amor-ad-nauseam

[amor-ad-nauseam]

I have a type, and he’s in trouble most of the time

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Are you going to make a threesome on your face "Eyes on you" or make a pt 2? HOLY SHIT THAT FIC WAS AWESOME. Also, if you are going to do the threesome, no wincest, or you're going to Hell (Lucifers cage)

posted :p

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Eyes on you. pt 2 (18+)

Part 1 | Bridge | Alternate Ending

Pairing(s): Soulles!SamWinchester x Reader x Dean Winchester

Rating: 18+

Summary: Things left off a little tense with the Winchesters after Dean caught Sam screwing you while you two were supposed to be working… However, one day, one salt and burned ghost, 4 beers, 2 shots of whiskey, and 8 hours later, you find yourself sticky, sweaty, and aching in places you didn’t even know you could ache. Oh, and sandwiched between Sam and Dean on a motel bed. Wait. What? 

Word Count: 6.0k

Tags: Soulless Sam Winchester x reader x Dean Winchester, no wincest , Soulless Sam, Sam Winchester smut, Dean Winchester smut, PiV, no protection (wrap it up kids), creampie, breath play, choking, fingering, degradation, praise, jealous Sam, jealous Dean, gentle dom Dean, dom Sam, mentions of alcohol and drinking, spit roast (sharing is caring), porn with plot

Notes: Hope I got everything in the tags there is ALOT happening. At the end there's a 'morning after' scene which is a bit more comedic than the rest of the fic so skip that part if it isn't what you're looking for

“Yeah, okay?” Sam replies incredulously.

“ ‘Yeah okay’ as in I don’t give a shit anymore, Sam.” Dean sighs, laying back against the headboard. “I can’t give a shit. Not right now. Do what you want. Just keep her safe.” 

It was only the next night it occurred to Sam that Dean wasn’t talking to him at all when he said to keep you safe.

He was talking to himself.

You two looked so damn happy it was sickening. It’s been four hours, thirty minutes and fifteen seconds since you three managed to find the ghost and send it into the light. It’s been three hours thirty minutes and sixteen seconds that you've been at this bar and forty five minutes seventeen seconds since Sam lost interest in the rather dull brunette he was talking to and began to take notice of (and hate) all the attention you were paying to Dean.

Ever since last night, Dean has made exquisite work of keeping you close. Correction, keeping you from him. And damn if he wasnt good at subterfuge. God knows that if you caught even a whiff of what Dean was doing, you wouldn’t be perched upon his lap right now. 

“Wait, wait, wait, backup.” Said the hunter sat across from the pair in the booth. “You’re telling me that the thing didn’t die, even after you salt-’n’-burned it?” 

“No, no, see,” Dean shifts in his seat, leaning in and gesturing with his beer bottle as he speaks. “We thought we burned the bones.” His other hand slips beneath your thighs to move you over slightly so you won’t fall.

“But turns out we had the wrong grave,” You chime in with a chuckle.

“And how in the hell did you manage that?!” Barked the man next to you with drunken laughter.

“We were in the wrong yard!” Dean laughs and the whole table follows, erupting in disjointed, intoxicated laughter. 

“Aw, hell,” Laughs  a woman at the far end of the table. “Y'all are too damn funny. You know what, next rounds on me!” Cheers sound around the table, bottles clink and laughs echo. However, no sooner than the woman vacates her spot does Sam fill it.

“Well, well, well, if it ain't the younger Winchester brother.” Chuckles the man sitting in a chair dragged to the head of the booth.

“Hey, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.” Sam smiles warmly. You couldn’t see it, but given the look of feigned innocence across Sam’s features, Dean was glaring at him. The brothers were locked in one of those silent conversations that no one understood but them. Dean takes a sip of his beer before pulling you closer to him. Odd.

“Oh, well we’re just sharing huntin’ stories,” Says the man next to you and Dean. “These two knuckleheads,”  He nudges Dean. “were just telling us about y’alls' latest misadventure.” The man grins.

“Yeah?” Sam smirks, taking his sweet time to turn his gaze from you and Dean to the man across from him. “If you think that’s something, wait till you hear about the time we dealt with a ghost who thought he was an angel.” 

The woman sets the round of beers down with a clink. The group cheers, grabbing the glass bottles. You grab two and pass one to Dean behind you. Sam frowns.

“You know we’ve gotta hear that one.” The woman smiles.  

“Oh it’s a long one, I'm not sure you’d wanna hear it all.” Sam chuckles, quickly recovering. He stands politely to give the woman her seat back. 

“Oh to hell with that.” Laughs the drunk man to your right. 

—

Two hours, three rounds of beer and one of whiskey later, you were drunk off your goddamn ass and the rest of your companions weren’t in much better shape. “...The dumbass went after a woman in white knowing good n’ well he cheated on his ex-wife.”  The drunk man (who looks about ready to pass out now) laughs so loudly that it drowns out the rest of the booth. 

“Goddamnit, Earl.” Said the man in the chair next to him. “Would you stop tellin’ people that story every chance you got?” He frowns. 

“Ay, ain't my fault it’s a good story, Lee.” Earl says, rocking his stool with a laugh.  Lee just 

chuckles and shakes his head.

The woman who earlier got the beers, whose name you later learned was Jackie, leans across the table with a small smirk. “These boys should really just leave the women in white to us.”

“Hey, I heard that.” Ennis, the man directly across from you chimes in. “Not all of us men are cheating dogs y’know.” 

You lean in to Jackie, a knowing grin playing on your lips. “But enough of ‘em are.” 

“Oh, I know that's right.” You exchange a low high-five. “I can still hear you.” Ennis grumbles. 

“Oh just drink yer beer.” Jackie chuckles. 

Ennis, disgruntled, decides to ask for a second opinion. “Hey, uh,” He snaps his fingers. “Sam! how ‘bout you? You ever met a woman in white? How’d it go?”

All eyes turn to Sam, –well, except for Lee and Earl, who were still bickering. Dean’s hands find your hips, he leans in, chin resting on your shoulder. “Hey, move over for me a little, sweetheart?” he murmurs gently. No one except Sam takes notice of this. Your hips shift slightly. So do Dean’s hands. Probaby to move you off of his–

“Well?” Jackie asks 

“Oh... uh.” Sam looks away uncomfortably. 

“And there you have it!” Jackie smacks the table. “You owe me five bucks,” She says to Ennis. 

“Now, now, hold on. Give the boy a chance to speak. And you know damn well we never bet on nothing.”

Once again, all eyes return to Sam.

“Well.” He rubs the back of his neck. “She did attack me, but! I'm pretty sure it was just because I was trying to kill her.”

“See?” Jackie says with a proud confidence. 

“See what?” Ennis grins. “Like he said, he was trying to kill her.”

Jackie waves him off. “Women in white only appear to unfaithful men.”

“Who said she appeared to Sam? Maybe she appeared to Dean and Sam was just trying to help him out.”

Dean, drunk and beginning to doze off, immediately springs up, more awake than ever. “Why are you assuming she appeared to me?” He says with a laugh and hint of slight offense. 

“Look, no offense, Dean, but you sorta got yourself a reputation.” Ennis chuckles. 

“A reputation?”  Dean laughs.

“Wouldn’t leave my wife alone in a room with you.” Earl chimes in. 

“Wouldn't leave my girlfriend either.” Lee adds.

“Hell, I wouldn’t leave my husband alone with you.” Jackie concedes. 

“Dean Winchester, the famous womanizer.” Sam grins.

Before Dean can respond to the allegations, the bartender’s voice sounds through the room. “Last call!” he shouts.

“And that…” Says Earl. “Is our cue.” Lee finishes. The pair rise from their seats amidst the groans of the rest of the table. “This was fun. But I gotta get this idiot back home before he does somethin’ stupid.” Lee says, clapping Earl between the shoulder blades. Earl rolls his eyes. The pair bicker all the way past the crowd of people surrounding the bar and even continue as they join the smaller crowd leaving. 

“Well they sure are a hoot and a half.” Jackie grins.

—

Slowly but surely, the booth empties out. While the bar buzzes with life all around, you, Sam and Dean were in your own little bubble: Nursing what was left of your beers, laughing and telling stories. Still, you couldn’t help but feel like there was something the boys weren’t telling you.

“Shifter in Ohio. 2002,” you said, tugging at the collar of your shirt to reveal a scar just below your clavicle “Real nasty sonofabitch.” 

“Huh,”  Sam says. “Didn’t even notice that one yesterday.” While his voice was innocent enough, you knew he was trying to set you off. Little did you know, Dean was thinking the exact same thing. 

Dean wraps an arm around your waist moving you over just enough to give him access to the hem of his shirt and just enough to piss off Sam. He lifts his shirt to reveal a long, nasty scar right at his hip bone. “Werewolf. Chicago. ‘99. Sammy was barely out of his diapers.” He chuckles. 

“I was sixteen,” Sam sneers.

“Like I said, barely out of his diapers.” Dean looks at you with a shit eating grin. His expression quickly falters when he takes in your current state: eyelids drooping, arms which were once draped over his shoulders beginning to slip, all with a dumb, happy, smile painted across  your lips. 

“You okay, hon?”

Sam looks about ready to throw up. “Yeah, you okay, hon?” he mocks. Dean shoots him a glare. 

“Mhm, peachy,” you slur out. 

“Always were a lightweight,” Dean says with a small smile. He brushes a piece of hair from your face in a tender fashion. “Y’know, i’m not feeling much better than she looks and they’ll be closing soon anyway,” he says to Sam. “Get ‘er a water, wouldja?” 

Sam pays his brother no mind and instead looks straight at you. “Be right back, hon,” he teases, giving your thigh a squeeze. Dean glares. Sam winks. 

As he walks away, Sam manages to catch a bit of your conversation.

“Where’s Sam going?” 

“Eh, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“He gives me the creeps. I think I like you more.”

By the time Sam comes back to the table, you’re gone. And not in the physical sense. 

You’re straddling Dean’s lap. He’s kissing you greedily, tongue snaked past your lips and holding all of your attention. His fingers dig into your hips with want and thank god for the dim lights, or else your pawing at his crotch would be so much more noticeable. 

“Got your water,” Sam says, clearing his throat

You snap your head in his direction. Your eyes blow wide like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “S-sam.” 

“Right on time,” Dean says sarcastically. He lets out a huff and sinks back into the seat. 

“Barely buzzed and already making bad decisions, hm?” Sam smirks as he sits next to you. “C’mere.” He screws the top off your water for you, but instead of handing you the bottle, he holds it to your lips at an angle just a little too far. 

You crane your neck to reach, but it still isn’t enough. So, you sight up straighter, inadvertently rolling your hips.

Dean lets out a small groan and gives your ass a rewarding squeeze. 

Sam pulls the bottle away and taps your cheek. “Swallow.”

 You do as told.

 “Good girl.”

Dazed and slightly confused, you don’t even question it when Sam then pulls you in by your cheek for a kiss. Being the obedient and happy little drunk you are, you oblige

Your hips begin to rock. You're unsure if it's your doing or Dean’s, but either way you were happy. Especially with the pleasant firmness placed right against your core 

Sam’s tongue slips suddenly past your lips in an aggressive manner, like he has something to prove.

---------------------------------------

You’re not quite sure how you got here: Dean nipping at the nape of your neck and sliding off your jacket; Sam’s tongue down your throat and his hands creeping up your shirt all as you clumsily stumble into the motel room. 

Memories and words swirl together and bubble with the warm buzz of alcohol in your system. From what you could remember, Sam drove, glaring at a much drunker Dean all over you in the back seat. You faintly remember hearing one of them say “Not a jealousy thing, huh?” and remember thinking dimly: ‘what's all that about?’

You’re brought back to your senses only by the feeling of falling, then something firm, yet soft hitting your back. 

“Be a little more rough with her, huh?” Dean bites at Sam. He crawls to the open space next to you on the bed and begins gently kissing and sucking at your neck apologetically. 

“Don't worry, I will. She likes that.” Sam grins smugly and begins discarding his clothes. It's a shame you never saw Sam’s abs yesterday. Every inch of well-toned skin he reveals as he pulls off his shirt feels like a prayer answered. 

 Slightly confused still, you tug at Dean’s hair “What’re we d-?” you start before he silences you in a kiss. 

“Don't worry ‘bout it, darlin.’ “ 

You shrug in response. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was lust, but in this moment, you decide to completely give in. For once, you didn't have to make any decisions, didn't have to call the shots, didn’t have to keep anyone in line. You could leave yourself at their mercy and feel amazing while doing it. 

With a dumb, tired smile, you slide your hands over Dean’s shoulders and pull him in for a kiss. He lets out a groan against your lips that makes your heart flutter. Just then you feel your jeans and panties roughly yanked down to your knees. Before you even have a chance to process, Sam plunges two fingers deep inside your cunt. You gasp, tearing yourself away from Dean. 

“Shh, baby, don't pay any attention to him,” Dean murmurs against your neck. Running a hand through your hair, he pulls you back into another messy kiss. He groans against your mouth while your whiskey coated tongues swirl around one another.

“She's already so wet,” Sam says with a small, wry, laugh. He kneels between your legs, which are dangling off the edge of the bed, and makes quick work of getting your jeans off. And you’re not quite sure if you’re seeing straight but- did Sam just pocket your panties?

Dean moans against your mouth. “That right, baby?” he says between kisses. “You turned on for us?” 

You attempt to reply, but Sam, oh god, he starts moving. His middle and ring finger rhythmically thrust in and out of your wet pussy with noises that make your cheeks burn with embarrassment. The lack of warning and the sheer force used causes You whine against Dean’s lips until it's all too much. You tear yourself away from him, again, with  breathless calls of pleasure floating out into the abyss of the dark room. 

Beside you, Dean pulls away instead of making another gambit for your attention. You hear the sound of clothes falling to the floor, and then the slapping of flesh. He grips himself lazily — drunken and aroused, his fist pumps his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he watches your face contort in pleasure. 

Sam, meanwhile, decides to take things a step further. He licks and sucks at the inside of your thighs like a man starved. Yet he teases, inching closer but never quite reaching where you want him to. You needily grind your hips against his fingers. It was rather ironic how similar it all was to the previous night. 

 At the sound of slapping and the smell of sweet sweat finally greeting your impaired senses, you look to your left.  Normally lean, mean, Dean was on his knees. Sat on his heels, eyes screwed shut, lips fallen apart, stroking himself with the utmost concentration. 

To Sam’s utter annoyance, or dismay (he wasn’t quite sure which) you sit up on your elbows and reach a hand over to stroke Dean yourself. 

If it weren’t for Sam curling his fingers against your G spot, you would’ve leaned over and begun to use your mouth as well. Instead, his action brought a breathy, “fhuuuuk” from you, complete with a furrowed brow and closed eyes. 

Dean slides up your shirt and bra, revealing your breasts and a pair of perfectly firm nipples. He shudders slightly before beginning to roll your nipple between his fingers. Your moans quickly meld into high-pitched squeaks. “Deeaan,” you whine, your fingers splaying out. Pleased, he removes your hand from his length and presses his hand to your back, helping you sit up. 

Just then, Sam flicks his tongue against your clit, effectively stealing Deans thunder.  Your body complies without your thinking, your back arches and your hips jerk forward. As if you were the only source of water in the Sahara, Sam laps at your pussy like there’s no tomorrow. Your fingers tangle into his dark hair, partially because he was eating out your cunt so well that you needed something to keep you grounded to earth, and partially because a particular loose strand was tickling your inner thigh. 

Sam pulls away for a moment, his lips and chin coated in your slick. “You like that?” he rasps, a smug pride within him. You can do no more than moan in reply. “Shame we had to be quiet yesterday. You sound so pretty.” With that, Sam curls two fingers right against the soft pad of flesh just inside your cunt with a grin. Before you can even begin to formulate a sentence, he dives in once more, licking and sucking at your clit, his tongue moving in gentle but pressured repetitions. 

“Mfgh- ngh- S-sam.. oOh my fuu-“ Dean's lips press against yours in a deep kiss. 

“Shh, sweetheart. The neighbors,” he warns when he pulls away. He cups your face in his hands and revels in your expression. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

Dean plants hot, open-mouthed kisses  down your jaw and neck. By the time he makes it to your shoulder, you’re already missing the heat of his lips on yours. So, you grab him by the chin and hardly have to tug before he's happily following you into a kiss. 

Sam, having seen the whole ordeal, pulls away from you, licking his lips as he does. The sudden loss of contact grabs your attention. With hooded eyes, face still pressed to Dean’s, you watch as the younger brother rises to his feet, thumbs pressing at the waistband of his boxers. 

He begins to slide them down, oh so agonizingly slowly. The feeling of lips pressed to yours begins to dull. You aren’t quite sure if it’s because Dean pulled away or because your observation is strewn.

A hint of a happy trail greets your gaze. A hand enters your periphery and presses to your jaw, pulling you in. 

In a blink, the firm base of Sam’s cock is visible. Suddenly, you're unaware Dean is even here at all. He’s like background noise in a movie — filtered out by your brain in favor of the more promising plot that has you on the edge of your seat. 

All of this happens in a matter of seconds but in this motel room, it feels time has chosen its own pace to flow at. Another blink. A kiss at the nape of your neck. Sam looks at you, eyes dark as if someone had dared him. Blink. A fully erect dick stands before you. Blink. A set of hands on your hips. A small, presumptuous gasp leaves Sam as his tip nudges against your wet entrance. 

You feel the shift of your hips; you’re being pulled… backward? In a singular swift motion, Dean steals you from Sam’s grasp, lifts you up and impales you on himself. 

You let out a large, strangled, near pornographic moan. 

The three of you pause. The room goes silent, save for panting breaths.

Dean is large and thick. God, is he thick. Slowly, his hands creep up your sides. “Baby,” Dean whispers soothingly. He begins to move you. Your pussy hardly slides a centimeter on his cock before you let out another strangled moan. 

“You’re hurting her,” Sam grumbles. He didn’t care all that much. Not really anyway. He was more pissed that Dean got to be inside you before him tonight. 

Dean reaches forward and pulls your hair over your shoulders gently. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

“It’s o-nmghh!“ You reply as Dean leans in to press a kiss to your neck, inadvertently pushing himself deeper inside you. 

