gh0stlightss

[gh0stlightss]

so sorry for being so inactive college has got me stressed and i have no motivation i promise I'll catch up with moots and post something soon,

[gh0stlightss]

virtual angel ₊˚⊹♡

[gh0stlightss]

⋆.˚ 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌 : mdni — This fic contains erotic depictions involving religious themes. ♱ ── ̟ !!

If this is a sensitive topic for you, please proceed with caution or skip this work. †

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

Father Samuel-Sam-was the fresh face in town, a soft-spoken man with gentle hands and a voice like warm honey. The church had welcomed him with open arms, charmed by his humility, his quiet devotion. But you? You saw the way his fingers trembled slightly as he lifted the chalice during Mass, the way his throat bobbed when his gaze lingered on you a second too long..or the way he'd look at your exposed collarbone.

You noticed him. And more importantly-you knew he noticed you.

It was the way his breath hitched when you knelt in the confessional, lips parted just so, your lashes fluttering as you murmured, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned...” the way his knuckles whitened around his rosary beads when your skirt rode up your thighs as you adjusted your position. The way his tongue darted out to wet his lips when you met his eyes-those deep, hungry eyes- before lowering your gaze demurely.

You had him the moment he first faltered.

ྀ ི ✦

The church was empty tonight, the only sound the distant hum of the old radiator and the whisper of your stockinged thighs as you shifted on your knees. The door to the sacristy was locked. The candles flickered, casting long shadows across the room, painting the saintly icons in something far more sinful.

Father Sam stood before you, his back pressed against the edge of the heavy oak desk, his cassock already pushed up over his hips. His breath came in shallow gasps, his fingers tangled in your hair-not guiding not forcing, but clinging, as if you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Your name-soft and trembling-left his lips, His cock was heavy on your tongue, thick and leaking as you took him deep, your eyes fluttering shut at the taste of him — salt and sin.

“W-Wait-”he stammered, but his hips jerked forward when you took him deeper, your tongue tracing the length of his cock as if it were something holy.

“You-” His voice cracked as your tongue traced him, swallowed him whole, hot and wet. “Oh, God-”

Yes, you thought. Let him see God.

His thighs trembled, his breath coming in ragged bursts as you worked him, your fingers digging into his hips to keep him still. You wanted him to feel this, to know that even men of the cloth could fall to their knees—or be brought to them.

You hummed around him, savoring the way his hips jerked, the way his thighs tensed. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you could feel the war inside him-the way his body arched into your mouth even as his mind screamed sin, sin, sin.

But you didn't stop.

You took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, your lashes fluttering up to watch his face-the way his lips parted in a silent gasp, the way his brow furrowed in desperate want. His hips stuttered, his cock twitching against your tongue, and you knew he was close.

“Please-” he choked out, his voice ragged. "I-I can't-"

He tasted like wine and sin, like desperation and prayer.

“Please,” he choked out, trembling..“Please, I-”

You looked up at him through your lashes, doe-eyed and innocent, even as you hollowed your cheeks around him.

“Do you see God yet, Father?” you whispered.

that's all it took.

A broken groan tore from his throat as he spilled into your mouth, his entire body shuddering, his knees buckling. You swallowed every last drop, your lips lingering as he trembled above you, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

When you finally pulled away, his face was flushed, his eyes softening with something between shame and hunger.

“You,” he whispered, voice wrecked, “are going to kill me..”

You smiled, slow and sweet, and pressed a kiss to the inside of his thigh.

“Then let me be your last prayer.”

—

—

@regretdean

[gh0stlightss]

my goat posted

dead in the water, 1x03

[gh0stlightss]

WELCOME TO GH0STLIGHTSS TAGLIST ♡ ໒ | ،، ⋆

─── ⋆⋅ J2 baby ⋆ ⋅⋆ ───

Hello welcome to my taglist!! anyone who wants to be tagged in my work can comment here - everyone is welcome 𐙚 ⸝⸝⸝ MDNI +18 WORK

I mainly write jackles and jarpad characters - including

dean winchester - sam winchester - alec mcdowell - soldier boy 𓏵 and more to come..

⤷ thank you for all the support ・ ・ ・ ・ ・

[gh0stlightss]

fem dean is real to me and also..this was so good omg..

₊˚⊹♡ body swap pt.2 👥

₊⊹ ʚ ₊⊹｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡˚ ₊⊹｡ ₊⊹ ୨♡୧ ⊹₊ ｡⊹₊ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆ ˚ ⋆ ｡⊹₊ ɞ ⊹₊

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: what’s the first thing you do when you wake up in dean’s body? the clear obvious.

cw: 18+ smut, slightly comical, pwp, exploration of the male body, male masterbation, you match dean’s perviness (jk you’re worse), you jerk it while in his body, cum tasting, you catch dean playing with himself in your body.

word count: 1295

julia yaps: i tried my best but i don’t have a pp so i’m sorry if this is bad, you guys were begging for part two so here it is.

please read part one first!

────────── ୨ৎ ──────────

you get woken up by a weird feeling while sleeping on your stomach, as if you were laying on something long and stiff. you let out a little groan as you lift your head up to check the time, seven thirty in the morning was way too early for you to be awake so you rolled your eyes. “what the hell” you murmured before reaching under yourself to check what it was that was poking you.

at first you thought you must have fallen asleep on your sex toy but as you tried pulling it out from underneath you, you were rudely awakened by pain. “ouu fuck what the hell” you hissed before sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

your eyes widened as you notice you weren’t in your bed, and that you were looking down at a bulge in not your hot dog pjs. at first you were so confused, wondering why on earth would you be dreaming about something like that, but as your brain started waking up and catching up with reality, it all hit you. the god damn witch. what a fucking bitch. you must have swapped bodies with dean after yesterdays failed hunt.

you couldn’t help your curiosity, you gently poked at the bulge before hooking your fingers under the waistband and slowly peaking inside, honestly the gasp you let out could’ve woken china up.

“oh. my. god..” you gasped, your lips parted and eyes widened. there was a dick, a big dick attached to your body. well, dean’s body. well actually.. he is the owner of this dick so like- okay okay focus. there is a big hard cock in your pj pants.

but lord did it look mouth watering, no wonder dean was popular with the ladies, i mean come on, not too big but definitely not small, girthy and with the perfect amount of veins, the tip blushing pink with pearly precum leaking out, it was practically begging to be touched.

you carefully looked around the room, god were you crazy to want to try and touch it? you let out a sigh as you laid back down on the bed. this was wrong wasn’t it? dean is your friend and he wouldn’t want you to be touchi- okay that’s probably a lie, but the point still stands. it was wrong. like hello, privacy.. right?

that’s why it felt even more tempting to try. but come on you won’t be walking around with a hard on for hours, before you and dean figure out a reverse spell for this it’ll take a day if not more, plus you’ve heard somewhere before that guys just jerk off to get rid of it and that’s all. no big deal right? you’re helping yourself help dean, at least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

you put the palm of your hand on the bulge through the clothing, gently palming yourself. it felt.. nice, but also weird. obviously much different from a coochie.

the little devil on your shoulder tempting you to slide down the pjs and just play with it, you bit your lip thinking it through, dean will probably play with your boobs when he wakes up so.. ehh fuck it, he doesn’t need to know.

you hooked your fingers onto the waistband again and slowly pulled the pjs down till the knees, the girthy cock springing free, you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the delicious view between your legs. you couldn’t lie, dean’s cock was gorgeous.

without wasting much more time, you wrapped your hand around the cock, thumb spreading the precum all over the tip like it was lube.

which reminded you, you probably need lube. you reached into dean’s night stand drawer, searching for any bottle of lube, because let’s be real here he definitely has a lot.

