your ass again and laughs darkly.
He makes you cum by sliding a hand between your legs and playing with your aching clit. You scream into the pillow, as if you're cumming against your will, and he doesn’t relent until you stop shuddering, stop tightening your pussy around him. He comes, still with his hand around your throat, like he owns you, like you’re a dog he has on a leash, and when you think about that in the shower later, it makes you feel sick.
He lets you shower first, and then when you’re done, he goes. You never shower together. And you might sleep in the same bed afterwards, but it’s not like you cuddle.
You sit on the edge of the bed, slowly coming back to yourself from the post orgasm haze. You listen to the muffled noise of Dean singing in the shower, staring at the steam that billows out from under the door. Your body is satisfied and fairly tired, but your mind is restless. You’re thinking maybe you should have left town tonight when Dean’s phone rings beside the bed.
Expecting it to be Sam, you answer it. It’s just like Dean to focus on getting laid, before assuring his brother that he’d made it back unscathed. “Hey, Sam,” Your voice is a little hoarse.
“Sam? What? No, this is Penny, from the diner. Who is this?”
You blink. “You have the wrong number.”
“No,” The insufferable waitress says in her snotty little voice. You can barely hear her over the blood rushing in your ears. “I’ve been talking to Dean with this number all day.”
Your stomach drops to your feet. “Wrong number.” You repeat before hanging up.
You know you probably shouldn’t but you open up the message threads on Dean’s phone. No recent messages from Sam. Just a shit ton from this same unknown number. There’s bile rising in your throat as you realize what it all means. That Dean had taken the number from the restaurant this morning, had reached out to the tacky ass waitress, and had continued to flirt with her via text all fucking day. While standing beside you. And when you’d asked about it? He lied to your face and said it was Sam. And to make the entire situation worse, he’d fucked you after it, too. He’d kept you both on retainer, two chicks on the line so if one fell through, he’d still be able to get his dick wet.
Jesus, you’re such a fucking idiot. You let him do this to you, too.
You read a few of the messages before you feel so sick you have to stop. But you see enough to realize they were making plans to meet up. Tentatively for tonight. He calls her baby and beautiful and other shit he never says to you. Instead, he calls you whore.
Emotions boil under your skin, and you can’t make sense of any of them, until anger surfaces. You know there’s no real reason to be angry with him, other than the fact that he lied to you. You have no claim on him. He’s not yours. Not by a long shot. But you feel humiliated, insulted, and worst of all, fucking hurt. But that only lasts for a second before you smother it under more anger.
Dean steps out of the bathroom with a towel hanging low on his hips, torso naked. Your nail marks on his chest stand out against his tanned skin. “Think I pulled something in my back towards the end there. Think you could-”
“You were texting Sam today?”
The nonchalant expression leaves his face at your tone. He stares at you for a second before heading over to the side of the bed, where his clothes are. “Uh-yeah-”
“Really?” You press.
“Can’t a man get dressed before he’s interrogated.” He half heartedly jokes, but then catches the hardness on your face and becomes sheepish.
“Just answer me.”
“Unless you wanna waterboard me, too. In that case, I can keep the towel-”
“Jesus christ, Dean!” You yell. “This isn’t a fucking joke!”
He stares at you, maybe shocked that you raised your voice, or surprised he’s been caught. “Yeah, I’m not exactly laughing here, sweetheart-”
“You asshole-” You round on him, shoving him as hard as you can but even then he only stumbles on step backward. “Keep lying to my face, Dean. Go ahead. I fucking know it wasn’t Sam. God, you must think I’m a fucking idiot.”
“You know that’s not true-” He raises his voice slightly but it’s only to be heard over your own ranting.
“Oh my god, you’re actually disgusting.” You shake your head at him. “You disgust me.”
“I didn’t exactly do anything.” He frowns. “They’re just messages…and we’re not- uh, you and I don’t- You said it yourself. You don’t care who I-”
“You lied to me, Dean.” You bellow. You’re vaguely aware of the dramatics of the scene you’re causing, and later you’ll probably be mortified by your behavior, but right now, you can’t control yourself. You’ve never been this fucking angry at him, never this disappointed. It just confirms what you knew all along; you’re entirely nothing to him.
“You lied to me, and then you fucked me!”
“I didn’t think you would care! She’s just-”
“Then why the fuck did you lie about her!” You nearly scream, getting in his face. “You wanna fuck her, then do it! Don’t ask me to stay the fucking night with you, when you’re telling some other bitch you’re gonna see her tonight! God, are you really that stupid, Dean? You didn’t think I would care? No, you didn’t think about me at all, you piece of shit.”
He gapes down at you and says your name pathetically. You just stare at him, chest heaving. Finally, he says, “You’re right.”
“Fuck you.” You say, the anger leaving you fast. You have to get out of here. “I’m done. I’m so fucking done with you.”
You’ve had that thought about him before. But this time, as you let the door slam behind you, you think you really mean it.
Summary: You're Dean's girl. It's too bad when you're hit with a lust curse, the only one around is his little brother, Sammy.
warnings: established relationship (Dean x reader), sorta infidelity, p in v sex, unsafe sex, angst
a/n: might consider pt2 if ya'll'd want that
One second you’re fine, and the next, you’re not.
You’d been following after Sam’s hulking figure, going deeper into the stale air of the mausoleum despite the overwhelming presence of death. He had to duck to avoid the cobwebs reaching down from the ceiling like fingers, and his chest was still heaving from the effort it’d taken to pry open the crypt’s door.
You weren’t the skittish type during hunts but you had an uneasy feeling. Maybe it was just the fact that you were used to hunting with Dean, and without him and his constant vigilance, you felt a bit more exposed.
Better not find one scratch on her, Sammy, you hear me? Had been Dean’s parting words before he pressed a quick kiss to your lips. And then to you, in a lower voice, Back before you miss me, baby. Be good. Then you were being pressed into the car that was going to take you a state’s length away from your man.
It went against every fiber of your being to be parted from him. But the last hunt had left him with a mild ankle injury. Even though Dean had grumbled that he was perfectly fine, the fact remained that he couldn’t exactly run if the need arose. He couldn’t even withstand enough pressure on the ankle to drive.