Sam, ever the prince, swoops in. “Shh, it’s okay.” He runs a hand over your cheek, soothing you through your labored breathing. “Wanna take me instead, baby?” Dean glares at him. 

“Mn- no, no, I can do it.” You breathe a shaky sigh while you try to steady yourself. 

“Atta girl.” Dean murmurs. His hands reposition on your hips. Sam’s jaw shifts. 

You feel Dean’s large cock begin to pull out of your cunt. Every centimeter he moves has you squirming. 

When you suck in a particularly sharp gasp, Sam’s large hands find the soft flesh of your ribs. “Gotta ease ‘er into it,” he says to Dean while never taking his gaze off of you. He slides his hands up and down your sides gently, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite make out. Admiration, maybe? Satisfaction? Whatever. Dean feels so good in you now that you’re adjusting to him, you couldn’t be bothered to care about whatever the hell’s up with Sam. 

Dean glares daggers at him over your shoulder. Sam handles you with a certain familiarity he can’t help but detest. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters. Dean’s calloused hands slide up your torso, elbows jutting out to knock Sam’s hands off. 

Sam puts up his hands in mock surrender, an expression you’re sure’s smugness crossing his features. He takes a seat on the bed across the room and begins stroking himself as he watches you. Dean cups your breasts in his hands and in a singular fail swoop, pulls you back onto him. You two both suck in large, gasping moans as his thick cock stretches you beyond belief.

He starts off slow, with gentle strokes in and out of the warmth of your tight cunt. Trying to hold on to some self restraint, Dean’s lips find your neck once more and begin tracing over the hickeys starting to form.

“You feel so good, baby,” Dean murmurs against your skin. “So tight for me.” 

“Yeah, she is tight,” Sam chimes in, as to remind Dean who got you first.

“Sa- F-fuck, Dean! Ah- Fuck!” You were intending on telling Sam to cut it out, but before you could, Dean wrapped an arm around your torso and slid a hand between your legs. You throw your head back as he begins rubbing your clit in fast, circular motions.

 “She likes it when you’re slow and firm.” Sam corrects. 

Dean ignores him. 

To prove a point, he actually begins fucking you faster, even if it’s a little more than you can handle. Your wet, velvety walls begin to flutter around him. The air you suck in though your agape mouth between moans isn’t enough. Your head feels like it’s filled with cotton. Dean’s cock starts to flex within you. You’re both so, so close.

He stops, pulling away panting. Your eyes snap open, pussy clenching desperately around nothing. You were going to ask why he stopped, but Sam’s smirking expression distracts you. Fine. You’ll get the job done yourself.

Watching Sam grip his large cock, you put your hand between your thighs. The second the first moan escapes your lips, Dean grabs your wrist and gently but firmly pulls your hand away. “Holdon, just-” he says through ragged pants. 

Hips squirming, you whine, begging for more. “S’close... Why’d you stop?” you ask dumbly. 

“ ‘Cause, sweetheart,”  Dean pants. He takes advantage of your needy stupor and gently, but swiftly positions you on all fours. He tangles a hand into your hair and pulls your head back. He leans in and you can feel his hot breath tickle your ear as he whispers.  “I wanna drag this thing out,” 

In an instant His thick cock plunges into your aching cunt once more, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you.

When Dean finally releases your hair, you’re met with a large cock in front of your lips. “So, be a good girl for us and you get to cum,” Sam adds.

The pair moves in perfect sync. Dean grips your hips as he fucks you mercilessly. Sam pulls you by your hair as you suck him. When one thrusts in, the other pulls out, leaving you never empty for longer than a second 

Your warm, wet mouth fits Sam perfectly and with this position you don’t even gag when he slides down your throat. “God, I wish I tried your mouth sooner,” he groans. 

Dean, annoyed, disrupts the rhythm with a hard, out of place thrust, causing you to cry out and stop sucking Sam momentarily. 

Sam roughly pulls you off of his cock and glares down at you. “Behave,” he warns. You go to protest that it isn’t your fault, but Sam puts himself back in your mouth before you have a chance. 

There’s another small stutter in Dean’s that rhythm doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam. You’d clearly clenched around him. He debates for a moment on whether he should display just how well he knows what you need. He doesn’t want to give Dean the satisfaction of feeling you. But at the same time…

“God, you’re such a sult,” Sam moans as your tongue swirls around his tip.

“Hey, don’t call her-“ Dean breaks off in a tiny gasp as you clench around him. He looks down at you surprised. 

“Call her what? A slut?” Sam smirks.

Dean’s hips stutter as your cunt involuntarily squeezes around him once more. 

Sam pulls you away from his cock and takes a moment to admire how you look right now: completely fucked dumb. 

“You’re such a slut you even get off on being called one,” Sam grins. He pulls you toward his cock, not enough to take him fully, but enough to lick his tip. Being the good little slut you are, you do. You eagerly lick the shiny tip of Sam’s cock with an uneven rhythm, egged on by Dean’s jagged thrusts. “Letting yourself get fucked by two guys...” Sam chuckles and all you can do is whine in reply.

Dean looks down at you, shocked at the fact that you seem to be more than enjoying this. As much as he wants to feel you tighten around him again, he’s determined to get you off on his own terms (even if his brother is helping). 

“C’mon, baby, you’re doing such a good job -ngh- takin’ me so well,” he groans. You moan in reply to Dean's words and flutter around him. Dean, looking incredibly proud of himself, gets a little showboat-y 

“Gooood giiirll,” he coos, thrusting into you hard and fast. He makes it a point to moan every time you clench around him. “You like that, honey? Feel good?” 

Your moans of assent are muffled by Sam’s cock stuffing your mouth. As though he’d been personally offended, he glares down at you before suddenly pulling out. “What was that you said, honey? Use your words,” he mocks. 

A little too out of it to process much of anything, let alone what the hell Sam's problem is, you nod dumbly. 

Sam looks more annoyed than anything now. With his free hand he wipes the drool from your chin before grabbing your jaw and tilting your head back to look at him. “I said use your words.” 

Your head feels completely empty now and all you know is how to follow orders. “I- mfgh- yeah, like it,” you whimper through Dean's unrelenting thrusts.  Despite not liking Sam’s methods, he does like your reply, so Dean rewards you with a small slap on the ass. 

Sam damn near rolls his eyes. “You like being called good, huh? You wanna know what I think?” 

You blink slowly at him, your drunk and fucked out brain pretty much on registering pleasure and bits of words at this point. “Hm?” 

He looks down at you with a mocking, almost smug expression. “I think you’re a filthy little whore.“

You whine in reply, your pussy once again tightening around Deans girth. 

Pleased, Sam grins. He places himself back in your mouth, but doesn’t go back to fucking your throat quite yet. “Such a fuckin’ slut.” He smirks, slowly sinking himself into the heat of your mouth again. 

Dean, in an effort of retaliation, rubs your back and chimes in. “Sweetheart, you’re doing so well.” He pants out. 

Sam seems to be having none of that. He picks up the pace, roughly fucking your throat in deep and forceful beats and disrupting the previously established rhythm. “You let me fuck you in the middle of a case.” He grunts “Fuck, you drove back to the motel with my cum leaking out of you. Wonder if it’s still on the backseat.” He lets out a low chuckle

Your head is spinning. A moment more and you’re sure you’ll pass out. Pure instinct is all you’re running on at this point. Hot, needy, animal instinct. You moan loudly at the memory Sam’s words arouse. 

Dean, fending off his orgasm, lets out a shaky breath. He’s determined not to be outlasted.“You look so pretty like this, baby,” He groans out as he closes his eyes. 

You push your hips back against him for the praise and feel his rhythm stutter. 

“Now you’re getting fucked in the mouth and the pussy. Cum dumpster.“ Sam continues, giving your hair another tug. 

You whine and swirl your tongue around Sam's cock. 

“Such a -mmfgh- good girl for us, doing so good,”  Dean sighs. 

“Whore,” Sam grunts.

If it weren’t for Sam’s dick in your mouth, your head would be on the mattress by now. You can hardly keep yourself upright, and as if that weren’t bad enough, your body doesn’t seem to be receiving any of the messages your brain is attempting to send.

An ask for air comes out as a whimper. Telling Dean to slow down just results in you bucking your hips.

Sam reaches down and lightly wraps his fingers around your throat. You feel your heartbeat intensify, which you didn't even know was possible at this point. 

“Want me to choke you like I did last night?” He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip watching you. He gently rubs your neck with his thumb, a stark contrast to his violent thrusts. 

True to form, while you attempt to object, shaking your head as much as you can with your mouth this full, your needy body sends a countermand. You push your neck further into Sam’s grasp. 

A pathetic “Mmmfgh!” is all you have to show for your disapproval.

Sam just smirks, tightening his grip on your throat as he slowly deprives you of oxygen. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

The fuzz in your head begins to spread throughout your entire body. It’s a nice, warm tingling sensation which nearly makes you forget all of your troubles.

“Baby,“ Dean moans. You feel his cock beginning to twitch inside of your pussy. 

“Slut,” Sam counters, his pace speeding up.  

You moan senselessly around him. That tingling feeling finally reaches your stomach, where it only intensifies. 

“Sweetheart,” Dean moans

Your abdomen starts to tense.  

“Yeah- you’re such a good fuck” 

“Just focus on me, darlin’ right here- mfgh- you’re tight — got me so close, baby. You want it inside?“ 

“Look at her, of course she does.” 

“What do you want, baby?“ 

“She let me cum inside, be a damn shame if she didn’t let you.”

You moan fervently around Sam’s cock, desperate for them to shut up and just cum inside of you. Before you know it, you’re bucking your hips back against Dean’s. All at once your body becomes taut and then feels as though it explodes. A sea of stars washes over you and bursts behind your eyelids. Sam and Dean’s orgasms follow shortly after. As Dean buries himself deep within you, Sam pulls out and cums on your face. 

Your last memory before you slip out of consciousness is Sam scooping some of the white, hot liquid off of your cheek and pushing his coated fingers into your mouth.  

----------------------------------------------

You reach across the warm mass below you, your hand uselessly searching for for the Tylenol- no, Aspirin, no- wait fuck, Ibuprofen? Shit, you cannot think with this goddamn headache. There’s a groan from behind you. 

“Keep it down,” says a raspy male voice, wincing at the sound of your hand slapping against the wooden nightstand. 

Giving up on your search for pain meds, you roll over, sinking back into his arms. His strong, muscular, scarred arms. He wraps his them around your shoulders and gives you a tight squeeze. 

You settle your head against his bare chest once more as you strain against your desire to fall asleep. With a small groan you force yourself to blink in the morning…. and subsequently blink in the sight of an anti possession tattoo just below his clavicle. 

A thousand possibilities run through your head without actually forming into proper thoughts . “WOAH!” you shout as you sit up, pulling the sheets with you 

“Wha- HOLY-“ Dean looks at you with a sudden alertness, then looks down  to see himself full frontal. In bed. With you. Very, very naked you. 

Still processing the fact that you were in fact, wrapped up in Dean’s, strong, scarred arms, you throw a pillow at his junk. 

“Ow!?!?” he shouts, using the pillow to cover himself. “What? You think it’s gonna attack you?!” 

“It scared me!” 

“Scared you?!”

“Just put it awayy!!” You reply, half childish whine, half yell. 

“When you put yours away,” he snorts. 

“Put my- OH MY GOD!” You look down to find your tits out, and your nipples standing at attention in the cold room. You practically run to the other side of the bed, wrapping  the sheets around you like a prayer. 

“Fuck,” Groans a voice next to you. 

You and Dean make scared eye contact. 

With a shaking hand, you slowly lift the comforter away from what or who you already know is there. You creep away from him, as if the minute you lift the blanket from the curled figure, he’ll  bite. You prepare to jump off of the bed by bracing your hand in the space next to you, only to find your hand pressing on something warm and soft. 

Sam shouts, jerking awake, springing up and defensively pulling his legs (and balls) away from you. “Ow!” 

The moment Dean sees his brother, naked, in bed with you, also naked, and himself, also, also naked there's only one reply. “WHAT. THE. FUCK?!”

Tag list: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @n0va25 @wowzabowza69 @sophsthebest @meiplays @adorifyy @lillies444lola

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Eyes on you - Chose your ending

Part 1

Summary: The boys argue over what did. Yet somehow, he gets to have you again... with or without Dean's approval.

Word Count: 900

Tags: Soulless Sam Winchester x reader, Soulless Sam Winchester x reader x Dean Winchester, smut, reader has she/her pronouns, reader has female anatomy, no use of y/n

Notes: If you thought that last hiatus was long... LMAFO. Sorry guys, but to make it up, here's two fics in one.

The ride back to the motel was excruciating. You could feel Sam’s cum running down the inside of your thighs. The air was stale and tense. Did Dean know? Why hasn't he said anything if he did? Sam gave you the occasional smirking glance in the rearview mirror and if looks could kill, he would be dead a thousand times over by Dean's eyes. Meanwhile you guiltily sank into your seat like a child caught stealing.

When you three finally got back, You quickly retreated to your room and the boys to theirs. 

Comfortably alone, you remain lost in thought as you grab your pajamas. What transpired earlier can never happen again. Overcome by lust and undealt with feelings you had sex with- no that wasn’t the way to describe it, you got fucked by Sam in the middle of a case. 

Fucking hell. 

You let your clothes drop to the floor and twist the knob. The running water from the shower almost entirely drowns out the muffled conversation from next door. 

“Even if you can’t feel it, you gotta know what you did was messed up, right?”  Dean said, glass bottles clinking as he set a six pack on the desk. This is the first thing he’s said to Sam since the manor and even if Sam can’t feel the implications of that, he understands it. 

Sam looks at his brother with a generally disinterested expression. “You’re going to have to clarify what you mean,”  he says flatly, attention going back to whatever movie he was pretending to watch. 

“You should’ve told her, Sam.” He jams the lid of his beer against the side of the desk, causing it to fly off with a pop. He catches the cap with his other hand. 

“What difference does it make? And besides, I don’t see how it’s your business anyway.” he shrugs with a slight glance to his brother. 

“Uh, it’s my damn business cause you’re my brother and she’s my friend.” There was an ever so slight hesitation before the words ‘my brother’. To any other person it would look as though Dean was just trying to find the words, but to Sam? There was a hidden message in that hiccup. When his older brother speaks, it's a confident, unbridled swiftness. When he did pause, it was to iron the curses from his tongue or to stop Freudian slips. This one was the latter. 

What Dean really meant to say was: ‘You’re the soulless freak that used to be my brother. I can’t have you defiling Her.’ 

A small scoff slips past Sam’s lips. “Right, friend.” He teases. 

“You know what, Sam,” Dean sets his beer on the desk with a thud. “Fuck. You.”

For a second Sam considers saying that you already did that for him, but decides against it. 

“Don’t make this into some weird jealousy thing when it’s not. She’s our friend and you screwed her in the middle of a case, don’t forget that.” To this, Sam also considers making a sly comment, but once again decides against it. 

Sam sighs. “Okay, you’re right, it won’t happen again.” He mockingly crosses his right hand over his heart. “I promise to only fuck her when we’re off the clock. But you might wanna get a pair of headphones.” 

Dean’s Jaw sets. He crosses the room in record time. Potent beer-breath in Sam’s face, he snatches the remote and turns off the TV. “No.”

“What do you mean no-“ 

“I mean, you’re not doing anything with her again. You’re too screwed up right now. Hell, I don't even want you alone with her.” He tosses the remote somewhere out of Sam’s reach and leans against the dresser with his arms crossed.

“Dean, come on, she's a grown woman.”

“Why was her back up knife on the ground?” 

He replies in a flat and rigid voice. 

“She-“

“You two were obviously too busy fucking yourselves stupid to actually be working, so tell me, why’d she feel the need to pull it out, hm?” 

Sam's jaw shifts in real annoyance. He runs a hand down his face and lets out a hefty sigh. “Oh for fucks sake,” He rolls his eyes. 

“Why don’t you just say what you really wanna say?” 

“Don’t avoid the damn question, Sam.” Dean narrows his eyes. “You know what? Matter of fact, why don’t you just say what you really wanna, huh?” Dean takes a long drink of his beer, eyes locked on Sam’s 

Sam rises to his feet and meets Dean where he stands. “I’m a better hunter,” 

“Oh great this line again-“

“Stronger, faster, more precise-“ An angry exhale leaves his nostrils and he counts on his fingers as he speaks. 

“Tell me somethin’ new!” Dean shouts.Gesturing with his bottle as he speaks, He plants his feet firmly on the ground, toe of his boots against Sam’s.  “I get it, man,” Dean lowers his voice, tight and trying not to explode. Sam fights an eye roll “you think this,  what you’re doing, how you’re acting, it’s allll making you a better you, right?“

”Yeah, Dean, like some line from a shitty self help book.” Sam’s arms fall to his sides in exasperation. 

Dean runs a hand over his stubble and turns his back to Sam as he walks away. 

“All a soul did was hold me back.”

Sam ending

White hot fury fills Dean at this comment. Anger boiling over, he spins around and greets his brother with a deft punch to the jaw. 

Dean AND Sam ending

His shoulders slump. Throwing back the rest of his beer, Dean flicks the TV to life and plops onto his bed. “Yeah okay.”

Tag list: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @n0va25 @wowzabowza69 @sophsthebest @meiplays @adorifyy @lillies444lola

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Eyes on you pt 2(18+)

Part 1 | Bridge | Alternate Ending

Pairing(s): Soulless!SamWinchester x Reader

Rating: 18+

Summary: Sam doesn't know what he wants right now, but he knows that he needs you. What happens when your proximity brings out some unexpected realizations?

Word Count: 5.8k

Tags: Soulless Sam Winchester x reader, Soulless Sam, Sam Winchester smut, slight noncon theme at one point but no actual noncon, pussy eating, face sitting, masturbation, implied PiV, fem! reader, no use of y/n, porn with (much) plot

Notes: Can you tell where I got sick of both this fic AND writing smut?? LMAO i do seriously hope you all enjoy though!!

Sam staggers backward with the force of the punch. The breath of the shitty motel a/c tangles with Dean’s deep heaves as the brothers stare at each other for a long moment. Sam’s brow furrows. He presses the tips of his fingers to his cheek as if just registering that he’s been hit.

