Last Seen Blogs
Text
Only Girl For Me (1/?)
18+
Pairings: Nomad Steve Rogers x fem reader
Warnings: SMUT, kissing, making out, nudity, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, (d)ubcon kinda?, (s)tepcest
Summary: Your step brother Steve comes home while your parents are out of town and notices the book you're reading. He informs you he's done dating around.
Word count: 4.3k
❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀
Notes: Hey guys!!! Sorry for my inactiveness over the summer. I've whipped up a little something for you all and I hope you enjoy it! Happy fall!!!
It’s a quiet evening in your house. You’re home alone, curled up on the couch with a book. You made a fire earlier and it was still burning bright, illuminating the room along with a dim lamp on the bookcase somewhere behind you. The lighting was cozy and perfect for reading.
Tonight, you picked out a favorite of yours. It’s basically all smut but no one needs to know that except you. It looked like a harmless romance novel when you picked it out at a bookstore. You took it home and began reading. At first, it was nothing special, just the beginning of a story. After the first few chapters, you were shocked to discover that this book contained more than just romance. Needless to say, you’ve read it a few times now.
Things are just getting good, when you hear the front door open.
“Mom?” you call out, “David?”
There is no response; all you hear is heavy, muffled footsteps echoing closer. You turn your head to peek over the couch, wanting to know who it is.
You smile when you see that it’s Steve, walking towards you.
“Hi Steve! Where were you?” you ask, and bring your book to your chest.
He smiles back at you and lets out a deep breath as he makes his way around the couch.
“I was helping Sam install new windows at his house. Trying to get them done before winter. What have you been up to?” he explains while sitting down to the right of you.
“I’ve just been reading. You weren’t here so I had the house to myself, and I figured what better to do than read in front of a fire”
You notice the way Steve has relaxed into the couch. His arm is draped on the back of the couch, fingers close to your left shoulder. His legs spread wide. You think about how inviting the position he’s in is, but internally scold yourself when you remember he’s your step brother.
“That sounds like a nice evening. What are you reading?” Steve asks and reaches across to try and pull the book from your chest.
“Oh, nothing, just some silly romance novel” you laugh nervously and close the book.
“You read this one a lot,” he comments and eyes you like he knows your secret.
That’s because he does. Steve knows all about the things you’ve been reading in that book. One of his ex-girlfriends had the same book that she would constantly gush about.
“Yep, it’s one of my favorites” you nod and blush. “My mom and David went to spend the night in the city so it’s just us” you say trying to change the subject.
“Oh, really?” Steve asks with intrigue, “well in that case I guess I get you all to myself”
He’s looking at you with lust. He’s always been a bit of a flirt and a perv but you didn’t mind that much. You didn’t mind because he was very attractive and you wanted him to like you.
“I guess so,” you whisper and your grip on your book tightens. Your stomach drops in awareness of your current situation. How you aren’t sprinting to your room, putting as much distance between the both of you as you can.
You keep telling yourself in your head to leave. Just get up, tell him you're tired, and go to bed.
Before you’re able to say anything, Steve interrupts you saying, “Anyways, did I tell you that I broke up with Sabrina last week?”
“No, I thought you were still seeing her,” you say, glad he switched up the conversation.
“Yeah, she just wasn’t doing it for me anymore, in fact she never really did,” he says and looks at you to see your response.
“Oh,” you say, curious as to why your step brother said this.
“She’s a great girl, she’s just not for me,” he reassures.
“That’s a shame, I really liked her. On to the next I guess!” you say with a smile and laugh.
Steve dates around a lot. He’s usually only in a relationship for a few months before moving on to the next.
Secretly, he’s trying to distract himself. He’s trying to distract himself from you. He knows it’s wrong to want you as bad as he does; you’re his step sister! But, he just can’t ever get you off his mind.
He knows you’ve caught him staring or flirting with you. He tries to hold himself back, but you exude sexuality even though you’ve only ever had one boyfriend.
There’s just something about you that he can’t shake. He always finds himself coming back to you.
“Actually, I think I’m done with other girls for a while,” he says.
Other? Your brain sparks.
“What do you mean?” you ask, intrigued.
“I mean, the only girl I have room for in my life is you,” he says and you catch each other's eyes.
In this moment of intimacy, you forget that he’s your step brother.
You curse yourself silently, for growing wet, and curse him for being so attractive. Damnit, he is so hot, it’s unfair your mom had married his dad.
No, you tell yourself. No way in hell you would ever let that happen. It just can’t… right? Right.
Steve realizes he’s lost you and reaches for you.
You struggle to listen to yourself when you feel his hand land on your knee. He’s reaching across his body, turning towards you, and looking at you with desire.
“Steve?” You squeak as his big, warm hand rubs back and forth on your leg.
You should jump away and push him when you see out of the corner of your eye, his face coming towards you. He glides his face towards your neck and whispers in a low voice, “You’re the only girl for me,”
All you do is sigh with desperation, because you know what’s about to happen and you know you won’t hate it.
“Steve, what are you doing?” you ask as his hand travels further up your thigh and his nose buries into your neck. His breath on your neck makes you tilt your head giving him more access. Your head is telling you that this is wrong, but the way he’s breathing into your neck and running his hand up your thigh feels so right.
Your skin prickles in anticipation of where his fingers will go.
“I just need you really bad right now baby” he whispers so close to your ear. You swear you can hear a whine behind his words.
His pillowy lips kiss your neck, giving you slow, deep kisses. The way he sucks gently has you feeling lightheaded.
Steve indulges in the way your skin tastes and feels. You’re velvety under his tongue and he sinks into memories that surface as he smells you. He can feel his pants shifting around his hard cock, unable to conceal his excitement.
The soft material of his sweatpants creates minimal friction against the head of his dick, causing him to rut slightly into the fabric, towards your leg. Still kissing your neck, he thinks about what it would feel like to be buried inside you.
His hand squeezes as high on your inner thigh as it can. His fingers then ghost over your pussy. His palm lands on your pelvis and you rock your hips forwards subconsciously. He lowers the tips of his fingers, not creating pressure yet. His fingers slowly start to rub circles around your clit.
The sensation is enough to draw a moany sigh from you. You want more, you crave it. If he could just stop or get this over with, you’d be relieved.
He’s not gonna stop and you know this.
“Step siblings aren’t supposed to touch each other like this”
“C’mon just be a good little sister and let me” he breathes out. He applies more pressure as he circles your clit.
“No Steve, we can’t!” you whine as you feel yourself clench around nothing. You begin to try and get up to escape the sinful actions of your step brother. You barely gain momentum to stand when you are pulled back down to the couch. Your book slips out of your grasp and lands on the floor.
He grabs you from behind, wrapping his arm around your waist with his hand still on your pussy. His hand presses into your stomach, holding you down.
“Don’t do that sweetheart, just stay so I can play with you” he huffs into your neck.
“But it’s wrong” you whimper as he kisses your jaw. His tongue trailing your jaw line.
You can hear him panting hard as he kisses your cheek. He’s worked up and hungry for you, pinning you to the couch. His fingers press into the flesh on your tummy, and it hurts everytime you squirm.
Steve can’t help himself, when you’re sitting here in your slutty little pajamas, basically offering yourself to him. Especially when you’re openly reading such filth, it’s like you have a sign above you, pointing, saying, “whore”. He knows you can’t resist him as much as you try. At the end of the day, your cunt is greedy and desperate to be fucked just like everyone else.
“Just let your big brother take care of you baby, you know I can make you feel good. Maybe we can recreate one of those chapters in that book of yours, huh?” he says as he sticks his thick fingers in the waistband of your shorts and underwear.
You're shocked that he knows what you’re reading, and thoroughly embarrassed by it, but you’re distracted when you feel air rush onto you. He lifts the fabric from your skin and pulls it halfway down your legs.
Exposed now, your senses heighten, waiting for him to touch you.
Then he does. His fingers dive carefully into your entrance and play with the slick you’ve secreted. Running his fingers up and down over your hole, collecting your arousal. He circles your entrance but then moves his fingers up and down your whole pussy. His fingers start from the bottom of your hole and move to the top of your clit. He repeats this motion a couple of times, just teasing you, lathering you up in your own mess.