“aha!” you let out as you managed to find a nearly empty bottle. this man’s been busy huh? can’t blame him honestly.

you squirted some of it on your hand and went back to business. you circled your thumb over the tip, fuck that felt so good. so so good, but you were impatient, so it didn’t take you long before starting to slide your hand up and down the shaft, slowly. dean’s hand looked so pretty as it was wrapped around his cock.

you tried feeling out every inch and detail, you eyes roaming around and exploring the lower body, the small pudge of a belly dean has was honestly a turn on, the vein that decorated his left hip looked so kissable. “fuck..” you whimpered as you sped up, gently squeezing your hand around the tip.

your breath growing heavier as you jerked yourself off, i wonder if he’d let me do it once we are back in our bodies, you thought to yourself.

the pace of your hand quickening without much thought, it felt too fucking good, your mind was going foggy from the pleasure that invaded every nerve in your body. you felt pressure building in the lower abdomen region.

you let out another whimper, your chest rising and falling as you were so close to the edge. “fuck i’m about to cum..” you moaned out before strings of white started shooting all over your hand and abdomen.

you kept on pumping your hand, trying to ride out the climax to the fullest. your breath heavy as your body tensed up before relaxing. you let your head fall back on the pillow for a second before looking down at the mess you’ve left. the head of the cock throbbing.

all this pearly white droplets, it would be such a waste to just clean it all up with a tissue, you thought to yourself. you let go of the slowly softening cock and lifted your hand up to your mouth, contemplating for a second if it would be weird trying the cum on your hand.

you shrug it off though and don’t think much of it, sticking your tongue out and licking the semen off your hand. it tasted quite salty, but then again that’s a bit obvious considering what dean’s diet consists of.

after you got your breath back you cleaned yourself up with the tissues from the nightstand and pulled your silly little hot dog pjs back up and headed out the door, down the hallway in the direction of your room, hoping to find dean in your body.

as you stood in front of the door you heard faint moans and a vibrating sound, your eyes widened “oh my god..” you whispered to yourself, he’s not- is he? you stepped a bit closer to the door, your ear gently resting against the wood trying to pick up on more noise, the moans continued.

dean found your bunny vibrator, that’s for sure. a sudden idea lit up in your brain and a smirk grew on your face. you grabbed the door handle and without knocking you opened the door, making dean jump and pull the toy out. “whoa hey do you knock?!” he spoke in your voice, it was odd to hear your own voice like that.

“well this is my room dean” you smirked, crossing your arms and leaning against the doorframe. “and that is my toy you’re using”

you tilted your head slightly as you caught a glimpse of a completely different angle of your coochie. “wow my pussy looks so pretty from this angle” you couldn’t stop yourself from complementing.

you walked into the room and closed the door behind you, locking it and slowly stepping closer towards dean in your body, on your bed, your toy in his hand. “i see curiosity got the best of you… need some help with that?” you offered with a smirk.

part three in production

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @bruisedfig @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @rositaslabyrinth @deanspookiebear @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @miss-marmalade @pinksatinpanties @multiversefanfics @cupidzbunny @sunnyteume @mrsanakinwinchesterpoldark @krabog

𑁥౿ check out my masterlist for other works!

♡ see this post to be added to the taglist!

© pieandflannel – do not plagiarise or repost any of my work!

© reserved for photo/gif owners!

[gh0stlightss]

Hey!

I am not sure if you're taking requests, so I am sorry if I am bothering you. However, may I request a prompt where the reader and Sam are cooking or even baking together? And it's all fluffy and cute but it could turn into some soft sex towards the end. On the countertop too to make it even more "umph", because who wouldn't want the Sam Winchester to absolutely ruin them? Bonus if reader is wearing one of his flannels or his graphic shirts, and either extremely short shorts or just in their underwear.

Extra bonuses if Sam praises reader with sweet nothings. Like, he is so gentle yet passionate with them.

Thank you for your work! Love reading them :)

- 🐭

Thank you so much for the request!! for anyone who cares use this post as a "YES" i am taking requests :)))

I do femreader only, as I am most comfortably writing that, but I could try other things if requested :))

Anyways I loved writing this soooo much I love soft dom sam aughhhh and thank you so much for the request and also thank you so much for your sweet words!! anyways I hope you enjoy this!! —

WARNINGS | MDNI – smut with plot, baking, softdom!sam, subfem!reader, a bit of fingering, praise, gentle to a bit rough, unprotected p in v, cum eating, creampie, soft aftercare. probably missed a few – but enjoy!!

The golden afternoon sun spilled through the windows, painting the kitchen in warm, honeyed light. The air was thick with the sweet, comforting scent of vanilla and sugar, mingling with the faintest hint of cinnamon from the open spice jar on the counter. The batter in the bowl was smooth, velvety, speckled with tiny black vanilla bean seeds—almost perfect, but not quite.

You hummed along to the soft melody playing from the speaker, your hips swaying gently as you whisked. The rhythm was slow, lazy, matching the unhurried pace of the day. A quiet contentment settled over you, the kind that came with lazy afternoons and stolen moments.Sam’s broad frame pressed against your back, his chest solid and familiar. His hands found your hips, fingers tracing slow, idle patterns over the fabric of his flannel—*his* flannel, the one you’d stolen that morning, barely long enough to cover your thighs. The only other thing you wore were those lacy panties he loved so much, the ones that made his breath catch every time he glimpsed them.

His chin rested on your shoulder, his stubble brushing your skin in a way that sent little shivers down your spine. You could feel his smile against your neck before he even spoke. “Mmm. Smells good,”* he murmured, his voice a deep, soothing rumble.

You laughed softly, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. “The batter or me?”

“Both,”* he admitted without hesitation, nuzzling into the curve of your shoulder. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “But mostly you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, though your cheeks warmed at the admission. “Sap.”

“Your sap,” he corrected, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

You shivered, your whisking faltering for a second. Sam noticed immediately, his hand covering yours, slowing your frantic movements into something gentler, more rhythmic. His fingers were rough from years of work, but his touch was tender, guiding yours with an easy confidence.

“Gotta be gentle,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“Since when are you the baking expert?”* you teased, glancing back at him.

Sam chuckled, and you felt it—that deep, delicious sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. His free hand trailed up your arm, fingertips tracing delicate lines along your skin, leaving warmth in their wake.

“Pie, remember?” he said, lips brushing your ear. “I’ve had practice.”

You snorted. *“You made one pie. One. And the crust was—”

“Hey,” he cut in, nipping lightly at your earlobe in protest. “It was rustic.”

“It was a crime against baking,” you shot back, grinning.

Sam huffed a laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You ate it anyway.”

“Because I love you,” you sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “Not because it was good.”

He kissed your temple, his voice softening. “I know.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, filled only with the soft music and the rhythmic sound of the whisk against the bowl. Sam swayed with you, his body moving in time with yours, turning the simple act of stirring batter into something slow, intimate—a dance just for the two of you.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice quieter. “You look cute in my shirt.”

You smirked. “I know.”

He pinched your side lightly, making you yelp and squirm. “Brat.”

“Your brat,” you shot back, echoing his earlier words.

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice rough. “Mine.”

His hand slid from yours, coming up to cup your jaw, turning your face toward his. The kiss was slow, sweet—vanilla and sugar and something uniquely Sam. When he pulled away, his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze lingering.

“Sam..the cookies” you murmured, it was weak, half-hearted, your voice already trembling as his lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“I don't care about the cookies,” he mumbled softly against your neck, words vibrating against your skin as he kissed down your neck, slow and open-mouthed. His teeth grazed lightly, just enough to make you whimper, before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Only care about you.”

You shivered, your fingers tightening around the edge of the counter as he crowded you against it, his body a solid wall of heat at your back. His hands slid up under the flannel-his flannel-palming your bare thighs before gripping firmly, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. The mixing bowl clattered to the side, forgotten.

“Sam-” you gasped, but he cut you off with a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your head spin.

“Shhh, sweetheart,” he murmured against your lips, one hand cupping your jaw while the other trailed down your chest, teasing over the thin fabric of his flannel. “Let me take care of you.”

You whimpered, arching into his touch as his fingers dipped beneath the the fabric, his thumb circling your nipple in slow, torturous circles. His other hand slid down your stomach, slipping beneath and tracing those lacy panties he loved so much.

“So fucking perfect,” he breathed, his voice rough with want as he felt how wet you already were for him. “Always soo..good for me, aren't you?”

