#study break | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nvrngl · 2 months ago

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˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌

synopsis. law is boring. you need a break.

pairing. supernatural﹢ stanford!sam winchester x gf!reader ﹢ smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 1.9K

warnings. public oral sex (m!receiving + f!receiving), fingering, praising, begging, overstimulation.

The campus library is dead quiet, the kind of quiet that tastes like dust and fluorescent lighting, and your fingers are cramping from how long you’ve been highlighting. Your back is aching. Your brain is buzzing. And Sam? He’s not even blinking. Just sitting across from you, leaned over his textbook like it's some ancient scripture.

You try to focus. You really do.

But Sam has that look on his face—the one where his jaw is clenched just slightly and there’s this little crease between his brows. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and every once in a while, he runs his thumb across his bottom lip while reading. Like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

And he’s got his sleeves rolled up. Forearms on full display. His knuckles stained with ink. And you’re about to lose your damn mind.

You shift in your seat, crossing your legs and swallowing hard. Your pen taps against your notebook. Sam glances up at the sound, and when your eyes meet, you give him a soft smile. His mouth lifts at the corners, warm and knowing.

He knows.

God, of course he knows.

You scoot your chair a little closer under the pretense of showing him something in your textbook. He leans in, and the air shifts—slow and heavy, suddenly rich with something else. Your thighs press tighter together when you feel the heat of his body near yours, the way his eyes flick to your lips before dragging back up.

Your hand finds his under the table. Just a little brush of fingertips at first. Then your palm sliding against his, your fingers threading through. He squeezes your hand, and you’re pretty sure you stop breathing.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, amused.

You nod. “Just… distracted.”

He smiles, like he’s trying not to. Like he’s proud of himself for pulling you under like this without even trying. He leans in a little more. “I could help you focus.”

You bite your lip. Your heart’s already in your throat, hammering against your ribs. You know that look in his eyes. Mischievous. Hungry. Warm and dark and entirely Sam.

You exhale shakily. “Or maybe I could help you relax.”

His brows rise, and he tilts his head just slightly, watching you like you're a challenge. Like he's already imagining what you might do.

“Library’s not exactly private,” he murmurs.

You smile sweetly, voice soft and teasing. “Not the way I do it.”

That’s all it takes.

Within seconds, you're packing your stuff in a haphazard rush, shoving books and pens into your bag, giggling softly when Sam follows suit, looking way too flushed for a guy who was just reviewing constitutional law. He guides you with a hand on your lower back, the two of you weaving through the maze of bookshelves until you’re somewhere deep and forgotten—where the air is colder, the lights are dimmer, and no one ever really comes.

You turn to face him, heart racing. He’s already watching you like he wants to devour you whole.

You drop to your knees before you can second guess it.

Sam’s breath catches.

You look up at him as you reach for his belt. “Wanna be good for you.”

His jaw flexes. His hands curl into fists at his sides like he’s trying to keep them to himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, already thick with need.

You undo his jeans slowly, watching his eyes. His lashes flutter as you pull him out, already semi-hard and heavy in your palm. You stroke him gently, loving the way he starts to throb under your touch, the way his abs tense and his breath hitches.

You lean forward, lips brushing the head of his cock, featherlight.

“Don’t tease,” he groans, voice strained.

But you love teasing him. You love watching him fall apart, watching how quickly the calm, collected student disappears under your touch.

You kiss down his length first, then lick a slow stripe up the underside, watching his hand slam against the nearest bookshelf to steady himself. Then you take him in your mouth—just the tip at first, sucking softly, tongue swirling.

He moans low in his throat. His other hand finds your hair, gentle but possessive, curling around the strands like he needs something to hold onto or he might shatter.

“F-Fuck, baby—”

You hum around him, loving the way his hips twitch. You take more of him, slow and steady, letting your throat relax as you work him deeper. His breaths come sharp and ragged above you, and you can feel the tremble in his legs as you slide your hands up his thighs.

“You’re… fuck, you’re so good at this,” he whispers, voice broken, reverent. “Always know how to drive me crazy, don’t you?”

You glance up, eyes glassy, spit dripping down your chin as you hollow your cheeks and take him even deeper. His knees almost buckle. He grips your hair tighter, not to force you—never that—but just to anchor himself, to keep from flying apart.

You bob your head faster now, using your hand at the base to stroke what you can’t fit, twisting slightly as you suck, letting your tongue press against that sensitive spot just beneath the head. He lets out a choked moan, hips jerking forward before he catches himself.

“Fuck, if you keep looking at me like that—” His voice cracks. “You’re gonna make me come in like two minutes.”

That only makes you more determined.

You hum again, faster now, your rhythm slick and messy, wet sounds filling the quiet as you swallow around him. His head drops back against the bookshelf, eyes squeezed shut, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“God, baby—gonna come—where do you want it?”