You moan as he teases you, not sticking his fingers in you or directly stimulating your clit. “Please” you sigh.
“Please what? I want you to use your words,” he asks, still breathing into and kissing your neck. He slows his fingers at your beg.
“Please, do whatever you want to me,” you say, giving in, “but please, just, don’t stop!”
“Fuck, you don’t know how bad I’ve wanted to hear you say that” he mumbles into your neck as his fingers plunge into you.
He knew you would fold. Your libido is just as feverish as his, and he can tell (contrary to your belief).
Steve is well aware of the collection of smutty books, you keep lined up on your bookshelf. He thinks they look like awards for “biggest slutty virgin” . He knows your thoughts are not as pure as one might think.
You moan as his fingers fill you. They press against every puffy wall inside you, the pressure making you squirm.
Your toes curl and you gasp as his fingers start to rake along that sweet spot. He uses the pads of his fingers to massage your inner wall, coaxing you to mumble curses.
“Do you like that?” he asks against your ear.
You don’t manage to say anything, you just tangle your hands into his hair and pull his face towards yours.
Your tongue is immediately wrestling with his and he tastes faintly of mint. His tongue presses against yours, your kisses sloppy, unable to find a rhythm. His fingers continue to flutter inside you, reaching so far deep that you begin to whine.
Steve is obsessive over you and completely turned on by the noises you’re making. “Your baby pussy just needed big brother’s fingers, huh?”
“Yes, yes, yes” you pant into him.
Your eyes are scrunched close and watering from the stimulation of that belly churning spot. In fact, you can’t tell whether your stomach keeps tightening or dropping.
The pleasure he’s giving you is so overwhelming and encompassing, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle it closer so you're mashing mouths.
He kisses you perfectly, somehow knowing exactly what you like and the way you like it done. Meanwhile, you’re hardly able to kiss him back, the stimulation crushing every nerve.
You moan into his mouth, realizing his fingers have already brought you to your climax. Everything disappears and you burst into a million sparks, burning through the air, searing every particle around you. You continue to burn into the couch as he continues to pump his fingers into you.
As he fucks you through your orgasm, you begin to melt. You feel like lava, every part of you flowing from your core, leaving all things underneath you charred.
Coming down from your high, the room starts to form again in your vision. Steve’s presence fades in and you feel his fingers have slowed down and are just barely moving in you. His lips have left yours and he’s looking at you, watching you come back to earth.
“You okay baby?” he asks softly, carefully pulling his fingers out of you.
You nod and smile coyly. You feel a little stunned by the intense orgasm you just experienced and need a moment to catch your breath.
“You did so good, baby but I’m not done with you yet. Help me take my pants off” Steve says.
You immediately tune back into your situation hearing what he’s just ordered you to do. You hesitate, still knowing that what you’re doing is wrong. Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear him say, “now.”
He’s looking, waiting anxiously for you to touch him. Precum has seeped through his sweatpants, where the tip of his cock is.
You don’t want to find out what would happen if you don’t obey him so you slowly reach out to his hips. You gently hook your fingers around the waistband of his sweats and tug. He lifts to help you slide them off.
His cock springs free and you pause, unsure where to go from here. You’ve had sex before, you just didn’t know what exactly Steve had in mind.
You look up at him nervously, not moving.
“You’re not afraid of your big brother’s cock, are ya?” he teases you.
With hesitation you shake your head and stutter, “No, I’m not”
“That’s what I thought,” he soothes, and brushes your hair out of your face, “Now be a good girl and put your mouth on it, you know what to do”
His eyes enchant you and you’ve stopped worrying about how wrong what he’s doing to you is. You decide to get comfy and lay on your stomach.
Once you do this, he wraps your hair into his fist so it’s out of your face. Steve wants to watch you suck him off. He wants to see your pretty eyes look up at him while his cock is in your mouth.
You grab the base of his dick and plant a kiss on the head. His precum is warm against your lips and you stick your tongue out to lick it off.
Slowly, you take him into your mouth and begin to lather his dick in your spit. You start to bob your head, and suck gently.
The tip hits the back of your throat and you hum as you pull him back out, enjoying the feeling of him filling your mouth. You keep at this moderate pace for a few minutes, getting used to him. You pop him out of your mouth to take a breather and look up at him.
He moans quietly as you lick the head of his dick, just teasing him.
A second later, you’re gagging on his cock as he pushes your head down on him. You squeeze his thighs in protest but you secretly enjoy that he’s taking control.
You hear him huffing as he fucks up into your throat, his hair tickling your nose.
“You like the way your big brother’s cock tastes? Huh?” he taunts, ramming his hips into your face.
You’re unable to say anything but Steve doesn’t care. He knows you do.
He pulls you by the back of your hair off his dick and you pant, mouth open and drooling as he decides it’s time to change it up.
You can’t think straight, trying to catch your breath and not slobber everywhere. Suddenly, Steve is standing up and switches to the other side of the couch you were sitting on.
You watch his riveting, huge, muscles move him across the floor. Everything about him is just so strong. He comes up behind you, beside the couch. He grins at you wildly as you smother a, “what are you doing?” smile between your fingers.
He pushes one of his knees in between your knees, spreading your legs for him. His hand strokes his dick as he eyes your pussy and ass.
He bends forwards and takes your ass into his hands, squeezing and playing. His grip on you sends waves of warmth through you. He uses his thumbs to lift up your ass and folds, exposing your pussy.
“Fuck” he breathes out, running his thumb over your pink, aching hole. He barely grazes you before his finger is covered in your arousal. You love his upfront admiration and visible desire.
Steve moves his hands to your hips and tugs you up and backwards. You land face down, but on your knees, butt in the air. Your ass is now exactly where he wants it.
“You want your step brother to fuck you?” he asks as he prods your hole with the head of his thick cock.
“Yes please, step brother” you beg, looking back at him.
“Yeah? Wearing slutty clothes all the time to try and get me to look at you, well now you’ve got my attention”
You need to feel him inside of you. You need him to turn your brain to mush. You need him to fill your throbbing void full of his cock and cum.
He dives in, seething immediately, unprepared for you to feel this good. He knew you were going to be warm and wet, but he could never have imagined that you would make him so close to cumming from a single stroke.
He huffs out, pushing past the feeling that wants to come over him. He pulls out and pushes back in. He begins to fuck you.
There’s not an inch of space where you can’t feel him and you love it. You’re paralyzed by the sheer force and quantity of friction being created between the two of you. You feel like he’s fucking you raw, like his dick is hollowing you out.
All you can do is moan and try to keep from crying. With the speed and strength he’s going, tears begin to flow from your eyes anyways.
Steve watches your face as it is squished down into the couch cushions. He can see your skin glisten with tears from the intensity of his fucking. He loves it.
He loves it so much that he bends forwards to bury himself deeper into you. His thrusts become short and shallow, picking up his speed.
Closer to you now and through ragged breaths, he coos, “Such a good little sister, taking what her step brother gives to her”
You moan at his words and feel your head being lifted off the couch. His fist is in your hair, pulling you up, against him.
Your back arches as you collide with him, one of his hands is immediately around the base of your throat. Not constricting your breathing, just holding you closer to him.
His right hand snakes around your hips, down your pelvis and finds your clit. He begins to rub at it, simultaneously fucking you with everything he’s got.
He’s grunting into your ear and you think you heard him say, “Fuck baby, you like that? Huh? Huh? You like your big brother deep inside of you like this?”
You’re almost completely fucked numb. Your brain and body are so cockdrunk you can hardly see or speak.
You try your best to muster up something other than curses and whine, “Yes, yes, I love it”
“Of course you do baby” he taunts.
You feel yourself reaching the edge of a second orgasm, feeling your stomach tighten.
“Steve, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you tell him, wanting him to keep the pace and position.
His fingers on your clit, vibrating against it with the perfect pressure. His cock is burying into you and his rugged breathing and grunts on your neck culminate to send you into a spiraling orgasm.
“Cum for me, cum all over your big brother’s cock” he says, fucking you through it.
You release around him, letting all your inhibitions go too. You let him continue doing exactly what he’s doing because his sheer talent for making you come is mindblowing.
