and so what if SOLDIER BOY is obsessed with your cunt? smelling it, licking it, fingering it, fucking it, filling it.
he’s not had the slick warmth of a woman’s pussy wrapped around his cock or smothering his face in over forty years…
so who cares if he forces you onto the motel couch the second everyone else leaves, pressing you against the faded floral fabric? so what if he’s holding you down with his supe strength, burying his head under your skirt just to get a whiff of that sweet tangy smell between your legs?
and big deal if he’s suddenly pulling your underwear to the side—despite your feeble groans of protest—and licking at your bud that’s quickly pebbled itself at the whole situation.
it doesn’t matter that he’s lapping at you, savouring your sweet taste against his tongue as he draws out more of your arousal to coat your puffy folds. he’s drinking you in, his face buried between your shaking thighs, sniffing and licking and sucking. your words of protest die on your tongue; you can only gasp and moan while your hands claw at his strong calloused ones that grip the fat your thighs, keeping them apart with little effort—though probably bruising them in the process. he couldn’t care less that you’re tugging at his hair, whining about how embarrassing it is that he’s doing this to you—sniffing your cunt like a dog, breathing in your scent like it’s his oxygen, whilst practically consuming you whole.
he’s so foul, and yet, you kind of fucking love it.
A/N: Little Sam Winchester drabble. Because this man makes my heart flutter.
Soft!Sam supremacy. <3
Sam Winchester carries your books without being asked, tucks you into his side like you belong there, and listens—really listens—as you talk his ear off about everything and nothing at all.
He’s always looking at you like you hung the stars just for him, like he still can’t believe you’re real.
At dinner, he catches the little bit of sauce at the corner of your mouth with his thumb, then kisses the spot for good measure.
When you fall asleep against his chest, his voice rumbles through you—Byron, Whitman, Shelley—words meant for the divine, but only ever spoken for you.
He’s a gentle giant. Until someone tries to hurt you.
Then, he’s something else entirely.
Sam doesn’t just stop threats—he eradicates them. His hands, once so careful with you, are merciless on anything that dares touch what’s his. And when it’s over, when his knuckles are bloody and his jaw is clenched, he looks at you—soft again, always soft for you.
"You okay?"
You nod. He exhales, relieved, and pulls you into his arms like nothing else in the world matters. And for him, nothing does.
cw: MINORS DNI !! consensual somnophilia [discussed previously!], oral m!receiving, blowjob, retired hunter!sam and reader, barely edited; all mistakes are my ownノ pairings: established sam winchester x gn!reader; retired hunter!sam winchester x readerノ wc: 942
Light filtered through the sheer curtains and into your shared bedroom. You could feel Sam’s slow and relaxed breaths in the crook of your neck as you slowly woke up from your slumber. Your muscles were sore, and you could feel the minor ache in between your legs, but you smiled—it was the best kind of ache you could ask for.
You let out a small but deep breath as you sunk back into your pillow. You were in a mess of tangled limbs with Sam. You blinked a few times. The pull of sleep was still ever-present in your mind, but before you could fall asleep, you shot a glance at the slightly expensive alarm clock that you splurged on. It had many features, but you looked at the date, MAY 02.
You smiled slightly, an idea popping up in your head. Sam had moved away from you, rolling onto his back and shifting the sheets to reveal his naked torso. You bit your bottom lip at the sight of it, your eyes raking over his toned abdomen and pecs—his skin practically glowing in the morning light.
You slowly moved down the length of Sam’s body, taking the thin sheet with you, and as carefully as you could, got in between his legs. You were surprised that Sam was still asleep, even when he was retired—Sam was still a light sleeper. But considering you guys went out and had a couple of rounds of sex, he was definitely worn out.
Sam’s morning wood had sprung up as you pulled the sheet off of Sam, and your mouth watered at the sight. Even if you had seen his cock dozens of times before, it never failed to make you stare at it. Sam was long and a hair short of being too thick, but the sharp sting of pain when he stretched you out was always satisfying. His tip was ruddy, pearls of pre-cum beading at the head. Sam had one prominent vein on the underside of his cock that you loved tracing with your tongue when you sucked him off.
You slowly grasped him in your hand and leaned down to press a soft kiss to his tip before dotting slow kisses down his shaft. Sam shifted slightly but was still asleep, his eyes still moving underneath his eyelids.
You let out a small breath before taking his cockhead into your mouth and sucking on it gently. You let out a slight moan—you loved how Sam tasted. He was slightly salty, but for the most part, he didn’t taste like anything, and you were thankful for his healthy diet, even if you teased him for it.
You took your time with Sam as he was still asleep. You savored the taste of him as you took him deeper into your mouth, your nose meeting the small patch of hair at the base of him. You heard a slight grunt fall from his lips, and you pulled away from him—he was still asleep, but you could tell he was close to waking up.
You went all in, using your mouth and hand in tandem with one another—starting to go down on him more earnestly. The sounds of you sucking him up filled the room, and Sam woke up with a moan escaping his chest.
He looked down at you with bleary eyes, but the pleasure that was brewing in his lower abdomen had him look up at the ceiling. Sam’s hand went to your head, not pushing or guiding you, but to ground himself from the sudden head he was getting this early in the morning.
“Fuck, honey,” His voice was gravely from sleep. “Doing s’good for me. God, that mouth is perfect.”
You preened at the praise and doubled your efforts.
Sam could feel that he wasn’t going to last much longer—still a bit sensitive from the night before. The heat grew in his stomach, and his abdomen began to flex and tense. You could tell that Sam was getting closer—his cock was twitching in your mouth.
If you could, you would have smirked as you pulled out your secret weapon that never failed to make him come. You let your teeth scrape lightly along his shaft before sealing your mouth around his thick tip and sucking hard.
“Shit, baby, I’m com-” He cut himself with a deep moan escaping him as he orgasmed, spurts of his cum landing on your tongue as you worked him through it.
Once he was done, you pulled off of him slowly, swallowing his come as he took deep breaths. You moved up from his legs to hover over him. Sam opened his eyes to find a sly smile on your swollen lips.
Sam’s hand went to cup your jaw, his thumb wiping away the stray saliva and cum on your chin as he smiled up at you—bliss coating his features.
“What was that for?” He looked up at you with curious eyes.
You leaned down to press a soft kiss against Sam’s plush ones. “Just an early birthday present. Happy Birthday Sammy.” You murmured against his lips.
Sam didn’t particularly like celebrating his birthday, considering some of the worst moments of his life happened on his birthday—he steered clear of celebrating it most years. But it’s been quiet in the world for a few years, and if Sam got to celebrate it with you, then it was worth it.
Sam smirked up at you. “Is there anymore?” His hand was trailing down your bare back before resting on your bare ass.
“Oh, there’s a lot more.” You promised, smirking at him before kissing him.
a/n: heres a little smutty blurb for sam's birthday bc he's my man and i need him so so bad ^_^ also someone clap for me i finally wrote a blurb and not a one shot!!
synopsis: dean being a freak. aka dean winchester not being a pussy and eating pu-
warnings: explicit. oral sex (f receiving), nasty makeout, boner, nudity, an unhealthy amount of mentions of the words sweat, tongue, and spit. absurdly long. i think that's it. + english is not my first languageee be kind, please.
𓄒. (+18 MDNI).
You swear Dean has a thing for the smell of your sweat. For the scent of your skin after it turns filthy and sticky.
Or whatever is it that he sees in you after you're both back from a hunt, sweaty and blood-splattered, because there hasn't been a single time where he hasn't dropped everything in the moment he steps a foot inside the motel room, shut it behind the both of you, leaving you to deal with his desperate hands.
This time, try as you might, it couldn't be any different.
It's been a hectic night. Your body is sore. You can't twist your wrist to a certain angle, and you feel like your hips are about to detach from your sacral vertebrae.
But Dean's already moved behind you.
His big, strong, and roughed up hands, the same ones he uses to kill so ruthlessly, land on your waist, squeezing greedily. Then they slide down to get to your hips, wielding them in the same way he aims his shotgun.
Difference is he won't feel any guilt after using you.
"I love it when you're warm like this," He mumbles against the damp skin of the side of your neck, mouth creeping up and opening to lap his tongue all over that spot behind your ear. "makes me wanna fuck whatever I can find of you first."
You hum, breathless and easily brought down, that pleasant tingling sensation already simmering under your skin.
He knows how you like to be talked to. Knows the way his voice is prone to stir something in your lower belly.
You're not even fighting him—not when his hands are easing themselves under your t-shirt—, but you know you've already lost.