You wonder if he’s pacing the matchbox small motel room, waiting desperately by his phone for the call that confirmed the job was done, that both you and Sam were headed back. This town had been having a string of deaths, all the victims, young and healthy individuals, spiking unnaturally high fevers that seemed to cook them from the inside out. All occurring in isolated locations without another soul around for miles. After canvassing the area and interviewing the necessary people, Sam connected the deaths to a witch’s spirit, divvying out curses from beyond the grave. Seemed like a simple salt and burn situation.
“Give me a hand?” Sam grits out, struggling to shift the heavy stone cover off the coffin settled in the center of the crypt.
One moment you’re struggling to shift the cold stone slab beside him. It moves an inch, and then, it feels like a white hot iron poker strikes you in the spine, causing you to cry out as you collapse to your knees.
You’re vaguely aware of Sam calling your name, kneeling beside you in the dirt and grime on the crypt floor. He feels distant, though you know he’s right beside you. That blistering heat is spreading from your spine, worming its way across your entire body. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut against the throbbing in your head. You can feel the pulsation of your blood, the thrumming heightened to a deafening roar in your ears.
Sam grabs your shoulders in his massive hands, forcing you out of your crouched position. The sensation of his hands on you makes you cry out again, despite your panting, as you register his startled expression through hazy vision.
He repeats your name, voice thick with concern and confusion. “What is it? What’s going on?” His light eyes search your flushed, trembling form.
You wrap your arms around your abdomen, dry mouth gaping. “H-hot-” You gasp, feeling sweat prickle along your hairline and along your back. You can’t make sense of what’s happening to you, what you’re feeling. All you know is it hurts.
There’s heat in your face, but it's worse in your belly and lower. The pulsating sensation settles at the apex of your thighs, and as you do your best to swallow a high whine crawling its way out of the back of your throat, you recognize the feeling. You’re impossibly wet, your adductor muscles quivering from your efforts to clamp your thighs together. Your clit is beating painfully in time with your heart, aching so bad you momentarily forget yourself and reach for it before Sam jolts you again in his panic.
He lays a hand on your forehead and immediately curses. “You’re burning up.” His eyes go wide when you slap his hand away because somehow, having him touch you causes the heat to surge into something worse.
Sam says something else you can’t hear over the rushing in your ears, and then disappears from your sight. You fall to your side, the flush of your skin briefly cooled on the cold stone floor. As you writhe, tears slip from your eyes. You’re seriously considering ripping your clothes off when you roll over to see Sam forcing the lid of the coffin the rest of the way off.
The massive muscles in his arms are pulled taut with the effort, his tanned skin sparkling in the darkness from a layer of sweat. His impossibly broad chest is heaving, and you realize your mouth is filling with saliva at the sight of all his brawn.
This realization chills you. Sam, who you have never looked at as anything more than your boyfriend’s baby brother, is now intensifying the dizzying desire unfurling in your gut. You want him. You know its the curse, figure this must be the fever that the townspeople had succumbed to, but the knowledge doesn’t help you. The fibers of your being are begging for his closeness. You’re losing your clear headedness, losing the ability to be disgusted at yourself for lusting after the wrong brother. The ardor expands inside of you until there is no room for shame.
It takes Sam less than a minute to thoroughly salt the bones before he ignites them. Having built a healthy blaze, he returns to your side. The smell of him, musky sweat, gasoline and smoke, sends you into overdrive, as you scramble away from him, fighting the intense urge to grab fistfuls of his damp shirt.
This is it. You’re going to die. This fever is going to consume you.
“You’re not going to die-” Sam declares, and you realize you must have been talking aloud. “Hey-you’re not going to die.” His voice is firm, deep, reaching the marrow of your bones, but there’s an underlying edge of panic.
You throw your head back, willing yourself not to say what you’re thinking. “I need-need-”
What you need is for him to grab you. To press his body against yours, to still your trembling under the weight of his herculean figure. You need him to handle you roughly, to fill you with everything, anything. The images of it your mind creates make the desire worse. You imagine ripping first your own clothes away, then his, to be skin against skin, to be sticky against the sweat of his chest.
Guilt is definitely present in your mind. It’s just not as loud as it should be.
You try to conjure Dean’s face, to have him star in the chaotic fantasies plaguing your mind instead, and it works for a moment, before Sam’s grabbing you by the shoulders again, and you whine so loudly that Sam looks as if you’ve slapped him.
“Dean- I need Dean!” You practically scream.
You lose control of yourself, finally wedging a hand between your thighs over your jeans. Just the slightest pressure there has your eyes rolling back in your skull. The relief is so intense you can’t even care that Sam can see you.
“...Something’s wrong…feverish and…Of course, I burned the bones but she’s still..” You hear bits and pieces of Sam quickly catching Dean up to speed before he holds the phone up to your ear, hesitating to touch you.
Dean’s voice is gruff on the other line. He says your name in a measured voice, probably already gaining insight into your condition by your panting into the phone. “You’re gonna be alright, babygirl.” He says. “S’all gonna be okay. Need you to tell me what you’re feelin’.”
“On fire.” You whisper through a whimper. “I need to-I need you.” But you know he’s a good day's drive away. And you won’t make it that long.
He seems to understand what’s happening to you. Must have discovered something more about the nature of the deaths because then he tells you, “It’s a curse. You’re gonna have to do it without me, babygirl. Y’know how. Close your eyes and I’ll keep talkin’ to you, and it’ll be like I’m right there.” His voice is tight but you can’t spare a moment to worry about him when your entire body is vibrating, prickling all over with little shocks of electricity.
You don’t even care that Sam is there, paying him no mind as he turns away. You try to focus on Dean’s voice on the phone as he orders you to put your hand into your panties. The anticipation of your own touch has you gasping as you fight with the button on your jeans, and then you need both hands to paw at your zipper, Sam’s phone clattering to the ground beside you.
He didn’t tell you to, but you tear your jeans from your legs as fast as you can, moving with clumsy, desperate movements. Your heart beat is still in your ears as you use two fingers to probe your swollen cunt. You cry out at your own touch, hips twitching, as you slide through the mess between your legs. You’ve never been this wet. It’s made your underwear practically translucent, your arousal smearing all over your inner thighs.