Your orgasm courses through you and when it’s over, you realize you’re completely slumped back against his burly chest. His dick is still inside you but he’s stilled, and you begin to regain consciousness of your surroundings. You hear his shaky breaths and seething moans. You feel him tremble against you and hold you tighter to him than ever before.
Your brain begins to connect the pieces slower than you would have liked.
Steve slowly lets go of you and you eventually fall forward, and feel him pull out of you.
He curses when he’s no longer inside your warm walls.
You feel something hot begin to seep out of you. You wonder if it’s you, him, or the both of your combined mess.
“Steve, did you?” you ask, nervous and out of breath.
He hesitates and you lift yourself up. You turn around on your knees and face him. His body expands and retracts with his deep breaths. He’s tall above you, and you have to tilt your head up to see his face.
Shame splashes his cheeks.“I’ll run to the store and grab you a Plan B, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stop myself” he says and pets the side of your head and leans down to kiss your forehead. His beard scratches lightly as he kisses you and you reach your arms up around his neck, pulling him closer to you.
As long as he’s buying you a contraceptive, it truly isn’t that big of a deal.
“We can wait till morning” you whisper into his neck and he pauses.
Steve sits down on the couch, your arms still around him, and pulls you into his lap. His big arms wrapped around your waist. He’s grateful for your sympathy and affection.
“I’m sorry, I’ve wanted you for so long now, I just couldn’t stop myself. I don’t think you realize how sexy you are,” he explains, as you nuzzle into his collarbone.
You giggle at him and kiss his cheek. The feeling of both messes dripping out of you and onto him turns you on a little. You hum as you settle into his body. He puts his hands under your t-shirt, and rubs your lower back.
His skin on your skin stirs something in your heart. The comfort of his heat and body makes you pepper kisses on his shoulder. You show him how much you appreciate him and the attention he gives you.
“If you stay like this long enough, I might have to fuck you again,” he growls low, into your ear.
His filthy thought sends a jolt of adrenaline through you, and you grind into his lap, showing your enthusiasm.
“Don’t tease me,” he says and grits his teeth together when he feels his cock twitch.
You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eye. Your hands now resting on his neck, you say, “And if I do?”
He narrows his eyes, and flexes his jaw. His eyes are probing yours, trying to find out what your intentions are.
You bite your lip and smile, unable to contain your giddiness.
“Well, we’d have to do something about that, now wouldn’t we?” he smirks.
You realize, for the first time, that you haven’t really kissed. His lips have been on yours but you were unable to kiss him the way you wanted to.
You immediately lean forwards and press your lips to his.
Steve’s a little flabbergasted but happily indulges in the way you taste. He smiles against your lips, glad you are so eager for him.
You kiss him deeper, tenderly poking your tongue out and swiping it across his mouth. He feels you do this and welcomes you in. He moves one hand out from beneath your t-shirt and brings it up to cradle your head.
His tongue swirls against yours making you moan into his mouth. Your heated kissing slowly makes you begin to grind against his lap once more.
You can feel him shift up into your hips, creating more pressure between the two of you.
He sucks and nibbles at your lips and you can’t help but squeak out moans. The sense of comfort and joy is overwhelming and the both of you begin to slow your kisses.
Eventually, you come to a stop and you’re now gazing into his sparkling, blue eyes. The both of you pant and stare at each other with desire. The passion leisurely flowing out of you both and molding together in the atmosphere. An aura almost appears with the foggy, hot-headed, vision you now have.
Once more, you rest your head on his collarbone and squeeze him tight, sending the message of comfort to him.
#chris evans#chris evans fic#chris evans smut#smut#nomad steve rogers#nomad steve rogers smut#steve rogers#steve rogers smut
66 notes
·
View notes
Text
the way i have this exact same lighter
cant stop thinking about this
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
baby boy
Supernatural S1E06 Skin
523 notes
·
View notes
Text
Only Girl For Me (1/?)
18+
Pairings: Nomad Steve Rogers x fem reader
Warnings: SMUT, kissing, making out, nudity, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, (d)ubcon kinda?, (s)tepcest
Summary: Your step brother Steve comes home while your parents are out of town and notices the book you're reading. He informs you he's done dating around.
Word count: 4.3k
Notes: Hey guys!!! Sorry for my inactiveness over the summer. I've whipped up a little something for you all and I hope you enjoy it! Happy fall!!!
❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀
It’s a quiet evening in your house. You’re home alone, curled up on the couch with a book. You made a fire earlier and it was still burning bright, illuminating the room along with a dim lamp on the bookcase somewhere behind you. The lighting was cozy and perfect for reading.
Tonight, you picked out a favorite of yours. It’s basically all smut but no one needs to know that except you. It looked like a harmless romance novel when you picked it out at a bookstore. You took it home and began reading. At first, it was nothing special, just the beginning of a story. After the first few chapters, you were shocked to discover that this book contained more than just romance. Needless to say, you’ve read it a few times now.
Things are just getting good, when you hear the front door open.
“Mom?” you call out, “David?”
There is no response; all you hear is heavy, muffled footsteps echoing closer. You turn your head to peek over the couch, wanting to know who it is.
You smile when you see that it’s Steve, walking towards you.
“Hi Steve! Where were you?” you ask, and bring your book to your chest.
He smiles back at you and lets out a deep breath as he makes his way around the couch.
“I was helping Sam install new windows at his house. Trying to get them done before winter. What have you been up to?” he explains while sitting down to the right of you.
“I’ve just been reading. You weren’t here so I had the house to myself, and I figured what better to do than read in front of a fire”
You notice the way Steve has relaxed into the couch. His arm is draped on the back of the couch, fingers close to your left shoulder. His legs spread wide. You think about how inviting the position he’s in is, but internally scold yourself when you remember he’s your step brother.
“That sounds like a nice evening. What are you reading?” Steve asks and reaches across to try and pull the book from your chest.
“Oh, nothing, just some silly romance novel” you laugh nervously and close the book.
“You read this one a lot,” he comments and eyes you like he knows your secret.
That’s because he does. Steve knows all about the things you’ve been reading in that book. One of his ex-girlfriends had the same book that she would constantly gush about.
“Yep, it’s one of my favorites” you nod and blush. “My mom and David went to spend the night in the city so it’s just us” you say trying to change the subject.
“Oh, really?” Steve asks with intrigue, “well in that case I guess I get you all to myself”
He’s looking at you with lust. He’s always been a bit of a flirt and a perv but you didn’t mind that much. You didn’t mind because he was very attractive and you wanted him to like you.
“I guess so,” you whisper and your grip on your book tightens. Your stomach drops in awareness of your current situation. How you aren’t sprinting to your room, putting as much distance between the both of you as you can.
You keep telling yourself in your head to leave. Just get up, tell him you're tired, and go to bed.
Before you’re able to say anything, Steve interrupts you saying, “Anyways, did I tell you that I broke up with Sabrina last week?”
“No, I thought you were still seeing her,” you say, glad he switched up the conversation.
“Yeah, she just wasn’t doing it for me anymore, in fact she never really did,” he says and looks at you to see your response.
“Oh,” you say, curious as to why your step brother said this.
“She’s a great girl, she’s just not for me,” he reassures.
“That’s a shame, I really liked her. On to the next I guess!” you say with a smile and laugh.
Steve dates around a lot. He’s usually only in a relationship for a few months before moving on to the next.
Secretly, he’s trying to distract himself. He’s trying to distract himself from you. He knows it’s wrong to want you as bad as he does; you’re his step sister! But, he just can’t ever get you off his mind.
He knows you’ve caught him staring or flirting with you. He tries to hold himself back, but you exude sexuality even though you’ve only ever had one boyfriend.
There’s just something about you that he can’t shake. He always finds himself coming back to you.
“Actually, I think I’m done with other girls for a while,” he says.
Other? Your brain sparks.
“What do you mean?” you ask, intrigued.
“I mean, the only girl I have room for in my life is you,” he says and you catch each other's eyes.
In this moment of intimacy, you forget that he’s your step brother.
You curse yourself silently, for growing wet, and curse him for being so attractive. Damnit, he is so hot, it’s unfair your mom had married his dad.
No, you tell yourself. No way in hell you would ever let that happen. It just can’t… right? Right.
Steve realizes he’s lost you and reaches for you.
You struggle to listen to yourself when you feel his hand land on your knee. He’s reaching across his body, turning towards you, and looking at you with desire.