Flesh has needs, and that is all that you are. Flesh and achy bones. Supple, and weak, as your head's growing hot and light around him and the effects of his spit mingling with your transpiration.
"Dean–" You huff, the words you were planning on saying sneaking out of your brain and rolling under the king sized bed when he cups your breasts over your bra, squeezing as if he were feeling them for the first time.
He sighs over the sound you make, low and pathetic, letting his fingers gather the droplets trickling down your cleavage, and takes them to his mouth to lick it off.
It makes you shiver.
You try to persevere, fruitlessly.
"Dean, let me at least take a shower first." You attempt to complain, again, but it's only halfhearted.
Your shirt goes off smoothly and lands on the probably dirty rug, and the little fight you still had in you leaves your body the moment he turns you around to crash his lips against your, his tongue breaking into your mouth. It's brutal and it's mellow and it already has your panties drenched.
He grabs you by the face before you can trip back with the force of his need, the heels of his hands kneading softly into your cheeks.
"Don't wanna." He breathes against your teeth, still kissing you. It's messy, his spit smearing over the corners of your mouth.
"I wanna eat you out just like this." As if he's already imagining the taste of you lying on his tongue, one of his hand comes down to eagerly pull the button of your jeans open. Dean doesn't lose any more time before he's making his way inside your panties, finding you sticky and so, so warm.
"God, I'm gonna devour this pussy. Gonna take care of her so good. My pussy."
He's getting dizzy. You're so worked up you're sure the brush of his fingers over your swollen clit could make you come.
"God, I've barely even touched you." He breathes out with a long, slow stroke up and down, awed at the way you're already dripping for him.
Dean doesn't give you any time to reply when he brings you down onto the bed with him, his clothed crotch pushing against your half-bared sex.
You moan. He can't hold it anymore.
With the initiative of a man on a mission and the languor of someone who has all the time in the world, Dean yanks the denim down your legs, struggling briefly with your boots, but he succeeds, letting them lay along with your shirt on the sketchy carpet.
The room is not cold, but you still bristle.
When you're only in your underwear and Dean can take a close-up of the soaked cotton of your panties, he sighs like he's been given nourishment after starving for forever.
And when you think he's about to relieve the ache between your legs, he leans down to lick soft stripes from your mound to your belly button, dawdling around instead of finishing what he started.
You feel like nudging his head back down. You feel like whimpering.
And Dean knows, he knows. But, can you blame him? He just wants to put his mouth all over your body, scrub the blood clean off of you with his tongue, make sure he won't waste this.
Oh, don't you look at him like that.
"Can you be patient for me?" Dean whispers against your skin at the same time he reaches your bra, pushing it upwards and circling his tongue around your left nipple. You twitch, your back arching upwards
No, you can't be patient after that.
He doesn't care.
Dean lies down on top of you, carefully not to squish you, and drives his lips all over your face.
You try to keep up, opening your mouth for another filthy kiss, but he only gives you that after he's licked the sweat off of your forehead. And when he's done, he gently guides your jaw open, "Open up f'me, baby." letting his spit slide down your tongue.
You just take it. Flushed cheeks and brain severed by the heat.
His crotch is starting to hurt, but he won't pull himself out until you've came first.
Dean may see the utter desperation in your eyes when he meets your gaze, because he starts kissing his way backwards, leaving a hand on one of your breasts, as he mumbles something along the lines of how he's gonna need another round to enjoy you properly.
You're not even sure if you're surviving this one.
When he's laying at the end of the bed, one arm stretched out to squeeze your right tit softly, the other circled heavily around your hips to stop you from squirming, his nose dives into the outline of your labia over your wet panties.
Your whole body shivers. You let out another one of those little whimpers through a clenched jaw.
It drives Dean into push his tongue flat over your clothed cunt, the tip of it digging right over your throbbing clit.
You're trying to be patient, you really are, but you feel like you're either about to burst into flames, or to melt and fuse with the bedspread under your sticky skin.
"You smell so good," Dean says against your puffy cunt. "taste even better." He's already tucking his tongue under the fabric.
You tense and relax at the same time, burning hot tickles crawling from your pussy to your limbs, your torso, making themselves comfortable under your eyelids, before finally sliding off to the back of your head.
His mouth wanders once more.
Dean ducks his head to kiss the tender skin of your thighs, the hand on your breast kneading the soft flesh.
"Can I bite you?" Dean mumbles with a mouthful of your skin, leaving a painfully hickey, and when you hiss, he still sinks hit teeth over the raw skin where your thighs rub together when you walk.
You try to scoot back out of instinct, even if your pussy is clenching around nothing because of it, but he holds you down with a strong arm and all the will he can compile.
He soothes the mark of his teeth with his own saliva, and goes head first for your groin, sticking his tongue in there as well, licking as much of you as he can find.
Just to see if you can have a moment of mercy, you prop yourself up on your elbows in the most pathetic way possible, looking down at how he's enthusiastically mouthing at your flesh.
You hope he's having fun, because all you're doing is suffering. "Dean, just– Come on–"
Unexpectedly nimbly, Dean's skillfull hand pulls your panties off in a swift motion. And finally he's got his face buried nose deep into your pussy. His pussy.
And of course you just give it to him, because the way he's ravishing you has knocked you back against the mattress like this was just between him and the heat between your thighs. Your hands don't take long flying to his hair.
Dean eats you out like it's going to be the last time, every time. He takes his time with it.
He's eager, but he's also thoughtful.
He doesn't relent, not until he's sure he's drawn every moan out of you. Even after that, he's contentedly lapping against your soreness, gathering every last drop that just came out of you.
His face is wet when he comes out for air. Your trembling thighs framing his beautiful face, hair sticking in different directions, the sliver of green that's been swallowed by his pupils still glimmering under the dim light of the motel room.
He looks like he's right where he wants to be.
"You can take another one, right?" He asks, a little breathless.
You just slump with a soft huff, knowing you'll surrender.
NOTES: OH my god i'm terribly sorry, no pussy eating foreplay should take this long ☹️ anyway uhhh it started alright, and then i faltered before finally giving up. sigh. i don't love it. okay thank you bye.
Summary: Sam and Ruby have played the long game. And you're innocence is about to be lost.
Warnings: 18+!, language, manipulation, demon blood era Sam, Ruby is a warning by herself, corruption, coercion, praise, smut (dirty talk, kissing, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, overstim, p in v, spitting, threesome f/f/m), I may have missed some.
Word Count: 6,245
A/N: OH BOY. Zoe, my sweetpea, I hope you liked this one. I know I REALLY liked it... I'm sorry it's so long, but also... not sorry at all, aha.
Anyways... give me some feedback, y'all. Please. I love when I get comments on things that come out of my very pathological brain. This was born because I'm ovulating. Shush. <3
I might write more Ruby stuff in all honestly, because... well, Ruby. RUBY SUPREMACY.
All the love.
You didn't mean to stay with them.
At first, it was just a night. One blood-soaked hunt, too many screams, and Sam stepping between you and something you weren't ready for. He didn't say much—just pressed a cloth to your arm, asked your name in that quiet, steady voice, and told you it was going to be okay.
Ruby smiled behind him like she already knew it wouldn't be.
They brought you back to their motel room, patched you up with gentle hands and dark eyes, and you didn't leave the next day. Or the next. Or the one after that.
Two months later, you still didn't know why.
You told yourself it was safety. That the way Sam looked at you—soft and too-long—was protection, not possession. That Ruby's fingers brushing your thigh were comfort, not calculation. You convinced yourself they needed you.
But deep down, you knew the truth.
You were theirs. They had decided that long before you realised you had no choice in the matter.
They met you at your worst—bloody, shaking, stupid with adrenaline. Your first real hunt had gone sideways, and whatever experience you thought you had meant nothing when the claws hit skin. You should've died. You were ready to. But Sam was there, and Ruby moved like smoke, and the thing was gone before you even saw it clearly.
"Poor baby," Ruby had murmured, crouching beside you while Sam checked your wounds. "Too pretty to go out like that."
You'd flinched when she touched you, and she smiled like that was her favourite part.
You never asked why they took you with them. Sam had said something about keeping an eye on you, but his mouth twitched like it wasn't the whole truth. Ruby just grinned and said you were better off not knowing. You nodded. You didn't ask again.
At first, they let you come on hunts. Small ones. Salt-and-burns, poltergeists. Sam showed you how to hold a blade properly. Ruby taught you how to lie. You were good at both.
But over time, they started leaving you behind.
"It's too dangerous," Sam said.