You’re so lost in the rush of euphoria you get from touching yourself you nearly block out the buzzing from the phone, realizing Dean has been trying to get your attention. Without stopping your aggressive movements, you put the phone back to your ear, gritting your teeth against the moan that wants to burst free.
Dean hears you whimpering. “There you are, sweetheart. Better?”
“Some, Dean, a little.” You blurt in a rush, closing your eyes, trying to conjure the image of him in your mind. It’s working, his voice helping you erase all thoughts of Sam. Instead, you think of Dean’s perfect face, the planes of his bare chest, the corded muscles of his shoulder. The pretty smirk he wears when he teases you, pinching your nipples, thumb circling your clit. More than anything, you picture his dick, increasing the speed of your fingers until you’re sure he can hear you playing with yourself through the phone. Certainly Sam, who is barely fifteen feet away, can hear the sloppy sounds of your wetness.
Dean spews off at the mouth, the huskiness of his voice grating against your brain in the best way. “Think of me fucking you, baby, real rough the way I know you like. Fuck, wish I could feel you now. Can just tell you’re fucking soaked.”
You moan appreciatively.
“S’good, baby.” Dean praises gently. “Keep going. As much as you need.”
“I need to cum. I need it so bad.” You whine, ditching the phone again, putting it on speaker, to go at yourself with two hands. Your hole flutters as you shove two fingers inside yourself, the stretch easing the blinding ache minimally, your other hand scrubbing furiously at your clit. It’s true, you’re sure you will die if you don’t come.
“I know, baby.” He muses. “Must be gettin’ close, huh?” You hear him swallow, and it helps you to imagine the bulge in his pants, how turned on he must be from listening to your desperation. “You gonna be good and cum for me?”
You want to. You want to so badly, but no matter how hard you fuck yourself, you can’t seem to get your orgasm to build. Frustration is the only thing building up, and fully aware of how pathetic you sound but too far gone to care, you begin to babble into the phone, your voice echoing throughout the crypt.
“I fucking can’t, Dean- I can’t. I’m gonna die if I don’t cum and I can’t fucking do it-”
You’re devastated that you can’t make yourself come. Rubbing yourself just as frantically, your eyes open a fraction and zone in on Sam, standing as far away as he can. You chew at your lips, mesmerized by the width of his shoulders, the planes of his back that lead to his tiny waist, the sheer fucking size of him, and you bet his cock has to be huge, too.
“I need you to touch me.” You cry out, only Dean thinks you’re crying out for him when in reality, your pleas are for his little brother.
“Baby, I can’t-” Dean’s voice is strained.
“I need more, this isn’t working.” You’re crying in earnest now, the taste of sweat exploding on your tongue. “I swear, I’m gonna die without it, Dean, please. Please, please. Make it stop. I need you to touch me, and I need it now or I’m gonna die.”
There’s only the sound of your ragged breathing and the slick sounds of you fingering yourself before Dean says grimly, “Put Sam on the phone.”
You more or less throw the phone at Sam. You feel like a rabid dog, abandoning your hopes of getting yourself off to tear at your top. You wrangle it over your head but the cool air reaching your sweaty back doesn’t make you feel better.
“Dean, no-” Sam’s voice goes through you, straight to the core. You know you only want him because he’s here in the flesh, but still, you can’t fight it. “No, man…just no!....Are you seriously fucking asking me to-”
Whatever frenzy you were in earlier is beginning to fade, but the pain, the heat, and the lust stays. You feel boneless, and you wonder how long the curse will make you suffer before you truly die. That would be best. Better than doing the despicable. Better than asking too much of Sam, than going too far and altering your friendship with him forever. Better than betraying Dean.
Sam says your name, and he’s crouching right in front of you. Sluggishly, your eyes open. He’s incredibly tense, and his eyes keep shifting. His shirt is stickling to his chest with sweat, and you’re humiliated that you cannot tear your eyes away from the sizeable bulge at his crotch. He clears his throat, the noise making you jump, before he reaches a massive hand towards your naked arm.
“No, Sam.” You beg. You don’t want to know what you’ll do if he touches you. “D-Don’t.”
His lips form a harsh line as his eyes search your face. “Can’t just let you die.”
“Sam-” Your clit seems to beat harder as you realize what he’s offering. If you were of a clearer mind, you would have protested more, would have at least wondered what Dean could have possibly said to convince himself and his brother that this was the solution. That this could ever be okay. But as far as you’re concerned, there’s no other choice. You need Sam right now more than air.
At the barely perceptible nod of his head, you throw yourself into his arms. His balance barely falters, thick arms encircling your bare waist. The relief you feel at his touch is startling, and you’re moaning freely, your hands exploring the breadth of his shoulders and chest.
You know you’re crossing a line. You’ve become abhorrent. A sex crazed lunatic, desperate to be split open by your lover’s brother. But you can’t think about the fallout right now, not when the curse is still boiling your blood, when all you can think about is getting him inside of you. You’re worse than despicable because the instant Sam touches you, you can’t even consider Dean or what he must be going through, incapacitated to help, hundreds of miles away alone in a motel room, trapped with the knowledge that his girl has been driven right into the arms of his brother.
You let your mind turn off. There’ll be time to hate yourself later.
Sam’s fingers dig into the meat of your ass, holding you tightly against his body as he lifts you. He pushes you up against the wall of the crypt, the stone rough on your back, probably cutting you, but you revel in the sting. Your legs hug his hips, your core nestling right over the tent in his jeans, and you can’t stop yourself from grinding against him, like the bitch in heat you’ve become. You know you shouldn’t, but you press your open mouth against his, moaning shrilly at the taste of his tongue. He hesitates for two seconds, as if he’s deciding whether or not kissing you is allowed, but lucky for you, his lips begin to move, dominating you immediately. With fingers raking through his hair, you wiggle against him, pressing your breasts into his chest, thrilling your sore nipples, until you feel another gush from between your legs.
For all the fervor you put into kissing Sam, he returns it, until you’re both smeared with saliva. He pulls at the roots of your hair hard enough to spring tears in your eyes, but you love it. Your hands touch the burning skin of his abdomen, greedily helping yourself to all of the flesh under his shirt, until he pulls his mouth off yours to remove it completely.