You nodded desperately, your hips canting up into his touch. “Please-”

“I know, baby,” he soothed, kissing you again, deep and filthy, before pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with desire. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

And then his fingers were sliding inside you, curling just right, his thumb pressing firm circles against your clit. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tight in your belly.

“That's it,” he praised, his voice a low, sinful rasp. “Let me hear you. Wanna know how good I make you feel.”

You moaned his name, your thighs trembling as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. But just as you were about to tip over, he pulled back, leaving you gasping and desperate.

“Sam!” you whined, your hips chasing his touch. He chuckled darkly, kissing the pout from your lips before nipping at your bottom lip. “Patience, ssweetheart”

Then his hands were on your hips, turning you around to face the counter. You barely had time to brace yourself before he was yanking the flannel up over your ass, his palm coming down in a sharp, stinging slap.

“Fuck!” you gasped, the pain melting instantly into pleasure.

“Such a pretty fucking sight,” Sam groaned, his hands kneading the flesh he'd just marked. “Gonna ruin you right here, baby. Just like this.”

You could hear the rustle of his belt, the sound of his zipper, and then he was pressing against you, his cock thick and heavy between your thighs.

“You ready for me?” he murmured, one hand softly caressing down your neck, making you arch your back.

“Yes—yes,” you begged, your fingers scrambling against the countertop.

“That's my girl.”

And then he was sliding inside you in one smooth, thrust filling you up to the brim, which completely stole your breath.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his grip on your hips tightening as he gave you a moment to adjust. “So damn tight. Always take me so well.”

You whimpered, pushing back against him, desperate for more.

Sam groaned, his lips finding your shoulder as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deep, each one dragging against that perfect spot inside you.

“That's it,” he praised, his voice rough with restraint. “Take me just like that. Fuck, you feel incredible.”

His pace quickened, each snap of his hips sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. One hand slid around to your front, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight, quick circles that had you seeing stars.

“Gonna make you come,” he spoke softly in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Wanna feel you squeeze around me, baby. Make you tremble while I fill you up.. So...c'mon pretty girl..come for me...be good for me”

It was too much-the stretch of him inside you, the relentless pressure of his fingers, the filthy praise falling from his lips-and with a broken cry, you shattered, your body clamping down around him as pleasure ripped through you.

Sam cursed, his thrusts growing erratic as he followed you over the edge, his release spilling deep inside you with a groan.

For a moment, the only sound in the kitchen was your ragged breathing. The occasional drip of the faucet, the distant hum of the refrigerator.

Then Sam was pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you back against his chest.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “You're perfect.”

You laughed weakly, your legs still trembling as he softly pulled out of you, his remains..running down the counter.

The cool surface pressed into your bare skin, a sharp contrast to the heat still lingering between your thighs. Sam stood before you, his broad frame towering even as he softened, his chest glistening with a faint sheen of sweat in the golden afternoon light.

His hands—those rough, calloused hands that had just moments ago gripped your hips with such desperate need—were tender now, reverent. One settled on your waist, steadying you as your legs trembled. The other drifted lower, fingers brushing through the mess he’d left behind, his touch feather-light, almost apologetic.

You watched through half-lidded eyes as he lifted his thumb, glistening with the evidence of what you’d just done. A slow, lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he brought it to your mouth, dragging it along your bottom lip with deliberate slowness.

“Taste,” he murmured, voice rough, wrecked.

You parted your lips without hesitation, tongue flicking out to catch the salt-sweet tang of him. His breath hitched as you sucked gently at his thumb, your eyes locked on his.

“Good?” he asked, though the smug tilt of his mouth said he already knew the answer.

You nipped at his skin playfully before releasing him with a soft pop. “Mm. Needs more sugar.”

Sam barked a laugh, the sound rich and warm, filling the kitchen just as thoroughly as the scent of vanilla still lingering in the air. “You’re insatiable,” he accused, though the way his fingers flexed against your waist so gentle..firm.

You arched a brow, shifting just enough to feel the sticky mess between your thighs. “Says the man who just had me bent over the counter.”

“Well you looked too good..smelled too good” he teased softly, his expression softened, then his thumb brushing your cheek. “You okay?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “Mhm. Just… need a minute.”

He hummed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you effortlessly. You yelped, arms looping around his neck as he carried you away from the counter.

“Sam—!”

“Shhh,”* he soothed, nuzzling into your hair. “Gonna clean you up.”

You huffed, but let him carry you to the sink, where he set you down gently on the edge. He reached for a clean dish towel, running it under warm water before turning back to you. His touch was achingly gentle as he wiped between your thighs, his free hand bracing against your knee to keep you steady.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, even as your chest swelled with affection.

Sam smirked. “Yeah, but you love me.”

You sighed, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging him closer. “Unfortunately.”

He laughed against your lips before kissing you, slow and deep, his hands framing your face like you were something precious. When he pulled away, his eyes were, warm.

And with that you got back to baking..this time no distractions, giggling, dancing and listening to music..

© gh0stlightss . ゜・

@regretdean

[gh0stlightss]

PRIEST SAM PRIEST SAM PRIEST SAM!!!! OMG...

†These crosses all over my body remind me of who I used to be.†

SUMMARY: Sam and Dean dress up as priest to investigate some mysterious deaths. What Sam does not expect is to find himself a little sacrificial lamb in the process. 4.7k

WARNINGS: smut (mdni). religious themes. religious trauma. mentions of self-harm. reader is an ex-catholic. one tiny scene of s.a. but nothing really happens. car sex. unprotected piv. blasphemy. priest kink. reader is heavily traumatized. if you're extremely religious or sensitive to religious imagery pls don't read. writer is also heavily traumatized and has a thing for rosaries.

NOTES: here i am again, writing about priest!sam. everyone say thank you ethel cain. as always, english is not my first language. enjoy<3

You knew something was going to happen today, you just didn’t expect it to come in the shape of a hot priest.

Your friend Alex’s cousin died a day ago. He was found in his room, his own wired earphones wrapped around his neck. He didn’t hang himself, instead he had somehow pulled on the earphones for long enough to kill himself. The police couldn’t really explain it, but there was no sign of break in or the presence of anyone else in the room either. 

You had only met the guy once, which made your presence at his wake just a little awkward. It was supposed to be a family-and-close-friends-only kind of thing, but it was being held at Alex’s house, and she had begged you to come.

Alex didn’t have the best relationship with her family. They were all very religious, strict, and… moralistic. Her parents weren’t that bad, but the rest of the family was pretty awful. They never skipped a chance to comment on her clothes, or question her career decisions, and God forbid they saw her even glance at the beers her uncles were drinking like holy water.

You once even had to hear one of her aunts ask what was taking so long for her to get a husband and start having kids. You were both 20 at the time.

Now, two years later, you’re trapped in one small house with at least twenty of them. You convinced Alex’s mom that there would be too many people and she’d be way too busy to serve them all, so you offered to help by passing around snacks and drinks. It worked, and she let you stay. But that means you’re now stuck in the corner of the living room with a tray full of mini chocolate chip cookies, smiling at a bunch of people you really don’t like.

Alex had advised you to dress up for the occasion, and you had to dig deep into your closet to find the clothes you used to wear when you actually attended church. You wore a black dress that was supposed to hit your knees, but since you hadn’t worn it since you were a teen, it now hit almost at mid-thigh. It earned you a few questioning looks from the grand-aunts, but at least it covered what it needed to.

In your search, you also found an old rosary. It used to be your favorite, and the sight of it made you feel nauseous for just a second. Still, just for Alex, you placed it around your neck and pretended it didn’t drag you back to the dark times.

It used to be a comfort to have around your neck. Now, it’s tight and itchy. Like a noose, or a leash, or both. 

It feels like a punishment—like the weight of sins you no longer believe in but still carry.

You’re walking toward a group of gossiping women—so much for “Do not go about spreading slander among your people,” you guess—when two new people walk through the door. You start to dread the presence of more self-righteous old assholes… until you actually catch sight of them.

Two priests enter the living room, followed by Alex’s father. They’re in full getup—suits, Bibles, and clerical collars. And they are insanely hot.