“Steve?” You squeak as his big, warm hand rubs back and forth on your leg.
You should jump away and push him when you see out of the corner of your eye, his face coming towards you. He glides his face towards your neck and whispers in a low voice, “You’re the only girl for me,”
All you do is sigh with desperation, because you know what’s about to happen and you know you won’t hate it.
“Steve, what are you doing?” you ask as his hand travels further up your thigh and his nose buries into your neck. His breath on your neck makes you tilt your head giving him more access. Your head is telling you that this is wrong, but the way he’s breathing into your neck and running his hand up your thigh feels so right.
Your skin prickles in anticipation of where his fingers will go.
“I just need you really bad right now baby” he whispers so close to your ear. You swear you can hear a whine behind his words.
His pillowy lips kiss your neck, giving you slow, deep kisses. The way he sucks gently has you feeling lightheaded.
Steve indulges in the way your skin tastes and feels. You’re velvety under his tongue and he sinks into memories that surface as he smells you. He can feel his pants shifting around his hard cock, unable to conceal his excitement.
The soft material of his sweatpants creates minimal friction against the head of his dick, causing him to rut slightly into the fabric, towards your leg. Still kissing your neck, he thinks about what it would feel like to be buried inside you.
His hand squeezes as high on your inner thigh as it can. His fingers then ghost over your pussy. His palm lands on your pelvis and you rock your hips forwards subconsciously. He lowers the tips of his fingers, not creating pressure yet. His fingers slowly start to rub circles around your clit.
The sensation is enough to draw a moany sigh from you. You want more, you crave it. If he could just stop or get this over with, you’d be relieved.
He’s not gonna stop and you know this.
“Step siblings aren’t supposed to touch each other like this”
“C’mon just be a good little sister and let me” he breathes out. He applies more pressure as he circles your clit.
“No Steve, we can’t!” you whine as you feel yourself clench around nothing. You begin to try and get up to escape the sinful actions of your step brother. You barely gain momentum to stand when you are pulled back down to the couch. Your book slips out of your grasp and lands on the floor.
He grabs you from behind, wrapping his arm around your waist with his hand still on your pussy. His hand presses into your stomach, holding you down.
“Don’t do that sweetheart, just stay so I can play with you” he huffs into your neck.
“But it’s wrong” you whimper as he kisses your jaw. His tongue trailing your jaw line.
You can hear him panting hard as he kisses your cheek. He’s worked up and hungry for you, pinning you to the couch. His fingers press into the flesh on your tummy, and it hurts everytime you squirm.
Steve can’t help himself, when you’re sitting here in your slutty little pajamas, basically offering yourself to him. Especially when you’re openly reading such filth, it’s like you have a sign above you, pointing, saying, “whore”. He knows you can’t resist him as much as you try. At the end of the day, your cunt is greedy and desperate to be fucked just like everyone else.
“Just let your big brother take care of you baby, you know I can make you feel good. Maybe we can recreate one of those chapters in that book of yours, huh?” he says as he sticks his thick fingers in the waistband of your shorts and underwear.
You're shocked that he knows what you’re reading, and thoroughly embarrassed by it, but you’re distracted when you feel air rush onto you. He lifts the fabric from your skin and pulls it halfway down your legs.
Exposed now, your senses heighten, waiting for him to touch you.
Then he does. His fingers dive carefully into your entrance and play with the slick you’ve secreted. Running his fingers up and down over your hole, collecting your arousal. He circles your entrance but then moves his fingers up and down your whole pussy. His fingers start from the bottom of your hole and move to the top of your clit. He repeats this motion a couple of times, just teasing you, lathering you up in your own mess.
You moan as he teases you, not sticking his fingers in you or directly stimulating your clit. “Please” you sigh.
“Please what? I want you to use your words,” he asks, still breathing into and kissing your neck. He slows his fingers at your beg.
“Please, do whatever you want to me,” you say, giving in, “but please, just, don’t stop!”
“Fuck, you don’t know how bad I’ve wanted to hear you say that” he mumbles into your neck as his fingers plunge into you.
He knew you would fold. Your libido is just as feverish as his, and he can tell (contrary to your belief).
Steve is well aware of the collection of smutty books, you keep lined up on your bookshelf. He thinks they look like awards for “biggest slutty virgin” . He knows your thoughts are not as pure as one might think.
You moan as his fingers fill you. They press against every puffy wall inside you, the pressure making you squirm.
Your toes curl and you gasp as his fingers start to rake along that sweet spot. He uses the pads of his fingers to massage your inner wall, coaxing you to mumble curses.
“Do you like that?” he asks against your ear.
You don’t manage to say anything, you just tangle your hands into his hair and pull his face towards yours.
Your tongue is immediately wrestling with his and he tastes faintly of mint. His tongue presses against yours, your kisses sloppy, unable to find a rhythm. His fingers continue to flutter inside you, reaching so far deep that you begin to whine.
Steve is obsessive over you and completely turned on by the noises you’re making. “Your baby pussy just needed big brother’s fingers, huh?”
“Yes, yes, yes” you pant into him.
Your eyes are scrunched close and watering from the stimulation of that belly churning spot. In fact, you can’t tell whether your stomach keeps tightening or dropping.
The pleasure he’s giving you is so overwhelming and encompassing, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle it closer so you're mashing mouths.
He kisses you perfectly, somehow knowing exactly what you like and the way you like it done. Meanwhile, you’re hardly able to kiss him back, the stimulation crushing every nerve.
You moan into his mouth, realizing his fingers have already brought you to your climax. Everything disappears and you burst into a million sparks, burning through the air, searing every particle around you. You continue to burn into the couch as he continues to pump his fingers into you.
As he fucks you through your orgasm, you begin to melt. You feel like lava, every part of you flowing from your core, leaving all things underneath you charred.
Coming down from your high, the room starts to form again in your vision. Steve’s presence fades in and you feel his fingers have slowed down and are just barely moving in you. His lips have left yours and he’s looking at you, watching you come back to earth.
“You okay baby?” he asks softly, carefully pulling his fingers out of you.
You nod and smile coyly. You feel a little stunned by the intense orgasm you just experienced and need a moment to catch your breath.
“You did so good, baby but I’m not done with you yet. Help me take my pants off” Steve says.
You immediately tune back into your situation hearing what he’s just ordered you to do. You hesitate, still knowing that what you’re doing is wrong. Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear him say, “now.”
He’s looking, waiting anxiously for you to touch him. Precum has seeped through his sweatpants, where the tip of his cock is.
You don’t want to find out what would happen if you don’t obey him so you slowly reach out to his hips. You gently hook your fingers around the waistband of his sweats and tug. He lifts to help you slide them off.
His cock springs free and you pause, unsure where to go from here. You’ve had sex before, you just didn’t know what exactly Steve had in mind.
You look up at him nervously, not moving.
“You’re not afraid of your big brother’s cock, are ya?” he teases you.
With hesitation you shake your head and stutter, “No, I’m not”
“That’s what I thought,” he soothes, and brushes your hair out of your face, “Now be a good girl and put your mouth on it, you know what to do”
His eyes enchant you and you’ve stopped worrying about how wrong what he’s doing to you is. You decide to get comfy and lay on your stomach.
Once you do this, he wraps your hair into his fist so it’s out of your face. Steve wants to watch you suck him off. He wants to see your pretty eyes look up at him while his cock is in your mouth.
You grab the base of his dick and plant a kiss on the head. His precum is warm against your lips and you stick your tongue out to lick it off.
Slowly, you take him into your mouth and begin to lather his dick in your spit. You start to bob your head, and suck gently.
The tip hits the back of your throat and you hum as you pull him back out, enjoying the feeling of him filling your mouth. You keep at this moderate pace for a few minutes, getting used to him. You pop him out of your mouth to take a breather and look up at him.
He moans quietly as you lick the head of his dick, just teasing him.
A second later, you’re gagging on his cock as he pushes your head down on him. You squeeze his thighs in protest but you secretly enjoy that he’s taking control.
You hear him huffing as he fucks up into your throat, his hair tickling your nose.
“You like the way your big brother’s cock tastes? Huh?” he taunts, ramming his hips into your face.