You lean back in for another kiss, but Sam stops you with a firm hand on the base of your throat. He takes advantage of the moment to look you over. You keep rolling your hips into his, reveling in the way his jaw clenches, licking his spit shined lips. Shaggy hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. With the way he’s looking at you, unaffected by any curse, you’d think he’d imagined this before. Doesn’t matter. You’ll let him do whatever he wants.
“Sam,” You rasp, eyelashes fluttering as the hand not around your neck plays with your left nipple, making your eyes roll. “Please, Sammy.”
He shakes his head slightly. “How could I fucking deny you?” He murmurs, squeezing at your throat deliciously. “When you need it so bad?”
Nodding desperately, you lick your lips. “Hurts, Sammy.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” His eyes drop to where you're dragging your puffy cunt over his erection, making a mess on the front of his jeans. “Want me to make you feel better, gorgeous?”
Gorgeous. Not babygirl.
You pull on his hair to cope with his touch, which has you reeling. He hooks his thumb under the ruined material of your panties, to stroke against the molten heat of your pussy. A shudder passes through his colossal frame, as if he can’t believe how soaked you are.
He raises his fingers, shiny with your slick, to his mouth. You moan obscenely at the sight of his eyes rolling back at the taste of you.
You can't help but buck and thrash in his arms as he circles your clit, touching you with firm reverence. With a mind of their own, your hands grab for his belt, wanting to feel him heavy in your hand, but he shoves your hands away.
“Don’t worry, Imma give you what you need.” He promises in the same moment one of his fingers slips inside of you. Given the degree of your wetness, there’s little resistance, and you exclaim in glee as he slides the second digit in.
“Oh, fuckkk, Sammy-” You cry, your perked nipples rubbing against his pecs. His forehead presses into yours, his hot breath on your face as his mouth gapes, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity that has you digging your nails into his shoulders. “That’s so good. You feel so fucking good.” You abandon eye contact to stare at where he is drilling into you with his fingers, marveling at the thickness and strength of his forearm.
“Shh.” The hand on your neck releases you for an instant before it grabs your jaw, forcing your eyes back to his. “Filthy fucking girl.”
“Please, Sammy.” You plead. You don’t think you can wait any more.
He quiets your begging by pressing his mouth back on yours. He’s so rough with you, holding you still with the hand on your jaw, driving you crazy with harsh ruts of his hips into yours. You’re gasping into his mouth, the coarseness of the denim against your barely covered pussy sending you into oblivion. You’re whining or crying, making some noise that normally would have mortified you, but if him just humping against you is bringing stars to your vision, you can’t imagine how good it will feel when he finally fucks you.
With the fire on the torched bones completely dead now, you struggle to see through the darkness, before you decide to navigate based on feel. You touch him everywhere you can reach, scratch him, claim him.
“Shh, honey.”
Honey, now. Not babygirl.
Still holding your jaw, Sam’s hand is big enough to slip his thumb into your mouth, which you accept blindly. You scrape your teeth along it, before gratefully sucking on it, swallowing all of the saliva that pools in your mouth to the best of your ability, some trickling out of the corners of your mouth to slip down to your chest. Sam’s eyes follow it all, groaning lowly at your depravity. He hesitates, then licks the saliva from the top of your breast to the corner of your jaw. You shiver and moan in delight.
“Imma make it better, okay? Gonna give you my cock now. S’what you want, right, honey?”
You nod, still sucking on his thumb. You hear the sounds of his belt being removed and all you can think is finally, fucking thank god, give it to me, fucking finally.
He shucks his jeans just low enough on his hips to free his member, just so you can barely make out a thatch of dark colored hair there, and you can't help but succumb to the urge to touch him. He’s massive in your hand, hard as can be, pulsing with need. You stroke him once, whimpering in response to the guttural moan he releases. The hold on your jaw tightens enough to bruise, but you want it harder.
You wiggle your hips closer, letting the head of him just brush against the heat of your cunt, and Sam sounds almost wounded at the contact.
“Holy fuck,” His forehead drops to your shoulder as he cries out your name, almost in a sob. He lets you take what you need, dragging him through your white hot seam, effectively soaking him.
He’s shaking now, too.
His tip breaches your entrance and your lips fall slack around his thumb, unable to focus on literally anything than the feeling of being filled. He pushes further into you, deeper, until you can feel the coarse hairs at the base of his cock against your spread thighs. You think you’re whiting out, the intrusion slightly more than you’re used to.
You’re so close to cumming that it hurts. Sam begins to fuck you in earnest, like its his job, like it’s more than just a means to an end for him, balls slapping against your ass. The world turns, and you’re disoriented until you realize you’re no longer pressed against the wall. Now he has you on the ground, one knee pressed up towards your chest.
You’re not sure if you’re making any noise or not anymore. But you feel his lips at your ear, his stubble rubbing against your soft cheek.
“There you go, gorgeous.” He grunts. “Don’t needa do anything but lemme fuck you.”
“S-so fucking good-” You slur.
“God,” He groans, using the roots of your hair to turn your face towards his. His hips are slamming into yours, and you swear you can feel his cock all the way in your lungs, bullying your insides violently, just like you need. His eyes search your blissed out face. “How’m I only gonna have you this once.” His voice drops even lower as he says this, but you barely register his words.
You feel yourself uncontrollably fluttering around the width of his cock. The pleasure is white hot inside you, feeling so overwhelming and bigger than anything you’ve ever felt before. You’re almost afraid of what is going to happen when the pressure bursts. You’re not convinced you’ll survive it.
“Come on, baby,” Sam grunts before giving you a sloppy kiss. “Know you’re dyin’ to cum on my cock. Let it go, gorgeous, fuck, you feel unbelievable.”
You keen, raising a hand to cup his sandpaper cheek. “I’m gonna cum, Sam. I’m gonna cum-”
He shushes you again, seemingly urged on by your impending orgasm to drive into you even harder. He’s drenched in sweat now, his nostrils flaring as you clench around him.