"She's not ready," Ruby added, her hand stroking your back through the thin cotton of your shirt.
You didn't argue. You told yourself it was kindness. That they were protecting you. That it wasn't about keeping you soft.
But then came the looks. The touches. The nights where Sam would come back covered in blood, eyes sharp with something feral, and Ruby would kiss his knuckles while you watched from across the room, trying not to shake.
They never made you watch. But they never really let you look away, either.
They talked about him sometimes.
Dean.
You only ever caught the name in whispers. "He wouldn't understand." or,"Dean would've stopped this." or, "Dean's gone." Always followed by a pause. Always followed by Ruby looking at Sam like she was daring him to fall apart.
You didn't know who he was. You didn't ask.
Every time you got too close to the door, every time you hovered outside just long enough to hear more, one of them would call out like they felt you there.
Sam's soft: "Baby?"
Or Ruby's syrupy: "Sweet thing, come here."
You always obeyed.
Sometimes, when they thought you were asleep, Sam would sit at the edge of your bed and run his hand down your hair. Just once. Just enough to make your breath catch. Sometimes, Ruby would slip under the covers beside you and whisper nonsense until you drifted off—half-lullaby, half-possession.
You weren't sure when it stopped being strange. You only knew that when they were gone too long, your chest felt empty. And when they came back, you'd breathe again. You weren't stupid. You just didn't know how to leave.
The rain started two hours ago.
It tapped against the window in slow, steady beats, like a clock winding down—like something counting out the seconds until they came back. You sat curled on the end of the bed in your pyjamas, legs pulled up, sleeves hanging past your wrists. The television glowed faintly in the dark, but you weren't watching. You hadn't really watched anything in days.
You just waited. You always waited.
The door creaked open a little after midnight.
Sam came in first, wet to the shoulders, eyes shadowed and far away. Blood soaked one sleeve of his shirt. You didn't ask whose. Ruby followed behind him, skin shining with water, hair stuck to her cheeks like tendrils.
She smiled when she saw you. Not kind. Not cruel. Just... like she already knew.
"Still awake, baby?" Her voice was smoke and candy.
You nodded. Sam didn't say anything. He locked the door behind them, set his knife down on the table like he was placing something sacred. You watched his hands—big, veined, careful. Ruby peeled off her jacket and let it drop to the floor.
"Poor thing," she murmured, walking past him. "All alone in the dark. Bet you were scared."
You opened your mouth to protest, but she was already kneeling in front of you, wet fingers brushing your knee where your pyjama shorts had ridden up. Her touch was cold. You shivered.
"Didn't like being away from us, huh?"
Sam sat down in the chair across from the bed, his legs spread wide, elbows on his knees. His eyes never left you.
"She hates it," he said softly. "I think she's scared we won't come back."
You looked down, cheeks burning.
"I'm not—"
"It's okay," Ruby cooed. "You should be scared. There's bad things out there, sweet girl. Things that want to hurt you. But we'd never let that happen." She leaned closer, nose brushing your jaw. "You know that, right?"
You nodded. Her hand slid higher on your thigh.
"You're a good girl."
There had been... moments.
Once, in another town, Ruby had let you sleep against her in the back of the car, and you'd woken to find her fingers in your hair and Sam's eyes on your legs in the rearview.
Once, when you'd had a nightmare, Sam had pulled you into his lap, shirtless and half-asleep, and you'd felt him hard under you. He didn't move. He didn't stop either.
Once, Ruby had kissed your neck while laughing at something Sam said, and you'd gone stiff all over, heart beating like you were running from something. But she only giggled and said, "So easy to fluster. It's adorable."
You weren't sure when your body had stopped listening to you. Or when the idea of leaving had started to sound like dying.
Ruby climbed up behind you on the bed now, curled against your back, legs bracketing yours.
"You've been so patient with us," she whispered against your neck. "Hasn't she, Sam?"
He hummed low in his throat, eyes raking down your frame.
"She's always good," he murmured. "Even when she doesn't understand."
Your breath caught. Ruby kissed just behind your ear.
"Do you want to understand, baby?"
You nodded before you knew what you were agreeing to.
Ruby smiled against your skin. Sam stood slowly, crossing to the bed, and the air changed—thickened. You watched him the whole way, your lips parting when he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from your cheek.
"We'd never lie to you," he said, low and warm. "But there are things you're not ready for. Things that would scare you."
"We keep you soft because we love you," Ruby added, her hand sliding up your arm. "Don't you like being soft for us?"
You swallowed hard. "I... I think so."
Sam's mouth curled at the corner.
"That's our girl."
He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead—so tender it made your eyes sting. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
"You don't have to think so," he whispered. "You just have to be."
They didn't kiss you that night. They didn't touch you like that. But Ruby held you in bed, and Sam sat in the chair until morning, watching. His hands didn't stop shaking. You didn't ask why.
You dreamt of red eyes and whispered names and Sam's voice saying, "She's ours. No one touches her but us."
You woke up aching and didn't know why.
They thought you were asleep. You were supposed to be. The lights were off, your hoodie was still warm from Ruby's perfume, and you'd curled up like always—safe and small beneath too many blankets in too big a bed.
But something about the way they said "we need to talk" had twisted in your chest.
Ruby's hand had been gentle on your back as she whispered to Sam that they'd take the room next door. Just for a bit. Just to "talk business." You'd nodded sleepily, like a good girl. Like someone who didn't immediately sit up the second the door clicked shut.
Now?
Now you were barefoot on the cheap motel carpet, heart fluttering, palm pressed to the adjoining door like it might burn you.
It was cracked open. Just an inch. Just enough.
Their voices leaked through, low and urgent.
"She's not ready," Sam was saying. His voice was strained—tired, fraying at the edges. "She's barely holding on as it is. If we push too hard—"
"She's perfect, Sam." Ruby's voice was velvet and smoke. "She's soft, scared, completely dependent. She'd do anything you asked."
Silence.
Then Ruby again, slower this time. Sharper.
"You think you're protecting her by waiting. But you're just dragging it out. You're making her confused. She doesn't know what you want. And she's starting to wonder."
Something slammed—maybe his hand against the table, maybe his fist against the wall. You pressed your hand tighter to the doorframe, mouth dry.
"She's pure." Sam again. Quieter. Like it hurt to say. "She trusts us. I don't want to ruin that."
"You already have." Ruby's tone turned sweet. "And she loves you for it."
You swallowed hard. And then—just as your breath caught and you started to step back—
"She's here."
Your blood turned to ice.
"She's listening."
Ruby opened the door before you could run.
She stood framed in soft yellow light, one shoulder bare, hair tumbling over her collarbone. Her lips curved when she saw you—like a cat catching something small and trembling.
"Hi, baby."
Your voice caught. "I—I didn't mean to—"
"Of course you didn't," she purred. "Come here."
You hesitated.
Her fingers extended slowly. Her voice softened into something intimate and honey-warm.
"You don't have to listen at the door, sweet thing. If you want to know what we're talking about, you just have to ask."
You stepped forward before you meant to. Her hand curled around yours and tugged you gently into the room.
Sam was standing beside the table, hands braced on the wood like he'd been holding himself up. His eyes met yours—and he looked wrecked. Pupils blown wide. Jaw clenched. Like you'd caught him mid-sin.
"She shouldn't—" he started, but Ruby cut him off.
"She should."
She brought you closer, her body warm behind yours as she pressed you into Sam's line of sight.
"You want to protect her?" She whispered, lips ghosting your ear. "Then stop pretending she doesn't already belong to us."
Sam exhaled hard. His gaze dropped—your bare legs, the hem of your sleep shirt, the way your breathing had turned shallow.
"We're not trying to hurt you," he said hoarsely. "You know that, right?"
You nodded. You meant it. Your voice trembled anyway.
"I trust you."
Ruby made a pleased sound behind you. Her hands skimmed your waist, resting low on your hips.
"Good girl," she murmured.
You felt her smile against your neck.
"That's all we've ever wanted."
They didn't kiss you. Not yet. But Ruby turned you around in her arms, pressed your forehead to hers and said:
"You're already halfway gone, baby. Just let go."
Sam stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides. You didn't see the moment he stepped forward—but you felt it. The heat. The pull. The weight of him.
"We'll take care of you," he whispered. "You don't have to think anymore. You just have to be ours."
You closed your eyes and nodded. You didn't understand what was wrong with Sam—but something was.
His chest was rising too fast. His jaw clenched and unclenched like it was wired too tight, and his eyes... his eyes looked wrong. Black-ringed, glossy, so blown out you could barely see the colour. He looked at you like he was starving.