Dean, on the other hand, he stares at Sam like he’s a goddamn monster. 

His fists shake with adrenaline. His heartbeat pounds in his ears. Won’t Sam at the very least do something— anything somewhat reminiscent of human emotion? 

Fuck. 

For a split second, Dean’s reminded of another Sam. Not the sweet, pre-hell, dork he knew, but instead something darker, the version he saw when hell first got its grimy fingers down his throat. Ruby. Demon blood. Every argument and inhumane stare. 

“I need a goddamn drink,” he mutters. 

And suddenly, the door was slamming and Sam was alone. 

Staring at the door, he sucks in a breath. 

Annoyance, confusion, the urge for hedonic indulgence, or maybe some fucked up homogeny of all three — that’s all he really feels these days, Sam thinks to himself as he shoves his arm through the sleeve of his flannel. He ignores the way a button catches on a raised scar. 

He needs something to get lost in, and lucky for him there’s a perfectly good vice just next door. 

He barely has his boots on before he’s outside your room.

There is a definite pause between Sam’s raps against the door and the sliding of the chain lock. Not that he minded, of course. You’re a trained hunter, which is why he was no more surprised to see the barrel of a gun pointed in his face than he would be to witness any other ordinary occurrence.  

“Sam,” you say in a breathy chuckle as you open the door to him. “What the hell man? I thought you left. Scared the shit outta me.” You set your gun down on the dresser and adjust what appeared to be the hasty tying of your robe.

 Your words fade to white noise as Sam's eyes drift over your predicament. Wet hair clings to the back of your neck, water droplets travel south down what's visible of your chest. You only meet Sam’s eyes for a second before looking away. You then take your gun and walk to the nightstand by the bed.  

“Right, sorry.” Sam chuckles awkwardly, holding the back of his neck. “That was Dean. Went to the bar.”

You sit as you slide the gun into the nightstand’s drawer. God, are you trying to kill him? The way the yellow chrysanthemum patterned robe clings to your body and the way you look up at him as you lock the gun away. That doe-eyed confusion. His mind drains and his pants suddenly feel tighter 

You give him a puzzled expression “Now? I mean, it makes sense for him but-“

He wants to trace each one of those water droplets racing down your body. You look down and turn away slightly, pulling the sides of your robe tighter and tying the belt. Shit. Was he too obvious? That question quickly fizzles out as a new train of thought pops into his mind. With you turned away like this all he would have to do is walk in front of you, really. Towering over you, he’d block the drawer, and your only other method of escape. Then, he’d pin you down. He’d watch your eyes widen in fear, hear the blood pumping from your heart and pounding to your wrists-. 

“Sam?” 

“Hm?”

“…Are you okay?” 

God, ishe sick of people asking him that.

“Yeah, sorry, just… zoned out.”

You tilt your head to the side. 

Too easy. 

The bed groans under Sam’s weight as he sits next to you and you feel it again – a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t quite decipher that look in his eyes but something about it made you feel like Eve after biting the apple. Naked. Ashamed. 

“Oh. It’s just- I heard, well I thought-“ You shift slightly away from Sam. “you and Dean were arguing...”  Your voice fades off as you stand to go get dressed

Sam thinks about grabbing you, but where’s the fun in that? You only get about a foot away before Sam replies. “We were.”  His voice is low, as if he were sharing his gravest secret.

“Oh?” You turn around and face Sam with a silent ask for more information.

“We-“ Sam sighs, his shoulders slouching and gaze leaving you. “Look I know i’ve been… not like myself, lately, okay?” 

Before you know it you’ve forgotten completely about your clothes. You realize that even Sam notices how different he is now. Poor thing.  “Sam…” You say gently, returning next to him, thigh to thigh. You reach out a hand to place on his shoulder before quickly retreating.

 “What happened?�� You ask softly.

All at once Sam’s familiar, deep woodsy scent surrounds you. He’s leaning in, but not just to kiss you. You pull away, but you’re only doing half the work for him. You’re eye level with his neck, watching his Adam's apple bob with a swallow and muscles tense. Shit. What happened earlier cannot happen again but honestly- 

Click. 

“Sorry.” 

 Lamplight floods the room, and suddenly you two are upright again, your confusion perfectly illuminated. Sam’s lips contort in a weird shape, as if he were trying to configure a smirk into a soft smile. 

Before you can even begin to make sense of his expression or why he felt the need to lean over you like that just to reach the lamp, he turns his cheek toward you, displaying a Dean’s-fist sized bruise. 

You frown. It's a rather blotchy, green and red mark across his cheek bone. 

“I hate it when you guys do that.” You gingerly reach out to touch the mark, but stop yourself again. Your hand is left fiddly floating in the air for no longer than a second before Sam grabs your wrist and guides it to his face. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to earlier and though you’re sympathetic to his current state of mind you know better than to mistake it for tenderness. 

The blank expression on his face as you touch the swollen, lumpy bruise serves to reinforce that  thought. It should hurt like hell and yet he had no reaction. It wasn’t tenderness he was showing you. You don't know what it was. They should really invent a word for that sort of thing. In any case, you’re not sure that Sam can feel tender for anything being the way he is now.

“What, fight?” he questions, hand still wrapped around your wrist, thumb gently pressing at the base of your palm 

“Well, that too,” you reply. 

Now, it’s his turn to wear a puzzled expression. You rise to your feet and jerk your head in the direction of the bathroom. 

 “After every fight, one or both of you comes vying for all of my attention with only half the story,” you explain with a sigh.

Flicking on the light, you go to your duffle bag set atop the toilet tank. 

Sam takes the liberty of looking around the bathroom as he steps in. The first thing he notices  is the hot sticky feeling against his skin. The mirror was faced with a similar predicament: still slightly fogged, a result of your shower. That fact alone sent countless fantasies spiraling through his mind. Additionally, if he concentrated, Sam could pick up the ever so slight lingering scent of your shampoo. It's nice, almost floral. Before he can comment on it, something cold suddenly greets his cheek, pulling him from his thoughts. 

”And then, of course, I’m made to pick a side,” you add, rubbing the cold bruise gel into Sam’s skin. 

“...Every time?” Sam questions.

“Every one.”

“Oh.”

Silently, you finish applying the bruise gel. In that time, Sam's eyes linger on the tips of your fingers. Your gentle circular motions. You’re so kind to him and honestly, he has no clue why. He knows damn well he doesn't deserve it. Sammy did. Maybe he did something to get on your good side. When you leave to twist the cap back onto the tube and put it away, Sam speaks up. 

“So, what's your verdict this time?” While his tone is light, there's a hint of curiosity to his voice.

“Like I said,” you reply, not looking up from the first aid kit. “only half the story. Mind giving me the full rundown?”

“It's like I told you.” He replies, combing a hand through his hair “Dean doesn't like how different I've been since I got topside.”

You can't help the way your neck snaps up in his direction. Nor the way your hands abandon the task of grabbing a bandage. You quickly recover, but it's not enough. The earlier expression on your face of pure disbelief had left its lasting impact.  

“Oh?” 

Despite your best efforts, your voice comes out more question than statement. 

Sam cocks his head to the side. “What?” he questions suspiciously. His brows furrow. He knows you know something and there's no getting out of it. 

Shit.

“I mean, Dean cares about you alot.” Enough to apparently hide the fact that he too, knew there was something wrong with Sam. You feign a disregarding shrug, but truthfully, of all the things you expected them to be fighting about, Sam was not one of them.

“We all do,” you add in a placating manner. Your mind moves a mile a minute. You knew the brothers had a sort of… codependent relationship, for lack of better words. But had Dean seriously lied to everyone—lied to you about knowing that Sam was off? If so, why? Similar thoughts spiraled, still, you grab an elastic bandage from the box. 

Sam's sight lingers on you curiously as you slip past him to gain access to the doorway. 

“So what? Just tough love?” he scoffs with a vague gesture to his face. 

You gingerly apply the bandage. Pressing one end a few centimeters away from the edge of the bruise, you pull it taut. “No…well, with Dean, sorta.” You press the other side of the bandage against his skin before smoothing it altogether. Just enough to compress the bruise. 

After a quick inspection of your work, you pull away. The humidity of the bathroom has emptied out and you can't help but feel that the air is drier than ever as you search for what to say. Sam watches you, silently studying your demeanor. You lean against the bathroom counter, arms bent awkwardly behind you, fingers drumming against the laminate with hollow thrums.

“Look,” you sigh, meeting Sam's fixed gaze. “I think it's really stupid when shit like...” You gesture at Sam’s cheek. “this happens” 

He quirks a brow. “But?”

“…But…” You suck in a breath. “He's worried, Sam. We all are… ‘Course you're not the same after– after going through something like that.”

“After going to hell?” Sam says flatly. A beat. “Say it.” 

You pause

His eyes narrow slightly. 

There was no malice within them. Instead, that same incomprehensible look. Distaste? Annoyance? There really should be a word. 

“Fine, Sam. Yeah, after going to hell.” Your face scrunches up a little, expression becoming one of upset exasperation. “All I'm saying is, no one blames you for being a little different after– after hell.”

Sam scoffs. Now, there was anger in his eyes. Whether that anger was directed toward you, you weren’t quite sure.  

It's in these rare moments when Sam is pissed that it hits you, as if for the first time, how large he really is. His calm disposition  often causes you to forget the fact that he's 6’4 and about 200 lbs of pure muscle. 

“Different,” he practically snarls. “That's what it keeps coming back to doesn't it?” His volume increases, as though suddenly struck with a thought. “Well my difference didn’t seem to bother you much earlier.”

You falter for a moment before your jaw sets. “Don't do that.” 

“Do what? Point out the obvious?!” Sam barks out through a sardonic laugh 

You shoot Sam a deathly glare. Your feet move before you think. “You're all patched up, you can go now,” you say as you leave the bathroom. 

In the same second Sam follows after you, scoffing once more. “Everyones so hung up on the fact I'm not the same old “Sammy,” he says, his mouth forming a straight line.

You spin on your heels, one hand behind you tightly gripping the cool metal of the knob of the motel room door.

“You know it's not like that.” You reply, voice shaking with anger and a hint of something else.

“Oh really then what's it like? Cause me, I don't see the issue. I'm stronger, faster, more precise. Goddamnit I'm a better hunter.”

“Sam-”

“Hell, finally got your attention.” He snorts.

Your face hardens. You silently turn away from him and pull the door open. The cold night air rushes into the room, a sudden reminder that you are still only in your robe. “You should go.”

“Yeah. Great.” He almost sneers out a “gladly” but considering he still wants a piece of you, he figures that wouldn’t be the best course of action. “Avoid the conversation.” This night had not gone how he wanted. How'd he lose a grip on things so quickly?

You stand beside the open door. Sam steps closer. And closer. Until finally, he's one foot out.

“You always had my attention.”  you say finally, fixing your gaze on him.

Footsteps stop.

“Didn't feel like it.” Sam spits the words out like venom. There’s something distant stirring within his chest and he doesn’t know what to make of it. 

You stare at him for a long moment as the gears turn in your head. There he stood in the doorway, this time actually revealing a grave truth yet his voice is more even than ever.

Still in the room, shoulder to the door frame, arms crossed in front of you, your scrutinizing eyes practically burn a hole through him. His flannel, his jeans, his hair, his, well, everything said Sam. His eyes, however, told a different story. 

You swallow. 

“Please, like you didn’t have your fair share of-“ 

“You and Dean. I see how you get. Laughing. Twirling your hair. But you wouldn't even give me the time of day!” He blurts this out as though he’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity to say it. “…So you must notice it too.” He concludes. “I'm… better now.”

“What?” You say shortly, tone laced with astonishment at his thought process. Seems when he came out of hell, there were a few brain cells left behind.

“Sam. When me and Dean flirt, there's no merit behind it” Your voice is calm, but worn as you explain. Looking away, you take in the view outside. The Motel 6 sign illuminates the area, blocking out all the stars and reflecting on the car roofs sparsely spread out across the parking lot. Cigarettes litter the walkway. Occasionally, a car will woosh down the road, picking up wind and blowing leaves from the rows of trees on the other side into the parking lot.

“It doesn't mean anything.”

 There's a small lull of silence. Sam leans his back against the door frame, his gaze calculating as he pieces things together. “And with me it would’ve meant something.” 

“Why are we talking about this?”

“So what does that make earlier?”

“Sam.”

‘You flirt with Dean for, what? Fun? ‘Cause it doesn't matter?”

“Sam.” You say, more firmly this time.

“If you wouldn't even…. What? play-flirt with me ‘cause it matters’, what does that make earlier? Did that not mean anything?” Sam has no clue why he’s pushing the topic so much. Curiosity, perhaps. He doesn’t really care if it meant anything or not. After all, a few days from now he'd be in the next town on the next case with the next girl. But for some reason he hopes it meant something to you. Maybe it's just that he wants to understand you. Or maybe it's because he wants to hurt you. He isn’t quite sure. He was never quite sure. Maybe he needed emotions for that sort of thing. 

Another silence fills the air. A gust of wind blows past, rolling an empty beer bottle in a circular motion in the concrete walkway. It blows through the ends of your robe and tussles Sam's hair. 

“Not to you.“ 

There’s a small pause wherein Sam doesn’t answer. So you continue, what little of your thoughts you could decipher on the matter boiling over and spilling out. “There's your answer. I saw- see that look in your eyes. Not a damn thing to you.”

You glance up at the sky with a silent prayer that Sam wouldn't press the topic further. In all honesty, you aren’t sure how you feel. Emotions cloud and jumble your mind. 

Well there's a response Sam wasn't expecting. Despite his best efforts, his attempts at appearing ‘human’ could never quite hit the mark. That missing fundamental part of him could be looked past by most people but he should've known better. You’re too damn smart. 

Right, yeah, you…Your heart is breaking, or something, right in front of him and he… just doesn't care. He can't care. And he doesn't care that he doesn't care. At the very least, since he knew that you knew something was wrong with him, he doesn't have to keep up the charade anymore.

Prayers answered, Sam reaches out a hand and gently cups your jaw. He brushes his thumb across your cheek. Eyes meet. And suddenly, you’re right where you started.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers against your lips. That's what he should say, right? Logically, he should be sorry, even if he doesn’t feel it. 

Eyes close. Lips meet. There’s a hollow passion to the moment. Like all the feelings that should have filled the air had been stolen; leaving all the intensity yet none of the emotion. 

You each pull away slowly, shallow breaths, heartbeats even.

“No you’re not.” You whisper with a small, resigned, smile.

–

You pull Sam inside and he shuts the door. You’re falling all over again without a clue why. Your lips are never apart for longer than a few seconds, and even then it’s only to discard articles of clothing. 

His flannel, your belt. He lay on the bed, you follow. His belt, your robe. You climb on top of him, he grabs your hips. His pants, your reservations. 

There was a rhythm to it all. A hollow. Empty. Rhythm. 

He grinds your hips against him. you moan. 

Like a song without bass

you throw your head back. He kisses your neck. 

Or a story without a moral.

He pulls off his shirt. You throw it to the floor. 

Sam handles you with a certain familiarity. As if earlier he committed every detail of you to memory. Every inch of your body sewn into his recollection.

His hands slide up your torso, admiring every curve of your anatomy. You have such a good figure, it’s a shame he hadn’t seen it sooner. He cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing and massaging them. You brace yourself for the eventual painful pinch of your nipples, but it never comes, instead his fingers slide over your collar bones, then back down your body until he reaches the lace trim of your cotton panties. 

“These look good on you.” he murmurs in a gravelly voice. This time the compliment has no effect on you. No bodily shudder, no shiver down your spine. Every heartbeat rhythm and in place. And then it hits you: you could simply not feel anything for a while. 

Your hands trail over Sam’s toned torso,  taking your sweet sweet time admiring his muscles

For tonight you could simply forget about it all. Pain. Love. Loss. Fleeting hope.Trying to comprehend why and how the man you once loved is so different. All of it could just be tucked away for now.

Sam's large hands practically engulf your hips as his thumbs trail the edge of your underwear. Your hands eventually land at the band of his boxers. You hook your thumbs into the fabric when he suddenly grabs your wrists. 

“N-no. No,” he breathes. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Why not?” 

The memory of a feeling appears within him the moment those words leave your mouth. Fuck, if it is the most frustrating thing in the world. Knowing what it was like and knowing he was the one that felt it… He opens his mouth to speak, but instead, a revelation comes crashing through his brain: ‘cause he wants to remember what it was like to be in love with you. To need you. To be pathetic little Sammy again. The feeling is so close and yet so far out of reach all at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, if he loses himself in you, he might, even for a second, feel that way again. Why he wants that is a mystery to him. After all, emotions are nothing but a burden. Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry about solving that right now. 

You look at Sam curiously as he lay there, appearing a little struck. Did you do something? Is he alright? No, no, you’re not worried about that right now. Like you said, you’re not worried about anything tonight. 

Sam on the other hand manages to recover. 

“Just be good. Slut.” He roughly grabs you by your hips and slides you upward. 

Yeah. You’ve got nothing to be worried about 

His biceps flex against the underside of your thighs as his arms curl around them. He meets your gaze only to find you looking down at him with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth. “Now sit on my face like a good girl.” 

You comply, lowering your hips but still giving him breathing room. A huff of annoyance escapes his nostrils. “I said sit on my face.” Sam pulls your clothed pussy flush against his lips, eliciting a squeak from you and a groan from him. 

You look so pretty above him like this. Sam slides out his tongue and runs it over your pussy. He moans upon discovering that you’ve soaked through the fabric. 

—-

Soon enough Sam’s fingers are digging into the soft flesh of your thighs to stop you from pulling away as you grind against his lips. “Saaam,” you cry out in a hiccuping sob. This is possibly the 5th time you’ve begged him to take off your panties. It’s so good yet not enough. Your hands tangle into his hair, needing something, anything to hold on to. His tongue rubs against your clit in rough, circular motions. Though really you're doing most of the work with your grinding.

Finally choosing to give in, -primarily because  he wants to taste more of you- Sam hooks two fingers into the crotch of your panties and pulls it aside. You gasp as his hot breath brushes your sensitive clit. Within less than a second, Sam is eating you out like a man starved. 