“Cum, honey.” He urges, releasing your hair to stroke at your swollen clit. “Cum with me. Fuck, honey, can feel you choking me. Cum on my cock.” He punctuates his words with particularly hard thrusts that have you screaming, or maybe you're silent gaping, you can’t hear anything over the blood rushing through your ears.
He barely touches your clit before you spasm. Your orgasm erupts inside you, exploding with such an intensity that has you tightening around Sam’s cock, and then he’s cursing and nearly whimpering, cumming deeply inside of you, grabbing at your flesh desperately. Your eyes roll back, body taut for what feels like minutes, and you’re ascending, before the feeling subsides, leaving you shaking and sated.
As you come back into yourself, you realize Sam has collapsed on top of you as he struggles to catch his breath. His weight is unfamiliar. And you feel…normal. Hazy in your post orgasm bliss, but the uncontrollable lustful fever appears to be gone. You feel elated for half a second before you realize the reality of what you have just done.
Fucked your boyfriend’s brother.
Your naked body tenses, and you realize he’s still inside you.
Your heart begins to hammer in your chest, not from the curse, now from horror. Shame fills you. Embarrassment, too. Oh god. What have you done?
“S-Sam?” You whisper, touching his biceps lightly.
He seems to register your wire tight posture and rolls off you, wincing as his cock slips out of you. You feel a wave of nausea hit you as you feel the warmth of his cum sliding out of your pussy. Hands shaking, you pull your ruined underwear off, using them to clean yourself of his spend, before you’re putting your clothes back on in a panicked blur. Your mind is screaming for Dean the entire time.
Oh god. Maybe you should have let yourself die.
Sam says your name cautiously, but you can’t look at him. You can’t acknowledge what you’ve just done together. Even if you really had no choice. He says your name louder, and you nearly jump out of your skin when he claps a hand onto your shoulder, turning you to face him.
He sees the guilt in your expression and must know the curse is gone. His expression resembles a kicked puppy when you flinch at his touch.
As if reading the thoughts racing through your mind, he says carefully, as if you’re a spooked deer, “...You had no choice…The fever would have killed you if you hadn’t…if we didn’t…”
You shake your head. How are you going to sit next to Sam for the ride back after doing that? How are you ever going to look him in the eye ever again?
How are you ever going to face Dean again? Will you still be his babygirl?
Sam says your name again, very gently. “You would have died.”
You think of Dean, who already puts your safety solely on his own shoulders, who no doubt will blame himself for not protecting you in the first place. Who indisputably will never be able to look at you and Sam the same way again, without imagining what you two had done. What he wasn’t there to provide.
You begin to cry. You can’t face him. Either of them.
Sam seems to take your tears personally, his expression breaking. “He asked me to, honey.”
He freezes at the petname, but all it does is prove that even if it was the curse that caused this, things will never be the same. It’s too late.
You and Sam finish the job There’s about 500 miles to cross before you have to face Dean. You feel Sam look at you from time to time during the drive, but you pretend not to notice.
You hope Dean can forgive you. Even if he does, you won’t forgive yourself.
Woukd you write smut plus size fem reader x dean? Where he just is obsessed with her and cant keep his hands off especially loves when she rides him
Dean is most definitely obsessed with his plus sized girlfriend. Of course he loves your personality, but your body has him in an involuntary chokehold. He has zero complaints and only a million praises. And sometimes he feels like you have more control over his body than he does.
The common occurrence of him catching a good look at your cleavage when you wear a lower cut top has him sputtering, staring, and losing his train of thought mid-sentence. His eyes automatically zero in on your chest, mind flooding with dirty memories of how your supple tits fill his hands, how it feels to bury his face between your soft, smooth breasts, and suddenly, Sam is clearing his throat to bring Dean’s attention away from you and the very obvious way he’s oogling your body.
He loves opening any door for you, seizing the opportunity to get a good look at your plush ass and all of your curves as you walk by him, oblivious. Your perfect shape makes him want to sink his teeth into you, makes him feel a rush of blood to his groin at the most inappropriate, inconvenient times.
He makes it his job to worship your body in any way he can, but he especially loves when you ride him, when you’re above him, your entire body bare and writhing on top of his, tits bouncing wildly as you fuck him, the round flesh of your ass jiggling with your movements. He feels like he owns the crease between your hip and thigh, the sight of it sending him into overdrive, and he just has to have his hands there, gripping you hard, encouraging your movements of grinding up and down his length. His hands are programmed to explore the expanse of your soft thighs, and he loves reaching between your legs to touch you intimately, loves it even more when he feels that soft thickness of your legs closing around his head when he buries his face in your pussy.
So yeah, you have him absolutely eating out of the palm of your hand.
Sub!Sam that kneels in front of you, completely naked, his muscles tensed and wire tight. His broad chest heaves, his eyes glued to the sight of your fingers stroking at your glistening pussy, as you spread your legs right in front of his salivating mouth.
His hands are fisted obediently on his thick thighs, resisting the overpowering urge to reach for his dripping, swollen cock, the veins of his forearms standing out from the effort it takes him to follow your command.
“Please,” He whines, completely hypnotized by your ministrations. His hands covertly shift closer to his cock, desperate for relief. But you’re not even sure if he’s begging for stimulation on his aching cock or for the green light to dive into your pussy.
“Not yet, baby.” You sigh, the raw yearning in his voice only adding to your impending orgasm. It has you beyond turned on, to have such a behemoth of a man wrapped around your finger, listening to you like you’re speaking the word of God, drooling over your body so blatantly, giving up control of his body and actions entirely over to you in these moments. “Be good and keep your hands off.”
Again, he whines. Untouched, his cock bobs against his lower abdominal muscles, the head almost purple from the lack of attention.
“Let me at least-“ He starts to plead, before you cut him off quickly with a little slap to his face. He moans against his will at the sharp sting of pain, eyes focused on you like you’re the only thing in his entire world. Then you grab him by the jaw firmly with the hand that had been playing with your pussy, carelessly smearing your arousal on his face, forcing him to tilt his head back, though really, you couldn’t force him to do anything. He does it all willingly, ignores his aching balls and member to please you.