Both guys look younger than thirty, and they’re explaining something to Alex’s parents. You stare for a moment longer than necessary, until the shorter one glances over and catches your eye. 

You immediately turn around and start walking somewhere, anywhere. You try to find your friend, but she’s nowhere in sight, so you just head toward the group of ladies you were originally aiming for and offer them some cookies.

That’s when Alex’s mother finds you and hands you a new tray with the mini-pies you and her daughter made yesterday.

“The church sent their two new junior priests to pay their respects. Isn’t that so kind of them?” she asks, genuinely touched by it. You try not to grimace. “Go and offer them the pies, and make sure to get them everything they need.”

Cool. Now you had to serve two literal clerics. Like this day couldn’t get any worse.

You’re awkward and shy when around people you find attractive, so you walk up to the men with your eyes on the floor and a mental chant of don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.

“Uhm—mini-pies?”

You meet their eyes for a second. First the shorter one’s, who at the mention of pie immediately looks toward the tray and starts digging in. Okay, safe. Then your eyes drift to the taller one. 

And Holy fucking God indeed. 

The guy is absolutely gorgeous. Big hazel eyes, his styled long hair already falling onto his forehead a bit from the heat of the summer, and just so fucking tall. You can only hold eye contact for a second before your gaze drops back to the floor. 

“Hell yeah.” exclaims the first guy, mouth stuffed with mini-pies.

You raise your eyebrows, surprised by his cursing. Some priests, huh?

It’s not the most blasphemous thing you’ve seen a man of the church do anyway, so you don’t comment on it.

The taller—giant, just fucking huge—man sends him a glare and rolls his eyes. 

“Excuse him, he is our newest recruit. I’m Father Frehley.” He presents himself, extending his hand towards you. 

For the smallest second, you’re overcome with terror. That hand, sliding out from a black sleeve, framed by the white, crisp cuffs—it’s too familiar. Too sickening.

You swallow it. Don’t be fucking pathetic. Get over it.

You struggle a bit to grab the tray with just one hand, movements clumsy with nerves, but the other guy helps you by grabbing the whole tray and immediately devouring the rest of the mini-pies. 

You shake Father Frehley’s hand, meeting his eyes again. One, two, three, four… you look away. Okay, an improvement.

“This is Father Simmons.”

The shorter guy shakes his hand in greeting gesture, crumbs and blueberry filling all over his mouth. You frown a little, looking back and forth between the priests.

“Frehley and Simmons? Like… Kiss?” You raise an eyebrow, making both men stare at you, taken aback for a second, before Frehley chuckles and lowers his head.

“Yeah, exactly. Freakish coincidence.”

You’re still a bit skeptical, but you let it go. You already had enough to deal with today. 

“So, are you the daughter of the homeowners?” Simmons asks, using a napkin to clean the remains of mini-pies off his face. 

You shake your head quickly. “Oh, no. No, I am their daughter Alex’s friend.” You introduce yourself.

“So you knew the deceased?” Frehley asks, glancing around the room. You take the chance to study his features. Once his eyes return to you, you look down at your hands.

“Not really. I think I met him once or twice,” you shrug. The priests look a bit confused, so you continue. “The truth is, Alex doesn’t really… get along with some of the people here.”

You glance around the room again, trying to find Alex. She’s alone at the dessert table, looking like she definitely needs a sweet treat. But she doesn’t need rescuing—yet.

“I’m here for moral support. Even though I don’t like them much either.”

“Well, it is in times like this when the Lord wants us to support each other the most,” Simmons begins. “I’m sure He is pleased with you—”

That’d be a new one, he never seemed to be before.

You can’t help the snort that escapes you but you quickly turn to the priests, apologetic.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you,” you add quickly. “Thank you for your words.”

You try to sound as genuine as possible, but you’re pretty sure your expression gives you away. 

“So why do they have you handing out snacks?” Frehley asks in a low voice, leaning forward a bit. God, his voice is so smooth and warm. Maybe you wouldn’t mind attending Mass if he were the one directing it.

“That’s how I convinced her mom to let me stay.” You sigh, shaking your head. Come on, girl. That was a Father. “But my real mission is to keep an eye on Alex. The moment some invasive family member tries to interrogate her, I slide in and interrupt the speech with some desserts.”

Both men chuckle at your words, and you study their faces again. What were two sexy guys like that doing in the church? You guess life does work in mysterious ways. 

They continue asking what you know about the cousin’s death. You recount what you’ve heard, always keeping an eye on your friend. At some point, you two make eye contact, and she sends you one of those “those guys are fine” looks. You have to bite down a laugh.

“It was nice of you to come.” you add once the silence gets a bit awkward. “I am sure many here find comfort in your presence.”

“Not you, though?” Simmons jokes, and you can’t help but let out an amused huff.

“That obvious?”

“Just a bit.” Frehley looks at you with the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You swear this is divine punishment.

“Yeah, well… my relationship with religion isn’t the best.” you avert your gaze again. “Grew up very Catholic—and I’m talking all-girls, nun-run Catholic school kinda thing.”

And now I feel guilty for breathing… and also kinda wanna fuck a priest. 

“Oh, so the hardcore stuff.” Simmons teases, and it makes you laugh.

“But you’re not anymore?” 

You shake your head. “No,” You had worked for years to keep the apology out of your voice when you said this. “I’m not.”

The eyes of the Christ in the front of the bible being held in Frehley’s arms burn into your skin.

“Let's say my relationship with God is very complicated.” You scoff, taking in a deep breath. “I really don’t mean to offend, but… many things happened that made me—well, not a fan of all things religious.” The scars on your back ache just a little, but you ignore it.

Both priests nod, and they don’t seem angry. They’re young, and seem smart enough to understand. You relax a bit, feeling less uncomfortable than you usually do around clergy members.

You feel both their eyes on you then, so your gaze drifts around the living room. And thank every deity you’ve ever heard of—because there’s Alex, cornered by the man you two had dubbed Creepy Uncle.

You quickly grab the old tray with the cookies (Simmons had finished off all the mini-pies) and turn back to the priests.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Fathers,” you say quickly, walking backward. “I think the mom’s in the kitchen if you wanna talk to her—but right now, I’ve gotta go play superhero.”

Turns out, going to save Alex from Creepy Uncle was a very bad idea. Because the moment she’s out of sight, he latches onto you.

He keeps inching closer, backing you up against the dessert table. His breath reeks of beer, and the way he pronounces every word—slow, suggestive, like he thinks he’s clever—makes your skin crawl. Even the spit flying from his mouth feels calculated. It all reminds you of the men from your old church: the cheating husbands who hovered near high schoolers, that one youth pastor you still try not to think about.

His hand starts to move toward you, and you freeze. Too many years of being taught not to fight back. Your stomach flips as his fingers reach for a strand of your hair—

And then your guardian angel steps in.

“Mrs. Evergreen wants us to pray.” Frehley hovers behind Creepy Uncle. His dark eyes and twisted mouth make him look menacing, almost scary. Like a predator—big, stealthy, quiet, but ready to sink his teeth into your jugular if he had to.

A different kind of fear bubbles inside you. The kind that makes you press your thighs together, heat pooling in your lower stomach.

Creepy Uncle finally leaves, looking bashful in front of the priest.

Frehley gives you a careful yet somehow comforting look before walking away to stand next to Simmons.

You stay in the back, hiding in the corner of the living room as the family begins to pray. You try to keep your expression neutral, forcing yourself to be respectful. Not everyone who believes in God is bad, you tell yourself, over and over.

A few tears are shed during the more emotional speeches. The priests stand in the background, both of them looking a little lost. Did the church really send their newest, least-prepared members for this?

You’re already congratulating yourself for how well you're handling the situation when Alex’s aunt, the mother of the deceased, walks to the front of the room.

“Oh merciful God, I beg for you to forgive me.”

There it is. You see it in her eyes, her trembling hands, the pained tremor in her voice. The guilt, the shame, the self-blame. The same weight that was once tattooed into you, the one you can’t seem to get rid of.