You’re unable to say anything but Steve doesn’t care. He knows you do.
He pulls you by the back of your hair off his dick and you pant, mouth open and drooling as he decides it’s time to change it up.
You can’t think straight, trying to catch your breath and not slobber everywhere. Suddenly, Steve is standing up and switches to the other side of the couch you were sitting on.
You watch his riveting, huge, muscles move him across the floor. Everything about him is just so strong. He comes up behind you, beside the couch. He grins at you wildly as you smother a, “what are you doing?” smile between your fingers.
He pushes one of his knees in between your knees, spreading your legs for him. His hand strokes his dick as he eyes your pussy and ass.
He bends forwards and takes your ass into his hands, squeezing and playing. His grip on you sends waves of warmth through you. He uses his thumbs to lift up your ass and folds, exposing your pussy.
“Fuck” he breathes out, running his thumb over your pink, aching hole. He barely grazes you before his finger is covered in your arousal. You love his upfront admiration and visible desire.
Steve moves his hands to your hips and tugs you up and backwards. You land face down, but on your knees, butt in the air. Your ass is now exactly where he wants it.
“You want your step brother to fuck you?” he asks as he prods your hole with the head of his thick cock.
“Yes please, step brother” you beg, looking back at him.
“Yeah? Wearing slutty clothes all the time to try and get me to look at you, well now you’ve got my attention”
You need to feel him inside of you. You need him to turn your brain to mush. You need him to fill your throbbing void full of his cock and cum.
He dives in, seething immediately, unprepared for you to feel this good. He knew you were going to be warm and wet, but he could never have imagined that you would make him so close to cumming from a single stroke.
He huffs out, pushing past the feeling that wants to come over him. He pulls out and pushes back in. He begins to fuck you.
There’s not an inch of space where you can’t feel him and you love it. You’re paralyzed by the sheer force and quantity of friction being created between the two of you. You feel like he’s fucking you raw, like his dick is hollowing you out.
All you can do is moan and try to keep from crying. With the speed and strength he’s going, tears begin to flow from your eyes anyways.
Steve watches your face as it is squished down into the couch cushions. He can see your skin glisten with tears from the intensity of his fucking. He loves it.
He loves it so much that he bends forwards to bury himself deeper into you. His thrusts become short and shallow, picking up his speed.
Closer to you now and through ragged breaths, he coos, “Such a good little sister, taking what her step brother gives to her”
You moan at his words and feel your head being lifted off the couch. His fist is in your hair, pulling you up, against him.
Your back arches as you collide with him, one of his hands is immediately around the base of your throat. Not constricting your breathing, just holding you closer to him.
His right hand snakes around your hips, down your pelvis and finds your clit. He begins to rub at it, simultaneously fucking you with everything he’s got.
He’s grunting into your ear and you think you heard him say, “Fuck baby, you like that? Huh? Huh? You like your big brother deep inside of you like this?”
You’re almost completely fucked numb. Your brain and body are so cockdrunk you can hardly see or speak.
You try your best to muster up something other than curses and whine, “Yes, yes, I love it”
“Of course you do baby” he taunts.
You feel yourself reaching the edge of a second orgasm, feeling your stomach tighten.
“Steve, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you tell him, wanting him to keep the pace and position.
His fingers on your clit, vibrating against it with the perfect pressure. His cock is burying into you and his rugged breathing and grunts on your neck culminate to send you into a spiraling orgasm.
“Cum for me, cum all over your big brother’s cock” he says, fucking you through it.
You release around him, letting all your inhibitions go too. You let him continue doing exactly what he’s doing because his sheer talent for making you come is mindblowing.
Your orgasm courses through you and when it’s over, you realize you’re completely slumped back against his burly chest. His dick is still inside you but he’s stilled, and you begin to regain consciousness of your surroundings. You hear his shaky breaths and seething moans. You feel him tremble against you and hold you tighter to him than ever before.
Your brain begins to connect the pieces slower than you would have liked.
Steve slowly lets go of you and you eventually fall forward, and feel him pull out of you.
He curses when he’s no longer inside your warm walls.
You feel something hot begin to seep out of you. You wonder if it’s you, him, or the both of your combined mess.
“Steve, did you?” you ask, nervous and out of breath.
He hesitates and you lift yourself up. You turn around on your knees and face him. His body expands and retracts with his deep breaths. He’s tall above you, and you have to tilt your head up to see his face.
Shame splashes his cheeks.“I’ll run to the store and grab you a Plan B, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stop myself” he says and pets the side of your head and leans down to kiss your forehead. His beard scratches lightly as he kisses you and you reach your arms up around his neck, pulling him closer to you.
As long as he’s buying you a contraceptive, it truly isn’t that big of a deal.
“We can wait till morning” you whisper into his neck and he pauses.
Steve sits down on the couch, your arms still around him, and pulls you into his lap. His big arms wrapped around your waist. He’s grateful for your sympathy and affection.
“I’m sorry, I’ve wanted you for so long now, I just couldn’t stop myself. I don’t think you realize how sexy you are,” he explains, as you nuzzle into his collarbone.
You giggle at him and kiss his cheek. The feeling of both messes dripping out of you and onto him turns you on a little. You hum as you settle into his body. He puts his hands under your t-shirt, and rubs your lower back.
His skin on your skin stirs something in your heart. The comfort of his heat and body makes you pepper kisses on his shoulder. You show him how much you appreciate him and the attention he gives you.
“If you stay like this long enough, I might have to fuck you again,” he growls low, into your ear.
His filthy thought sends a jolt of adrenaline through you, and you grind into his lap, showing your enthusiasm.
“Don’t tease me,” he says and grits his teeth together when he feels his cock twitch.
You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eye. Your hands now resting on his neck, you say, “And if I do?”
He narrows his eyes, and flexes his jaw. His eyes are probing yours, trying to find out what your intentions are.
You bite your lip and smile, unable to contain your giddiness.
“Well, we’d have to do something about that, now wouldn’t we?” he smirks.
You realize, for the first time, that you haven’t really kissed. His lips have been on yours but you were unable to kiss him the way you wanted to.
You immediately lean forwards and press your lips to his.
Steve’s a little flabbergasted but happily indulges in the way you taste. He smiles against your lips, glad you are so eager for him.
You kiss him deeper, tenderly poking your tongue out and swiping it across his mouth. He feels you do this and welcomes you in. He moves one hand out from beneath your t-shirt and brings it up to cradle your head.
His tongue swirls against yours making you moan into his mouth. Your heated kissing slowly makes you begin to grind against his lap once more.
You can feel him shift up into your hips, creating more pressure between the two of you.
He sucks and nibbles at your lips and you can’t help but squeak out moans. The sense of comfort and joy is overwhelming and the both of you begin to slow your kisses.
Eventually, you come to a stop and you’re now gazing into his sparkling, blue eyes. The both of you pant and stare at each other with desire. The passion leisurely flowing out of you both and molding together in the atmosphere. An aura almost appears with the foggy, hot-headed, vision you now have.
Once more, you rest your head on his collarbone and squeeze him tight, sending the message of comfort to him.
#smut#captian america#steve rogers#nomad steve rogers#captain america smut#steve rogers smut#nomad steve rogers smut#chris evans#chris evans smut#chris evans fic
66 notes
·
View notes
Text
I have been writing a little something lately, so I hope I’ll be able to share it with you guys soon!
!Important Update!
Due to my busy schedule and other things I’m dealing with, I’m going to take a break from writing for a little while. It’s not forever, probably for just a few months. I’ll still be active on here and if inspiration hits me I’ll write. But for now, and in general, I think I’ll be busy enough to not want to start anything new. Just to reiterate, IM NOT QUITTING!! JUST TAKING A SMALL BREAK!! Okay, love you guys!!
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
there is something deeply, horrifically, wrong with me
Supernatural S5E21 Two Minutes to Midnight
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
!Important Update!
Due to my busy schedule and other things I’m dealing with, I’m going to take a break from writing for a little while. It’s not forever, probably for just a few months. I’ll still be active on here and if inspiration hits me I’ll write. But for now, and in general, I think I’ll be busy enough to not want to start anything new. Just to reiterate, IM NOT QUITTING!! JUST TAKING A SMALL BREAK!! Okay, love you guys!!