It actually surprises you, somewhat, that Sam –recently turned stone cold asshole– is absolutely divine at eating pussy. Each lick, suck, kiss, or subtle bite, has you throwing your head back crying out in ecstasy.  You grip his hair tightly as you ride his face, the movement of your hips speeding up and growing more persistent by the moment. And Sam? God, he lets you. He lets out moans of pleasure as you buck your hips against his face, as you use him. 

He’s so goddamn hard it hurts, but you taste better than the feeling of getting off. Sam looks up at you, admiring the way your breasts bounce with each movement of your hips, the curvature of your neck as you throw your head back, it’s damn near loving the way he stares at you. He thinks he’s beginning to understand why ‘ol Sammy was in love with you. If the old him got to have you like this, he’s sure that he would’ve died on the spot. 

“Oh- God- fuuuck, Sam, ngh… please… damn… p-pleaaase, jus’ like that, mfgh, don’t stop.” 

You look down at him, admiring the way Sam appears to be entirely blissed out. 

“Oh, Baby!” you mewl as you feel yourself grow close.

If Sammy got to hear you call him that… Well, Sam doesn’t quite know what he’d do to you, maybe kiss you? Either way, he’d be pretty damn happy, he thinks. As of right now the word only serves to make his cock twitch. 

“Fuck-“ you cry out 

Sam uncurls one arm from around your thigh and reaches down to palm himself through his boxers. You don’t even notice. He wants you to notice. Would you care? He hopes you would. 

You gasp sharply as the motion of Sam’s tongue against your clit speeds up. He presses his tongue firmly against the sensitive bundle and the feeling is like no other. He lets out a moan against your pussy, the vibration causing your hips to stutter. “F-fuck, mfhg, t-think i’m -ooh- getting —ngh- close.” Your grip on his hair tightens, eliciting yet another moan from Sam. 

He hurriedly slides his boxers down, moaning as he frees himself. His attention is strewn between his cock in his fist and your cunt on his lips. 

You've got him so worked up that Sam feels as though he could cum at any moment. He practically worships your pussy, lips around your clit as he sucks, his tongue occasionally finding its way inside your cunt. His rhythm or growing lack thereof,  is more unsteady by the moment. You hardly even notice the way he shakes beneath you as he strokes himself.

Finally, your pleasure mounts, you roll your hips wildly against his tongue as fireworks rocket through you. You moan Sam’s name wildly until it doesn't even feel like a word any more. He fucks you through your orgasm, reducing your bones to jell-o as he laps up your slick. You're left nothing but a dumb, overstimulated mess, ready to collapse.

When Sam, who hasn’t spoken for the past few minutes (save for moans and grunts) stutters out a gasping “fuck” beneath you, you’re snapped from your haze. 

“Mgh- need me to? Ah-“ You release your grip on his hair and begin to raise your hips. 

Sam’s half lidded and dazed eyes suddenly look panicked. “Mmmf- no, nonono- god, fuck, please no-“ His other hand, warm and damp with precum  returns to your thigh, gently pulling you back down. “Need to taste you,” he murmurs, licking your slick from his lips as he brings you closer. 

You comb your fingers through Sam’s hair, looking down at him with a satisfied smile. “As much as I wanna kill you for earlier, I'd rather not have you suffocate beneath me.” As you pull away, Sam groans and lets his arms fall to the mattress like a child having his favorite toy taken.

“i would've died a happy man.” he sighs. He glares at you lightly as you sit next to him and curl your legs beneath yourself.  He wants you back on his tongue “As for earlier- Don’t know what you’re talking about. I was a perfect gentleman.”

“Riiight,” You chuckle. “And I'm the pope.” 

Sam slides his hand up and down your side in an oddly gentle manner. Your skin is so soft and warm beneath his fingertips. He's partially doing this  to entice you to come back and partially… just to touch you. The tenderness he’s showing feels sort of alien to him, but your skin feels nice, and judging by the way you're leaning in,  you must like it too. 

One hand bracing yourself on the bed, the other in Sam’s hair, you lean down for a kiss, and he gladly returns it. Your lips meet his softly and slowly. You can taste yourself, sticky and sweet in his mouth. It almost surprises you how easy this all is. Sam wraps his arms around your back and pulls you closer. You lick his lips, seeking entrance to his mouth. Just a few minutes ago, kissing him like this seemed unfathomable. Yet here you are, treating this like nothing more than a one night stand. It’s easy. Nothing to be mad about or stick to your guns on with someone you don't really care about. Someone who will be gone the moment you fall asleep.

A few seconds more of kissing and Sam’s breathing begins to pick up in pace. Too lost in his lips and gentle touch, you don’t notice until the man is nearly shaking. Once you finally register the deep heaves of his chest and the trembling of his frame, you pull away thinking that you’ve good and well suffocated him this time. 

Sam chases your lips with a whine in response. You’re a bit shocked for a moment hearing lean, mean, killing machine, post-hell Sam make the high pitched noise, but you don’t mind, not one bit. “c-come back, fuck, mm, don’t go,” he murmurs,  his hand sliding up your back and to your neck to pull you back in 

Despite your earlier promise to not worry about anything tonight, you can’t help the way your brown quirks at his neediness “Are you alri-“ 

you’re cut off by the feeling of Sam’s damp hand on your back once more. You whip your head around faster than you can get the words out “What the hells-“ 

Then it hits you. No it literally hits you, warm sticky precum on your back via his hand, 

You look down  to find Sam’s long, thick cock twitching for release. 

Oh. 

Oh.

Your lips crash into his once more, and all of Sam’s satisfied groans are muffled by your own. Your tongues run over each other as you explore one another’s mouths. You reach a hand down and take hold of Sam’s cock. you’re only able to get a few strokes in before he swats your hand away and  in a single fluid motion, flips the both of you over. 

“I said don’t touch me,” he growls against your lips. 

You frown as you pull away from him. As much as you don’t want to deal with sam’s crap right now, your heartstrings tug stronger than your desire to just get fucked. You let out a hefty sigh . “What the hell is your deal?” So much for pushing all that away tonight.

That strange feeling swirls within his chest once more. Guilt, maybe? No, no, definitely not. Love? As soon as the thought enters his mind he bites back a laugh. Yeah, right. You make a face that says you think he’s being weird. Fair enough. Sam gives you a quick parting kiss on the lips. “Just… wanna focus on you tonight. That’s all.” He hopes that sounds believable. Truth is, he doesn’t know either. 

You sigh and decide to leave it alone. Tomorrow you’ll confront Dean, maybe even cuss him out too. But as for tonight?

You spread your legs in an inviting manner. “Okay then,” you hum. 

—

When you two are finally done you collapse into a sweaty heap of tangled limbs 

Sam lies on top of you, his cock still twitching inside your cunt as the last of his release spurts out. You flutter around him, your body still reeling from the high of your orgasm. 

Sam gives a few small thrusts, pressing inside of you slowly with a shuddering groan. He finally peels himself off of you, your pussy producing a lewd, wet sound as he does. 

The both of you stare up at the ceiling for what feels like forever, lost in your respective thoughts. 

 Sam looks over at you occasionally, and you can tell out of the corner of your eye that he’s considering something. But he never says anything, so you’ll never ask. 

You can feel him there next to you, his body heat radiating off of him. You can smell the sweet sweat on his skin. His slowly steadying breath feels as though it’s working in time with your own. and you swear if you close your eyes you can hear his heart thumping in his chest. 

After a few more minutes, it all finally gets to be too much, the proximity and the intimacy of silently, nakerdly sharing a bed, you climb out. 

“Where’re you going?” Sam murmurs before your feet can even hit the ground. 

“Shower,” you reply shortly. You grab your robe from the floor and pull it over your shoulders. You hear the bed creak behind you. 

“Round two already?” You can hear the grin in his words. “And here I thought I was the horny o-“

“Gonna clean up.” You walk off into the bathroom without another word.

Sam, meanwhile, stares at the door until he hears the shower turn on . He collapses back into the bed, the springs loudly squeaking below him. He resumes his previous silence and stares at the ceiling.

As much as he tries to focus on anything but, his thoughts soon revert to you. You. Why had you been so distant? Last time you two had sex you seemed hurt by the disregard he showed for you. 

Hurting you…. he replays the phrase over and over again in his head. Why does that spark something within him? It's a feeling he can’t quite place. It’s something more perverted than the desire to spank or choke, or do any number of masochistic things to you. This realization gives way to a number of new understandings and naturally, he rises to his feet and begins pacing the floor. 

You take your sweet time in the shower, making sure to scrub off every trace of Sam. You force yourself to fantasize about the night to follow instead of ruminating on the hours before. You can practically picture it now… having your room back to yourself, turning on a movie and curling up in your bed completely and utterly alone. By noon tomorrow you’ll hopefully be done with the case here, and be in a new town, on a new case, far far away from the Winchesters madness. These thoughts carry you as you float out of the shower, and as you get dressed and even as you walk out of the bathroom. Those thoughts come to a screeching halt the moment you see Sam.

There he stands, or rather- hops in all his glory, Sam Winchester, on one foot, frantically pulling on his pants as though he’d just realized he’s naked as the day he was born. 

You freeze in your tracks, not having expected him to still be here, let alone doing… whatever the hell that is 

Once his jeans are finally well and on, he turns around to greet your awkward expression. His demeanor is the exact opposite of yours. Cool, calm, collected and calculating. Henarrows his eyes at you in thought. Finally, with a straight face, he speaks matter of factly. 

“Something’s wrong.” 

You tilt your head curiously. 

“I’m in love with you,” 

“What?!” 

Tag list: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @n0va25 @wowzabowza69 @sophsthebest @meiplays @adorifyy @lillies444lola

[amor-ad-nauseam]

writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months

[amor-ad-nauseam]

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Heyy what would you like us to call you?

Using this to do a quick Q&A!

Honestly i haven’t really thought about this one until now lol, ‘Amor’ works!

Q: New fics when? A:Hopefully sometime this week! i am a uni student so im only really able to write on weekends, but fear not i do have a few WiPs(including requests)

Q: Meaning of my username? A: It’s latin, roughly translates to, ‘love to the point of sickness.’

Q: On any other platforms? A: Yes i have an ao3 under the same user name! i have not yet uploaded all my fics on there, should i??

Q: Master list? A: should i make one?

Q: Other fandoms? A: I am in other fandoms such as gravity falls, the good place, mha, himym, and a few more but i probably won’t write for them.

Q: Hard nos for writing? A: anything nsfw involving underage characters, incest, and scat, piss, etc

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Eyes on you. (18+)

Part 2

Pairings: Soulless!SamWinchester X Reader

Rating: 18+

Summary: Sam has been… off lately. But that’s to be expected from a man who just came back from hell, right?

Word count: 5.9k

Tags: Soulless Sam Winchester x reader, hunting with Sam and Dean, Soulless Sam, Sam Winchester smut, dubcon(?) , PiV, no protection (wrap it up kids), creampie, breath play, choking, pinning, fingering, degradation, rough, dom sam, Dean mentioned but not involved, dacryphilia, reader has female anatomy, no use of y/n

Notes: wooo! sorry for the long hiatus, school has been fucking me missionary. anyway, starting off Kinktober strong with dubcon

Requests are open.

There was something terribly wrong with Sam.

You knew it from the moment he got back. Hell, everyone knew it.

Though of course when these concerns were raised to Dean, he, in his self-imposed naïveté, ignored it.

But you knew he felt it too.

During the few times you’ve tagged along on the brothers hunts these last few months, you’ve picked up on a few things. The way Dean would hold eye contact with Sam for only thirty seconds at a time, never a moment longer. Or how he would shift away from his own brother if he got too close. It was subtle. But you knew.

You couldn’t blame Dean for wanting to pretend everything was all right. Sam was his brother after all. And after everything they'd been through, if you were in his position, you'd do the same. You've only known the boys for some odd years now, and still you find yourself from time to time, pretending that the sweet, bookish, too-tall-for-his-own-good Sam you met is the same thing that came out of hell.

That is how you would survive this hunt.

You’ve always wondered how humans could feel someone's eyes on them. Since becoming a hunter that sense has sharpened.

You tear your gaze away from the view out of the backseat of the Impala and lock eyes with Sam in the rearview mirror. His once soft gaze was now stoic and calculating.

He looks away.

You linger.

You couldn't help but have the feeling that, in fact, there was nothing wrong with Sam at all.

This simply wasn't Sam. This was just some creature doing a poor emulation of him.

Without realizing, your hand had slid down your leg to the lifted fabric in the side of your boot. Your fingertips grazed the hilt of your dagger.

Correction, this is how you’d survive this hunt.

—-

When you finally arrived at the dilapidated manor, Dean was first to survey the scene.

“Alright.” He said in his usual gruff voice, clasping his hands together. “We got alotta ground to cover so, ladies first, take your pick.” Dean said, gesturing to you.

You were hoping Sam would pick first so that at the very least, you could choose the place furthest from the shiver down your spine.

“I’ll take upstairs,” you said. That feeling again, eyes on you.

Dean nods. You spin on your heels and race up the winding staircase without waiting to hear what each chose.

—-

Mildew and rotting wood lace the air. It’s a shame really, you thought. You face the expansive landing before you, pausing as your calf muscles burn from climbing the stairs two at a time.

High ceilings, eleven feet at least. Tall windows with dusty wine curtains spilling onto the floor shielding the amber of the setting sun. Most of the furniture was missing –evidence of squatters and raids– what remained was broken and covered in suspicious stains, much like what was left of the deep brown hardwood flooring. The most noticeable part of the room was the wallpaper, a rich red with delicate Chrysanthemums scattered across it, almost looking hand-painted on.

The wooden boards groan beneath your feet, causing you to question if they threatened to give out. You had a job to do, so you trudge down the dark hall.

Around 10 minutes pass and you knew no more information than when you first walked in. Not too long after you first got upstairs, you heard the ghostly moan of the front door shutting – one of the boys had opted to search the grounds. Meanwhile you tore through almost a dozen rooms only to find phallic graffiti and more rotting wood.

It was dark through the house now, the setting sun long gone, leaving you in the cold, dim space. The only light provided was the one functional bulb of the broken chandelier above- set to perpetually swing until its last chain broke.

The actual goal of this job was rather vague. All you knew was a bunch of kids had narrowly escaped death after a night of pure dumbassery in this house. So now here you were, swiping your EMF reader abstractly through the air and as Dean so eloquently put it, “keepin’ your eyes peeled for anything ghost-y or weird.”

Yeah, real helpful.

So you continue on down the hall with only a few rooms left to search. Then, something sounds from ahead.

Creeeeeak

You stalk toward the sound.

Nothing.

Creeeeeak.

The sound seems to come from behind this time. That feeling again, eyes on you.

You whip your head around. “Who's there!” You shout, your confident voice a stark contrast to the pit hanging in your stomach.

This time you manage to catch a glimpse of something slipping around the corner. You steel yourself, pocket the EMF reader, pull your dagger from your boot and start toward the creature.

You walk out into the landing, your steps cautious and dagger ready. Your eyes roll through the room. It was as if the creature had disappeared.

Creeeeak.

Or maybe not.

“That's cute.” It chuckles.

The voice was low and terrible, sending shivers down your spine

Yet still, it was almost familiar.

It elicited this hair raising feeling you can only imagine is similar to what homosapien felt looking at neanderthal.

“Come on out!” you shout, voice beginning to waver.

“That little kitchen knife you have, it's cute.”

Your stomach drops. Gears begin to turn in your head.

“But y’know, It doesn't matter how good you are with it.”

Sam, the real Sam, had been trying for years to get you to use a gun. But you had your knives and were good with them no doubt, so what was the point? He would always return your refusals with that crooked smile and pleas of how it “would make him feel so much better.”

Creeeeak.

The hall, it had to be coming from there. You force yourself to move.

“If your opponent is faster.”

Creeeeak.

No it was from behind, you were sure of it.

You spin on your heels and race toward the landing once more.

“Sam, come out. This isn't fucking funny!”

Just as you turn the corner, one strong hand seizes both of your wrists in a single swift motion. In an instant you're slammed up against something hard. The knife drops from your hands. Sam kicks it away. You open your eyes.

Chrysanthemums.

Fuck.

Sam leans down, his hot breath brushing against your neck. “Should’ve let me teach you how to shoot.”

There's a pause, the moment breathing and the air pulsing.

“Sam...” You exhale finally. Your voice comes out smaller than you would’ve liked.

“You’re too easily overpowered.” he raises his head for his lips to meet your ear. “Didn’t take much for me to get you like this; to hunt you down.” Sam’s grip tightens on your wrists.

His voice was low and gravely. You fought back against your aching lungs' desire to quicken their pace.

“That's what you’re calling this?” You remark. “Hunting me down?”

You had to play this smart.

There was a small knife, pocket sized, really, concealed just past the waistband of your jeans. With your hands to your back, if you could maneuver your fingers just right-

“Well I did, didn't I?” He squeezes your wrists once more, sending pain shooting down your arm and causing your fingers to splay out.

“Okay!” You gasp. “You've proved your point!” You say through gritted teeth.

Your index and middle finger slip past the waistband.

His grip loosens and he pulls away. You exhale. The tip of the handle brushes against your fingertip. So close.

Then, Sam jerks your wrists downward, your chance of escape literally slips between your fingers.

“I don't think I have.”

He looks down on you, this you can see from the corner of your eye. The rest, you feel.

His gaze is mechanical, inspecting, taking in and processing data. Some synapse fire causes his lips to tug upward in a smirk.

“Fuck.”

His long fingers tuck into the waist of your jeans.

“What are you-” You jut your hips in a desperate attempt to move free. Sam silently presses his knee against the back of your own, stopping all movement. There was no anger in his motions, annoyance at best. You let out a ragged breath.

He pulls the blade out, slowly and deliberately.

“Sam.”

He ignores your plea. Sam drags the knife from you, taking great care to ensure that the blade runs along your spine and that the tip drags up the hem of your shirt.

A shiver of a different kind rolls through your every vertebrae.

He brings the dagger to your chin, forcing you to look up. Sam all but closes the gap between the two of you, the point of his nose ghosting against your cheek. The warmth of his body swarms around you; the rotting wood smell drowned out by his deep woodsy scent. For a small singular blip of a moment you allow yourself to believe that this thing that looked and smelled like Sam, was truly Sam.