Her son is dead, and she’s apologizing for it.

You shift on your feet, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. It tastes like wine and sacramental bread, the same taste that was forced into your mouth the day of your first communion.

“I confess to almighty God, and to you, my brothers and sisters, that I have greatly sinned.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

“In my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done, and in what I have failed to do.”

Your knees weaken, and your throat tightens. Not this one. Not this prayer. Not again.

“Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault;”

You’re drowning, choking, dying. The rosary around your neck tightens. The crucifix on the wall looms over you, ready to strike. God is here, and He demands repentance with blood.

“Therefore I ask blessed Mary ever-Virgin, all the Angels and…”

You run. You did back then, and you do now.

You stumble out of the house, breath ragged, panic clawing at you.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

You fall to your knees on the sidewalk, skin scraping like it did when you spent every waking moment kneeling.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The church chorus, the smell of incense, the bleeding Christ.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The fear of punishment, the confessional’s dark embrace, the heavy footsteps of the pastor behind you, the crushing need to repent.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

Sin. You’re a sinner. The snap of leather against your skin.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

The cold floor beneath your hands and knees, the warm blood trickling down your back. Your firm grip on the whip.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa.

“Hey, are you okay?”

The sudden voice makes you jump. You look up quickly, meeting Frehley’s gentle, hazel eyes. You try to steady your breathing, to rise on shaky legs.

The priest offers a hand. You take it.

It’s the first time you’ve felt the gentle touch of a cleric.

You clear your throat quickly, wiping away a stray tear you hadn’t noticed rolling down your cheek.

“Yeah, Father Frehley,” you choke out, the title catching in your throat. “‘M fine, just—had a moment there.”

You laugh, like you always do in these moments. Because you either laugh, or you lose your mind.

There’s a moment of silence in which the priest studies you slowly, as you try to get your body back in check—pushing the panic back into the little sealed box in the deepest part of your brain, the one you designed for it years ago.

“Sam,” Frehley murmurs, and you look up at him, confused. “That’s my name. You can call me Sam.”

It makes your heart slow a little, your breathing gradually steadying. You nod, running a hand through your hair.

“Sam.” you say it slowly, savoring it. It still tastes religious—but differently.

Like salvation. Like sin. Divine, almost. Godly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be leading the prayer?” you ask once you’ve composed yourself, forcing a relaxed smile back onto your face, even though your hands still tremble and something remains lodged in your throat.

The bite of the forbidden fruit—damning you to be crucified for sins committed long before your conception.

“Father Simmons is on it,” he says with a hint of amusement, and you can’t help but imagine the pie-smudged, cursing priest standing before Alex’s puritan family. You almost laugh.

“You’re bleeding.”

You look down, feeling the warmth of blood running down your legs. Somehow, your knees always end up bloody.

“I’ve been for a while.” The words slip out before you can stop them—too honest, too painful. Sam’s worried gaze catches you, but you quickly try to brush it off. “It’s okay. I’ll just go inside and clean up.”

But the thought of going back inside that house makes your stomach turn. You glance at the front door, where the words “God loves you” on the rug seem almost mocking.

“My b—Simmons’ car is parked nearby,” Sam stutters, and it ignites the doubt in your mind again. “We have a first-aid kit. You don’t have to go back there.”

He nods towards a black classic car parked down the street, and you hesitate for a moment before following him toward it.

You might as well.

If anything, dying in the hands of a psychopathic priest would be the biggest cosmic joke ever written.

Sam, movements slow and steady, opens the backseat door for you.

You sit sideways on the leather seat, legs dangling out the open door, body angled toward the street. It feels exposed, vulnerable, like a patient waiting in a pew. Sam moves to the trunk, retrieving what you assume is the first-aid kit.

Feeling more than a little nervous about being alone with a man who is not only a cleric but also hot as hell, your hand unconsciously reaches for your rosary, fingers curling around the cross like they used to when you were a child.

Your long, slender fingers wrap around the same crucifix your chubby, sticky ones once did. They fidget just like they used to—during Mass, in religion class, or when your mother was screaming behind the door.

A moment later, you realize what you’re doing. You yank your hand away so fast it hits the car doorframe with a dull thud.

After all these years. After you’ve scrubbed your skin raw trying to wash it away. After clawing at your flesh with teeth and nails to purge every drop of holy water you were bathed in.

Your hand still reaches for the rosary.

“Got it.” Sam appears in front of you, white box in hand, pulling you back from the dark void you were about to fall into.

That’s when he kneels, right before you.

Your breath hitches at the sight. Sam, with broad shoulders and a clerical collar, kneeling right before you. 

He leaves the kit on the ground and opens it, first grabbing a cloth and some antiseptic. He leans in, and your legs unconsciously part.

One of his hands—calloused in a way you knew clerics' hands never were—wraps around your calf, long fingers closing around your flesh reverently. His other hand, the one holding the cloth, presses it gently against the wound, cleaning the dripping blood.

Sam moves even closer, getting right between your legs.

It’s too much. The white cuffs and black sleeves of the hands around your leg, the old Sunday Mass dress riling up your thighs, the rosary rising and falling on your chest with every heavy breath.

You feel wetness pooling in your cunt, soaking your lacy panties. You wonder if Sam can smell it, if he can taste your arousal from where he is—so close, yet so far away.

If he does, he doesn’t react. He continues to clean the blood off your knees, some of it getting onto his fingers. He doesn’t notice, and when he goes to adjust his collar, it gets stained.

The impeccable white square, symbol of devotion, of discipline, stained with blood. Your blood.

There’s something deeply metaphorical and insightful to be drawn from that, but your brain is too busy malfunctioning to process it.

Your breathing grows heavier, and you can't help the way your thighs press together.

This time, Sam notices.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, and it almost sounds genuine. But there's an edge to his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, that betrays he knows exactly what he's doing.

He keeps his composure, his serious face and benevolent attitude, but his fingers brush your inner thigh, and his smile is just a touch wicked.

It should make you want to run. Should make you scream for help. Should make you sick with flashbacks. Another perverted priest, another wolf in sheep’s clothing, another rotten apple. But instead, your legs part wider.

Corruption. Sin, dark and simmering. Lust, calling your name, burning like hellfire. Punishment, the good kind. Depravity. Profanation. Temptation. Blasphemy.

You’re not sure who kisses who—whether you tilt your head down or Sam leans forward—but his lips are soon engulfing yours. It’s violent, almost. Teeth clashing, tongues twisting. Carnal. Heretic.

Something fills your chest. A blaze, white and pure, that lights you up from the inside out. Edenic, sweet like the juice of Eve’s apple. Dizzying, like the poison of the snake.

I am kissing a priest. Oh, Alex is going to have a field day with this one.

Sam rises from the ground and leans over you, guiding you to slide deeper into the backseat of the car.

Once you're both inside, Sam breaks the kiss and turns to close the door. You lie back on the cold leather seat, eyes following his figure as he looms over you—so much bigger, imposing, intimidating. He blocks your only way out, and when he looks down at you, his eyes are full of vice.

“Look at you,” he whispers, his hands returning to your soft thighs. He slides them up slowly, carefully rucking up the dress. “So soft, darling.”

You shiver at his touch, licking your lower lip before biting down on it. You aren’t sure what to say, how to act.

Lust, the greatest sin of all. Sex, the doom of humanity. Arousal, something you couldn’t experience without the ghost of guilt tingling at the nape of your neck.

Taught to be virgin-pure. Tainted from birth.

Trained to feel shame in your pleasure. Learned to find pleasure in your shame.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” Sam whispers in your ear, his hands sliding to your waist beneath the flowy dress. “You want this, I can tell.”

Your back arches as his thumbs slip under the waistband of your panties, your breaths escaping in soft, shaky puffs.

You push away the voice—the one that echoes through your mind like a pastor’s sermon—preaching about chastity.

“I do,” you whisper, your hands gathering the hem of your dress and sliding it off your body, tossing it to the floor of the car. You lie there in lacy underwear, bare and exposed. The rosary still hangs around your neck, slithering down the valley of your breasts like a snake.