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
bless you
click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader
read it on ao3.
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5)
Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB.
Word Count: ~11k.
Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could.
THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3
Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!
FIVE YEARS LATER
The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.
But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.
Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.
On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.
He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.
But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.
The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.
This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.
It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.
Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?
The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.
You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.
You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.
Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.
By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—
—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.
There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.
You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.
On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.
Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.
You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.
You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.
Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.
Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.
He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.
He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.
You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”
Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”
There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.
“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”
Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?
You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.
Your throat locks up with tears.
Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”
Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”
Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.
“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.
There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.
“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.
You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.
He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”
When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”
Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.
“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”
Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”
You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”
You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.
Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.
“You’re really not saying yes?”
Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.
Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”
The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.
“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”
You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.
Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.
After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.
“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”
This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.
He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”
This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.
“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”
You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”
Okay. Weird.
Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”
They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?
But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”
Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.
You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.
He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.
The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.
“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.
There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.
“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”
“Can I help?” Sam asks.
You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”
“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”
Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”
You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.
When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.
“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”
You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.
Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”
You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”
…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You’re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”
That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”
You squint at him. Liar.
“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”
A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.
Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”
“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”
Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”
Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”
A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.
It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.
You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!
There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.
“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”
Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.
You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”
Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”
The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.
Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.
You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—
—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.
In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”
Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.
The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.
He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.
The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.
It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.
Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.
Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—
You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.
“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”
You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?
He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”
You stop.
This is. This is new.
There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.
Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.
“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.
He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.
It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.
He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.
…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.
“Sammy,” you sob out.
“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”
He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.
“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.
Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.
“Take it off,” he rasps.
This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.
“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.
You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.
He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”
Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.
You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”
It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”
A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.
You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.
“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”
Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.
“Then don’t.” He begs.
If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.
You’ve never seen him take this way before.
He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.
You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.
“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.
You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.
You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”
Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”
The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.
You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”
“Yes, doctor,” you tease.
Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.
“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.
You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.
This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.
Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”
And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.
By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.
Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”
“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”
“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.
Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”
Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.
The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”
As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.
“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”
Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”
Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.
Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.
“God, I love you,” he moans.
Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.
…Wait.
“What?” You register, slow.
Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.
“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.
There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.
“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”
You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”
It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.
“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”
“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.
He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.
“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.
When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.
“Sammy!” You choke.
That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”
Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.
You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—
…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!
“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”
The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”
He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.
“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.
You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”
You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—
In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.
A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”
If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”
You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”
His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.
“Tell me you love me again.”
Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.
You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”
The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.
With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”
“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.
You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.
When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.
“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.
Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.
“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”
“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”
Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.
You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.
“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.
The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.
You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?
Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.
What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?
Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”
He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.
Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”
Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.
Lie to me, you’d begged him.
…And Sam had.
_
The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.
Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.
He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.
Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?
Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.
The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.
Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.
To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.
You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.
“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.
…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.
You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.
You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”
…That’s not what the note says.
You read it.
Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.
You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…
Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—
…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.
“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”
-
tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1
969 notes
·
View notes
Text
!Important Update!
Due to my busy schedule and other things I’m dealing with, I’m going to take a break from writing for a little while. It’s not forever, probably for just a few months. I’ll still be active on here and if inspiration hits me I’ll write. But for now, and in general, I think I’ll be busy enough to not want to start anything new. Just to reiterate, IM NOT QUITTING!! JUST TAKING A SMALL BREAK!! Okay, love you guys!!
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yes Father (2/2)
gifs belong to me
18+
Pairings: Sam Winchester’s alias Father Frehley x fem reader
Warnings: SMUT, priest kink?, mentions of religion, alcohol use, spanking, fingering, blowjob.
Summary: Father Frehley shows up in your town and the two of you share a nightcap.
Word count: 4.5k
Notes: This fic was written in a FIRST PERSON POV!!! This is part of a two-part fic about Sam’s alias Father Frehley. This second part takes place during season 12, episode 4: American Nightmare, ten years later. Although Sam goes by Father DiNero in the episode, the narrator still knows him as Father Frehley. Also, so sorry for taking forever to put this out, I’m working full time this summer so it’s been hard to make time to write. This 2nd part might be less cohesive and consistent due to my inability to write all the time. Thanks for being patient and I hope you enjoy!!!
❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀
It’s been ten years. It’s been ten years since I’ve seen Father Frehley. Until now. There he is walking out of the church on my block with the same priest he was with before. This is not what I expected when I decided to take a walk this morning.
❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀
I moved to the midwest after finishing college for a job. I also wanted to get out of my small town in the deeply religious south. After my experience with Father Frehley, one thing led to another and I started to transition out of the church.
❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀
That’s how I ended up here, in my new town, in front of him once again.
He sees me, standing on the sidewalk across the street, shock on my face. I see him too. He’s even taller than I remember. His hair is longer and his face more chiseled.
He’s ten years older, so am I.
He’s equally as shocked, the chances of encountering each other again are impossibly low. Yet, here he is, walking across the street towards me, a smirk plastered on his face.
“Father Frehley?” I say once he’s close enough to where I don’t need to raise my voice. He steps up onto the sidewalk in front of me, his hands in his pockets.
“Hi, it’s good to see you. What are you doing in Iowa?” he greets with a smile.
I’m in a trance seeing him again.
“I live here, what are you doing here?” I ask, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Visiting friends,” he looks back at the church, “how long’s it been?”
“Ten years I think,” I say blushing when I’m reminded of the last time we were together.
“Wow, well you haven’t aged at all” he gestures to me, a twinkle in his eyes.
His jaw is covered in stubble, aging him. He looks more mature and grown.
“Thank you” I say and blush again, as I see the way he looks at me.
He still has that same lust and desire in him, like he had when we first met. I can feel it.
“Father!” Father Simmons calls to him from their car.
Apparently he doesn’t recognize me, though I don’t judge him for that.
“I’ve got to go, but it was nice seeing you again. Let me know if you want to get together while I’m still in town!” he says softly, looking down at me.
I say goodbye and watch as the handsome priest saunters back to the other side of the road.
I hate myself for my horny thoughts: that he’s only gotten sexier.
❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀
It’s 10:30. I shouldn’t be calling him but I’ve found myself distracted the whole day after running into him this morning. I can’t stop thinking about the way he corrupted me, and how he taught me so gently. My skin burns, daydreaming about his massive physique and probing eyes.
The last time we did this, I knew nothing. Now I know that what he did was not the way things usually go.
However, I don’t hold any resentment towards him or feel like what he did was wrong. In fact, it’s always turned me on, knowing that this young, hot, kind, priest strayed from his religious upholdings to teach and please me.
It’s something I fantasize and think about often; the kinky sort of thing that makes most people raise an eyebrow with confusion.
For me, it’s an eyebrow of intrigue.
I ransack my jewelry box on the dresser looking for the stack of cards with numbers on them, I’ve accumulated from men over the years. When I find it, I untie the rubber band holding the cards in place, and take the card from the very bottom.
It’s his. The number on it might not even be his anymore but it’s worth a shot.
I pick up my cell phone and punch the number in. I press call and hold the phone up to my ear. The line rings three times, and I hold my breath the whole time. After the third ring, the line clicks and I hear a “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Father Frehley?” I ask nervously.
“Uh, yeah it is, can I help you?”
I breathe out, shakey just from hearing his voice.
“I hope so. You told me to let you know if I wanted to get together and well, I do right now if you’re not busy” I bite my lip, hoping he can tell it’s me.
“I thought it might’ve been you,” he chuckles softly.
“Are you up for a nightcap?” I ask. There’s a pause and then I hear his laugh start again.
“You know what, as a matter of fact I could use a drink. What’d you have?”
“Whiskey, bourbon, scotch… Any of those sound good?”
“Send me your address, I’ll be right over” he says, his mind made up already.
We end the phone call and I text him my address. In anticipation, I set out all my best liquor and daydream about the things he might do to me once he comes over.
Within minutes of calling him, the Chevy Impala pulls up outside my front window. I hide behind my curtains and watch as he walks up to my front door. My heart is racing, watching him take long strides up my sidewalk, in the dim porch light.
He knocks on the door and I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. I act like I wasn’t just watching him and take a second to answer.
When I open the door, there he is. My body tenses seeing him and I’m almost overcome with excitement.