“I said watch.” You scold him, loving the way his eyelashes flutter shamefully, his gaze darting away from yours to the floor. “I thought you wanted to be my good boy.” You say in a softer voice, granting him the pleasure of your hand running through his hair. You let your slick coated fingers brush his lips as you release his jaw, and he immediately licks your flavor from his mouth.
“I do-“ He chokes out, panting. He glances down at this throbbing cock pathetically.
You settle back onto the bed, spreading your legs wide for him to see you stuff two fingers inside your pussy. He looks like the sight physically hurts him. He strains and whines but stays still.
You make yourself come and then you beckon him forward to lick you clean. He responds enthusiastically, groaning at your taste, hunching over your smaller frame to bury his face between your legs when you yank him forward by his hair. He eats at you ravenously, while you praise him, thrusting your hips up into his hungry mouth. You come again quickly, rambling in a breathy voice as he moans in response.
“Feels so good, Sammy. Such a good fuck toy for me. Mhm, love your mouth, baby. Gonna make you feel so good when you earn it.”
You guide him onto the edge of the bed, the entire lower half of his face covered in an obscene mixture of your juices. He sits with his back against the headboard, sweat beading down his chest, watching you with heavily lidded eyes, waiting for your direction, even though he looks tortured.
“You want your reward for being such a good baby boy, hm?” You ask, crawling towards him. “You think you deserve your cock touched? Think you deserve to go inside?”
“Yes, yes, please-“ He nods, watching you closely. As you purposefully let your breath ghost over his swollen length, he throws his head back at the agony.
Finally deciding to put him out of his misery, you wrap your arms around his neck and sink down his impressive length.
He curses loudly. “Fuuuck-“ He tenses up even more at the hot, wet embrace of your soaked pussy. “God-thank you, thank you, thank you-“ He gasps and you realize he’s crying, burying his face in your neck.
His chest rumbles with the force of his moans and whining as you begin to ride him, sliding up and down his pulsing length at a pace that has him panting and clutching at your body.
“S’good,” He slurs, fat tears slipping from his eyes as he grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut to try to stave off the orgasm that’s building in gut with embarrassing speed.
“Yeah, you like your reward, baby? Like when I use you for your big cock?”
He agrees pathetically. “Yes, use me. Do whatever you want. Just let me come. Please, baby, can’t stop it. Please, please let me come. Fuckk-“
You take pity on him and let him come, shooting jet after jet of filthy, warm cum into you. Afterwards, you wipe away the last of his tears and pull him closer to nuzzle into your chest. He accepts the affection hungrily, resting his cheek on the plush flesh of your breast, while you whisper more praise into his ear.
omggg smut based off the episode where sams dressed like a swat officer?? HELLO so fine
SWAT!Sam from S2E12...hell yes. requests are still OPEN
They hightail it away from the bank and the blockade of cops- patrol officers, tactical agents, and the FBI. The only stop on their way to get the hell out of town is to get you.
You’d been watching the bank’s hostage situation from the motel room, nauseated by the choppy news coverage that showed the SWAT team sneaking their way inside. The place was surrounded, every entrance and exit covered, according to the reporter, but you knew better than to count the Winchesters out.
You’re still watching the news coverage when there’s a pounding on the door. It nearly makes you jump out of your skin. Your heart stutters as you come face to face with a SWAT agent, his herculean figure accentuated by layers of black tactical gear. The man paws at the hood concealing his face, pulling it down over his nose and mouth- and you realize it’s Sam.
“Grab your stuff.” He orders. “We need to get out of town. Now.”
You nod and he watches the door while you get your shit together in less than five minutes. At this very critical moment when you need control over all of your facilities, you’re hyperaware of how inappropriately turned on you are- by the sharp authority in Sam’s voice and the emanation of lethality and danger from the uniform. Just the notion of Sam overpowering the real SWAT officer has your knees weakening.
It’s only when you all make it a few states over that you pay for two motel rooms, that you finally get to be alone with Sam. You’re crowding into his personal space the moment the door closes behind him.
“You know, I love all of your disguises, but this one is definitely my favorite.” You muse, running your hand down his ballistic vest as he wrestles with the hood again, pulling it down to rest under his chin. He unclips his helmet, tossing it aside before shaking out of his hair.
Grabbing you by your waist, Sam smirks. The tactical gloves he wears are rough as his fingers brush under your blouse. “Yeah, baby, could practically read that on your face.”
“Really? I thought I was being subtle,” You pout, letting him pull you into his arms.
“Subtlty isn’t your strong suit, baby,” He murmurs before kissing you.
You can almost taste his adrenaline, as he presses you back against the wall, tugging at your clothes like they’re personally offending him. He’s only satisfied when you’re completely naked, caged between his enormous figure and the wall, with his hands caressing and gripping your exposed flesh as he pleases. With his lips still moving against yours with bruising force, he starts to shrug out of the thick ballistic vest, but you stop him.
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly spreading across his swollen lips. “Oh. You like it that much?”
You bite back a smile.
“Alright, dirty girl,” Sam banters. “You want me to fuck you with all this gear on? Might take some convincing.” Taking your hand, he brings it to the crotch of his tactical pants. The fabric is bulky and rough against your palm, but when he pushes his hips forward into your hand, your mouth waters as you feel the unquestionable evidence of his arousal.
“Whatever you say, officer,” You say with a cute little smile, your hands mindlessly unclasping his belt as you carefully settle on your knees before him.
Sam’s jaw slackens at the view of you, naked and on your knees, so eagerly working to pull his dick from his pants. Running an appreciative hand through your hair, he grits his white teeth the moment your tiny hand wraps around his girth, and he grunts harshly when you take him into your mouth.
As you lick his cock all over, getting it covered in a sheeny layer of your spit, you moan at his tangy flavor. You start bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks and sliding as much of him as you can fit at a time into the hot, wet channel of your mouth. He grips the roots of your hair with one hand, his hips twitching every so often, accidentally shoving a little more of his length down your throat. You let your eyes roll back, your mind shutting off, except to catalog every sound he makes- his breath catching when your tongue pays special attention to the head of his cock, grunts, and moans of appreciation when you force yourself down so that your nose brushes the thatch of hair at the base of his cock, your throat tightening around him as tears and drool freely slide down your face and chin, onto your exposed breasts.
