⠀⠀first time for everything⠀⠀⠀sam winchester x f!reader⠀⠀༘⋆

word count⠀⠀2.2k

⠀⠀⠀⠀a/n⠀⠀first fic i've written in like a year so pls be nice... enjoy !

You’d been on heat suppressants your entire life. It was just easier that way, and your parents never really minded it. You were never super curious about what your heat would be like off of suppressants anyway. At least, not until you started dating your boyfriend, Sam, who happened to be an alpha. 

It’d been four months dating him, and he was the sweetest guy you’d ever been with. Well, he was the only guy you’d been with ever, but that didn’t make him any less of a sweetheart. By the second month, you had started to wonder what it would be like to have a real heat, one without suppressants, with him. He’d never been on suppressants and was always an open book when it came to his rut, but you’d never spent it together with him. 

When you told him that you were an omega, just on heavy suppressants to make it seem like you were a beta, he hadn't minded at all. In fact, nothing about your relationship had changed at all. Sam was still just as sweet and caring, and after having a conversation about wanting to go off of suppressants to experience your heat in its entirety, he was completely open to taking time off just to spend it with you. And that was exactly what he did. 

Sam had helped you with making your nest, turning your bedroom into a makeshift den of sorts. The bed was covered in soft blankets, some of your favorite shirts of his, and pillows he’d brought over from his own apartment. He was sure to put care into it, his scent permeating most of the items that you’d used.

 It was obvious your heat was approaching, and fast at that, your pheromones smelling “sweeter” as Sam had described them at least. As your heat had approached, you’d gotten more and more nervous about the experience. It had reached a peak this morning when you woke up with your body feeling hot, hotter than usual. By the afternoon, you felt as if you were drowning in the scent of Sam’s pheromones, his woody and slightly minty scent enveloping you like a hug. 

Sam was over in a heartbeat when you’d called, practically panting out your words from how overwhelming his scent was. When he’d gotten to your apartment, you were curled up in your nest, one of his shirts against your chest as you squirmed in your nest. It felt impossible to get comfortable, the heat within your body burning hot along with the ache in your lower abdomen. 

Sensing Sam’s presence had you wanting to pounce onto him, logic hitting the fan as your instincts overtook any solid thought that was left in your fuzzy head. Despite the urge to move, your body was too weak to make any extreme movements. All you could do was roll over to face him, your sweat-slicked bangs sticking to your forehead as you panted out his name softly.

“Shh, I'm right here,” he soothed gently, rushing to sit next to you on your bed. He’d brought a bag of stuff that he’d set down next to the nightstand, stuff that seemed to be snacks and things of that sort. He could read you like a book, sensing your anxiety and slight confusion from the fresh feeling of your instincts. “Just breathe,” he whispered softly, rubbing gentle circles on your back.

“Feel so achy, Sammy,” you babbled, feeling slick pool in your cotton panties as you breathed in his fresh scent. Your body could practically sense that he was there to help, that he would be the one to save you from the hot pit in your stomach. 

He could smell your arousal, the scent overwhelming as he felt his own instincts start to awaken inside of him. “What do you need, love?”

You let out a whine before tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, looking him in the eyes with pure desperation shining through your pupils. 

“You know what I need,” you huff under your breath with an attitude. The desperation and pure need to feel full makes you frustrated with his dumb question. 

“I need to hear you say it, baby,” he murmurs, eager to hear your verbal consent before touching you any further. “Need to know exactly what you want”

With a small sigh, you manage to mutter out your request. “I need you to touch me,” you pleaded as your panties dampened at the overwhelming amount of slickness between your legs.

He hums, his hand pushing your panties aside with a gentleness that feels all too well. His fingers glide against the slick lips of your cunt, rubbing slow circles right against your clit. “Like that, hm?”

The feeling of his fingers against your heated pussy has you reeling as you nod eagerly, your hips rutting up against his fingers, desperate to feel more of the sweet pleasure he’s providing you with.

Sam knew that you weren’t going to last long in this state, that you’d just keep getting more and more insatiable the longer he made you wait for release. “Lift your hips, love,” he purred as he insisted on removing your damp panties.

You simply hum, whining as he moves his fingers away to take your underwear off. Lifting your hips, he hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, peeling them down your thighs before throwing them aside. 

“Atta girl,” he praises as he takes in the sight of your swollen, glistening folds. “Gonna make you feel so good.”

He spreads your legs with care, settling between them as he rests your thighs on his shoulders. Sam knew you craved his touch with every fiber of your being, but he also knew that he had to hear your approval before acting. 

“Tell me what you want, doll,” he urged. “Do you want my mouth on your pretty pussy?” 

You let out a small hiccup, nodding impatiently.

He takes your nod as a green light, not needing any further encouragement from you before he leans in and drags his tongue along your slit. Groaning softly, he slowly laps at your folds as if savoring your unique flavor. After a few teasing licks, he focuses his attention on your clit, circling at the nub with the tip of his tongue before gently sucking. 