“Scream.”

But this isn't Sam, you knew that.

His voice quickly serves to pull you from your sanctity.

“What?” You breathe, looking at him from the corner of your eye.

“You could’ve, by now. Dean would hear too, and you know that- you’re not stupid.”

“I-” You stammer. He was right. The thought had played in the back of your mind but some louder part of you, the part that hadn't been next to a warm body in months objected.

“So why don’t you?” Sam continues, his voice like velvet sending vibrations rippling across your skin.

“Go on, scream.”

Nothing.

He smirks.

Sam drops the knife. There goes your lifeline.

His lips meet your jaw in a hungry kiss. You let out an involuntary groan. His teeth clash against the bone, threatening to leave a mark.

Maybe this wasn't Sam, but it still looked like him, still felt like him, and still touched like him. Maybe pretending couldn't hurt.

He continues down your neck, every hot, open-mouthed kiss causing another groan to escape you. Deep down you felt some gross shame; the fraction of yourself that hasn't succumbed to the wants of your flesh racking against your ribcage. All at once his teeth clamp down on your shoulder. “Agh.”

Yeah pretending couldn’t hurt. But good god did you hope it would.

You hiss, sucking in a breath and trying to pull away.

“Tell me to stop.” Sam breaths in between rough kisses.

He flattens himself against you, the strain in his jeans pressing into your ass. Against better judgment, you let out a sweet moan and you feel the bulge in his pants grow. This was wrong, so so wrong. There was something off about Sam, you shouldn’t be sleeping with him.

“Sto-hmfg” You’re cut off by the sounds of your own pleasure as Sam sucks on the part of your neck he had just bit. The juxtaposition of pleasure and pain confuses your mind and body. Heat spreads between your thighs and your mind swirls.

Knowing and feeling something are two entirely different things. Sure, in your head you could protest the current situation. You could attempt to be as logical as you wanted, but that didn’t change the aching desire within you. 

“One word and I will.” Sam groans as he presses his hips into you. 

The feeling of his hardness so close to your needy core ceases any rational thought you could’ve given.

He releases your bruised wrists. Finally, a moment to think properly. Without warning, his arm wraps around your waist, pinning your arms to your sides and pulling you away from the wall and into him. You were sure at this point that your cheek had a chrysanthemum imprint on it. 

Sam looks down at you before him. So helpless and ready to be fucked dumb. He watches as you wince, your body in pain from the new position. His cock twitches. 

You feel his muscles, strong and heaving against your back, his arm flexing as he holds you close. His free hand slides over to the collar of your shirt. His long fingers delicately trace your collar bones, staring down at them as if he wants to sink his teeth in. The air leaves your lungs. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his hands sliding down your torso, then sliding up your shirt. Oh how badly you wanted to cry out. To beg him to touch your needy pussy. But something told you he wouldn't oblige. 

Sam watches your face intently. As hard as you tried not to give anything away, he could tell every single thing you were feeling. The light twitch of your eyebrow as he slid his hands up your shirt instead of down your pants sent satisfaction surging through him. He didn't have to feel you to know you were soaking wet. He slides his index and middle fingers under your bra and begins to massage the soft skin of your breasts. His thumbs hold your sides and his ring and pinky fingers dig into the gaps between your ribs. You were so much more fragile than he ever imagined. God, he can't wait to break you. 

Small, soft moans pour out of you like music to his ears. His fingers pinch your nipples harshly, causing you to make a squeak-like whimper. You try to pull away from him in sudden shock at the pain but there was nowhere to run. 

“Sam, please.” You whine.

“Please what?” He replies while rolling your now firm nipples between his fingers.

Your voice comes out small, pathetic, he thought. “Agh- it hurts.”

He pinches harder. “You can take it.”

Before you can protest, he returns to that sweet spot on your neck that he had bit earlier. He flicks his tongue across the bruise before kissing it again and again. Your head lolls and your mind goes blank. 

Sam continues to pinch and twist your nipples, watching your face and relishing in the effect he has on you. Almost makes him wonder if you’ve ever been fucked right in your life. 

All those nights he knew you were in the next motel room getting fucked by some idiot you met at a bar. Every morning he had to see you with your hair messy and makeup smudged. All those times he wished it was him who was making you moan, just for you to be squirming like a virgin right now? 

Sam angles himself so that his bulge is pressed directly against your cunt. The friction makes you moan and he can't stop the spread of a smirk across his lips. 

“Look what you did to me.” He breathes against your ear. “You’re such a slut.” 

“N-no I'm not.” You gasp between moans. That wasn’t true. Sure you had a few one night stands but no more than either of the boys.

“Really?” Sam grins and for some reason that was so much worse than if he had outright called you a whore. 

Shame overwhelms you.

He suddenly rips his hands from your tits. The sudden motion and lack of warmth makes you gasp.

Exactly what he wanted. Sam finds the button on your jeans and pops it free in an instant. 

The room felt like a maelstrom of hot desire. You never imagined that you’d tolerate being called a slut, let alone dignify the accusation by trying to defend yourself against it, and you certainly, most definitely, never thought it'd be Sam making the accusation.

Sam roughly shoves his hand into your jeans and you feel your heart speed up, partiality in fear, partially in excitement. Sadly, he doesn't go another layer further. His fingers dance across the cotton of your panties, teasing. 

“Not a slut?” He whispers in your ear. His fingers find your entrance and press against it. The soft fabric was warm and sticky, practically soaked with your arousal. You whine as his fingers threaten to enter, you were so embarrassed yet your body begged for more.

“Then why are you so wet, hm?” Sam didn’t have to say it, you both knew it as his fingers sent the message before his mouth did but still, but he received such a deep satisfaction seeing your cheeks flush at his words. 

 You weren't going to dignify him with a response. 

Sam’s middle and ring finger press against your entrance once more. You attempt to keep your face straight as you internally curse the fabric separating him and your pleasure.

“Such a fucking slut.”

At this, Your pussy clenches around the tips of his fingers.

You feel Sam's chest vibrate against your back as a wry laugh echoes through him.   “You like that?” 

You set your gaze on your shoes, biting back words. 

 He grabs your jaw and forces you to look up at him. “Answer me, slut.” 

Your pussy pathetically clenches around him again. You release your bottom lip, red with blood circulation. “Y–Yes.” You didn’t have to respond, but for some reason you wanted to see his face as you said it. To know if he was as turned on as you were. 

Sam rewards you with a mocking smile. “Wow… who knew you were such a dirty whore.”

Before you could even think of a response, Sam finds your clit. The second he touches you, you feel your mind begin to go blank, your mouth falls open with only a whimper to show for the last of your coherent thoughts. Even through your panties, his touch was electric

His lips find that beautifully bruised sweet spot on your shoulder and pepper it with kisses. His hand drops from your neck, leaving your head to loll as you shudder with breathy moans. 

The fabric of your panties was now throughly saturated as it slid across your folds. You grind against Sam’s hand, desperate for more friction. You tried so hard not to give in but it was clear at this point you had lost. Sam takes in the sight: your lips fallen apart in gasping moans, your eyes fluttering shut and brows knitted. The curvature of your neck, your head thrown back like a dead girl and your hips pathetically rocking back and forth, too proud to beg.

“You want more, baby?” Sam asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You bite down on your bottom lip, clinging to the last bits of your dignity.

All those nights he had to hear your headboard banging against the wall you weren't so reserved. 

“Fine then.” Stoically, Sam simply begins to pull away. 

Without thinking, your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist. You look up at him, eyes glazed over with lust and boring into his skull. “Please.” 

Now that is what he liked to see. He wets his lips as he looks over your face. 

“Good girl.” 

You weren't quite sure what took over you and you don't know if you hated yourself for it or were thankful. Regardless, you begin to lead his hand back toward your jeans. Suddenly, he stops.

Celertitly, Sam turns you around and pins you back to the wall. If he was going to have you, it would be wholly and completely. He was going to ravage you and tear you apart at the seams.

He undresses you like an autopsy, delicately peeling away layer after layer. His thumbs hook into your pants and he squats as he slides them down. His fingers trace the rim of your panties before he slowly pulls them down your legs. Sam looks up at you: thighs pressed together and hands balled at your sides. While your body language conveyed a certain conservative nature, your teeth sunken into your red bottom lip and eyes staring straight down at him anticipating his next move told a different story. It was almost funny the way you tried to remain taciturn, as if you hadn’t just proved a thousand times over what a slut you are. 

Sam’s large hands practically engulf your hips as he takes hold. For a moment he considers licking your cunt, but then again, it would be so much more fun to see you squirm beneath him. He rises to his feet, fingers digging into your flesh as he uses you as leverage, lips ghosting against your torso. His narrowed eyes never leave you for a moment. 

You search Sam’s eyes for anything familiar, anything that would make you feel less awful about this. While his eyes still contained that stunning hazel hue, there was no emotion behind them. Lust, sure. Before you could thoroughly discern your emotions, you feel Sam pulling up your shirt. 

“Wait.” You say, pushing the fabric down. “Dean… He’s just outside. What if he comes up?” 

“So?” Sam asks flatly. He tries to pull off your shirt again, but you stop him.

“So? I won’t have time to get dressed. I’d rather your brother not se-“ 

His lips press against yours as though he were starved. Fastest way to get you to shut the fuck up. 

Your mind and every thought in it slips out like a gust of wind. He pulls away only for a quick moment.  “Guess we’ll have to be quick then, hm?” He breathes. You nod dumbly, lips puffy and saliva coating them.  With that he forcibly rips off your top and tosses it to the ground. Finally, he thought. 

Your bra ends up on the ground as well. 

Sam roughly grabs you by the hair and pulls you back into the kiss. Of all the times you’ve imagined being with Sam, not once did you think it would be like this, unfeeling, and rough. But if you could pretend, that would make it all okay. 

And so you did. You let your mind go blank and only focus on the pleasure ‘real’ Sam was giving you. 

 Your hands slide up his shoulders and rest on the nape of his neck. You moan as you sink into the kiss and as Sam's long fingers come to circle your clit and you don’t bother to maintain a shred of composure.

He breaks the kiss, panting, forehead pressed against yours and looks down at your body, and all the bruises on you. All of the ways he’s marked and claimed you caused a low growl to ripple through his chest. Sam pulls his fingers from your pussy and you have half a mind to grab his wrist again. He watches as your slick stretches and runs down his fingers. You pretend that his thoughts and words were something more of love than lust. 

“Fuck.” “Beautiful.” He says in a breathy murmur. 

As Sam's fingers prod at the entrance of your puffy cunt, you cringe at the lewd squelching noise that ensues. He looks up from his work to watch your face. It was so satisfying to see you like this, so needy and pathetic. At once, his fingers sink deep inside you. You moan, his fingers leaving you so full. You hardly have a moment to gather your thoughts before he's thrusting in and out of you, a satisfied look on his face at watching you unravel.  

Every single moan you make is loud, drawn, out and practically pornographic and in all honesty, you couldn't care less. He pulls you in via a rough grip on your hair and smashes his lips against yours. You let yourself believe the kiss was more fervent than greedy. His tongue, much like his fingers, treats the inside of your body more like an exploration or experiment — trying to figure out what makes you tick. Sam runs his tongue along the inside of your teeth and at the same time you feel him grinning against your lips. Suddenly you can’t get enough air in your lungs, his fingers curl and press right against your g-spot. You tear yourself away from him in a gasping moan, your palms flat against his muscular chest as your world spins. 

“mfgh- fuck, S-Sammy,” You cry.  

And just as soon as he started, he stopped. 

“What did you call me?” Sam pulls away, his eyes narrowed and dark. It doesn’t matter if his touch was ever loving, the lack of it now leaves you feeling cold and embarrassed.

“Samm-“

Sam’s lips curl into a frown. You stop speaking. 

 It seems everyone— including you, wanted little ‘Sammy’ back. It didn’t matter that he was right there, they missed that weak part of him still burning in hell. 

Slowly but promptly, his hand creeps up your collarbone and wraps around your throat. He sets his jaw and it hits you— what you felt around Sam before this, it wasn’t fear, something more than discomfort but far less than being afraid; this however, this was fear. 

As it seems, you’ve gotten yourself too lost in pretending. 

“Sammy,” he says sharply in a voice you were unaware Sam was even capable of producing. “Is Dean’s dumbass little brother…  Sammy jerked off to you every night but never had the balls to ask you out. Sammy is a little bitch. So, if you want me to fuck you dumb, it’s Sam.”

Speechless, you breathe a reply before your brain has a chance to catch up. “I- yes sir.” 

“Yeah, that too.” Sam replies in a dark voice. 

He squeezes your throat, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know that he could if he wanted to. 

And for some goddamned reason, it turns you on. 

Pretending never does quite work, does it?

It was wrong, you thought as Sam’s hand dropped from your throat. Even after what just happened, you felt yourself growing hotter at the image that wormed its way into your head. Sam’s nimble fingers wrapped around his cock, chest heaving as he stoked himself. Instead of returning to you, he began to undo his belt. Sam’s pumps growing jagged and needy as he brought himself closer. He starts to pull down his pants and boxers, a bit of hasty anger in his movements. Sam’s eyes wrenching shut, or perhaps rolling back. Breathless repetitions of your name floating in the air. Thick globs of revering white emulsion spilling over his fist out of the very same cock before you. You gasp as he enters.

Sam’s cock feels as though it’s ripping you apart. His length and girth are far more than you’ve ever taken and by the looks of it, he's never had something quite like you either. 

“Fffuck you’re tight.” He groans, fingers digging into your ass as he thrusts in and out. He wishes he didn’t have to worry about these damn clothes, he could've made you cum on his tongue by now if it weren't for the damn pants around your ankles. He also wishes he didn't have to worry about time constraints, he could've given you several short orgasms by now instead of aiming for a single earth-shattering one.. Honestly, he couldn’t give less of a shit if Dean saw the two of you, but you probably wouldn't sleep with him again if that happened and  he was planning to use your tight little pussy this entire weekend. Hell, he might ‘accidentaly’ fuck up the hunt so you would have to stay in town longer.

“So good for me baby.” Sam says in a groan. His eyes remain locked on your expression and your tits bouncing with every thrust. Your warm cunt fits around him so nicely. He didn't have to, and he knew you surely couldn't take it but he loved to see you gasp and squirm– so pretty beneath him, every time he bottomed out.

“Mnghh, wa-agh!” You whine, high pitched and pleading. You press your palms against his chest, hoping to send the message of telling him to slow down as your mouth has been rendered absolutely useless save for whimpers and moans. Maybe he didn’t understand, or maybe it was that he didn’t want to, in the end, Sam continued fucking you with reckless abandon.

Tears began to prickle in the corners of your eyes. “Sam- agh s’too.. mmuch.” You sobbed. 

“Shh, you’re taking me so well,” Sam coos. He cups your jaw in a surprisingly tenderder fashion and wipes your streaming tears with his thumb. You wince.

He has always wondered how you liked it. How you really liked it, every dirty fantasy you had in the dead of night and every deleted search.

“H-mgh, h-hurts.” You  squeak out as he rams into you once more.

 Now, it was glaringly obvious. With a hint of genuine curiosity in his eyes, he wraps a hand around your throat once more and then, he squeezes. 

Of course Sam has choked a girl in bed before, but choking you was especially euphoric. The slight hint of fear in your eyes was enough to make him cum right now. 

You felt suddenly very aware of your body. The pain on your shoulder and down your finger-dug in arms and hips. Your drooping eyelids, tears down your chin, the thoughtless moans spilling out of you as you unthinkingly tipped your head back, exposing your throat to give Sam a better grip. 

Every breath gave a slight resistance you couldn’t help but want. Fog filled your head until you were left with a one point perspective of Sam. It hurt so good. Your arms lazily drape over his shoulders and you find yourself begging for more of him; your hips rock in tandem with this thrusts and through moans, a single word falls from your lips. 

“Harder.” 

Sam quickly obliges, his pelvis meets yours with every thrust and his tip touches your cervix. You throw your head back in a shuddering moan and feel yourself losing oxygen. 

He couldn’t believe he didn’t realize sooner what a pain slut you were. Your pussy begins to tighten around his cock in uneven flutters. First your fingers, curling into Sam’s hair. Then your chest, shallow breaths growing shallower. Your legs follow soon after, the muscles tensing and feeling as though they could give away at any moment. Finally your abdomen, growing taut by the second. Your brows press together as your mouth falls open. 

“S-ssoo close.” You slur. 

“Hold it baby, just a little more.” Sam groans. His breath filled in the hot inch of space between your bodies. His thrusts became shorter but more rapid, his heart following suit. He clenches his teeth. Fuck, you looked pretty with his hand around your throat but damn if he didn’t need to cum inside your cunt. 

Tears begin streaming down your cheeks as you try to hold back the waves of pleasure ripping through you. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Sam stops choking you and turns all his attention on your pussy. Your moans come out in pathetic cries, your body feeling wet and mushy but tense and begging for release all at the same time. Your head was a mess too jumbled to decipher and all you wanted was to cum. 

“Ssam.. please.” You cry as he pounds into you like a rag doll.

“So needy.” He teases back in a ragged breath. “You can do it. Be a good slut and hold it.”

 Just as you go to beg he meets your yes in a stern glare. “Do not fucking cum until I say so.” 

You give a reluctant nod. 

And just then, you hear a door shut. 

Shit. 

With wide eyes, you snap out of your trance. 

Sam on the other hand, didn’t plan on stopping. 

His hand quickly flies up to your mouth and his body completely presses yours to the wall. 

“Not a sound.” He whispers against your ear.  

As hard as you try to fight it, you find yourself slipping back. This time, with each thrust you slide up the chrysanthemum wall and he could feel your heart beating against his chest 

Sam’s cock twitches inside of you. He moves his hand and replaces it with his lips, trapping you in a sloppy kiss while he lifts your legs, bringing your knees to almost wrap around his hips. He palms your ass while his forearms support your thighs and his elbows your knees. Damn these clothes. Though still, at this angle he could get so much deeper and bring himself so much closer. 

White hot pleasure surges through his every synapse. 

“Guys! Where are you?” Dean calls from downstairs and damn if the adrenaline rush from that didn’t turn you on. 