One hand in your hair turns to two, and he starts to fuck your face, gently at first, bulding up to driving his cock in and out of your mouth like you’re just a mindless doll for him to use. You let him, sliding a hand down between your legs to rub at your puffy clit, which has been crying for some kind of friction since the moment you laid eyes on him in that uniform. You stare up at him through the tears dotting your eyelashes, loving the way he’s dressed fully with layers, while you’re helplessly bare.
He yanks you to your feet, manhandling you to bend over the edge of the little table in the kitchen. Your breasts press against the cool wood, and your fingers keep rubbing at your drenched pussy, until you feel the brush of his clothes behind you and the prob of his swollen cockhead at your entrance.
Sam grips the globes of your ass in his hands, pushing his cock into you, but you’re so wet that there’s very little resistance. He groans as your walls spasm around him, coating him in your creamy arousal, and your thighs start trembling the instant he starts pumping in and out of you.
He fucks you fast, using a crushing grip on your hips to haul you back onto his cock the same instant he drives his hips forwards. The feeling of each thrust is so intense and sharp that you couldn’t be quiet if your life depended on it, but Sam seems to enjoy your cries, smiling breathlessly above you. He folds his body over yours, so his lips are at your ear.
“Such a little slut,” He chastises in your ear, pulling your hair to lift your head a bit. The action, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, and the relentless abuse to your cunt is sending you rushing towards your peak. “Spreadin’ your legs for any guy in a fuckin’ uniform.”
“No-” You gasp, but he’s slipped a hand between your legs, which only adds to the excessive wetness making your thighs glisten. Your muscles tense as he starts rubbing tight, fast circles on your clit. “Only you-”
“Damn right, only me.” He grunts.
You cum together, your pussy convulsing wildly around his length, your mind whiting out in the midst of such a profound orgasm. He keeps thrusting to prolong the feeling, and when he eventually pulls out, your combined fluids begin to seep out of your cunt.
He takes you in his arms, sitting with you on his lap, kissing you softly while you both recover. You decide together that the uniform might be worth holding onto.
Girl, I like your fiction very much. The second part you shared yesterday impressed me a lot. please please please I need part 3. My heart can't handle it when she dies. I need to see Dean's reaction. Maybe he can make it just in time? Please release part 3. I love you. and sorry for any mistakes. English is not my native language.
first of all, thank you <3
rest assured, reader won't die probably
there are a few ideas i needa finish before i start on part 3 but it will come eventually -and I intend p3 to actually be the end
Summary: Dean jerks off while you pretend to sleep.
Content warning: Reader gives Dean a massage, explicit language, male masturbation, handjobs, spitting, cum eating, she calls him good boy one time
wc: 1.8k
“That feels- fuck- that feels amazing.”
Dean bows his head, leaning back into your hands, as they knead the knotted muscles of his shoulders. The lotion you’d smeared across the expanse of his upper back and arms makes his skin look dewy. Your hands glide along the contours of his body, looking so small in comparison to his figure.
He lifts his head, letting it fall back to rest against your shoulder as your fingers dig into the lean, striated muscle of his pectorals. His eyes are closed.
“You really are an angel, sweetness.” He drawls slowly. “Y’too good to me.”
“Shh,” You coo softly, hands now caressing the slope of his neck. “Just relax,”
“‘F’I relax any more, I’m gonna pass out.”
You pretty much feel the same way. It’d been an action packed few days, allowing minimal time for rest, and now you’re both heavily fatigued. Your body feels much older than it is. After showering and brushing your teeth, giving some attention to your needy man is the last thing on your to-do list before knocking out for a good ten hours. You can hardly keep your eyelids open, but every one of Dean’s appreciative moans convinces you to continue.
“That’s okay,” You assure him gently, purposefully grazing your lips against the shell of his ear. His spine straightens at the touch of your lips, shuddering slightly. “We’ll finish here. Then we can sleep,” You press a firmer kiss just behind his ear, smiling to yourself as he stiffens at the contact, groaning deeply as your fingers continue to massage his flesh.
Truthfully, you’re tired, but the game you’re playing with him is entertaining enough to turn what was supposed to be a quick five minute massage into a twenty minute one. Since the moment you’d laid your hands on his bare skin, he’d been growing harder and harder, and now, you were having fun pretending to be oblivious to the very noticeable bulge in his sweatpants.
“Don’t wanna sleep.” He argues, the slightest bit of petulance creeping into his tone. He turns to face you, regarding you with bleary, sleepy green eyes. “Want you.”
You peck his very pretty, pouty lips, finishing your massage with a little squeeze around his waist. Standing to go wash the residual lotion from your hands, Dean turns to watch you.
“No happy ending?” He jokes halfheartedly, but his eyes glimmer as he looks at you from under his lashes, exposing that underneath the guise of humor, he really is asking.
“M’sorry, handsome,” You murmur apologetically. “I’m dead on my feet.”
“‘Least let me return the favor,” He suggests, as you’re sliding underneath the sheets, wearing only one of his shirts and your panties.
“Tomorrow,” Your cheek is already on your pillow.
He slides under the blankets behind you, molding his chest to the shape of your back, fitting snugly, like an old weathered baseball glove. Eyes closed, you sigh at the comfort of his body against you. He slings a thick, heavy arm around your hips, guiding your ass back to press securely against his crotch. You bite back a smile at his less than covert attempts to entice you, shifting his hips so that the undeniable outline of his engorged cock is nestled right against your core.
You stay still, committed to the act that you’re unaffected by any of his antics, but you’re growing hot underneath the covers. You’d already been turned on by just rubbing his body, were wet the instant you noticed his boner, and now, as he subtly creates friction between your bodies, you suddenly aren’t so tired.
“Baby,” He complains in your ear, hands sliding from your hips, to your waist, then teasing just below your breasts. “Y’gotta gimme something here. Feels like I’ve been waitin’ to get you alone for weeks-”
“-It’s only been a few days.” You say without turning to look at him.
“Exactly-”
“I think you’ll live if I make you wait until tomorrow,” You say.