Like he'd been starving for a while.
Ruby was calm. Radiant. She moved with syrup-slow precision, curling one hand around your wrist and bringing it to her lips as she smiled at Sam.
"She's so good for us," she murmured. Her breath was warm against your skin. "Aren't you, baby?"
You nodded before you even knew what you were agreeing to.
Sam made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. His fists tightened where they hung at his sides.
"Ruby..." he said low, like a warning.
But she just giggled—light, pretty, dangerous.
"She wants this," she said simply. "You think I haven't seen the way she watches you? The way she trembles when you say her name?"
She turned toward you, brushing a finger along your jaw.
"Don't you want to be touched, sweet thing?"
You couldn't speak. You could only nod again, your lips parted, breath shaky. You felt like your whole body was made of heat and nothing.
Ruby kissed you before you could think.
It wasn't soft—not really. It was slow, but insistent, her mouth warm and firm against yours. Her hands gripped your waist like she owned you. Like she had every right. Her tongue slipped past your lips and you gasped into it, your knees going weak, clinging to her shirt like it might save you.
When she pulled back, you were dizzy.
"See?" She said sweetly. "So easy."
She led you backward, fingers laced in yours, and gently sat you down in the worn motel chair by the window. The fabric was cold under your bare thighs.
Sam hadn't moved. He stood like a statue at the foot of the bed, chest heaving, eyes locked on yours like he couldn't look away.
"Sit," Ruby told him, her tone turning just slightly firmer.
And he did.
She guided him down until he sat at the edge of the bed—his legs spread, boots still planted on the carpet. He looked massive, ruined, caught in the middle of something he couldn't name. His hands gripped the edge of the bed like he was afraid to touch anything.
Ruby turned back to you, lips wet, cheeks flushed.
"Watch closely, baby."
She climbed into Sam's lap in one slow, fluid motion, straddling him. His hands hovered at her sides like he was afraid to hold her. But Ruby leaned in, close to his ear, speaking words too soft for you to hear.
Then she turned her head to look at you—smiling. Like this was all a show, and you were the only audience that mattered.
"He's so worked up, poor thing," she purred. "Do you want a turn?"
Your breath caught.
"You wanna be a good girl and help us feel better?"
You nodded, your thighs clenching together on instinct.
Ruby kissed Sam then—messy and deep, her fingers in his hair. He groaned into it, hands finally finding her hips. She rocked against him once and his whole body jerked.
"Fuck," he muttered, voice shredded. "Ruby—"
She pulled back and looked at you again.
"Come here, sweet thing."
You stood on shaky legs.
"Take my place," she whispered, climbing off him slowly, deliberately, dragging her fingers down his chest. "Be good."
You moved without thinking.
Sam's eyes were wild when you stepped between his knees—dark and blown, lips parted. His hands hovered, not quite touching.
Ruby slid behind you, her arms around your waist as she guided you down—down into his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs, your breath coming short and fast.
"That's it," she whispered, lips against your ear. "Feel how hard he is for you? How much he wants you?"
You whimpered, your thighs tightening as she rocked your hips forward once—slow, grinding you down against him.
Sam's head dropped back with a groan.
"Ruby—fuck, she doesn't—"
"She wants to," Ruby said. "Don't you, baby?"
You nodded helplessly.
"Say it," Ruby coaxed. "Tell him you want to make him feel good."
Your voice was barely a breath.
"I want to make you feel good..."
Sam's hands finally touched you. Gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. His voice cracked when he said your name.
Ruby purred.
"Good girl."
You didn't mean to moan—but it slipped out anyway.
Just a soft, broken sound in the back of your throat as Ruby rocked your hips forward again, grinding you down into the thick, aching heat of Sam's cock through his jeans.
His head dropped forward, mouth brushing your collarbone. He made a noise like he was choking on the feel of you.
"Fuck, she's—Ruby, I can't—"
"You can," she whispered, wrapping her arms around you from behind. "You will. Look at her, Sammy. Look how sweet she is. So wet for you already and you haven't even touched her yet."
Your sleep shirt had ridden up to your waist, bunched just under your ribs. Sam's hands were under it now—hot and wide and shaking, gripping your hips like he was holding back an earthquake. You could feel every twitch of him beneath you, trapped behind the denim, burning through it.
You couldn't stop shaking.
"You wanna help him, don't you?" Ruby's voice was syrup in your ear. "He's been so good. He's been waiting for you. Doesn't he deserve to feel good?"
You nodded, eyes fluttering.
"Yes..."
"Say it, baby. Say I want to make Sam feel good."
Your breath hitched.
"I... I want to make Sam feel good."
Sam groaned like it hurt. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted and flushed.
"Jesus Christ..."
Ruby's hands slid down your belly, fingertips just brushing the waistband of your panties. You gasped.
"That's our good girl," she whispered. "So responsive. So needy. Tell me, baby—have you ever been touched like this before?"
You whimpered. "No..."
"Mm." She kissed just behind your ear. "Even better."
Her fingers slid lower.
Sam's hands were everywhere now—your thighs, your waist, your lower back. His grip was rough, frantic, like he didn't know where to start. Like he wanted all of you at once.
"Ruby, I need—"
"I know," she said sweetly, pulling your panties to the side and slipping two fingers through the soaked heat between your thighs. "Look at her, Sam. She's dripping."
Your whole body jolted. You tried to twist away from the sensation, but Ruby only giggled and held you still.
"Shh, baby. Let us take care of you. You're doing so well."
She pulled her hand away slowly, teasing, and brought her fingers to Sam's mouth.
"Open."
He obeyed without thinking—lips parting as Ruby slid her fingers past them. He moaned low, guttural, eyes dark with something feral as he tasted you for the first time.
You made a wounded little sound, thighs trembling, head falling forward.
"Fuck—" he breathed. "She's... Ruby, she's perfect."
"I told you," she said, brushing your hair back, tucking it behind your ear like you were porcelain. "Didn't I say she'd be perfect?"
Then she leaned in again, voice like sin wrapped in silk.
"You ready for more, sweet thing?"
You couldn't speak. You just nodded. And it seemed that was all the encouragement Sam needed to shift the two of you further back onto the bed, keeping you pressed to him the entire time.
Ruby moved to sit behind you on the bed, one leg tucked under her, the other bracketing your thigh. Her hands slid up your sides, slow and soothing.
"Ride him just like that, baby," she whispered. "You're making him feel so good."
You whimpered, your hands resting on Sam's shoulders, your hips rocking in slow, helpless circles as heat curled tighter in your belly.
"You wanna keep going?" She asked, her voice dipped in honey. "Wanna make him feel even better?"
You nodded, dizzy and breathless.
"Then be a good girl and let me help you."
Her fingers slipped between your thighs again—this time not teasing. She manoeuvred you up off Sam's lap for a second, hooked her thumbs in your panties and dragged them down slowly, peeling them off and dropping them to the floor like they meant nothing.
Sam groaned beneath you, head tipping forward to rest against your chest.
"Jesus fucking Christ..."
Ruby smiled against your shoulder and whispered like a secret:
"Now ride him for real, sweet thing."
You were shaking.
Not from fear. Not exactly. But from something hot and thick curling in your belly, something too big to name. Your panties were gone, discarded on the floor like they'd never mattered. Sam was still hard beneath you, denim rough against your bare heat, and your hips were moving because Ruby told you to.
You were soaked.
You knew it. You felt it. The fabric of his jeans was sticky between your thighs and Sam was groaning, his head bowed low, sweat dampening the ends of his hair as he clutched at your waist like he might lose control.
It was too much.
"I... I don't know what to do," you whispered, voice trembling. "What do I... do?"
Ruby leaned in behind you again, her hands smoothing over your thighs, her lips brushing your ear.
"Aw, baby," she crooned. "You've really never done this before, have you?"
You swallowed hard, heart pounding.
"No..."
"Anything?" She asked softly, deceptively gentle. "Have you ever touched yourself? Let anyone else touch you?"
You flushed so hard your skin burned.
"N-no. I—I mean, not... not really..."
Ruby made a pleased little sound, like you'd just handed her the key to a locked room she'd been dying to enter.
"God, you really are perfect."
Her hands squeezed your thighs gently, her mouth warm at your jaw.
"Do you want to learn, sweet thing? Want to let us show you what feels good?"
You nodded, dazed.
"Say it."
"I... I want you to show me."
"Good girl."