Sam feels you clench around his cock and he groans into your mouth. 

“Almost there.” Sam whispers. You were too out of it to reply. 

“Need- mgh.. to.” You whisper. A tingling sensation has taken over your whole body, starting at your core and spreading outward. You felt like a ticking time bomb and just when you felt you were about to explode.

“Cum.”

With that you let go. You feel Sam’s hand slide between your and his lips as your orgasm rolls through you. His head falls forward and rests against the wall as he shudders through an orgasm of his own. The tingling feeling turns your muscles to jello but Sam does his best to keep you in his grasp. 

“No hits outside.” Dean calls. 

The only sound that mattered to either of you though were each other's dark trembling exhales, yours leaving through your nostrils and onto his knuckles and Sam’s through his parted lips and onto your bare shoulder. 

Small twitches and spurts from Sam’s length persist inside of you as he reaches the last of his orgasm. Meanwhile your entrance flutters as you recover from your ecstasy. Your heart pounded in your ears and you were left in a high. 

“…The hell? If you two got taken by a ghost or some shit I swear.” Dean grumbles. And then his footsteps start toward the stairs. Fuck.

Sam though, he takes his sweet time letting you down. 

Creeaak, Groans one step. 

Sam begins to pull out, forcing you to watch his cock glistens with your wetness and his cum seeps out of you. 

Creeeak. 

You were unsteady on your feet but managed to pull your pants and panties up.

Creeeak.

Shit, where’s your bra?

“Guys!” Dean yells, his voice closer than ever. His footsteps pick up the pace.

He reaches the top of the stairs to find Sam inspecting his EMF reader and you, placing a dagger back in your boot, fully dressed. 

“Oh hey, Dean.” Sam says with a casualness that left you feeling that if his cum were not leaking out of you right now, you would question if anything had actually happened. 

“What the hell? Damn near gave me a heart attack.” 

“Sorry,” Sam shrugs. “Thought we found something.” 

“Uh huh.” Dean replies, unconvinced. He glances at you, then back to Sam, and then to you again. “So, you find anything?”

“No.” You say without meeting his eyes. You frown and pretend to check out some of the grafiti. 

“Right.” Dean says.

You give him a small nod and quickly slip behind him and down the stairs. 

Once he hears the front door shut, Dean turns to Sam with a quirked brow. 

Sam looks up from the EMF reader and at Dean cooley. “Maybe there’s an attic or a back room we haven’t found?”

“Seriously? Don’t you think it’s a little messed up?”

“No, tons of old houses have cellars and hidden rooms.”

“Oh cut the bullshit, Sam.” Dean raises your pocket knife Sam hadn’t realized he picked up. He’s known you long enough to know where you stash your amo. “She doesn’t know, does she?” He frowns. 

His poker face falters and returns to a room-temperature smugness. “Is that what this is about? Me not having a soul?” Sam steps forward. “Or are you just mad that I fucked her first?” 

Tag list: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @n0va25 @figurantedefilme @wowzabowza69

Dm to be added/removed

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Somethin’ Stupid (Pt. 3)

Pairings: Sam X fem!reader

Summary: Pent up feelings have a way of boiling over…

word count: 1.8k

Tags: Reader and Sam are in love, sloppy make out, kissing, sex, intercourse in the impala, PiV, slight softdom!Sam, praising, reader has female anatomy, reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of y/n, can be read as porn w/o plot but feel free to check out the other parts

Notes: With that, this series comes to a close! Honestly i really love writing Sam, y'all might just see more of him soon. Also, had my first day of school friday!

Part 1 Part 2

Requests are open

Sam’s hand slips to the underside of your knee. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t have to. You know what he wants and you’re more than willing to oblige. You rise to your knees and with his help you swing your leg over his lap in one swift motion.

His hands rest on your hips while you sink into him. As your hips go flush with his, even through pants you both feel the sensitivity building within both of you.

Neither of you waste any time. Your hands slide up the back of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your lips meet in a hungry kiss, tongues licking at each other, saliva wet on your lips, the occasional clash of teeth.

One of his hands slips beneath your shirt, sending shivers through your whole body. Sam’s hand slides up your back, long, delicate fingers trailing every vertebrae of your spine. His tongue runs along the inside of your teeth, licking at the roof of your mouth, anywhere he can get, really.

His free hand reaches down to his pants, pinching and adjusting the fabric near the tightening crotch. This action doesn’t escape you. You roll your hips, grinding into the growing bulge in his jeans. He involuntarily breaks the kiss, throwing his head back and driving his hips into you with a groan.

“Fuck,” He says in a breathy murmur.

He was so beautiful in this moment, the strands of hair fallen in front of his face, the curvature of his neck, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You could feel your body growing hotter and with it your desire. You kiss your way up his neck, jaw, and collar bones, leaving lipstick stains in your wake.

Every movement, every breath coming from you sends more blood away from his head and straight to his dick. He wanted to take this slow- make this extra good for you. But every action executed by his fuzzy mind was done with the end goal of making you scream like you did in his every fantasy.

Sam’s hand falls from beneath your shirt and lands on your ass. He gives a gentle squeeze, causing your breath to hitch in your throat and a momentary pause in your kissing. Proud of himself, having evoked that reaction from you he squeezes harder, this time urging your hips in an up and down motion against his cock.

He was going to take it slow.

The friction provides a bit of release from the growing heat between your thighs.

“Sam- mfg,” You moan against his neck, sending vibrations across his skin. Your voice was like honey and he couldn’t get enough.

Sam did want to take this slow.

But he needed you.

badly.

Fuck it.

“backseatbackseatbackseat,” The words come tumbling from his mouth, breathy and filled with titillation. He’s slightly incoherent but you get the message.

…

“sssam,” you whimper out as your breasts slap against the hood of the trunk.

You did attempt the backseat but belts are complicated and it was damn near impossible to get your boots off in the dark. Either way, you both were far too turned on and impatient to wait a second longer.

“Mmm good girl, just like that, baby,” Sam cooed.

He slid in and out of you with slow deliberate motion. His hands gently rake up and down your back, stopping just before reaching your breasts and his thumbs kneading your ass cheeks as you adjust to his size.

Your fingers outstretched in front of you, ball into fists as ripples of painful pleasure spread throughout your body. You whine, your hips writhing as Sam fully buries himself within you. You never did expect Sam to be so large. In retrospect, it does only make sense for a man with a stature such as his.

“I know, baby, I know.” Sam says softly. He leans down, serving only to push himself further inside of you, for which he profusely apologizes for by planting loving kisses across your back and shoulders.

“Are you okay, love?” Sam says in between kisses. “We can stop if you want.”

“No, mmf, don’t stop,” You whimper, lifting your head in attempt to look at him. “Plleeeass, don’t stop.” You beg, your voice needy and filled with air.

“Okay, hon,” Sam replies with a small chuckle. He presses a kiss to your lips before straightening himself and picking up right where he left off.

His hands firmly grip your hips. Sam slowly pulls out as if you were made of delicate glass. Then, you feel the warm tip of his length teasing at the entrance of your pussy, as if debating whether or not he should.

“Sam, plea-

Without warning you feel yourself being completely filled by every inch of him. You gasp, your body rocking forward and your senses reeling.

From behind you hear Sam groan at the feeling of your pussy around him. His grip tightens on your hips, the indents of his fingers sure to bruise.

“God, you feel good,” he murmurs.

Before you have a chance to catch your breath he thrusts inside again and again, picking up a steady rhythm.

You moan and cry out breathless repetitions of his name. “F-fhuck, oh god, Samsamsam, fuuuuck, don’t mmfg stop.” Your hands desperately grasp at nothing. You suck in your bottom lip and bite down hard as you attempt to quiet yourself.

Sam immediately takes notice of how your once enthusiastic moans become high pitched squeaks and sharp breaths.

“Mm, c’mon baby, be a good girl for me, lemme hear you.” He lets out a groan, his thrusts fluctuating as you clench around him. “You like that, being called a good girl?”

His voice is low and raspy as he speaks, sending your stomach (and vagina, honestly) fluttering. You could hear the almost pride in his voice- having found out what makes you tick. You nod a mousy yes, raising to your tiptoes so your hips are aligned with his.

Sam groans again, your tight pussy fitting him perfectly. “Good girl,” He murmurs as he makes you moan again and again - music to his ears. He sings your praises in drunken murmurs as he fucks you till you see stars, not the ones overhead.

The night air, warm and thick around the two of you, felt as though it were heating up. Every inch of his body buzzed, his heartbeat raced, and his breaths came out in short pants. You were so beautiful before him- bent over, hair splayed across your back and the sweat on your skin illuminated by the moon. It was almost involuntary as his body moved.

Sam’s arm reached beneath you, wrapping around your waist. You gasp, he lifts you to him, your back flush with his chest.

“God you’re beautiful,” Sam mumbles into your skin. His other hand slides down your torso, landing on the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.

You throw your head back in a crying moan. You reach behind you, your hand tangling into his mess of hair. Sam growls into your ear in response. His thrusts become more sporadic, his cock entering and exiting you in rapid needy thrusts. His fingers match that same desperate rhythm , or lack thereof, working your clit in jagged circles at the slowest pace he can manage. The extra stimulation provided drives you so close to the edge. Your pussy spasms around him, your awareness threatening to fade as a white hot pleasure spreads through you.

“Fuck, baby i’m close where do you want it?” Sam says through barred teeth as he struggles to hold himself back.

“Inside,” You pant through moans.

“You sure?” He grunts out, his hips stalling.

“Yes! i’m on the pill, please just cum inside me!” You cry out.

Without another word, you both let yourselves go. The entire world around you seems to fade out of existence as firey waves of ecstasy roll through your body. Your back arches and your legs shake while the climax washes over you.

Once you come down from your high you find Sam behind you, panting just as hard as you were. He was still inside of you, along with something warm and sticky.

“That was…” He breaths.

“Wow.”

“Yeah… you okay?”

“Mhm, you?”

“Better.” Sam chuckles.

…

After a maddening search for your missing clothing and some difficulty getting dressed, Sam helps you into the backseat of the car since your legs had given out. He just stands there in the space of the open door, smiling down at you.

“What?” You smile softly.

“You’re beautiful.” Sam says simply.

“Thank you, I think you are as well.”

“Thanks,” He smiles.

Bzz Bzz

“Hm?” You both go curiously.

You peer around to the front seat only to see your phone just how you left it- dead.

“Not me.” You shrug.

“Shit,” Sam begins patting his pockets before pulling his phone from his back pocket. “it’s Dean.”

“Is he okay?” You question, watching Sam’s face as he skims the messages.

>Hey so i may or may not have accidentally sent you to the wrong spot. oops.

> One image attached: A selfie of Dean and Garth’s smiling faces, both holding up blood-stained machetes.

> Walked back to the car and i think i saw you two kissing?

> Nicee, knew you could do it ;)

> You’re not responding so i can only assume you’re either dead, or getting some

> i did buy two motel rooms for a reason, samuel.

“Oof.” Sam says aloud.

“What is it?” You rise to your feet and peer over his arm to look.

>Dude, i swear if you’re screwing in baby rn

>Sam DO NOT FUCK IJ MY CAR!

>IN*

“Technically we didn’t do it in the car.” You giggle.

“Don’t think that matters much.”

“Yeah… well, if he asks let’s just say your phone died.”

“Good idea, but let’s not think about that night now.” Sam tosses his phone to the backseat and turns all of his attention back on you. “Cause right now,” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “All I wanna think about is how I have the most amazing girl in the world, right in front of me.”

You blush, hard. “Oh really?” You smirk, playing coy. “Dunno if i can belive you on that one.”

“Then how can I prove it to you?” Sam replies in an equally playful manner.

“Hmm, i’ve got a few ideas.” You crane your neck upward toward him, biting down on your lower lip.

Without a second thought Sam cups your face in his hands and pulls you in for a soft and sweet kiss.

When you pull apart he smiles at you dumbly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And with that he pulls you in for another kiss. Sam would be happy to prove just how amazing you are forever.

Taglist: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @n0va25 @wowzabowza69

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Somethin’ Stupid (pt. 2)

Pairing(s): Sam Winchester x reader

Summary :You two are pathetic for each other, so much so that Dean can’t help but take notice. Maybe, just maybe his “playing wingman” will work out alright…

Word count : 3.5k

Tags: Reader and Sam have a crush on each other, fluff, no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, carheartt!sam, heavy make out, kissing, fade to black, almost smut.

Notes; While this does read as a fade to black i may or may not have gotten a little carried away with myself and wrote part of the smut scene… it’s not included here but if y’all want that lmk!! I am so sorry about how late this is coming out! i’ve been very busy with back to school preparations. Notes and reposts are greatly appreciated

part 1 part 3

“Rise n’ shine, Sammy!” Dean announced, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam flinches awake and like a row of dominos, the guitar that was in his lap is sent tumbling to the floor - creating a harsh cacophony of strings and wood.

The sound causes you to jolt from your slumber. You shoot up in bed in a flurry of confusion. “I’m up! I’m up! Where’s the Rugaru!?” You shout, whipping your head around the room.

“Woah, Good Morning to you too,” Dean chuckles, punctuating the sentence with an obnoxious bite of beef jerky. Sam makes a face. “Want some?” He points the jerky at Sam.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs his hands down his face. "I’m good, thanks.”

You visibly relax as the real world comes into focus. “Morning, Boys.” You say as the adrenaline wears off. Sam was still across from you, now flashing an apologetic smile and Dean was well- Dean, but in a cowboy hat. That wasn’t too unusual for him. Dean nodded a hello.

“Eh, more for me,” Dean shrugs with another bite. “Anywho,” He bends down and retrieves the guitar from the floor, now with a newly popped high E string. He hoped the motel wouldn’t charge him extra for that. “When’d you become Springsteen?” He smirks.

Sam was in no mood.

Then, his eyes lit up.

“Hey, Dean, what’s that, uh, mark on your neck?” Sam said, a grin only capable of being mustered by the most annoying of little brothers appearing on his lips.

“What mar- “Dean slid his hand down the length of his neck, stopping about halfway in sudden realization. “Oh- “He clears his throat. Mumbling something about getting banged up pretty badly, he dismisses himself to the med kit in Sam’s bag.

“Oh, and that explains why you’re just now getting back at, uh,” Sam glances to the alarm clock. “7am? from a simple salt-n-burn?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean scoffs defensively. “Cause you see, Sammy, I was actually doing my job.”

The early morning sun filtered in through the blinds and for the first time you realized that the wood paneling on the divider and both doors were made to look like a saloon door. Damn. They went all out with this whole cowboy theme. On the bright side, the sun gave everything a warm almost fiery glow. Despite the rather cozy atmosphere of the room, Sam and Dean were still going.

Only two things in life are certain: taxes and the Winchester’s arguments.

“The job that requires you to receive hickeys from girls in bars?” Sam laughed. He was now stood by the foot of your bed, stretching the tension from his shoulders. Man, even through a t-shirt his back muscles were attractive- carved like a Greek statue.

“Okay, when you say it like that it makes me sound like a hooker.”

“Maybe you are, Mr. hard worker.”

“Don’t objectify me.” Dean rolls his eyes, feigning offense . Dean was leaned over the dresser, looking in the mirror as he tried to cover a small purple mark on his neck with a square gauze patch.

He definitely wasn’t winning this one.

As if suddenly remembering something, his head perked up and he set his sights on you.

“How’s the leg?” He asked, looking at you in the mirror. He did genuinely care about your wellbeing, but it didn’t hurt that you were also a good out.

“Hm?” You were a little distracted; you’d almost forgotten about your leg entirely.

“Oh right. It’s fine really,” you swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

When you look down you find the bandage that was once around your thigh, half undone, twisted about and just an overall mess.

“Right, fine.” Dean chuckles.

“Woah, you okay?” Sam questions.

Before you know it, Sam’s closing the distance between the two of you and the roll of gauze is sailing through the air from Dean’s palm to Sam’s.

“Damn, I thought you were better at the whole first-aid thing, Sammy.” Dean remarks, happy to flip the situation back on his brother.

“I am,” Sam takes a seat next to you. He’s warm. And close. Too close. “But someone.” Damn he smells good too. Like a brand-new book. “Wouldn’t let me.” He said with a teasing expression.

“Hey, I didn’t do too bad.” Your cheeks flush.

“Riiight.” He gently tugs at an end of the bandage, and it unravels like a loose thread in a pair of jeans. “Not too bad at all.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” You reply, your face contorting to an attempt at annoyance.

“Hey, cheer up.” Sam smiled.

You couldn’t help but smile in return.

He gently slid his hand to the underside of your knee and placed your leg over his lap just as he did the night prior.

While you were busy tossing the wrinkled bandage into a small barrel-shaped trashcan near the sofa-chair, Sam took the opportunity to let his gaze linger. He drank in every detail of your appearance, hoping to seer it to memory.

For some reason, 3 things in particular stuck out to him: You never bothered to put your hair up last night, the way squinted as the sun reflected directly into your eyes, and the fact that you were still in his Carhartt. That last one especially made his heart beat a little harder.

Your lovely chaotic hair and the sun shining on your face inspired countless fantasies. Some as simple as kissing the tiredness from your expression, others, he felt bad for even thinking.

The minute you turn around his eyes are once again glued to your leg and you’re none the wiser.

“How’m I lookin, doc?”

Dean with his shirt tucked beneath his chin was rubbing ointment on what he wasn’t quite sure if it was another hickey on his abdomen or an actual bruise. Upon hearing your question he perks up, ready to make a dumb Looney Toons reference when Sam of all people beats him to the punch.

“Ah, just peachy, Bugs.” He replied in a nasally imitation of Daffy Duck.

“Huh.” Dean mumbles with some small shock. He watches the two of you from the mirror's reflection. He knew Sam had a thing for you, but this, this was something else.

The way the two of you giggled and just almost leaned into each other with every joke- pulling away in shy stupidity each time you got too close. The lingering eye contact, how Sam’s hand looked almost reluctant to leave you, the way one of you would stare when the other wasn’t looking. The whole thing left his stomach feeling like a pot of warm honey.

Damn. You’ve both got it bad.

An idea.

“Hey guys,” He chimed in.

“Hm?” You and Sam said in unison.