You pull off him just long enough to whisper, breathless and sticky-lipped, “In my mouth.”

He groans like that alone almost finishes him.

Then you’re back on him, working him desperately now, hands and mouth and tongue all in sync, coaxing him closer and closer until his whole body tenses—his thighs trembling, his grip in your hair bruising.

Then he spills down your throat with a guttural moan, panting your name like a prayer.

You swallow every drop.

He’s still breathing hard when you pull off him with a soft pop, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes gleaming. You smile up at him—flushed, proud, glowing.

Sam stares down at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Holy shit,” he says, still catching his breath. “That was… fuck. That was the best head of my life.”

His kiss is hungry.

You’ve barely stood up before Sam’s mouth is on yours—desperate and deep, like he needs to taste himself on your tongue, like he needs to feel every single place your mouth just was. His hands grip your waist, pulling you in so tight you can feel the flutter of his still-racing heartbeat against your chest.

You’re still panting, still flushed, still shaky from the way he came undone for you. But he’s already tilting your chin up, trailing kisses down your jaw, whispering against your skin.

“My turn.”

You blink up at him, breathless. “Here?”

He smirks, all dimples and blown pupils. “Sweetheart, you just sucked my soul out of my dick in the middle of a library. You really think I’m letting you walk out of here without returning the favor?”

You whimper when his hands slip under your skirt, fingers warm and possessive as they stroke along your thighs.

He backs you up until your spine brushes against the shelf behind you, cool metal against your sweater. Your bag hits the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

“Leg up,” he whispers, nudging your knee with his own. “C’mon, baby. Let me see you.”

You obey—dizzy and trembling, lifting one leg onto the lower shelf behind you. It opens you up perfectly for him, your panties already damp and sticking to you from how turned on you still are.

Sam kneels.

And your breath catches.

He’s looking up at you like you’re sacred. Like he wants to worship every inch of you. His hands glide up your thighs, slow and reverent, thumbs teasing just beneath the hem of your underwear.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. “You get off on sucking my cock, baby?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “I love it. Love how you taste. Love making you come.”

His growl is low and dangerous. “Fuck.”

He kisses your inner thigh again, then again, working higher and higher until you’re squirming, one hand flying to the shelf behind you for balance, the other tangling in his hair.

When his mouth finally presses over your soaked panties, you gasp.

He moans into you—deep and guttural—his tongue dragging slowly over the fabric before he pulls it aside with his fingers, exposing you.

“You’re dripping,” he whispers, dark eyes locked on yours. “So fucking pretty, baby.”

Then he dives in.

You choke on a gasp, your back arching hard against the shelf as his mouth finds your clit and sucks, hot and slick and so good you nearly collapse. His tongue works you with slow, filthy confidence, alternating between long licks and soft, maddening flicks.

You grab the edge of the bookshelf with both hands now, struggling to stay upright. “S-Sam—fuck—”

He hums, sending vibrations through your core, and your legs tremble.

Then he pushes two fingers inside you—so thick, so deep—curling them just right, finding that spot instantly like he’s memorized your body.

“Oh my God,” you moan, head falling back. “Sam, baby, please—don’t stop—”

He doesn’t.

His fingers thrust slow and deep, working you open while his mouth devours you. The sounds are obscene—wet and slick and echoing faintly in the silence of the stacks—but you don’t care. You can’t care.

His pace quickens. His free hand grips your thigh, holding you open for him, and the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin sends shocks straight through your belly.

You’re falling apart.

“Feels so good,” you whisper, barely coherent. “You’re so fucking good at this—gonna come, baby, I—”

His fingers speed up, mouth never leaving your clit.

And then you break.

You cry out softly—biting your lip, desperate to keep the noise in—as your orgasm crashes over you like a wave, sharp and overwhelming and so deep. Your thighs quake. Your vision blurs. You clamp down around his fingers, still pulsing long after the peak.

But Sam doesn’t stop.

He fucks you through it, relentless, tongue flicking your overstimulated clit while his fingers stroke inside you, dragging every last ripple of pleasure out of you until you’re sobbing his name.

“S-Sam, oh my God, please—”

He finally pulls back, licking his lips like he just tasted something divine, and kisses the inside of your thigh with a soft, worshipful sigh.

“You always taste like heaven,” he murmurs, voice low and ruined.

You collapse into him the second he stands, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you effortlessly off the ground. He kisses you then—really kisses you—slow and messy and aching, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Can’t believe I got this lucky,” he whispers against your mouth. “You’re fucking perfect.”

You laugh breathlessly, dizzy and blissed out. “We’re in a library, Sam.”

He grins. “Exactly. Best study break of my life.”

You nuzzle into his chest, still catching your breath as he smooths your skirt back down, both of you flushed and giggling like idiots.