Ruby kissed your shoulder, then gently—almost reverently—lifted you off of Sam's lap. He let out a breathless, broken sound, like even losing your weight made him ache. Ruby turned to him, tone shifting just enough to make it clear who was in charge here.
"Back," she said. "Now."
Sam didn't argue.
He moved further onto the bed in a slow, stiff blur, eyes glued to you like he couldn't believe this was real. His chest was rising fast, pupils blown to hell, lips parted like he might start begging. He looked like he was in pain.
You stood there, half-naked and trembling, your oversized sleep shirt hitched up high, bare legs shaking.
"Lie down, baby," Ruby said, turning her attention back to you. Her hands cupped your cheeks, her eyes glowing with soft, wicked promise. "Let us take care of you."
You obeyed.
She helped you down onto the bed, gently easing you onto your back, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips. You clung to her without meaning to, your fingers curling in her shirt, your legs twitching nervously.
"You're doing so good," she whispered. "You're being so brave. You'll love it, I promise. It's gonna feel so good..."
Her lips trailed lower—down your throat, between your collarbones, soft and slow. Her hands pushed your shirt up higher and higher, until your stomach was bare, your chest rising and falling like you'd run a mile.
She kissed every inch of exposed skin.
"Such soft skin... so untouched..."
Her hands slid down your thighs again—comforting, coaxing. Sam let out another choked sound, and when you looked over at him, his eyes were fixed between your legs, his hand gripping the bed like he might break it.
Ruby kissed the inside of your knee.
Then your thigh.
Then lower.
"Let me show you what it's supposed to feel like, sweet thing," she murmured, her breath ghosting over your heat. "You'll never want anything else after this."
You gasped when her mouth finally touched you—slow, teasing, masterful. You jolted, your hips bucking up in shock, but her hands held you down, firm but still gentle, like she'd done this before. Like she knew exactly how to unravel a girl like you.
You reached for something—anything—and Sam was there in an instant.
He crawled up beside you, his hand finding yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as you moaned helplessly beneath Ruby's mouth.
"You're okay," he whispered. "You're doing so good. God, you are so good..."
You turned your face into his neck, panting, whining, your thighs trembling as Ruby sucked softly on your clit, her tongue drawing slow, filthy circles that made your whole body clench.
"Let go, baby," she whispered between licks. "Be our good girl and come for us."
Your first orgasm broke over you like something sacred.
One second you were gasping into Sam's neck, Ruby's mouth still moving between your thighs, and the next—your back arched, a sob tore from your throat, and your whole body shuddered like you'd been struck by lightning.
It wasn't sharp—it was overwhelming. Full-body. Wringing you out like wet cloth. Sam held your hand tighter, whispering praise that barely landed, and Ruby moaned against your cunt like she felt it, like your release was something for her.
"God, baby," she breathed, and then—she slipped a finger inside you, slow and deliberate.
You jolted, a strangled cry slipping out as aftershocks tore through you. Sam's grip on your hand went white-knuckled.
Ruby moaned.
"She's so warm, Sam," she said, voice thick, dreamy. "So wet. You have no idea."
You whined, writhing, but Ruby only kissed your thigh like a reward and pulled her finger out—slick, shining.
"You're such a good girl for us," she whispered. "That was so beautiful."
She crawled back up your body, her skin hot against yours, and kissed your lips again. Deep, slow, tasting like you.
"Sam," she purred between kisses, her voice dipped in smoke. "You have to try this."
Sam didn't speak.
He just grabbed her—hard. One hand in her hair, the other on her hip, yanking her off you with a roughness that made your breath catch. He crushed his mouth to hers in a brutal kiss—desperate, consuming—and then shoved her aside like she was nothing more than a gatekeeper to his altar.
His altar being you.
He dropped between your legs without a word, spreading you open with shaking hands, and dove in like a man starved.
You screamed.
It was too much. Still trembling from your first orgasm, your body overloaded, you cried out as his tongue dragged through your folds, moaning against you like he was fucking possessed. And maybe he was. His grip on your thighs was bruising, his mouth unrelenting.
"Oh my god—S-Sam—!"
You tried to close your legs on instinct, but he just growled—growled—and shoved them wider, burying his face deeper.
"That's it," Ruby whispered, curling up beside you again. Her fingers found your hair, stroking it gently, brushing it behind your ears with all the tenderness of a mother tucking in her child. "Let him ruin you, baby. You're being so perfect."
You whimpered, face twisting into something close to pain.
"It's too much..."
"Shhh." Her hand cupped your cheek. "That's what makes it good."
Sam groaned between your thighs, low and wrecked. His tongue moved faster, deeper, insistent, like he couldn't get enough. Like he wanted to crawl inside you and stay.
"You feel that, sweet thing?" Ruby murmured, her mouth close to yours. "That's what happens when you give yourself over."
She kissed you again—languid, possessive, one hand still petting you like you were something to soothe and subdue.
"Open your mouth for me," she whispered. "You're drooling. It's cute."
You blinked, dazed, lips parting as her thumb pressed to your jaw.
"Let me feel it."
You obeyed.
She kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue slick against yours, swallowing your moans and the helpless sounds you made as Sam devoured you like he'd die if he stopped.
"That's it," she said softly. "Drool in my mouth, baby. You're doing so good."
She turned her head slightly, speaking to Sam like you weren't even there.
"She's so sensitive. Barely came once and look at her—already shaking for you."
Sam just groaned in response, too lost to speak. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, his tongue relentless, and you broke again with a sharp cry into Ruby's mouth.
You couldn't stop crying. Your legs wouldn't stop trembling, your voice had gone hoarse from moaning, and Sam was still between your thighs, tongue moving like he didn't hear you—like he didn't care.
"S-Sam—p-please—" Your fingers twisted in the sheets, your hips jerking, but his arms locked you down. "I—I c-can't—!"
Ruby was still beside you, still stroking your hair like nothing was wrong.
"Sam," she said softly. "Baby, she's crying."
He didn't stop.
He growled against you—low and guttural—and sucked harder, dragging his tongue with filthy, practiced strokes that had your spine arching, tears streaking your cheeks.
"Do you need him to stop, sweet thing?" Ruby whispered, brushing her thumb over your wet lashes.
You sobbed. Nodded.
"Y-yes—please—I c-can't take anymore—"
"Aww," she cooed, her voice like poisoned honey. "My poor baby. You're so sensitive. So perfect for him."
You gasped when Sam gripped your thighs tighter—his fingertips digging in, holding you wide open as his mouth moved faster, chasing another orgasm like he was possessed.
Ruby leaned in closer, her voice dipped in false sympathy.
"If he stops now..." she said sweetly, "...he's going to be so unsatisfied. That wouldn't be fair to him, would it?"
You blinked, dazed and wrecked, chest heaving.
"W-what...?"
"He's been waiting for you for so long, baby," she continued, stroking your cheek. "He's so hard it hurts. If you really want him to stop, you're gonna have to give him something."
You whimpered, nodding blindly.
"Anything, please—j-just make him stop—"
Ruby smiled like the devil in silk.
"Then you'll let him fuck you, sweet thing?" She kissed your temple. "You'll let him put his cock in that sweet little pussy and use you the way he needs to?"
Your lips trembled. You were crying so hard now it didn't feel real. But you nodded again. You couldn't think past the overstimulation—just needed him out from between your legs, needed something to change.
"Yes—yes, please—please—just make him stop—"
Ruby sat up, her voice turning firm.
"Sam. Stop."
He didn't move.
"Sam."
He growled—growled, full-bodied, vibrating the bed. His eyes were black, mouth wet, breath ragged.
"Don't—don't fucking tell me to stop—"
Ruby laughed.
"You'll thank me in thirty seconds, big boy."
She shoved him back by the shoulder, and this time—barely—he let her. He knelt between your legs, panting, pupils swallowing the green of his eyes.
Ruby leaned over you again, her hands spreading your legs wider.
"You're gonna take him now," she whispered. "You're gonna let him fuck you like he's been dreaming about for weeks. And you're gonna thank him for it."
You sobbed. Nodded.
Sam's hands fumbled with his jeans, dragging them down far enough to free his cock—thick, flushed, angry red with need. He didn't say a word. He just looked at you, hair in his face, jaw clenched, chest heaving.
"She said yes, Sammy," Ruby whispered. "She wants it. She wants you."
Sam moved fast.
He grabbed your hips, yanked you down the bed, and pressed the blunt head of his cock to your slick entrance. You gasped, eyes wide, every nerve ending screaming.
"You ready, sweet thing?" Ruby murmured, mouth at your ear. "You ready to be his?"