“Oh, sorry no you go- “you said.

“No, it’s okay you- “

“Well, you did fix me up it’s only fair- “just then you realized that your leg was still in his lap. You quickly pull away and smile apologetically. Sam does the same.

Dean just about face palms. You two are hopeless.

“Guys.” Dean clears his throat, capturing both of your attentions once more.

“I'm gonna go out and uh, do something.” Dean said with heavy emphasis on “do something.”

“Oh, okay..?” you said with confusion

“Oh, uh, need help with that?” Sam added, eaqually as confused.

“No! no, sorry…heh… I just mean that you both should stay here while I go make a move.”

“You… feelin’ alright, Dean?” You question.

“He’s still hungover I think.” Sam leans in and mutters.

“Y’know,” Dean turns his attention straight to Sam. “Making a move is always the right thing.”

“…So, you do want my help?”

“No, damnit,” Dean sighs in defeat. “M’goin’ on a coffee run.”

“Oh… okay…” Sam replied. “In that case, make two of ‘em decaf.”

“Aw you remembered?” You say with an expression reminiscent of a teen girl with a crush.

“Yeah, I know how it makes you jittery.” Sam replied, sounding embarrassed.

Dean watches as the two of you sit there smiling like idiots.

Yeah.

Extra hopeless.

- -

The latter half of the day is spent with Dean acting strangely and you and Sam struggling to figure out why.

A couple of theories arose.

“Maybe he is hungover.” You quietly conceded after Dean stretched his legs across the diner’s booth seat when Sam tried to sit down- forcing him next to you.

“Nah, he’s mean when hungover.” Sam replied.

- -

“Maybe we did something?” You suggested when Dean pulled the same diner stunt later at the library.

“Like what?” Sam replied as he studied Deans relaxed demeanor.

“Dunno. Maybe it’s 'cause we bailed last night?”

“C’mon we didn’t “bail”, you got stabbed and we all know if one of us didn’t stay with you, you’d come crawling back to finish the fight.”

“Fair enough.” You shrugged. “Well, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Me too. Just can’t figure out what would make him not tell us details on a case, it’s not like him.”

- -

You also happened to notice that Sam grew increasingly grumpy as the day dragged on.

Whether that was due to Dean, or his uncomfortable sleeping situation last night was lost on you.

- -

“Maybe he got roofied?” Sam mumbled when it seemed as though Dean couldn’t walk in a straight line- continually bumping into you - shoving you straight into Sam.

“Can’t be, after that whole witch thing he’s really careful with his drinks.”

“Hm…”

- -

“Mid life crisis?” Sam proposes in a hushed voice from the huddled corner of a motel lobby.

Dean had bought two rooms instead of the usual one accompanied by “we’re livin’ offa credit card scams and prayers. Besides, we’ve all pretty much seen eachother’s junk anyway.”

“He’s 30” you replied while watching Dean flirt with the woman behind the counter.

“With this job and his liver, it’s midlife.”

- -

Finally, the night had rolled around.

“Been dazed and confused for so long it can’t be true~”

The radio humming as the Impala raced down the road.

Normally, nights like this would be relaxing. Windows rolled down, the sounds of the cold and buzzing night mixed with the same five albums Dean rotated. Empty back roads and the three of you endearingly out of tune as you sang along.

But this night was simply and plainly, dead.

The air in the car had a tension not even Page and Plant could cut through. You all silently sat in your unassigned-assigned seats: Dean driving, Sam shot gun and you in the back watching the night woosh by.

It all came to a head earlier when Dean notified you and Sam that you two were on stake-out duty. You watched as Sam’s expression visibly changed into one of suppressed nausea. Sure, stakeouts usually sucked ass but did the thought of being alone with you really drive him to the point of sickness?

You breathed a sigh, sinking further into your seat at the memory.

Sam steals a glance at you in the rear view- you looked sad. Guess you weren’t too excited at the thought of a stakeout either.

The car stops about 50 yards in the underbrush in front of a dilapidated old building in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

The light previously provided to you by the stars was dimmer now due to the thick miles of pine trees stretching high above- looking as though they could touch the sky themselves.

“Aaand we’re here,” Dean said, switching off the ignition

“Mind telling us where “here” is exactly?” Sam quipped.

“Like I said, it’s a nest.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem. That’s about the only thing you’ve said.”

“Okay, fine- look, We’ve had a lot of duds lately and I didn’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up if it wasn’t the real deal.” Dean shrugs.

Dean was an incredibly good liar. Or as he liked to call it, thinking on his feet.

“Wow you are s- “

“Such a great older brother, I know. I’m gonna go walk the perimeter, shouldn’t take too lo-“

“Great I’ll come with!”

You watch as Sam quickly follows after Dean- not even letting his brother get the words out before he’s on his feet and out of the car like he’ll catch the plague if he’s alone with you.

Yeah. Stakeouts really sucked.

From inside the car all you could hear were Sam and Deans muffled voices, but even still, you could tell they were arguing…

“I’m not an idiot, Dean. I know what you’re doing.”

“Well I’d hope so,” Dean chuckled, holding his newly sharpened machete upward to inspect it. “Dad’d kill us if we ever even thought about going in dull and halfcocked.”

“Y’know you’re not the most subtle guy in the world.”

Sufficiently satisfied, Dean re-sheathes the blade and hooks it onto his waistband. “Dunno wacha talkin’ ‘bout, Sammy.”

“You forced me to sit next to her.”

“Leg got bruised las night, had to keep ‘er elevated.”

“Got two rooms?” Sam quirked a brow.

“So? What if i wanted to bring someone back?”

“Dude, you practically threw her into me.”

“Again, the leg. Can’t walk straight.” He shrugs, grabbing a vial of dead-man’s blood and putting it into his pocket.

“Alright, cut the bullshit. I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s not into me and i’m-“

“A dumbass.” Dean says sharply.

“E-excuse me?” Sam says, caught off guard.

“The girl is head-over-fuckin-heels for you. you must be a dumbass not to see it.” Dean points an accusing finger at him.

“I-“

“I see the way you look at her, hell, you busted out the guitar for her! ah- don’t give me that look, it was obvious. “

“Okay, fine, you got me Dean.” Sam throws his arms up in an exasperated manner. “I have feelings for her.” He pauses. This is the first time he’s said it aloud. His eyes go to his shoes. “Doesn’t mean she feels the same way.”

“Christ.” Dean slams the trunk, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks around the side of the car. Sam gives a puzzled expression. Dean jerks his head. “Watch this,” Dean says.

With the back of his hooked middle and index finger, Dean knocks on the back window of the Impala.

“Hm?” You lift your head from the book in your lap.

It’s a quick set of movements, but obvious, unthought action: your eyes first land on the source of the sound, Dean. He waves. You smile.

Then, all in the fraction of a second you look at Sam. Your smile falters. A short, flustered breath escapes your nose.

Your eyes go back to Dean, your lips curving into a poor attempt at a casual smile.

“See?” Dean says once you turn your attention back to your book.

“See what?” Sam replies, his voice growing annoyed and incredulous- having not picked up on anything out of the ordinary.

“You really make me wanna punch you sometimes.”

“Wha-, you know what, Dean, is this case even real? Cause if it’s not let’s just go back to the motel and-“

“Okay, Okay.” Dean pushes his arms in a ‘calm down’ motion. “It’s real, Columbo. Here,” He reaches behind his back, past the sides of his coat and pulls the local newspaper from the waistband of his jeans. “Happy now?”

Sam’s eyes skim the headline: Reports of “Cult like behavior” spotted near the old McCrowe house.

Below is a photograph of the dilapidated home they were parked in front of.

“Yes, but, h-“

“How do you know it’s real? Ya don’t. But i know you couldn’t take the risk; Even if you tried.”

Sam frowns, combing a hand through his hair. Dean smiles. “Go get ‘em, tiger” Dean says, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"You're an asshole."

Dean walks away with an extra bounce in his step. Sam frowns, again.

After taking a long moment, partially to regain his bearings, partially waiting till his brother disappeared around the bend, Sam pulls open the door.

“…Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

That wasn’t awkward at all.

Leaves crunch beneath your feet, and the book carried at your side rhythmically beats against your hip as you walk.

“So… figure out what’s up with Dean?”

“Oh, uhm,” He tosses the newspaper onto the dash as he slides into the front seat to cover his hesitation. “Nope. Not a clue.”

“Eh, I just hope he sorts himself out. If he keeps walking like that i think i’ll be bruised soon.” You chuckle at your own joke. “Guy’s got hips like Shakira, they do not lie.”

Crickets. Literal crickets fill the beat of silence after that joke.

You knew it was bad but damn.

“Ookay… tough crowd,” You mumble.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Sam said as if he were snapping out of a trance. “yeah heh, Shakira.”

You simply resign yourself to the book in your lap, every once in a while, taking a glance at the house ahead.

Meanwhile, Sam’s gaze never leaves the house for a moment. He had an expression you couldn’t quite place and an almost glazed over look in his eyes.

“Hey, i’m gonna go catch up with Dean, you’ll be fine right?” He says suddenly.

“No,” You slam your book shut and turn straight to Sam. “Sit your ass back down. we need to talk.”

“I’m sorry?”

The words come barreling from your mouth like a falling knife, sharp and unpredictable. “You have been super weird all day- I swear it’s hereditary- Dean acting strange, that i can deal with, but you? i-i don’t know what to do with that.”

A sinking sort of realization sets in. “I- god i’m so sorry.”

“I mean, did i do something? ‘Cause if i did i’m terribly sorry-“

“No, no, you didn’t do anything i swear.”

“Then what is it? i thought things were good and then- Look, if there’s something wrong just say the word and i’m there.”

“i know that but-“

“I’ll listen if you need it, i’m your friend and i wanna help.”

“That’s the problem.”

A beat of silence.

“That you’re my friend, just, my friend. That’s what’s wrong."

You feel your mouth going dry.

The words come tumbling out of Sam’s mouth much faster than he can think. “I-I knew from the moment i met you that you were this super cool and sweet and pretty but also badass at the same time kinda person and then it sorta spiraled into a crush, -which was innocent enough- so i thought it’d go away but then it didn’t and then-“

Every word, every thought, every action, everything within Sam is cut short and fades off when your lips collide with his. Your hands cup the sides of his face. His eyes widen before slowly dropping shut.

A moment later the kiss breaks and you’re sat there, staring dumbly into those gorgeous hazel eyes. From this new vantage point (the middle of the front seat) the gaps between the pines overhead is greater, allowing for starlight to filter in. The parts of his face not obscured by the shadows of his hair were illuminated in perfect detail. The soft edges of his face look almost sharp given the looming shadows, that detail though, is contrasted by the rosy blush spreading on his cheeks.

“…I wanted to shut you up,” You blink. “But I should’ve asked, i’m sor-“

The last of your attempt to apologize is muffled as Sam’s lips crash into yours.

His hand rests on the far side of your neck, his thumb moving across your cheek. The kiss grows in intensity, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips, your breath short and hot on his face. You drop your hands from his jaw and begin to slide them down his torso, eliciting a low growl-like sound from him. You both grow in fervor, the kiss bordering the fine line between sweet and desperate.

His tongue pushes past your lips and begins exploring you with warm desire. A soft sound escapes your throat at the feeling, his body growing warm, breaths shaky, and his tongue needly licking at the inside of your mouth.

Sam pulls away but only for a moment. He takes a quick survey of your face: lips red, breathing coming out in short pants, hair messy and all of you elucidated by the stars outside. You were no longer a reverie- some fantasy far out of reach. You were right there, lovely and more attention capturing than any star. So he says the thought that’s been on repeat in his mind since the moment he met you. What he’s thought on a thousand breathless afternoons when the sun shines just right on your face: “I love you”

“I love you too.” You reply without missing a single beat. you don’t have to think about it, not even for a second. You love him.

Taglist: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @wowzabowza69 comment to be added/ removed

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Thank you so so much!! This is such a sweet response 🫶🫶🏹

Somethin’ stupid

Pairings: Sam Winchester X reader

Summary: You get hurt on a hunt and in taking care of you, Sam reveals a hidden talent and maybe even some hidden feelings…

Word count: 2.1k

Tags; Sam and reader have a crush on each other, fluff, no use of y/n, Sam x fem!reader, carheartt!Sam

Requests are open

You never realized just how cold it got in Montana until you were here, wrapped up in Sam’s carheartt with his hands on your waist.

Well, one of his hands was on your waist, the other was digging through the pocket of his jacket for the motel room key.

“Sorry,” Sam chuckled awkwardly as his hand accidentally brushed over the small gap of exposed skin between your jeans and top.

This is definitely not what you had imagined when you envisioned his hands on you.

“It’s fine, really,” you replied with that sweet consideration he adored.

His left hand fumbles uselessly between the two of you- desperately searching for the key. He was embarrassed, beyond embarrassed. You had gotten injured-stabbed in the thigh on a hunt when he should’ve been protecting you. On top of all of that now he now has you out in the cold because he can’t find a damn key.

He eventually manages to get the key between his fingers but much to his dismay he couldn’t quite manage to pull it from the pocket due to the precarious position the two of you were in: Your left arm swung around his shoulder, his right hand on your waist and his other wedged between the two of you.

Sam was far too kind to let you slip from his grasp, no matter how many times you told him you were fine. So, you take matters into your own hands. “Here, lemme just-“

You shift your weight to your injured leg, giving him just the right amount of room to fish the key out.

His smile of triumph quickly falters once he hears your hiss of pain. He instinctively tightens his grip, reeling you back into him and closing the gap between your bodies; Sending your heart beat racing.

There’s a stillness for the moment. You staring into his eyes and he into yours. Sam couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you looked in this moment. Your normally neat, pulled back hair now wild and lovely with the cool night wind whipping through it. Your cheeks and nose were this beautiful shade of pink from the cold and all he wanted to do was reach out and cup your divine face in his hands.

“Sam,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. You never realized just how much green was in those pretty hazel eyes.

He tries to speak but not a thought -well, not a thought aside from professing his love(which he thought to be a terrible idea)- comes to mind.

Instead he blinks, searching your face for something- anything. Even a slight muscle twitch that would let him in on what you were thinking.

“The door.”

“Right,” he nods, clearing his throat and breaking the moment. He felt so stupid.

As the key turns in the lock you mentally curse yourself. Why the hell did you say that? That was the worst thing you could’ve possibly said.

He helps you limp your way into the motel room, the whole time not daring to look at you. And you do the same.

“Come on, there ya go, atta girl.” Sam grunted, gently setting you down on the bed.

Aside from your royal fuck up a minute ago, maybe this whole thing (getting stabbed included) wasn’t too bad. After all, you did get to hear sam say “atta girl” and if you were being honest, you liked it.

While Sam went to go dig out the med kit from his duffle bag you found yourself zoned out staring at his muscular frame. His hair, god it was perfect. Whose hair looks that good after spending the better half of the night in an abandoned building? It was practically witchcraft.

“Last time we let Dean pick the motel,” Sam chuckled.

“Hm?” You questioned, Sam’s voice snapping you from your train of thought.

“The whole uh, “Wild West” theme,” He smiles, gesturing to a cowboy hat hung just past his head.

“Right,” you chuckle dryly. “Definitely not letting him pick again.” You hadn’t really noticed the room; you were a bit preoccupied.

“I mean seriously,” Sam said, sitting next to you. “Where’d they get all this stuff? Cowboy furnishings?”

You giggle at Sam’s joke and lay your leg in his lap. Wine colored blood had pooled at the epicenter of the make-shift bandage (the torn sleeve of Deans FBI suit.)

The room was just large enough to comfortably accommodate two queen sized beds, separated by a thin wooden divider. On the far end of the room there was a pull-out couch with a cowboy hat pattern dancing across the leather; that same pattern reflected on the small sofa chair across from the head of your bed.

“Wild West express?” You reply while looking around the room- not wanting to lay eyes on that nasty wound. Sam chuckled and you somehow find yourself right back where you started- staring straight at him. God, he was a sight for sore eyes. His smile was enchanting.

The room had this homely atmosphere, whether that was due to Sam’s presence or the warm lighting was a mystery to you. The lights seemed to perfectly reflect on his face, illuminating those stunning hazel eyes and giving his skin a warm honey glow.

While Sam worked on disinfecting your wound he replayed the scene over and over again in his head. You were right there, mere feet from him and yet you still got hurt. Sure you’ve been banged up worse, not to mention the other bruises all three of you sustained on this hunt alone. But this time, this time was different. You’d need stitches, the stab was a few inches deep and wide with jagged edges. He cringes as he threads the needle. This was his fault.

His eyes snap to your face after the first nonevent of the needle through your skin. Your jaw was clenched tight, eyes large and pointed toward the ceiling, attempting to breathe through the pain. Guilt fills him at the very sight.

“Should’ve drank.” You grunt out, your hand balling into a fist as your eyes squeeze as tight as a camera shutter. Your head falls forward, your wind-whipped hair forming a curtain over the sides of your face. Even in pain, somehow, Sam thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen all wrapped up in a brown carheartt.

“Almost done.” He says gently, tying a knot and cutting the thread.

You let out a hefty breath, throwing your head back against the bed frame and sinking into the mattress with relief.

Sam’s hand slips to the underside of your knee, gently raising it. “God-“ he breaths, the new angle allowing him a better veiw of just how bad it was. “If I was there I could’ve-“ he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head in a dog-like manner of confusion. “What? Sam, this isn’t your fault.”

The pain had mostly subsided, fading to a feeling of dull pressure - more uncomfortable than anything really.

“Regardless. You got hurt on my watch.”

“Sam, c’mon. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” you frowned. He was too sweet for his own good.

The both of you knew this was a losing battle. You had this conversation a dozen times over during the car ride alone.

Sam goes back to silently wrapping your thigh in gauze while you decide to let your eyes wander around the room. Eventually you land on a wooden guitar propped up against the sofa chair right across from you.

You gasp and before Sam knows it you’re on your feet foot, the roll of gauze dangling from your thigh.

“What are you-“ he calls your name in an exasperated manner. “I wasn’t-“

You spin on your heels and reveal yourself to be holding a guitar with a beaming smile on your face.

“Oh no- oh no no no no.” Sam shakes his head.

“Pleaseeeee,” you beg, giving him the most puppy-dog eyed look you can muster.