With a needy squirm, you cry out his name as your fingers tangle in his brown hair as if trying to ground yourself from the pleasure. As he suckles at your clit, his tongue swirling around the nub, you feel your cunt throb eagerly. “S-Sam,” you babble with a shudder as he starts to get more sloppy with his assault on your pussy. 

Pulling away with a soft kiss to your clit, he coos lowly against your pussy. “Cum on my tongue, princess.”

He wastes no time latching back onto you, giving a particularly hard suck as he feels your slick drip down his chin. His actions are thoughtless yet passionate, his own instincts making him eager for more of you.

You tug on his hair gently with a soft cry as you feel your head roll back in pleasure. A rush of your juices leak onto his tongue as he hums, as if encouraging your orgasm. He slurps every drop with fervor, his eyes watching as you come undone on his tongue. With a loud, sloppy pop, he finally pulls away from your glistening cunt. 

“That’s my good girl,” he rasped as he pressed a final, feather-light kiss to your cunt.

Despite your fresh orgasm, you still feel that deep-seated pulse in your stomach. Sam doesn’t even need to hear you say it to know that you need more, that you crave more than what he’s already given you. 

“My insatiable little omega,” he teases. “I’ll give you what you want, baby.”

With that promise, he drags his fingers against your folds, feeling as more slick leaks from your needy pussy. He circles your entrance with a single, thick finger before pushing it in slowly, giving you time to get used to the feeling before curling it right against your sweet spot. 

Your hips buck as you let out a gasp, lips parting as he starts thrusting his finger in and out. 

“That’s my good girl. Can my doll handle another?” 

A small squeal falls from your lips as he continues to curl his finger against that sweet spot. You nod eagerly, desperate to finally feel him inside of you.

Feeling your walls flutter against his finger, he happily obliged, pushing another finger inside of you. He pumps both of them in and out, still aiming for that spongy spot inside of you before scissoring them inside of you to stretch you out. 

Slick drips down his fingers as you let out a strangled moan. “Sam— Fuck!”

“Is it good love? Tell me how my fingers feel inside you.”

Your mind is virtually blanking from the pleasure, eyes fluttering closed as you struggle to get the words out. “‘ts so good.. t-too much- close—” You pant as he hits that spot. 

He feels you clench around his fingers, your pussy right on the edge. Curling his fingers against that spot one last time, he pulls his fingers out despite your annoyed whine. 

“I know baby, shh,” he coos. “Gonna give you what you need.”

Sam fumbles with his belt as he takes his pants off, his boxers following with them as he pulls out his cock. He settles between your legs, pressing a soft kiss against your lips before delicately folding you into a mating press. 

“Is this okay, baby? I’ll go slow,” he promises, pressing your thighs against your chest. “Gonna breed you s’good.”

Lining his cock up with your entrance, he mutters softly. “Just relax princess.”

He pushes in gently, the swollen head of his cock pressing into you as he lets out a low groan as you clench around him. Slowly, he pushes further inside of you, fighting the urge to just slam inside of you in one thrust. 

You let out a noisy whine, nibbling at your bottom lip as you feel him sink into you inch by inch. His cock already feels deep despite him being only halfway in. “S-Sammyy—”

“Shh, almost done honey,” he whispers against your ear. “Just a little more.”

Finally, he bottoms out inside of you, the head of his cock kissing your cervix as he stills inside of you. Your walls flutter around him as he lets you get used to the feeling of being so full. 

“There’s my good girl, letting me fill her up so good.”

Tiny tears well on your lash line as you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding in. “‘ts so deep.. feels like you’re in my stomach-”

He hums, starting to rock his hips slowly inside of you. “Gonna move now, okay doll?” 

With that, he begins to move, his hips rolling in a lazy rhythm. He pulls out almost entirely, leaving only the tip inside before pushing back in with a deep and steady thrust. Keeping that slow pace, he groans as he feels her walls fluttering with each deep thrust. 

“Is this good, baby?” Sam mutters against your ear. “Feels good?”

You nod with a gasp as you feel his cock hit the spongy spot deep inside of your cunt, wrapping your arms around him as he starts to slightly pick up the pace. 

“I got you, baby,” he murmurs as he peppers gentle kisses along your temple. 

Your heart races against his chest, each thrust deeper than the last as the ache inside of your cunt finally starts to disappear. Your omega instincts completely take over as your breath comes out in short, sharp gasps. 

“Come on princess, cum for me,” Sam babbles, feeling his own release start to near. He picks up his pace once more, his tip pressing right against that spot with every thrust. “Gonna cum inside you.”

“Pleasepleaseplease— gonna cum!” You cry out, thighs trembling as you start to feel that coil inside of you unravel. 