You whispered it, broken.
"Yes..."
Then Sam sank into you in one brutal thrust, and the sound you made wasn't human.
Your back arched, your breath vanished, and your body clenched around him like it didn't know how to take it. He was thick, hot, impossibly deep—and still moving, dragging out slowly, then slamming back in so hard the headboard rattled against the wall.
"Fuck—fuck— you feel unreal," he groaned, eyes squeezed shut, his voice wrecked.
"So fucking tight—shit, baby, you were made for me—"
You cried out, hands grasping at the sheets, your body already fried and raw from overstimulation. Every thrust felt like lightning—too much, too deep, too good.
"You okay, baby?" Ruby murmured beside you, her voice sweet and syrupy. "You still with us?"
You nodded through the sob that escaped you, and she smiled like you'd just done something precious.
"That's my girl."
Sam fucked into you harder—hard enough to make the bed creak, his grip bruising on your hips. He looked elated, lost in it, mouth open as he moaned through gritted teeth.
"So fucking pretty when you cry," he panted. "Look at you—look what you're giving me—fuck—"
Ruby slid closer, still fully clothed, lips ghosting your temple.
"She's drooling again," she said with a laugh, her tone sing-song and amused. "You love this too much, sweet thing. Can't even keep your mouth closed."
You whimpered, your thighs shaking, and she kissed your cheek sweetly.
"That's okay," she whispered. "We love how messy you are."
Her hand slipped beneath her waistband, fingers curling—and then she took your trembling wrist and guided it down with her.
"Here," she murmured. "You wanna be good for me? Touch me."
Your fingers slipped beneath the lace, and you gasped when you felt how wet she was—soaked, hot, throbbing against your hand. She moaned low in your ear.
"That's it," she breathed. "Let me show you..."
Her hand wrapped around yours, using you, grinding down onto your fingers as Sam fucked you open in deep, brutal strokes that made your stomach tighten and your vision blur.
"Move in little circles," Ruby whispered, guiding your fingers. "Mmm—just like that, baby. You're such a fast learner."
Sam was losing it.
"She's touching you?" He groaned, looking down at you both, sweat dripping from his hairline. "Fuck, Ruby, fuck— she's so perfect—"
"She's everything," Ruby said with a soft moan, pressing your fingers harder. "She's ours now. Look at her. Look at what she's letting us do."
You choked on a sob, your hand trapped between Ruby's thighs, your body jerking with every thrust of Sam's cock. He was panting now, animalistic, his hands sliding up under your shirt to grope at your breasts, dragging his thumbs over your nipples.
"You hear that, baby?" Ruby crooned. "Hear how wet you are? How wet I am? It's all for you."
"You feel so good—so fucking good—" Sam growled, his thrusts speeding up, sloppy and deep. "I'm never gonna stop—never—never letting you go—"
Ruby grabbed your jaw, turned your face toward her, and kissed you like she owned you—tongue pushing into your mouth, swallowing your sobs and your moans, your drool and desperation.
"Open for me, sweet thing," she whispered against your lips. "Let me taste how wrecked you are."
You obeyed. You always obeyed. And as she kissed you, she didn't hold back, drool leaking into your mouth, sliding down your throat like a living thing. Warm. Sweet.
And Sam? Sam was losing it.
Sweat dripped from his chest, his arms were trembling from how hard he held himself above you, and his thrusts—fuck—they were frantic now, so deep and fast it felt like your body couldn't keep up. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. He was babbling between moans, his voice cracked open, wrecked.
"Can't believe this is real—fuck, you feel like heaven—so tight, so fucking warm—squeezing me, baby, you're fucking—you were made for this—"
Your legs were jelly around his hips. Your voice was gone, reduced to broken gasps and whines as his cock hit that deep spot again and again, the bed groaning under every thrust. Your hand was still between Ruby's thighs, her slick soaking your fingers, and she was rolling her hips against them slowly, deliberately.
"That's it, sweet thing," Ruby purred, her voice so gentle it made your eyes sting. "Let me use that precious little hand. You're such a good girl for us, letting us fuck you just right."
She leaned over you again, brushing your sweaty hair behind your ears, thumbing your jaw open.
"You want something in that mouth, baby?" She whispered sweetly. "You want me to spit in it again?"
You nodded—desperate, dazed, ruined.
She smiled.
"Open up."
She let it hang between her lips for just a second before letting it fall—hot, thick, landing on your tongue like sin. You moaned, tongue twitching, and she cooed.
"Swallow it like a good girl."
You did.
Sam groaned like he might fucking die.
"She's letting you spit in her mouth?" He gasped. "Jesus— fuck, I'm not gonna last—she's so—"
"She wants it, baby," Ruby crooned. "Don't you, sweet thing? You love how good you make him feel?"
You nodded, sobbing.
"Mhmm—yes—yes please—feels so good—!"
Ruby's hand slid between your legs again—while Sam was still fucking you—and her thumb found your clit with perfect, devastating pressure. You screamed, body jerking violently as she circled it with soft, expert cruelty.
"That's it," she whispered. "Let me help you break."
Sam was gone. Gone.
"Gonna fill you up, baby," he grunted, thrusts getting rougher, more erratic. "You're gonna take it, right? Let me come inside that pretty little cunt?"
"She wants it," Ruby said, matter-of-fact. "She's mine now. She'll take anything I give her. Won't you, baby?"
You cried out, stars bursting behind your eyes, your fingers slipping deeper into Ruby as her hand guided you.
"Fuck me with them," she murmured, voice like velvet-dipped knives. "Make me come while Sammy fucks you full."
You whimpered, your fingers pumping helplessly into her dripping heat as her thumb rubbed cruel circles into your clit, Sam's cock still slamming deep inside, faster, harder—
"You're mine—ours—fuck, I'm gonna—baby—take it—"
You shattered.
Your body convulsed, the scream caught in your throat, legs kicking uselessly as the orgasm ripped through you like nothing had ever existed before it. Sam groaned so loud it echoed off the walls—and then spilled inside you, hips jerking, cock twitching as he filled you up, panting, gasping, babbling your name and Ruby's in a filthy prayer.
Ruby came on your fingers a moment later, moaning low, hand never stopping on your clit as you sobbed through the comedown—wrecked, full, ruined.
"There you go," she whispered. "That's it, baby. That's my perfect little thing."
She kissed you once, slow and sweet.
"You're never leaving this bed again."
You didn't remember when you stopped crying. Somewhere between Sam's moans and Ruby's mouth, your tears had dried—leaving only heat, and ache, and the tremble in your thighs as you lay between them.
You were sore. Sticky. Wrecked in a way that felt permanent.
But you didn't want to move.
You could still feel Sam's spend leaking out of you, warm and slow. Ruby's breath was soft against your cheek, her fingers still tangled with yours like they had every right to be. Sam's hand rested over your belly—heavy, protective, possessive.
You felt claimed. Worshipped. Ruined.
You stared up at the ceiling, breath ragged, thoughts flickering like static, and it settled in your chest like truth:
You weren't yours anymore.
You didn't know when it had happened—when your body stopped being yours, when your heart shifted, when your innocence dissolved between their hands.
You just knew that it had.
And maybe that should have scared you. Maybe, once, it would have.
But lying there, between them—used, owned, kept—all you felt was peace. Because here, in this bed, you belonged to them. And you weren't sure you ever wanted to leave.
i NEED more werewolf dean like ok i know you wrote a long fic of it but i desperately need another one
anything with werewolf dean would be greatly appreciated
werewolf!dean winchester who decides to use you to "experiment" with in order to become normalised to his new way of living. you're close with him, largely through hunting, so of course you're the perfect choice for this (and totally not because he's wanted to fuck you for way too long). nothing really comes of the conversation.. until dean goes into a rut during a hunt.
and of course, he's all over you. he'll press himself up against your ass, lick your neck, growl at anyone who comes too close to you because you belong to him now. and the big part of this "experiment", well, it all happens in a motel room. sam asleep in one of the beds, whilst dean is above you. it's all hushed whines and soft panting as he ruts into your gaping hole, his knot pressing up against you because he's soooo eager to put it in you. but he doesn't because he's scared to hurt you. :(( just whines into your neck as he finally works it into your hole, "jus' gotta do it, sweetheart, 'm sorry, jus' gotta do it to make it stop hurtin'." his tongue lapping against your neck as a silent apology, and then at your cheeks; anything to stop the tears from falling.
You’re on your back and he’s already inside you when the insecurity hits hard.