He stands there smirking down at me, thrilled at my desperation. He’s still wearing a black suit and white roman collar like he’s just been to mass. My body is overrun by attraction and I can feel my core jump as I step aside and let him in.
“So, you said you have whiskey” he says as I close the front door behind him.
“I do, it’s in the kitchen, you can follow me” I say, and walk in front of him, down the hallway to the kitchen.
“You have a beautiful house; it smells nice in here, like a real home” he says behind me.
“Thanks, it’s probably all the candles I burn, I can never have too many” I say and grab two glasses off the kitchen counter.
Moments of silence pass and he doesn’t say something until I’ve poured our drinks and put the bottle of whiskey down.
“You know I never thought I’d see you again, so seeing you this morning was rather jarring” he says as I pick up our glasses.
“Jarring in a bad way?” I ask, walking towards him and offering the drink.
“I wouldn’t say so” he says gently as our fingers brush when I transfer the glass to his hand.
We lock eyes, his green irises putting a spell on me. I feel my heart burn and I don’t walk back to the other side of the kitchen for a moment; too lost in the lusty haze surrounding us.
When I finally back away, he asks me a question: “Are you still religious?” He’s looking down at the ground, noticing some smudge on his shoe.
Oh God, I think. He’ll hate my answer, I mean he’s a priest. But he broke his vows first, who is he to judge?
I blush with guilt and shake my head. I decide to confess with a hint of playfulness, “How can I be after what you did to me?”
His eyes shoot up to look at me. When he sees my smirk he takes a deep breath in, as if trying to hold something back. After a second he nods, smiles, and says, “That’s very fair”
“What about you? Are you still religious?” I tease, taking a sip of my drink.
“What do you think?” he scoffs and adjusts his collar, “However, I’m no longer a junior priest, I’ve fully joined the priesthood.”
“Oh yeah? Congratulations. Can I ask you a question about priests?”
I decide to be bold because already this whiskey is having an effect on me. I want him to take my clothes off and have me right here on my kitchen island.
“Of course, anything you want,” he says. The look on his face makes me think he already knows exactly what I'm about to ask. It has to be brought up eventually.
I bite my lower lip before asking, “What kind of priest fingers someone?”
He pauses, his eyes probing mine with a fire lit behind them. His eyes undress me, the lower half of his face going a little slack with shock.
He takes a breath, licks his lips and says, “a sacrilegious one”
I shiver under his gaze, and ask quietly, “Are you still sacrilegious?”
He stares at me, sinful ideas blossoming in his head. I can see them form behind his eyes.
“Should we find out?” he asks in a low voice, straightening up.
“Yes please” I smile and put my glass down. He does the same.
He walks towards me and corners me to the counter. He places his hands on the counter beside my hips and looms over me. The smell of his cologne hits me and my legs become weak. As I stare up at him he lifts his hand off the counter and brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
With his fingers gently cupping my face, he kisses me. It’s soft at first, and so gentle. His warm lips barely even on mine. The taste of whiskey crawls into my mouth and makes me burn to taste more of him. He continues, gifting me with slow, loving, sweet, kisses.
The tantalizing, methodical movement of his lips makes my head buzz. His deliverance of affection and passion sends heat everywhere, flooding every vein.
Soon, the lust of years gone by, is too strong to resist and things begin to heat up. His tongue glides into my mouth and we begin to devour each other. Our mouths open wide, and greedy to explore.
Both of his large hands hold my face as I melt like ice cream in his mouth. The feeling of his hands cradling my jaw and skull so tenderly makes my cunt lurch with amusement. Knowing how vulnerable and fragile I am as he handles me, twists the knot inside me tighter.
His hands begin to get a little rough, a little more in control. They hold me close to his lips and his fingers tangle and tug slightly at my hair.
His stubble and fallen strands of hair tickle my cheeks as his body slowly molds into mine.
My hips push against his thighs and my lower stomach is pressed to his pelvis. I can feel him stiffen through his slacks. He moans into me when I push myself into him more, not wanting any space between us.
I wrap my hands around his neck, keeping him leaning downwards to kiss me. I weave my fingertips into his hair at the nape of his neck and play with it. Apparently he likes this because he places a knee between my legs and pushes it forward until his thigh reaches my crotch. Feeling the pressure he creates, I roll my hips and pathetically grind on his thigh.
I moan into his mouth as he bites my lower lip and lifts his leg to create more pressure. We part naturally to breathe and he moves his hands to my ass. He squeezes gently and asks, “Have you been a good girl all these years?”
I don’t know what to say so I just nod and whimper as he grips my ass, and I chase his lips.
“Tell me,” he commands softly, fingers clawing into my flesh.
I sigh, out of breath and because his words turn me on. “Probably not Father,” I say, “but I can be good for you tonight”
He responds with a shaky moan-like laugh, delighted with my response and kisses me with such desire I almost become a puddle at his feet.
He continues to knead at my ass, pushing and pulling with the rhythm of my hips on his leg. He does this all while kissing me, the cat and mouse with his tongue making me grind harder.
I’m panting into his mouth, holding his face as close to mine as I can. We stop kissing when I’m unable to breathe and need to concentrate on not overwhelming myself with pleasure so quickly.
“Look at you getting all worked up on my leg” he whispers into my ear.
I moan at his comment and squeeze my thighs around his leg.
His hands move from my ass to my breasts. He squeezes them through my shirt. I immediately rip my shirt off over my head and undo my bra for him.
He marvels at my tits and takes them in his hands. As we kiss he pinches my nipples and runs over them with his thumb. I’m whimpering into his mouth, twitching at his touch.
He pulls off my mouth and ducks down to my chest. He takes one of my breasts into his mouth and sucks. His tongue plays with my nipple as he sucks my breast.
I hold his head to my chest, so far immersed in this pleasure I block out the world.
He moves his mouth to my other breast and I moan. He sucks and plays with my tits for a few minutes, giving them attention. When he’s finished he begins kissing me again. He kisses me and I taste my skin on his tongue. He pulls away suddenly, and I can tell in his eyes, that he’s thought of something.
“You wanna be good? Turn around,” he tells me.
That’s what I do. I turn around and bend over the counter. I feel him pull at my jeans, and feel the cold air hit me. He pulls my pants down to my ankles and I kick them off.
He comes up behind me, hips pushing against my bare bottom. I feel him through his pants and I clench around nothing. He leans over me and kisses my neck just below my ear. The sound of his breathing and feel of his lips forces a sigh and whimper out of me.
His hands feel up my waist and back, germinating seeds of heat sowed under my skin. His hands travel to my shoulders, and down my arms. His fingers wrap around my wrists, and this display of dominance makes my stomach flutter.
He whispers into my ear, “Stand up”
We stand up at the same time, his hands let go of my wrists. When we’re up, he turns me around against the counter by my waist. He kisses me once more and grabs my wrists again.
When he pulls away, he keeps one hand holding my wrist. He starts to walk to my living room, and I follow him as close as I can. He leads me to my couch and he sits down in the middle. I sit next to him.
“Bend over my lap,” he commands.
I give him a curious look that asks, “what are you about to do to me?”
His eyes shimmer, he smirks and nods to his lap. I’m intrigued and crawl over him.
I feel his hard-on underneath the side of my hip as I settle myself over his lap.
Wasting no time, he runs his hands over my ass and grabs palm fulls of my flesh. I feel his fingers grip my skin to expose my pussy for him to look at.
“Fuck” he moans and slaps my ass a little.
I squeal from the sharp sting and circle my hips in response. I wasn’t prepared for his hit but I enjoyed it.
“Oh did you like that?” he asks and another slap, a little bit harder than the last, lands on my other cheek.
I moan a ‘mhm’ and squeeze my thighs together. He slaps me again.
I’m cursing at the surge of pleasure being sent to my cunt each time he spanks me.
He rubs his palm over the places he’s slapped, cooling and soothing them with his touch.
Once again, he spreads my folds with his fingers and groans at the sight of me. My slick covers the inside of my thighs, coating my skin.
“Such a pretty pussy” he murmurs, groping my ass. I feel and hear him spit on me, his saliva landing right at my entrance. My stomach churns with heat, and I wiggle my hips, trying to grind into his lap.