“Fuck me so hard it purifies me.”

Sam curses under his breath, eyes devouring you—like he’s imagining every way he could ruin you.

He quickly shrugs off his suit jacket, leaving him only in a black shirt and the blood-stained collar. When he goes to take it off, you stop him. 

“Leave it on.” You whisper, pulling him down until you’re chest to chest. 

“Okay, you little heathen.”

It’s only a few minutes—and an orgasm—later when Sam finally slides inside you. Raw. Depraved. Skin against skin. Unholy. 

“You’re dripping, baby.” Sam murmurs, moving his hips with reverence, making you throw your head back and moan. “Your sweet little cunt so tight around me, fuck.”

Sam is big, bigger than anyone else you’ve ever had. He fills you so deep it aches, stretching you open in a way that toes the line between pain and pleasure.

You're acutely aware of every sensation. The ache of the stretch. The sting of old scars brushing against the leather as you rock with every one of Sam’s thrusts. His nails digging into your thighs. His teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your neck—marking you as condemned. The rosary beads biting into your nape when he grabs hold and tugs, pulling you down onto his cock.

You relish the pain—all of it colliding and bursting inside your chest, transfiguring into pure, burning pleasure.

Pleasure. Pain. They’ve always felt like one and the same to you.

Your hands grip his shoulders, back arched, mouth open in ecstasy.

Sam’s thrusts are merciless. Relentless. Unforgiving. His slicked-back hair now falls over his forehead, teeth gritted, sleeves shoved up to his forearms.

When his hand drops the rosary and slides down—south, to where you need him most—something inside you explodes, a strangled moan tearing from your throat.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he whispers, rubbing slow circles on your clit as you come undone. “Fuck, you’re divine.”

Your peak is so high, you think you see paradise, your vision blanking out. It’s an all-consuming fire, wrapping around you, angelic and demonic all at once.

Then you feel Sam’s hips stutter, his warmth flooding you like holy water, filling you up completely.

You’re reborn. Burned to ash and pieced back together. It hurts, like crucifixion for your sins, but then Sam kisses you—soft, gentle—and you’re resurrected.

Washed clean. Ruined to the core.

Moments later, you lie on top of Sam in the cramped backseat. His chest is so broad, he barely fits, his legs tangled with yours. You slot against him like a missing puzzle piece, still boneless, fucked out. Stripped raw, drunk on sin.

Bruises mar your skin—on your neck, between your thighs. Little purple marks you’ll later press on, the ache both punishment and reward.

Sam’s fingers trail up and down your back, grazing the raised, silvery skin. He traces shapes over the crosshatched, uneven texture with such tenderness that it might bring tears to your eyes—if you weren’t so blissed out.

“Can I ask about these?” Sam’s voice is low, rumbling through his chest, sending a deep sense of peace through you. You nod against his collarbone, lips brushing lightly over the clerical collar. “How did you get them?”

“Self-flagellation,” you murmur after a long pause. Sam stiffens beneath you, his hand freezing on your back.

It makes you frown. You know some churches nowadays are a bit more “progressive,” but no priest would ever be shocked at the concept of corporal penance.

You raise your head, perching it on Sam’s chest and looking him in the eyes.

The setting sun filtered through the car window, washing him in warm light. His eyes, green with a rim of brown and just the shiniest golden flecks, wide and shiny, looking up at you like a kicked puppy.

He looked gorgeous, with his eyebrows furrowed and his hair messy. His golden skin glowy and his soft lips pursed. The kind of beauty you only see in stained glass. Tragic. Romantic. Sacrosanct. Godforsaken.

“You’re not a real priest.” It isn’t a question.

Sam’s mouth falls open, but he’s at a loss for words.

Then there's a knock on the window, and—

“Dude, you will never guess whose number I just—”

Yeah, definitely not priests.

It isn’t until you’ve slid back into your dress and you’re sitting on the sidewalk, because Dean would “not get into Baby right after you two profaned it, you little sinners” that Sam and Dean explain their job and what they are actually doing in Alex’s house.

Many things go through your mind. Things like “ghosts are real?” and “demons? Holy shit.” and “I just revealed my priest-kink to a non-priest, that is so embarrassing.”

But most importantly, you think about Sam’s gentle eyes on you, shining with just a bit too much affection for someone who he just met. About how his soothing touch could become so brutal when you needed it. How it had been him that whispered things like “you sweet, mourning lamb” and “let me sanctify you” and “you’re heaven-sent, baby. Made by Him just for me to ruin.”

And you wonder, as Dean rants to Sam about getting a motel room next time, if there’s any chance Sam could sneak you two into a church.

NOTES: this was pretty cathartic to write ngl. VERY self-indulgent but still. fuck the catholic church, guys. while i was writing i kept coming up with other priest/religious ideas and idk how to make myself stop. i might create a whole series of priest!sam at this point. anyway, hope you liked it!

TAGS: @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @pink-ghost666 @h8aaz @otteropera @xoswiftieprincess @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @losers-clvb @pieandflannel<3

If you wanna be tagged in future works, let me know!!

[gh0stlightss]

BOTH WHEN😶???

you loved the gasp dean gave when he saw the receipt—lace, silk, and more ridiculous things he can’t pronounce. the scratch off he'd grumbled about at the gas station had hit three hundred big ones, which made you look at him with those eyes, wide and twinkling like you didn’t know exactly how to wrap him around your finger. now here you were in the cheap motel, panties like floss and a babydoll dress clinging to your tits.

"alright, bunny," dean drawled from the rickety cushioned chair in the corner, his voice low with a cocky smirk, painted on his face. “show and tell....turn around slow, yeah?”

you bite your lip, swaying just enough to make the hem flutter up your thighs. you know he’s watching the shift of the soft fabric across your ass.

sam lays on the bed, arms folded behind his head and looong legs spread. "you gonna model all of it, bunny? or just tease us like that all night?"

"mmm, well depends if you boys behave," you murmur, stepping into the fluorescent light. this set....powder pink, with a lace so sheer it might as well be painted on. your nipples are hard, visible through the cups and your thighs glisten from lotion and oil, dean so happily rubbed into your skin after your shower.

you twirl, slow, hands in your hair, and when your back’s to them you hear dean’s chair creak forward.

“bend over,” dean says (which was definitely not a question).

you glance back over your shoulder, feigning innocence, but your cunt clenches just hearing the shift in his tone, command. you bend slow and exaggerated with your hands on your knees, ass high, the lace wedging between your cheeks.

there's a low whistle behind you. then, sam’s voice, groans “you’re lucky i’m not closer, bunny....that’s a dangerous view.”

you arch a little more because you want them to see the little bow on the back of your cheeksters, the strip of fabric that hides almost nothing. you hear dean's breath hitch. "fuckin' hell," he mutters. "that ass should be illegal."

after a couple minutes, you feel it—someone's hands, large and warm. dean's palms smoothing over your hips, thumbs dipping dangerously low on your body. “you wear this shit for us?” he growls, low and rough against your ear. “or just cause you like makin’ us hard and not gettin’ dicked down?”

sam stands behind you now, silent till you feel his hands on your shoulders, slowly massaging them. “c’mon, bunny,” he hums. “you love when we look at you like this. makes you wet, doesn’t it?”

you moan, a small thing sound,very involuntary.

sam chuckles, low. “uh huh....knew it.”

you’re sandwiched now. dean’s fingers tugging the lace down, super slowly teasing you with the friction. while sam, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck while his hands smooth down your sides, gripping, mapping every curve and dip.

“this one’s cute,” dean mutters, snapping the waistband and making you jump. “but i wanna see the black one next....the crotchless one.”

sam makes a noise, dark and approving. “that the one with the garters?”

“fuck yeah, sammy.”

your knees wobble. but you like it. the attention, the heat, the way they look at you like you’re dessert.

"better change fast, bunny," dean says, smacking your ass once, very rough. “or we’ll help you outta it.”

sam adds, "and we won’t be gentle."

you straighten, cheeks flushed, thighs slick, and heartbeat in your cunt.