You only haven’t ended his misery because you want to see how far you can push him, and it turns you on when he begs. Plus, his sweet, desperate disposition is something private, saved only for you, in moments when you’re alone. In the quiet moments with you, he’s a very different man than he pretends to be with everyone else.
“Cruel woman,” He sighs. You get the sense that he might be giving up, as his arm returns around your hips.
“Thought you said I was an angel," You tease
"That was when you were being nice to me."
You huff. "I'll be nicer after I sleep.'
You relax against him, and even though you’re doggedly tired, his erection is still probing you between your thighs, stoking heat in your lower belly that’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Still, you keep yourself still in his arms, and squeeze your eyes tightly shut any time he shifts against you. He moves occasionally, readjusting his grip on you, repositioning his body, but stays quiet.
“Baby?” Dean whispers gently, several minutes later. Or maybe it’s been an hour. “Baby, you awake?
You’d been dozing, but at the sound of his voice, you rouse. You don’t answer because you’re intrigued by the diffidence in his tone.
Dean’s arm tightens around you, using his grip on you to once again create friction between your bodies. His breathing strikingly deepens, and every so often, he groans weakly. If the movement of him sliding against you wasn’t enough to have you pulsing between your legs, his noises would do the job. He sounds almost ashamed. It’s clear he’s trying to be quiet, but he’s doing a poor job of concealing his arousal.
You feel him wedge a hand between his groin and your ass, rubbing himself through his pants. You want to look, but part of you believes he would stop if he realized you were awake. You wonder if the front of his sweats are wet yet, if he’s gritting his teeth or if he’s open mouth panting. Heat radiates from his chest, and you feel the instant he breaks out in a sweat from his ministrations.
Very carefully, as to not wake you, he lifts his arm off your body and rolls onto his back. You fight to keep your own breathing even, to keep yourself from squeezing your thighs together, as you hear him start to jerk off.
It begins quietly, with the soft, barely audible evidence of him letting saliva fall from his mouth onto his palm. Then he wraps a hand around himself, and you hear the spread of moisture as he begins pumping his fist up and down. The sound of his hand beating his cock is largely overpowered by his breathing and the moans he’s failing to swallow, until he seems to lose control of himself and really starts pumping himself hard and fast.
You picture him, holding his stiff member in one hand, playing with his balls with the other. Picture him rubbing at the head of his cock until he can’t take it, mimicking the way you always torture him with special attention to his most sensitive spots.
“Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” You scold in a quiet voice, turning towards him.
Dean startles with a grunt, his hand flying away from his cock, as if it wasn’t obvious what he’d been doing with it resting against his lower belly. He looks away from you, then back, bowing his head shamefully.
“D-didn’t-” He clears his throat. “Didn’t mean to wake you, princess.”
You roll onto your side beside him, placing a hand on the bit of his thigh exposed from where his sweats had been hastily pushed down.
When you don’t say anything, he keeps stammering. “I’m sorry-”
“Shh,” You whisper gently, grazing his thigh with the points of your nails. You suppress a smirk at the way the muscle of his leg jumps at your teasing touch, his cock bobbing untouched. “Keep going, big boy.”
He hesitates, so you wrap one of your smaller hands around the base of his cock. He immediately gasps, his head lolling back against the headboard. He begins panting again as he watches you bring your lips just above the head of him. You let a substantial string of saliva slip from your lips, onto his aching tip, smiling as he moans above you.
His jaw falls open when you start twisting your fist around him, spreading the lubricant generously from tip to base, so that he’s nice and wet.
“Keep going, baby,” You encourage, lifting yourself enough to take his face in your hands. You peck his lips, ending the kiss with a little sharp bite to his bottom lip that has him groaning and chasing after your lips when you pull back.
“Keep going-” He repeats, as if dazed.
“Yeah,” You say with a smile, caressing his jaw. “You wanna cum, don’t you?”
“Yeah-” He agrees, letting you take his hand. You bring his hand back between his legs, and you greedily watch as he grips himself, and then starts moving.
“How bad do y’wanna come, Dean?” You whisper sensually, maintaining eye contact with him in the dark. His breath fans across your lips, his eyelids heavy from the degree of his lust.
“Bad- so fuckin’ bad-” He rasps and it sounds like a plea.
“I bet,” You purr, letting your hands roam across his neck and shoulders. “Been such a good boy, waiting so well. I know you tried, baby.”
He grits his teeth, hand moving in a blur as he jerks himself, chest heaving. “I did- Tried to ignore it. For you-”
“It’s okay, baby. Know you need it real bad.”
He nods, expression broken as he keeps going.
“Can’t even handle my hands on you without getting hard,” You muse lovingly. “S’a little bit pathetic, right?”
“Fuck-” He groans, voice strangled. “I know-”
"And jerking off while your girlfriend is right next to you...is that pathetic, baby?"
"Yes-" He chokes out.
“You sound close,” You whisper. “Are you close, baby? Gonna make yourself cum? Wishing you were inside me instead?”
“Wanna make you feel good,” He mumbles. “God-M’so close.”
“Cum for me, Dean,” You beg, sliding back down level with his lap. “Wanna see how much cum you have for me,”
He begins shuddering, groaning from deep in his chest. He tells you he’s coming and it sounds like he’s panicked. You manage to get your plump lips around the head of him, your tongue immediately flooded with the heady taste of him. You suck at him for barely a second before he begins spurting into your mouth, the jets of his cum steadily hitting the back of your throat. He’s gripping your hair harshly, and you might register the pain of it, if you weren’t concentrating on swallowing burst after burst of his spend.
You swallow it all, then lick his cockhead clean until he’s jumping at the simple touch of your hot tongue. You lick your lips clean next and then nestle yourself back under his arm, while he's still sweaty and panting.
“That should hold you off until the morning, right?” You ask playfully.
“Yeah, I’d say so.”
You both make yourselves comfortable in the bed and fall asleep within five minutes flat.
hiii!! could you please write one where the reader makes boyfriend!dean pop a boner, and then turns around and pretends to fall asleep just so she can hear him jerk off ??? thank you !!
OK YES-this is everything and I need to start writing this YESTERDAY
spoiler alert: dean is going to be desperate and a little pathetic in it