The lamp on the nightstand is too bright. You didn’t think about it when he pushed you down and shoved your legs open. Now every time he thrusts you feel the soft jiggle of your stomach, the way your thighs spread wider than you want them to, the silver stretch marks across your hips catching the light. You try to pull the sheet up over your middle. Your arm gets in the way of his chest and he makes a low frustrated sound, catches your wrist, and pins it to the mattress beside your head.
“Stop,” he mutters, voice rough from breathing hard. “Don’t do that.”
You turn your face into the pillow anyway. “The light...”
“Fuck the light.” He doesn’t slow down. His hips keep rolling, thick and deep, the wet sound of it loud in the quiet room. “Look at me.”
You don’t. Your free hand slides down and tries to cover the softest part of your belly, the place that folds when he presses in. He notices. Of course he does. Soldier Boy notices everything he decides is his business.
He lets go of your wrist only long enough to bat your hand away, then plants both of his on either side of your waist and holds you open. His thumbs dig into the plush skin there, right over the stretch marks.
“Ben–”
“I can see you,” he says, almost angry about it. “You’re trying to disappear while I’m fucking you. Cut it out.”
Your eyes burn. You hate that your voice comes out small. “I just, I don’t look like–”
“Like what? Like a fucking magazine?” He drives in harder, sharp enough that your breath catches. “I don’t want a magazine. I want this.” One hand leaves your waist and slides under your thigh, hauling it higher so he can get deeper. The new angle makes your stomach press more against his and you flinch. He feels it. “You keep tensing up every time your body moves. Like you’re ashamed of the way it feels when I’m in you.”
You bite your lip. “It’s soft.”
“Yeah.” He says it like it’s obvious. “It’s soft. It gives. It feels fucking good.” He leans down, forehead against yours, still thrusting in that steady, heavy rhythm that makes the bed creak. “You think I care that your stomach isn’t flat? That you’ve got marks? I’ve got scars older than some countries. You’re not broken.”
A small, embarrassed sound slips out of you. You try to turn your face away again and he follows, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then the side of your neck, open-mouthed and a little desperate.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” he mutters against your skin. “No covering. I want to feel all of it.”
You leave your hands above your head, fingers curling into the sheets. It’s hard. Every deep thrust makes your body move in ways that feel too much, too visible. The soft slap of his hips against yours. The way your breasts shift. The stretch marks on your inner thighs pulling tight when he spreads you wider. You can feel yourself getting wetter anyway, traitorous, and he groans when he notices.
“There you go,” he says, voice lower now. “That’s better. Stop fighting it.”
He shifts, hooks one of your legs over his arm, and starts fucking you properly, long, hard strokes that force little punched-out sounds out of your throat. His free hand stays on your belly the whole time, palm spread wide, not pushing down or trying to hide anything, just, there. Holding the softest part of you while he uses the rest.
“Feel that?” he asks, breathless. “How you take me? How wet you get even when you’re busy hating yourself?” He grinds deep and stays there a second, rolling his hips so you feel every inch. “That’s not nothing. That’s you wanting this. Wanting me.”
You nod, eyes wet. “I do. I just–”
“I know.” He kisses you properly then, slower than the rest of him is moving. When he pulls back his voice is quieter. “You don’t have to look perfect for me to want to stay inside you. You already are. Soft and marked up and mine right now.”
Something in your chest loosens. Not all the way. But enough that when he starts moving again you don’t try to hide. You let your hands come down and hold onto his shoulders instead. Your legs stay open. The light stays on. And every time he bottoms out and your body shifts under him, he makes a low, rough sound like it’s exactly what he wanted.
He comes first this time, deep, hips stuttering, a bitten-off curse against your throat, then keeps going until you follow, shaking and quiet and holding onto him like you might float away if you don’t. Afterward he doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays heavy on top of you, one hand still resting on the soft curve of your stomach, thumb stroking absently over a stretch mark like it’s nothing special and everything at once.
Sam Winchester, grown ass man: Is let out of his makeshift rehab underground prison, immediately goes to a swanky hotel and has spontaneous knifeplay blood drinking sex with a demon
He's big and broad, stands out wherever he goes. Especially when someone small stands next to him, it just makes his size so much more obvious. He hates that, wishes he could blend in better.
So a pretty fat thing that covers far more of his frame is a blessing. When his hands can dig into plushy thighs, instead of almost wrapping fully around them, his heart flutters. He loves when tits are so heavy, they spill out between his long fingers.
Fuck, he adores when he can manhandle and carry around someone who's not used to it. The suprised gasp, and quiet sounds of protest fill him with a gentle kind of joy. Being told "im too heavy!" only to proof you wrong fuels his confidence, makes him proud to have found you and show you how much other men suck in comparison to him.
Fat spilling over tight jeans, stockings sinking into thighs, a soft tummy hiding under a loose sweater, cum spilling over a jiggly ass and coating stretch marks, gets his blood running like nothing else. Yeah, he loves fat girls.
simon dating a chubby reader and he’s just so fucking obsessed with you.
don’t EVERRR try to even insinuate that he can’t pick you up because now he’ll just involve you in his workouts.
and no i don’t mean he’ll make you workout with him. (unless you wanna, he literally cant say no to you) i mean he’s using you as a weight to prove he can pick you up effortlessly.
putting you on his back while he’s doing pushups? yupppp
bench pressing you? yessir
having you straddle him while he does hip thrusts? oh y’all don’t even manage to finish the workout if yk what i meann heheEHDFGEHGEH
He's constantly surrounded by violence he needs to be harder and sharper than his enemies.
He's covered in scars and hard skin from years on the field and his missions always leaves him on edge... until he comes home to you.
You are his complete opposite. You and your soft plush body. The only marks on you skin are the stretch marks you shyly tried to hide the first time you two fell into bed together.
The way everything about you is a luxury he thought he could never deserve.
It takes him a day or too to settle at home. For his brain to register that he's safe and he doesn't need to be ghost he can be Simon.
You don't have time to even think when you hear him come down into the living room before he's on you. Groping your soft flesh and kissing you like there is no tomorrow.
He pushes your soft thighs apart yanks your underwear off. And he feasts. You lock him in soft thighs keeping him in place while he makes a mess out of you.
You've learned fairly quickly that Simon is a talker when he has his face buried in your pretty cunt. He's the happiest when he's being suffocated by the fat of your thighs.
And when he looks up at you and your pretty bouncing tits? The man is in heaven.
He pulls orgasm after orgasm out of you. And he hasn't even fucked you yet.
it was hot, crowded, and full of people who made it look easy—like lifting weights and running on treadmills was second nature. meanwhile, you were here, struggling with a machine that looked like it was built for torture rather than exercise.
you adjusted the seat, tried to grab the handles, then frowned when they felt too far away.
frustration bubbled up in your chest. maybe you were just doing it wrong. maybe you shouldn’t even be here.
“need a hand, love?”
the deep, accented voice startled you. you turned—and immediately regretted it.
because holy shit.
the man standing behind you was massive. tall, broad-shouldered, built like he could snap the machine in half with one hand. he was dressed in all black, a hoodie pulled up over his head, a skull mask covering the lower half of his face. and yet, even with all that, his presence alone made heat crawl up your neck.
“i—uh—” words? gone. brain? empty.
his eyes flicked down to the machine, then back to you.
“you’re set too far back.” his voice was gruff, like he wasn’t used to talking much. “lemme show you.”
before you could protest, he reached past you, adjusting the seat effortlessly. his arm barely grazed yours, but it was enough to make you hyper-aware of how close he was.
“try now.”
you swallowed hard, nodding, trying to ignore how warm your face felt as you reached for the handles again. this time, it fit better.
“better?”
you nodded again. “y-yeah, thanks.”
he huffed, stepping back, arms crossing over his chest. “good. no point in doin’ it if you’re just gonna hurt yourself.”
at first, that was all it was. he’d spot you now and then, offering the occasional correction, always watching with that unreadable gaze. sometimes, if you did something right, he’d murmur a quiet "good girl," and it sent a shiver down your spine every time.
but then, he started noticing things.
the way your shirt rode up when you stretched, the peek of soft skin at your waist. the way your thighs pressed together when you sat down to catch your breath. the way you avoided looking in the mirror, adjusting your clothes like you were trying to hide yourself.
and it pissed him off.
because, fuck, how did you not see what he saw?
one day, you were tugging at your shirt again, mumbling something under your breath as you glared at your reflection.
ghost heard it.