“okay,” you whisper, turning with a smile so saccharine it could kill. “but you’re not allowed to touch...just watch.”

both of them groan. but they sit obedinantly watching as you changed into the next set—this one even worse. black mesh, no modesty, and lace stockings that cling to your thighs.

"bend again," they both say, and you obey, because you like when they look at you like that. because you’re their bunny.

tags: @soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @bittersweetfig @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel @zepskies @liiiilsss

[gh0stlightss]

I BEG OF U MY GLORIOUS QUEEN IF YOU WANT

do one where reader rides sam during stanford era.... like he was studying in bed while theres parties going on! but he got a luhhh distracted and stuff by them ... make him like a little subby :333 whimper pls whimpering PLEASEEE

OMG ABSOLUTELY absolutely absolutely!!! I hope this is up to your expectations, I saw this request and immediately had to bc I love standford sam!! enjoy :3 tysm for the request again!! <3 (also when you meant by little subby..i kinda got carried away and made him a sub mess...sorry if you didn't want that 💔)

The air in Sam’s dorm room was thick with the scent of stale coffee and frustration. Outside, Stanford’s finals week was in full swing—music blared from nearby rooms, people shouted in the halls, and somewhere down the hallway, someone was laughing way too loudly for 1 AM.

Sam groaned, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His big exam—the one that could make or break his semester—was in less than twelve hours, and he was not ready. Not even close. He had been hunched over his textbooks for hours, highlighters strewn across his bed, notes scribbled in frantic, half-legible handwriting. But every time he tried to focus, another burst of noise shattered his concentration.

He exhaled sharply, tossing his pen onto the bed. Maybe if he just—

Knock knock.

A soft, familiar rhythm.

That’s where you came in.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him with a smirk. “You’re gonna burn out if you don’t take a break, Sam.” He barely glanced up, rubbing his temples. “Can’t. Gotta get through this last chapter.”

You pushed off the door and sauntered over, your fingers trailing along the mattress before settling up on his shoulder. “Mm, I think what you need is to relax. C'mon let me help..” Sam exhaled sharply, his resolve already crumbling. “I—I really shouldn’t…” You leaned down, lips brushing his ear. “You’re thinking too much.” Your hand slid down his chest, lower, lower—until his breath hitched. “Let me take care of you sammy. ”

That was all it took.

In one swift motion, you were in his lap, grinding down as his books clattered to the floor. His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing into your skin like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“Fuck,” he gasped, head falling back as you grinded against him. You smirked, undoing his belt with practiced ease. Soon enough, his jeans were shoved down his thighs, his cock straining against his boxers. You palmed him through the fabric, relishing the way his hips jerked up, desperate for friction. “Please,” Sam whimpered, his voice wrecked already. “Please what?” You teased, finally freeing him, stroking him slow and torturous. He whined, fingers tightening on your hips. “Need you—fuck—need you to ride me.”

You didn’t make him beg twice.

Sinking down onto him in one smooth motion, you moaned at the stretch, the way he filled you so perfectly. Sam’s head dropped forward, his forehead pressing against your shoulder as he panted, trembling beneath you.“That’s it,” you purred, rolling your hips, taking him deep. “Just let go.”

Sam's breath hitched as you rose up slowly, savoring the drag of his cock inside you before sinking back down with a filthy, wet sound. His fingersdug into your hips hard enough to bruise, his thighs trembling beneath you as he fought the urge to buck up into that tight, delicious heat.

"F-fuck-you feel-oh god-" His words dissolved into a broken whimper as you rolled your hips, grinding against him in slow, deliberate circles. The way he fell apart beneath you--whimpering, pleading, his cock twitching inside you-only made you more relentless. You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, "You gonna come already, Sammy? Just from this?"

He shook his head frantically, but his body betrayed him--his stomach clenched, his cock pulsing as he struggled to hold back. "N-no, please-wanna make you feel good first-" His voice was wrecked, desperate and you couldn't help but smirk "you needed this stress relief didn't you?" you murmured, picking up the pace, slamming down onto him with enough force to make his back arch off the bed.

Sam's hands flew to your waist gripping like a lifeline as you rode him hard, the slap of skin echoing in the room. His breath came in ragged gasps, his lips parted in a silent plea, his entire body wound tight like a bowstring. Every time you clenched around him, he let out a broken whine,his hips stuttering up to meet yours.

"m'c-close--so close--" he choked out, his fingers trembling against your skin.

You slowed just enough to watch him unravel-his flushed cheeks his damp forehead pressed against your shoulder, the way his throat worked as he swallowed back another whimper. "Look at me," you ordered, and when his hazy, lust-blown eyes met yours, you rolled your hips in a slow, torturous grind.

The sight of him-undone, wrecked, completely at your mercy--sent a thrill through you. You rolled your hips in a slow, torturous grind, savoring the way his breath stuttered, the way his fingers dug into your waist like he was trying to anchor himself.

"P-please-"he gasped, his voice breaking, his hips twitching up helplessly, seeking more friction more of you. His lips were parted, swollen from biting back his noises and his chest heaved with every shallow, needy breath. You could feel him trembling beneath you, every muscle taut with restraint, his thighs shaking where they bracketed yours.

"Please what?" you murmured, dragging a thumb over his lower lip, watching as his tongue darted out instinctively, chasing the touch, sucking, licking softly. His eyes were glassy, unfocused, his entire being reduced to raw, aching want.

"Please-let me-I can't-" His words dissolved into a broken moan as you shifted just slightly, the new angle wringing a desperate sound from his throat. His back arched off the bed,desperate for release.

You leaned down, your lips brushing the shell of his ear, your voice a dark, teasing whisper. "Come for me, Sam. Let go."

that's all it took.

Sam's mouth fell open in a silent cry, his cock twitching deep inside you as he spilled over with a shuddering gasp. His entire body went taut, then limp, his head lolling back against the bed as he panted, utterly spent.

And let's just say..he did not go back to studying for the rest of the night..luckily he passed the exam the next day, and you made sure to reward him.

© gh0stlightss . ゜・

@regretdean

[gh0stlightss]

Sam loves to go down on you. — no, he lives for it. The way his lips trail down your body is worship, each kiss a slow, deliberate tease. His hands glide over your thighs, fingertips pressing just enough to coax them apart, his breath hot against your skin as he nips at the delicate fabric of your panties, dragging them down with his teeth. And god, the way he looks at you-his throat bobbing, lips already slick with spit, his gaze dark and hungry like he's starved for you.

He doesn't just eat you out-he devours you. His tongue lashes against your clit, relentless, sucking just shy of too much before swirling in slow, torturous circles. Your legs jerk, thighs trembling, but he pins you down with those strong hands, grip firm yet tender, his thumbs stroking your skin in soothing little circles.

"Does that feel good, pretty girl?" His voice is rough, muffled against your heat, the words vibrating through you as arousal drips from his chin. He doesn't even bother wiping it away, too lost in the taste of you.

"Yeah, I know it does... look at you, making such a mess for me." His praise is a low murmur, fingers tracing your inner thigh, possessive and sweet. "Fuck, you taste so good, baby.." And then he's diving back in, lips sealing around your clit, tongue working you with filthy precision until you're gasping, back arching, his name spilling from your lips in broken whimpers. He doesn't stop--not when your hips buck, not when your fingers tangle in his hair. He just licks deeper, drinks you in, wrings out orgasm after orgasm until you're shuddering, oversensitive, a trembling mess just for him.

me and @regretdean were geeking about muncher sam..bc are u kidding me..he dreamed about going down on bella and drooling all over HELLO???? omg...he's such a muncher i need him..say thanks to her, it was her idea my execution -

please do not repost my original work

© gh0stlightss . ゜・

[gh0stlightss]

omg i came across ur cowboy!sam fic (i absolutely loved it btw) and wanted to follow but last time i came across a good spn fic i followed and then realized they were pro wincest after so im like traumatized 😭 so thanks for putting it on ur pinned that we r not pro wincest in this house 😭😭

OMGGG tysmm!!!! 🫶🫶🫶 and not the pro wincesties 🥀 they're hiding everywhere be careful who you follow hun bc tumblr is full of them, and ofccc! i don't want any wincesties interacting with me..vice versa

[gh0stlightss]

beard dean save MEEEEE

Dean Winchester I Captives I 9x14

[gh0stlightss]

MDNI ⊹ ࣪ ˖

𖹭 Needy!Dean who can't keep his hands off you-not that you'd ever want him to.