I then feel his finger circle my hole, prodding at it, teasing me. I push my ass up, trying to make his finger slip in. The heavy tip of his finger, toying with me, makes my head spin. The crave for his fingers in me becomes almost impossible to bear.
“Father, please” I plead, my face buried in throw pillows.
“Please what? Cmon use your words for me” he teases.
I feel his other hand begin to rub my clit. The desperation for his fingers in me only amplifies. My skin prickles from the torture he’s causing.
“Please put your fingers in me” I beg.
He listens and plunges his long, thick finger in. I release a sob of relief and pleasure, when I feel him deep against my walls.
He begins to curl his finger, slowly hollowing me out. He soon starts oscillating between fucking his finger in and out of me, and pushing up against my g-spot.
I crave more, and that’s what he delivers. Adding another finger, he opens me up and pumps into me more ferociously.
He fucks me with his fingers, deep and hard, making tears form in the corners of my eyes. His other hand vibrates with speed against my clit, making me moan and squirm. He fucks me perfectly, hitting every pleasure nerve in me. His fingers start to vibrate in me and I begin to cry from the overwhelming bliss.
His fingers coax an orgasm out of me, setting free what had been building up all day. It’s over way too fast and I’m in shock at how easily he drew an orgasm from me.
“Oh my god” I pant once he’s slowed his movements and I’ve come down.
“That good, huh?” he teases and takes his fingers out of me gently.
I sigh at the empty feeling and push myself off my stomach. I sit back on my knees and say, “you have no idea,”
He drags his fingers across my waist, leans towards me, and before our lips touch, he says, “oh I think I do”
As he speaks he brings his two fingers that were in me, between our lips.
I blush, embarrassed at my orgasm that covers his fingers.
“Open,” he says, and I do. I let him push his fingers into my mouth, exploring my tongue.
“Do you like the way you taste?” he whispers, his gaze never straying from my mouth. He’s smirking, enjoying the show, as he watches me suck on his fingers. I nod, showing him. I take his wrist in my hand and pull his fingers from my lips. Once out, I kiss the tips of his fingers and he scoffs as it turns him on.
“Get on your knees” he says softly. He’s not commanding or harsh, but almost moaning with his anticipation.
I kiss him quickly on the lips and watch him smile as I slide off the couch and onto the floor. My knees bruise but I don’t care, I just shuffle myself between his long, meaty thighs.
I look at his crotch, and see the tent in his pants. It makes the heat between my thighs only grow. He leans forwards and begins to stroke my hair. He pets me and says, “So far, you’ve behaved well. But, I want you to show me how good you can be”
I know what he wants and I’m more than happy to service him.
“You think you can do that for me?” he asks.
“Yes Father,” I say and reach my hand up to palm at his erection.
He breathes out quickly through his nose and says “good girl,”
I watch him lean back into the couch, giving me full control over him. He unbuttons his black dress shirt and peels his roman collar off. He shrugs off his shirt and I’m stunned at how his torso looks. It’s so sculpted and tan, it’s better than I ever imagined. I notice a tattoo of a pentagram at the center of what appears to be the sun. It’s above his left peck and it sparks curiosity in me. I want to know the story behind it eventually.
I slither my hands up to his belt and undo it slowly, biting my lip in excitement. I remember him well; how could I forget?
His belt undone, I zip open his fly and then tug at his pants and underwear. I need to see him, I need to feel him.
He lifts his hips and pushes his pants down and off, kicking them to the side.
Finally, his red, inflamed cock is free, and all for me. I grab it immediately and wrap my hand around it, feeling how thick it is.
He lets out a shaky breath as I take him in my fist.
“Come on baby, show me what you can do,” he breathes out, encouraging me.
I kiss the head of his dick, smearing pre-cum on my lips. I then stick my tounge out and lick around his tip. Once I’ve swirled my tongue around the head of his leaking dick, I begin to make out with his shaft. I kiss up and down his cock, all the way down to his balls. I suck on his balls, taking one into my mouth, and then the other. He moans as I slobber on them.
“Fuck, you’re so-,” he can’t finish his thought, too lost in watching as I lick every exposed piece of him.
I’m looking up at him the whole time, watching his reactions. His fist is holding my hair back, guiding my head gently. I finally wrap my lips around him and suck. He groans as I begin to slowly bob up and down, getting my mouth used to him.
“Look at you…” he coos, proud and stunned by my eagerness. I smile through my motions, happy he’s in awe of my performance.
As I continue, I look up and see his eyes shut tight and jaw clenched as I suck. His hand on the back of his head causes his arm to flex, sending a ripple of tingles to my pussy. I hum in pleasure at his enjoyment and this causes him to let another moan escape.
Hearing him fills me with endurance and excitement. I force myself to go deeper, taking him into my mouth a little bit farther. I keep the same up and down motion, going a little faster as well.
I pop off him, giving myself a minute to breathe. I look up at him and his face is heavily flushed and he’s biting his bottom lip. “Fuck” he sighs.
I giggle and continue where I left off.
Now, I’m taking him all the way to the back of my throat. My teeth have rubbed the inside of my lips raw, and his cock has bruised my throat, but I’m not about to stop. I’m giving him the sloppiest head of his life and it’s made clear to me that he’s almost done.
He’s been panting for a few minutes now, as if he’s trying to control himself. Trying to hold out a little bit longer. I keep going, focusing on his pleasure only. My hands are playing with his balls and jerking on the lower half of his cock.
He goes silent and then all at once I hear him moan and let out curses while something warm fills my mouth and throat. When he’s finished, I slow and stop.
I look up at him and show him my tongue, still laced with his seed. He breathes out an exhausted moan.
I swallow him and show him my empty mouth after.
“Fuck,” he moans, “You’re such a good girl, you should be proud”
He bends forwards and I sit up on my knees. He puts his hands on the sides of my head and kisses me. It’s a little dry, both of us out of breath, but it’s endearing.
He pulls away, his hands still on my cheeks and stares at me. I look up at him, letting him admire me. He plays with my hair and caresses my cheekbone with his thumb.
Neither of us speak, preferring to let the silence embrace us.
The smell of our sweat is thick in the air, almost fog like.
I stand up and climb into his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and straddle him. I cling to him, the both of us naked and flushed. He envelopes me with his long, lean arms, pulling me tight against him.
We sit here momentarily, breathing each other in, enjoying the intimacy we’re sharing.
I feel him start to kiss my shoulder and move to my neck. I pull my face from his shoulder, allowing him access to my throat. He kisses and sucks on my neck lovingly. He’s inattentive to anything else.
His lips on my neck make me groan lazily. Sparks fly off of us, driving me wild. He kisses up my throat, to my jaw and diligently pours his affection onto my skin. He finally reaches my mouth. Our kisses are like before, slow, less hesitant but just as impassioned.
I desperately don’t want to break away from what we’ve just shared but I know that it’s fleeting. I pull away and hold his head in my hands. It’s my turn to admire him.
He smiles at me and says, “I don’t want to go, but I think I should”
I smile with him and nod. We both know he has his priest thing even though he’s probably the worst priest I’ve ever met.
“Call me if you’re ever in town again” I say.
“Absolutely,” he says.
I climb off him and dress myself. He sits up off the couch and does the same.
Before he leaves I take a pen and sticky note from a drawer in my kitchen and write my number and name on it. I hand it to him after he puts his shoes on and is standing by the door.
He slips the sticky note in his pocket and pulls me in by my waist for one last kiss. When we part he says, “Goodbye,” and smiles as he opens the door.
He walks through and out into the night. I take his place by the door and watch as he walks down my sidewalk and gets into his car.
I shut the door as he drives off and sigh while I think about what just occurred.
I still smell him and I’m not sure if I’m ever going to be able to wash it off.
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
Supernatural S1E15 The Benders
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
need him in my life
Supernatural S1E02 Wendigo
614 notes
·
View notes
Text
“Yes Father” pt.2 is being written!!! It might still be a while before it’s published (I’ve got so much on my plate right now). Thanks for being patient!
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
i can’t even explain what this movie did to me
If so dangerous, why so beautiful…
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
“Yes Father” pt.2 is being written!!! It might still be a while before it’s published (I’ve got so much on my plate right now). Thanks for being patient!
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
thinking things
sparking you guys imagination
706 notes
·
View notes