“quit that.”
you froze, looking up at him, wide-eyed.
he stepped closer, his voice dropping low. dangerous. “ain’t gonna stand here and watch you tear yourself apart. not when you’re the prettiest thing i’ve ever laid eyes on.”
your breath hitched. “i—”
but he didn’t let you finish. he grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the locker room—empty, because it was late—and backed you against the wall.
“y’know what i see when i look at you?” his gloved hand trailed down, fingers brushing over your belly, gripping at the soft flesh with something close to reverence. “i see somethin’ perfect.”
then his mask was up just enough for you to see his mouth, and before you could process it, he was biting.
your belly. your thighs. your love handles. he had his hands on you, all over you, pressing you against the wall as he nipped, kissed, worshiped every inch of soft skin he could reach. he growled between bites, “so fuckin’ soft,” and, ‘could spend all night right here.”
and when you tried to protest, tried to tell him you weren’t—
he growled. actually growled, sinking his teeth into your thigh before pulling back, lips curling into something almost smug.
“don’t wanna hear another word about it,” he muttered. then, hoisted you up—like it was nothing—and carried you over to the bench.
“now. y’gonna let me sit you on my lap, or you gonna make me take you home first?”
So much to hold and sooo much to squeeze. He always has to have a hand on you. He's never been much for pda but with a bird so plump he doesn't mind resting a hand on your ass waist the whole time you're out together.
He loves to show off how strong he is. Picking you up like it's nothing. His huge hands gripping the plush of your thighs. No matter how big you are, he always relishes in dwarfing you with his size.
And god, don't get him started on your tits. The way they bounce when he fucks you. Jiggling hypnotically with each thrust. He's obsessed. Sometimes you have to wear baggy clothes around the house just to get shit done. Because if you show even a hint of your soft curves he's all over you in seconds.
You should have gone to bed hours ago. You know that you will regret it in the morning, but you feel awake and in a strange flow. It is still cool at night and you almost consider wearing a cardigan over the loose maxi dress that slides down your shoulders every few movements. But you don't. You know the days will heat up more and more and you want to soak in the cold as long as you can.
It is a weirdly peaceful feeling, standing in your kitchen at one in the morning, dishwasher running, smoking a joint and hanging up the laundry. Your brain finally harmonising with the world around, the quiet of the night calming you. It feels like flowing in a natural state, with nobody expecting anything from you.
There is a quick flash of guilt. Should you miss him more? Is it bad that you feel so complete on your own? But maybe it is one of the reasons why you are still in this relationship, whatever it is. That you don't need him to be happy. That you don't want to chain him to this home and neither does he.
And you do miss him. You miss his heartbeat at night, you miss his warmth and his voice and the little ways he shows how he feels. He makes your life easier without making you feel like you depend on it. You could fix the sink. And you will, if he can't come home soon. But you can live with it for a few more days and when he is here, you will look at him without shame when he rolls up his sleeves and grabs the tools. You love watching him work, the way his hands move, the same strength he uses when he lifts you up.
Shit, now you really miss him. One of the few men who can make you feel small, who doesn't give you the unspoken impression that you are too fat, too much. So you do the only reasonable thing. Taking a selfie with your dress dangerously low, smoke escaping your lips and eyes half closed.
/Miss you/ is all you write when you send it, nothing else to add. You don't check if he read it, you know he will, when he is safe and alone.
What you don't expect is a text back a few minutes later, an unfocused picture of his hand grabbing his bulge.
/Bloody hell, you should be sleeping. ETA in 5h, get some rest. You'll need it/
You know that is a promise and it really doesn't help you falling asleep.
▪ summary: A week before Dean kicks the bucket and is sent to hell, you try to leave bed to get ready for the day, but he has other plans.
▪ warnings/tags: no use of the reader's pronouns, swearing, fluff, smut, sleepy!dean, light description of genitalia, pet names - baby, sweetheart.
▪ w/c: 927
(Let me know if I should add anything!) MDNI
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▪ author's note: Deciding to start off with my first published fanfic! (oneshot?) Let me know if you'd like any more like this — requests are open!
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April 25th 2008.
its been 358 days since Dean made the deal with a crossroads demon to save his little brother.
Since then you, Bobby, and Sam have been struggling to find some sort of way to save Dean despite his constant confliction with the idea. Today you had plans to help Sam translate a ritual that might help, but Dean wants to enjoy his last week alive.
8:43am
Sam had left for the day, leaving both Dean and yourself alone in the rundown motel room, cuddled up together.
You stir when lines of morning light bleeds in from beneath the blinds, an annoyed groan rumbling groggily from your throat as you have to move from the most comfy spot just to avoid the sunny rays.
In an attempt to coax yourself back into sleep, you find yourself nuzzling into the crease where Dean's elbow digs into a pillow, forcing your eyes shut for what felt like half an hour before unwillingly forcing yourself up.
You stare at the clock with a look of pure distain as it reads "8:50am" before sitting up with a weak yawn.
8:50am
After a few seconds of building up the effort to start the day, you shift your legs over the side of the bed with a glance back at Dean, just can't help smiling at his sleeping form — reaching over to run a gentle hand through his hair before pressing an even gentler kiss to his forehead.
With a very reluctant sigh you slide off the bed, bare feet pressing against the carpeted floor. Not even taking two steps yet, you're cut off by the familiar warmth of a large hand wrapping around your wrist and tugging you back onto the bed.
A small chuckle leaves your lips when you turn to see the face of a tired Dean Winchester.
“Dean,” You sigh softly and pry his hand from your wrist, “I gotta help Sam today...”
Dean glances up at you with heavy lids threatening to close yet again.
“No... Stay,” He demanded, grabbing at your wrist again in an attempt to convince you, “Jus' five more minutes, baby.”
8:55am
Another sigh leaves you, this time in defeat as you let Dean pull you down beside him once again — your positions a mirror of when you first awoke.
You find your back tucked closely against Dean's bare chest, enjoying the feeling of his hands settling against your stomach as his fingers trace small, rhythmic patterns into your skin.
Dean suddenly mutters against your shoulder, pressing a kiss against it when he does,
“You—You're so fuckin' perfect, sweetheart.”
He can't help but pull you impossibly closer, slipping a knee between your thighs as his hips meet your ass.
“Dean..” You gasp softly, teeth finding your bottom lip.
A gruff chuckle leaves his throat before he let's his own teeth graze against the nape of your neck, following the action with a teasing slip of his hand beneath your pajama shorts.
An amused hum vibrates against your neck as Dean traces his fingers over your mound, kissing up the side of your neck when he dips them between your folds.
“A-Ah...~”
“Dean!” A breathy moan spills from your lips, hips bucking without any sort of permission as two of Dean's digits press into you, a weak whine lingering in the air when his thumb presses against your clit.
9:00am
Dean's taken it upon himself to mark you up, sucking dark hickeys into your neck and sinking his teeth into your shoulders just enough to barely break skin.
One hand gropes your body all over, anywhere he sees fit, everywhere he can reach — the other has his fingers pumping as far as they can, the cold metal of his ring pressing against you every now and again.
The wet noises coming from between your thighs fill both your ears and the atmosphere around you and Dean, the feeling of his sweat slicked chest against your back adds to the already overwhelming commotions happening inside and out.
“Dean, I-I can't — It's too much..~” Another whine, far more noticeable as you lose yourself in the sensations, brain fogging up when Dean edges you closer and closer to an inevitable climax.
“Ohh, but you can, baby,” He croons lovingly, rubbing his thumb in tight little circles right on your clit, “You— are gonna cum... And you're gonna cum on my fingers.” He declairs with a particularly rough thrust to that spongey spot inside you by curling his fingers just right.
9:07
After minutes of constant teasing and coaxing you find yourself squirming beneath Dean's articulate touch you can feel yourself finally getting closer.
“Ah, ah, ah!—” Moans and desperate gasps for air finally reach you while Dean relentlessly fingers that little spot and rubs against your clit,
“Y'right there, sweetheart..” He nips at your ear before focusing harshly over your clit, absolutely adoring the wet sounds your hole makes when you start gushing around him.
You can't help but sob out moans into the pillow beneath your head, hips stuttering as you cum on his hand before he presses his thick didgets digits back into you as if he was plugging you up.
“So good for me, sweetheart...” He croons against your ear as you ride out your pleasurable high.
9:12
Slowly, you finally calm down, hugging Dean's arm as it wraps around you.
“That wasn't five minutes, Dean..” You feign complaint as you close your eyes.
“Take as long as I fuckin' want.” He bites you one last time before tucking your head beneath his chin, “Go to sleep, baby.”
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