“That’s not going to work on me,” he grins. “Now c’mon, sit.” He pats the space next to him and reaches out to take your hand. “Gotta finish patchin’ you up.”

You fold your arms over your chest with smugness he knew all too well. “That’s not gonna work on me,” you replied, looking from him to the guitar.

“Dude, I haven’t played since like, college.” His hand falls limply to his lap with a sigh. “Now c’mere before you make me regret ever getting drunk around you.” Sam attempts to make his voice sound serious but fails to hide the smile on his face and the amusement in his voice.

“Oh please,” you said through laughter at his expression. He looked adorable trying to be serious. “Just one song.”

Your laughter, it was contagious. Being around you was like the best high. “No.”He laughs, and he doesn’t even know why. “Okay, okay, how bout this?” He adjusts his position a little, trying to shove down the laughter. “You let me finish bandaging you up and I’ll play one, and I mean one, song?”

“Orrrrr, you play a song and I’ll let you bandage me up.”

“You can’t be serious. y’know you run the risk of infection the longer you don’t let me wrap it?”

“Then you better get to playing guitar-boy”

You smile and simply hold out the guitar to him.

Slowly, a scheming grin spreads on his lips, his large hand grabs the guitar and your wrist in one fail swoop. He attempts to get you seated back on the bed again but you’re too quick.

“Ha! Not gonna get me that easy!”

You giggle as you slip from his grasp. He watches as you run off do this weird limp-hopping thing off into the bathroom, the unfinished gauze swinging from your leg like a pendulum.

If he really wanted, he could easily stop you but he was more interested in seeing where this would go.

A few years ago, while Dean was off flirting with the bartender, you and Sam were in the back of the bar like a couple of wall flowers.

That’s the night you started to look at him differently, to feel things for him differently. That’s the night you started to like him; and it only grew from there. Admittedly, you both had a bit too much to drink. You told each other things nobody else knew. During the conversation he talked about his college days; how he smoked weed a few times (you couldn’t stop laughing at this) and played guitar like a proper hippie. (This also, much to his dismay, made you erupt into drunken laughter).

“You alright in there?” Sam calls from the room.

“Y-yeah! I’m good.” You shout back. You quickly tie off the end of the bandage and waltz back into the room only to discover Sam in the sofa chair, guitar in his lap.

You press your hand to your chest and make a show of having an aghast expression. “Is that what I think it is? Sam Winchester! Strumming the guitar?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m just tuning it is all.”

“Uh huh,” you reply, packing up the first aid kit.

Sam’s fingers work the strings of the guitar, playing around with a few notes here and there, tuning, plucking strings. But at the playing of a few specific chords, your ears perk up in recognition.

You immediately race limp-jog? Over to the bed and perch yourself upon the edge. Sam smiles at your eager face.

“I figured one of us outta hold up our end of the deal.”

You just smile and shake your head.

And there you were. Staring into Sam’s eyes, doing a mixture of humming and singing along while he played your favorite song on guitar.

“…hmm hm hm… we pop into a quiet place and have a drink or two…”

He would hum and sing along with you, a slight hesitation every time the main part of the chorus would appear.

“…But then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin’ stupid like-“

As if the lyric held far too much weight to sing.

“I love you…”

Eventually, you began to drift off. Sinatra always put you to sleep. He knew that. Sam’s eyes don’t leave you for a moment. You were reveire incarnate. Half asleep, head on a pillow and lazily humming along.

“…But then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin’ stupid like…”

Your chest slowly rose and fell with every soft slumbering breath. Warm lighting over your skin. Tranquil and mesmerizing as a sunset.

The lyrics come out a statement more than anything else. A truthful, unsung whisper.

“I love you.”

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Im having such bad writers block 🙏😭 can yall please send in requests, im desperate to write

Btw, I do take NSFW requests

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Exactly this. Like, we’re lucky that man didn’t become a methhead hello

I hate when people dog on Dean cause like, imagine your mom telling you that angels were watching over you every night before tucking you in just for her to get FUCKING FILLETED on the goddamn CELING?!? yeah I’d become a functioning alcoholic too

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Silly one shot with my oc and tfw cause I have writers block

Notes; takes place during season 9, angel!oc

————————————————————————

Sam jolts awake to the sound of a loud crash coming from somewhere in the bunker. Adrenaline surges through his every synapse so quickly he doesn’t even remember grabbing his gun or racing out of the door.

What he didn’t expect to find when he reached his target was the group of 4 idiots standing before him. Castiel, Dean, Lailah, and Kevin each wore an expression of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “What the hell…” he trailed off, his eyes slowly moving through the room.

Lailah and Kevin were crouched on the floor covered head to toe in flour. They were attempting to scoop what looked like it was supposed to be dough (but was all too sticky) back into a now dented metal bowl. “Oh…hey, Saammm,” Lailah said, drawing out his name in a guilty manner.

“We didn’t wake you, did we?” Castiel asked. He and Dean were stood over by the stove. Dean, one hand on an oven knob ready to preheat and the other holding a bowl which conjoined he and Castiel. Cas’ other hand was stopped in its tracks, whisking a pot of butter.

“It looks like a damn bakery threw up on you guys,” Sam stated in confusion as he tucks his gun into the waistband of his pajama pants.

“…We wanted cinnamon rolls,” Kevin said in a small voice.

“Yeah,” Dean conceded. “And you’ve been on your health-nut-rabbit-food crap all week.”

“Sooo, you guys all decided to have a secret midnight baking party without me?”

The room echos with murmurs of “yeah.” And “pretty much.” Sam frowns.

Dean passes Cas the bowl with cinnamon sugar, Kevin and Lailah unpause their attempted scooping and Cas stirs. Sam watches as the four stooges begin to gradually settle back into their previous occupations and while his adrenaline rush was gone, his grogginess and confusion seemed as though they were here to stay.

“Lai, you don’t even eat…?” He said, half a statement, half a question.

“And yet I was invited to the secret baking party.” She shrugs, looking over her shoulder at him.

Sam sighs, rolling up his sleeves, he goes to help Kevin and Lailah clean the sticky doughy mess from the floor.

“If you can’t beat em, join em.” Sam mutters to himself.

[amor-ad-nauseam]

I think I’m gonna like it here

Summary: snippet of my s9 rewrite, Chappel scene from 9x01 put to words.

Pairings: destiel if you squint, deancas, Dean X Castiel

Praying felt pathetic. That's one thing Dean Winchester knew for damn sure. Yet here he was, among a bunch of other poor saps in the pews of a hospital’s Chapple, praying -scratch that- begging for Castiel to show up.

“But I don't care that the angels fell.”

He pauses, his throat burning.

Praying felt pathetic.

“It doesn't matter, okay? We’ll work it out.”

Another pause, this one spent biting back emotion and the words that would follow.

“Please man, I need you here.”

Fuck.

His voice breaks and all previous attempt at keeping vulnerability at bay were rendered futile with one sentence. ‘I need you here.’ The words echo in his mind. Not Sam, whose life is dependent on Castiel’s arrival; But Dean. Prayerful, Pathetic, Dean.

His adams apple bobs in his throat, in tandem with the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders which were desperately seeking the familiar touch of Castiel’s hand. Truthfully he was expecting to hear “Hello Dean” any moment now. No Dice. His green eyes dart through the room. No Cas. The walls of the chapel were brighter than the rest of the hospital and the brick neater. It was clear that this was a more recent installation. As if somewhere along the way someone had realized: These walls hear more prayer than any church. And so came the hospital chapel. Chapels are all about faith, Right? So, Shouldn't the very being representative of his own be here?

Damnit. He was stalling- Thinking about all these irrelevant things to give Cas more time. Yet still, he wasn’t there.

Fuck it.

“Okay, listen up. This one goes out to any angel with their ears on.”

His voice regains its resolve. “This is Dean Winchester, and I need your help.”

Around the globe angels, broken wings and all, hear this message. “The deal is this- Linwood Memorial hospital, Randolph, New York. The first one to help me gets my help in return and you know that ain't nothin’.”

And the game is set.

“Hell, it’s no secret that we haven't always seen eye to eye.”

Like a gun has been shot, angels race. Each one abandoning the lives of the vessels they've taken.

“But you know that I am good for my word, and uh, I wouldn't be asking if i wasn't needin’, so…”

Dean Winchester was the finish line.

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Somethin’ stupid

Pairings: Sam Winchester X reader

Summary: You get hurt on a hunt and in taking care of you, Sam reveals a hidden talent and maybe even some hidden feelings…

Word count: 2.1k

Tags; Sam and reader have a crush on each other, fluff, no use of y/n, Sam x fem!reader, carheartt!Sam

Requests are open

part two

You never realized just how cold it got in Montana until you were here, wrapped up in Sam’s carheartt with his hands on your waist.

Well, one of his hands was on your waist, the other was digging through the pocket of his jacket for the motel room key.

“Sorry,” Sam chuckled awkwardly as his hand accidentally brushed over the small gap of exposed skin between your jeans and top.

This is definitely not what you had imagined when you envisioned his hands on you.

“It’s fine, really,” you replied with that sweet consideration he adored.

His left hand fumbles uselessly between the two of you- desperately searching for the key. He was embarrassed, beyond embarrassed. You had gotten injured-stabbed in the thigh on a hunt when he should’ve been protecting you. On top of all of that now he now has you out in the cold because he can’t find a damn key.

He eventually manages to get the key between his fingers but much to his dismay he couldn’t quite manage to pull it from the pocket due to the precarious position the two of you were in: Your left arm swung around his shoulder, his right hand on your waist and his other wedged between the two of you.

Sam was far too kind to let you slip from his grasp, no matter how many times you told him you were fine. So, you take matters into your own hands. “Here, lemme just-“

You shift your weight to your injured leg, giving him just the right amount of room to fish the key out.

His smile of triumph quickly falters once he hears your hiss of pain. He instinctively tightens his grip, reeling you back into him and closing the gap between your bodies; Sending your heart beat racing.

There’s a stillness for the moment. You staring into his eyes and he into yours. Sam couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you looked in this moment. Your normally neat, pulled back hair now wild and lovely with the cool night wind whipping through it. Your cheeks and nose were this beautiful shade of pink from the cold and all he wanted to do was reach out and cup your divine face in his hands.

“Sam,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. You never realized just how much green was in those pretty hazel eyes.

He tries to speak but not a thought -well, not a thought aside from professing his love(which he thought to be a terrible idea)- comes to mind.

Instead he blinks, searching your face for something- anything. Even a slight muscle twitch that would let him in on what you were thinking.

“The door.”

“Right,” he nods, clearing his throat and breaking the moment. He felt so stupid.

As the key turns in the lock you mentally curse yourself. Why the hell did you say that? That was the worst thing you could’ve possibly said.

He helps you limp your way into the motel room, the whole time not daring to look at you. And you do the same.

“Come on, there ya go, atta girl.” Sam grunted, gently setting you down on the bed.

Aside from your royal fuck up a minute ago, maybe this whole thing (getting stabbed included) wasn’t too bad. After all, you did get to hear sam say “atta girl” and if you were being honest, you liked it.

While Sam went to go dig out the med kit from his duffle bag you found yourself zoned out staring at his muscular frame. His hair, god it was perfect. Whose hair looks that good after spending the better half of the night in an abandoned building? It was practically witchcraft.

“Last time we let Dean pick the motel,” Sam chuckled.

“Hm?” You questioned, Sam’s voice snapping you from your train of thought.

“The whole uh, “Wild West” theme,” He smiles, gesturing to a cowboy hat hung just past his head.

“Right,” you chuckle dryly. “Definitely not letting him pick again.” You hadn’t really noticed the room; you were a bit preoccupied.

“I mean seriously,” Sam said, sitting next to you. “Where’d they get all this stuff? Cowboy furnishings?”

You giggle at Sam’s joke and lay your leg in his lap. Wine colored blood had pooled at the epicenter of the make-shift bandage (the torn sleeve of Deans FBI suit.)

The room was just large enough to comfortably accommodate two queen sized beds, separated by a thin wooden divider. On the far end of the room there was a pull-out couch with a cowboy hat pattern dancing across the leather; that same pattern reflected on the small sofa chair across from the head of your bed.

“Wild West express?” You reply while looking around the room- not wanting to lay eyes on that nasty wound. Sam chuckled and you somehow find yourself right back where you started- staring straight at him. God, he was a sight for sore eyes. His smile was enchanting.

The room had this homely atmosphere, whether that was due to Sam’s presence or the warm lighting was a mystery to you. The lights seemed to perfectly reflect on his face, illuminating those stunning hazel eyes and giving his skin a warm honey glow.

While Sam worked on disinfecting your wound he replayed the scene over and over again in his head. You were right there, mere feet from him and yet you still got hurt. Sure you’ve been banged up worse, not to mention the other bruises all three of you sustained on this hunt alone. But this time, this time was different. You’d need stitches, the stab was a few inches deep and wide with jagged edges. He cringes as he threads the needle. This was his fault.

His eyes snap to your face after the first nonevent of the needle through your skin. Your jaw was clenched tight, eyes large and pointed toward the ceiling, attempting to breathe through the pain. Guilt fills him at the very sight.

“Should’ve drank.” You grunt out, your hand balling into a fist as your eyes squeeze as tight as a camera shutter. Your head falls forward, your wind-whipped hair forming a curtain over the sides of your face. Even in pain, somehow, Sam thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen all wrapped up in a brown carheartt.

“Almost done.” He says gently, tying a knot and cutting the thread.

You let out a hefty breath, throwing your head back against the bed frame and sinking into the mattress with relief.

Sam’s hand slips to the underside of your knee, gently raising it. “God-“ he breaths, the new angle allowing him a better veiw of just how bad it was. “If I was there I could’ve-“ he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head in a dog-like manner of confusion. “What? Sam, this isn’t your fault.”

The pain had mostly subsided, fading to a feeling of dull pressure - more uncomfortable than anything really.

“Regardless. You got hurt on my watch.”

“Sam, c’mon. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” you frowned. He was too sweet for his own good.

The both of you knew this was a losing battle. You had this conversation a dozen times over during the car ride alone.

Sam goes back to silently wrapping your thigh in gauze while you decide to let your eyes wander around the room. Eventually you land on a wooden guitar propped up against the sofa chair right across from you.

You gasp and before Sam knows it you’re on your feet foot, the roll of gauze dangling from your thigh.

“What are you-“ he calls your name in an exasperated manner. “I wasn’t-“

You spin on your heels and reveal yourself to be holding a guitar with a beaming smile on your face.

“Oh no- oh no no no no.” Sam shakes his head.

“Pleaseeeee,” you beg, giving him the most puppy-dog eyed look you can muster.

“That’s not going to work on me,” he grins. “Now c’mon, sit.” He pats the space next to him and reaches out to take your hand. “Gotta finish patchin’ you up.”

You fold your arms over your chest with smugness he knew all too well. “That’s not gonna work on me,” you replied, looking from him to the guitar.

“Dude, I haven’t played since like, college.” His hand falls limply to his lap with a sigh. “Now c’mere before you make me regret ever getting drunk around you.” Sam attempts to make his voice sound serious but fails to hide the smile on his face and the amusement in his voice.

“Oh please,” you said through laughter at his expression. He looked adorable trying to be serious. “Just one song.”

Your laughter, it was contagious. Being around you was like the best high. “No.”He laughs, and he doesn’t even know why. “Okay, okay, how bout this?” He adjusts his position a little, trying to shove down the laughter. “You let me finish bandaging you up and I’ll play one, and I mean one, song?”

“Orrrrr, you play a song and I’ll let you bandage me up.”

“You can’t be serious. y’know you run the risk of infection the longer you don’t let me wrap it?”

“Then you better get to playing guitar-boy”

You smile and simply hold out the guitar to him.

Slowly, a scheming grin spreads on his lips, his large hand grabs the guitar and your wrist in one fail swoop. He attempts to get you seated back on the bed again but you’re too quick.

“Ha! Not gonna get me that easy!”

You giggle as you slip from his grasp. He watches as you run off do this weird limp-hopping thing off into the bathroom, the unfinished gauze swinging from your leg like a pendulum.

If he really wanted, he could easily stop you but he was more interested in seeing where this would go.

A few years ago, while Dean was off flirting with the bartender, you and Sam were in the back of the bar like a couple of wall flowers.

That’s the night you started to look at him differently, to feel things for him differently. That’s the night you started to like him; and it only grew from there. Admittedly, you both had a bit too much to drink. You told each other things nobody else knew. During the conversation he talked about his college days; how he smoked weed a few times (you couldn’t stop laughing at this) and played guitar like a proper hippie. (This also, much to his dismay, made you erupt into drunken laughter).

“You alright in there?” Sam calls from the room.

“Y-yeah! I’m good.” You shout back. You quickly tie off the end of the bandage and waltz back into the room only to discover Sam in the sofa chair, guitar in his lap.

You press your hand to your chest and make a show of having an aghast expression. “Is that what I think it is? Sam Winchester! Strumming the guitar?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m just tuning it is all.”

“Uh huh,” you reply, packing up the first aid kit.

Sam’s fingers work the strings of the guitar, playing around with a few notes here and there, tuning, plucking strings. But at the playing of a few specific chords, your ears perk up in recognition.

You immediately race limp-jog? Over to the bed and perch yourself upon the edge. Sam smiles at your eager face.

“I figured one of us outta hold up our end of the deal.”

You just smile and shake your head.

And there you were. Staring into Sam’s eyes, doing a mixture of humming and singing along while he played your favorite song on guitar.

“…hmm hm hm… we pop into a quiet place and have a drink or two…”

He would hum and sing along with you, a slight hesitation every time the main part of the chorus would appear.

“…But then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin’ stupid like-“

As if the lyric held far too much weight to sing.

“I love you…”

Eventually, you began to drift off. Sinatra always put you to sleep. He knew that. Sam’s eyes don’t leave you for a moment. You were reveire incarnate. Half asleep, head on a pillow and lazily humming along.

“…But then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin’ stupid like…”

Your chest slowly rose and fell with every soft slumbering breath. Warm lighting over your skin. Tranquil and mesmerizing as a sunset.

The lyrics come out a statement more than anything else. A truthful, unsung whisper.

“I love you.”