The man is insatiable, driven wild by the slightest thing—the way you bite your lip, the way your hips sway when you walk, the way your breath hitches when he pins you with that look. And once he's got that hunger in his eyes? There's no stopping him.

He'll drag you out of anywhere-mid-sentence in a diner booth, halfway through inventory in the bunker, even in the middle of a damn salt-and-burn when he decides he needs you more than he needs to salt those bones.

His hands are rough but reverent, gripping your hips, your thighs, your your ass, like he's memorizing you all over again. "Fuck, sweetheart,'" he growls against your neck, teeth scraping your pulse point as he backs you into the nearest surface-a motel wall, the hood of the Impala, the sticky vinyl of a dive bar bathroom stall. "You can't look at me like that and expect me to behave."

And God, the way he takes you-like he's starving for it, like he'll die if he doesn't feel you wrapped around him right the hell now. Your pants are shoved down, panties tangled around your ankles, his fingers digging into your skin as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs locking around his waist. "That's it," he rasps, voice wrecked, hips snapping up into you with a filthy, wet sound. "Fuck, you feel so good-always so damn perfect for me."

It's not just the sex-it's the neediness, the way he craves you. All it takes is one glance, one teasing brush of your fingers, and he's hardening in his jeans, jaw clenching as he drags you into the nearest shadowy corner. "C'mere," he orders. voice low and dangerous, already unbuckling his belt with one hand while the other fists in your hair. You drop to your knees without hesitation, mouth watering as you take him in, hot and heavy on your tongue. He groans, head tipping back against the wall, fingers tightening in your hair as he guides your movements. "Yeah, just like that-fuck, baby, you take me so good."

And when you hit that spot, when you hollow your cheeks just right, his hips jerk forward with a broken curse. "Shit-shit, keep going, just like that—" His voice is ragged, trembling with the effort to hold back, but he never does for long. Not when it comes to you.

and that isn't the only time..

BONUS SCENARIOS —

In the Middle of a Hunt ⋆.˚

You're supposed to be staking out a vamp nest, but the second you crouch down beside him behind a rusted-out car, his fingers are already slipping under your shirt tracing the waistband of your jeans. "Dean-focus," you hiss but he just smirks, his breath hot against your ear. "Oh, I am." Before you can protest, he's spinning you around, pressing you against the car hood, his hand sliding down the front of your pants. "C'mon. sweetheart, just a quick one. Gotta keep my head clear, don't I?"

At a Dive Bar ִ ࣪𖤐

You're sitting at a sticky table,nursing a beer while he chats up some locals for info. But the second you cross your legs under the table, his boot hooks around your ankle, dragging you closer. His hand lands high on your thigh, fingers inching higher with every passing second. When you shoot him a warning look, he just leans in, lips brushing your ear. "Bathroom. Now." The second the stall door locks behind you, he's got you bent over, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as he fucks into you from behind.

Road-Head in the Impala ⟢

You're on a long stretch of empty highway, Dean's fingers drum impatiently on the steering wheel, his gaze flicking to you every few seconds. When you finally catch on, you smirk and slide a hand up his thigh. His grip on the wheel tightens. And before you know it...

"Fuck-yeah," he breathes, hips lifting off the seat as you take him into your mouth. He tries to keep his eyes on the road, to keep quiet, but his head falls back against the seat, his free hand tangling in your hair "That's it, baby, just like that-shit—"

Against the Bunker's Library Shelves 𓇼

You're researching, minding your own business, when Dean comes up behind you, arms caging you in against the bookshelf. His lips trail down your neck, his hands already working open your jeans. "Dean,someone could walk in-" He nips at your earlobe, grinding against you. "Then you better stay quiet, huh?"

Post-Hunt Adrenaline Dump ✧

The second the hunt is over, Dean's got you pinned against the Impala, his mouth crashing into yours, hands roaming like he's memorizing you all over again, "Need you," he murmurs between kisses, his voice rough. "Need to feel you." And then you're in the backseat, clothes shoved out of the way, his body covering yours as he takes you with a desperate, possessive rhythm.

I was starving for some dean content after writing so much sam - augh I need needy!dean so bad...

please do not repost my original work

© gh0stlightss

sdt @regretdean <𝟑

[gh0stlightss]

OMGGGG I NEED HIM

sam winchester x reader | MDNI

sam's eyes fell onto your figure as you wandered around the bar. he'd never thought to see you here, all dolled up and looking for someone to take home—more like to go home with.

he downed his whiskey and stood up, his frame dwarfing many of those near him. women tried to approach him, yet his heart mind was set on you. his hand brushed past your hip as he walked by, a smirk playing on his handsome face when he realized you fell straight into his trap.

"sam, my god, it's been forever!" your eyes shone with an innocence he couldn't wait to ruin.

the way you looked up towards him, the sweetness sewn into your words could've made him cum in his pants right then and there.

"yea, it has baby.." his words were gruff, the whiskey having left a burning sensation in the back of his throat.

you didn't know if it was the alcohol or if you were thinking with your pussy, but right then and there, you knew what you wanted—and that was him.

his cock bullied in and out of your weeping cunt, squelching noises filled the dingy bar bathroom. your moans rang into his ear as you tried to keep quiet, nails digging into his clothed back as your mind went blank.

"shhh, that's it sweetheart, let me take care of ya.." sam murmured into your ear, his voice low and commanding.

his cum filled you to the brim as small whimpers and whines slipped past your lips. his large hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as you lay in his arms—spent and used.

sunny yaps! FIRST POST LIKE THIS IN FOREVERRRRR, IVE BEEN LOWK SO CAUGHT UP WITH OTHER THINGS BUT RN I JS FELT LIKE WRITING SO IT MIGHT BE ASS SO SHHHHHH I LOVE Y'ALL SMM

special tags! @bluemerakis @littlesoulshine @h8aaz @bittersweetfig @bejeweledinterludes @fuckedupfate @deansbeer

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

[gh0stlightss]

Soldier Boy loves when you ride his thick thigh.. he loves the way you squirm against him, all soft skin and desperate little whimpers.

He'll call you over with a low whistle, newspaper in one hand, cigarette dangling from the other, dressed down in a tight black shirt and loose sweatpants. Out of uniform, but never out of control.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he coos, voice rough as his free hand grabs your hips, pulling you right where he wants you. You don't hesitate-couldn't if you tried and the second you're within reach,you're straddling his muscular thigh, his grip firm as he guides you down.

"Pants off," he murmurs, taking a slow drag, watching the way your fingers fumble at your waistband. He doesn't help, just exhales a lazy stream of smoke, eyes heavy-lidded as you strip down to nothing but those lacy little panties he loves so much.

"Pretty girl" he rasps, thumb tracing the delicate edge of your panties before gripping your hips again. "Now ride."

He guides you onto his thigh, the muscle firm under you, and your breath hitches at the first slow grind. His free hand braces against the back of the couch, cigarette still between his fingers, but his focus is entirely on you-on the way your body moves, the soft sounds you can't quite swallow down.

"That's it," he growls, squeezing your hip to set the pace. "Just like that, baby. Fuck yourself on me."

And god, you do. Because he tells you to,because his voice leaves no room for anything else. He watches you grind against him, every little gasp and whimper only spurring him on,

"Fuck, look at you," he growls, cigarette long forgotten, ash dropping to the floor. "Pretty little thing, all worked up on my thigh like you were made for it." His grip turns bruising, forcing your movements harder, faster, until you're panting, until your thighs shake-until he decides you've had enough.

sdt to my precious @regretdean ﹒⌗﹒🦇 ˚₊‧

[gh0stlightss]

i love it when a man looks all sad and beat up like yes baby come here i'll take care of you