“Don’t fight it baby, let it happen,” he encouraged through his own moans. The sloppy wet sounds of his cock slamming into your soaking cunt echoes throughout the room as he makes love to you right in your nest. 

Your cries grow louder and more insistent as you start to tighten around his cock, right on the edge of release. 

“That’s my girl, go on,” he breathes against your ear as he gives you one final thrust to push you over the edge. His cock kisses your cervix one final time before he feels your body stiffen as your walls convulse around him. 

Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave as you clamp around Sam’s cock, moaning his name loudly as you feel him cumming hot ropes of his own cum inside of you. 

His hips grind against you as he rides out his own orgasm, working his cum deep inside of your quivering cunt. “Good girl, my good girl.”

Sam flips you over onto his stomach, his cock sinking deeper inside of you as you let out a small whimper in protest. 

“Shh, we’re done for now baby,” he purrs against your ear with a soft kiss to your lips. 

You couldn’t imagine going back on suppressants again, not after how good he made your first real heat feel. Sighing softly, you mutter blissfully against his chest, “Never using heat suppressants again.”

⠀⠀© buninamug 2025⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀masterlist⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀reqs open

the knock rattles your door at 11:47 pm on christmas eve, not a polite tap but desperate fists pounding wood. you know who it is before you even check the peephole because only one person treats your apartment like his personal emergency room, only one person thinks you’ll always do as he says no matter what time, no matter what day.

you swing the door open and jesus fuckin’ christ.

jensen looks like he tried to fight concrete and lost. his bottom lip’s split bad, fresh blood still seeping down his chin in a dark line that’s already staining the collar of his white pro club. left cheekbone’s swollen up ugly, purple-red spreading under tanned skin like spilled wine. his knuckles are the worst—raw and torn up, skin hanging in little flaps, blood caked in the creases. looks like he punched concrete until it won.

but somehow he still looks good. still dressed clean from whatever family thing he escaped from: black dickies short-sleeve work shirt buttoned neat over that bloodstained white pro club t-shirt, baggy charcoal 501s hanging perfect off his hips, pooling just right over white air forces that got scuffed in whatever went down. silver chain glinting at his throat, catching hallway fluorescents. even his frosted tips look good, all messed up and spiky like he’s been running his hands through them. and there, tucked behind his right ear like always, a blunt.

“can i...?” his voice comes out rough, scraped raw.

you don’t let him finish. just grab his wrist, the one that’s not as fucked up, and pull him inside. the door clicks shut and suddenly your apartment feels too small with him in it, all that barely contained violence and desperation filling up your space.

you lead him to the bathroom without a word. this dance is familiar now—him showing up broken, you putting him back together, if he lets you. he sits heavy on the closed toilet lid while you dig through the cabinet for your first-aid kit. the one you bought specifically for nights like this.

“ven,” you say, and he stands. you position yourself in front of him, back against the sink, and he moves forward until he’s crowding your space. his hands find your hips automatically, fingers pressing through your thin soft baby phat sleep shorts, and you feel the slight tremor in them. he drops his forehead to your shoulder, breathing shaky against your neck.

“look at me,” you murmur, and when he lifts his head you get your first real look at the damage. the split in his lip is deep, gonna need butterfly strips. his eye’s not quite swollen shut but it sure is getting there. you wet a washcloth with warm water, start dabbing at the blood.

he hisses, fingers tightening on your hips. “fuck.”

“hey, hold still.” you work careful, one hand cupping his jaw to keep him steady. this close you can smell everything, his cologne that probably costs more than your textbooks, weed smoke clinging to his clothes, the metallic tang of blood, and underneath it all just him. that scent that makes your apartment feel less empty.

“who?” you ask, moving to clean the dried blood from his chin.

his jaw tenses under your palm. “doesn’t matter.”

“jay.” you press the cloth a little harder than necessary against his lip. he flinches. “who was it?”

long silence. his thumbs start rubbing little circles on your hip bones, nervous habit he probably doesn’t know he has. “danny.”

ah, his younger cousin, danny! the one who’s been talking shit ever since jensen started at ucla. the one who thinks higher education made him soft, forgot where he came from. “what’d he say?”

“same old shit. started with pops, how he’s working himself to death while i’m playing mr. college boy. then brought up some other shit. old shit.” his voice goes flat, distant. “motherfucker said i think i’m too good for the neighborhood now.”

you move to his knuckles next, taking his right hand gentle in both of yours. the damage here is bad, skin torn and raw, already swelling. you clean each knuckle careful, trying not to hurt him more than necessary.

“then what happened?”

“then i hit him.” he simply says, like it was a matter-of-fact. “kept hitting him ‘til his brother had to pull me off.”

your phone buzzes on the counter. you glance over, seeing a text from your abuela asking what time you’ll be there tomorrow for christmas. guilt hits like a punch to the stomach. dinner’s with your abuelo’s is sacred in your familia. been helping cook tamales all week, promised you’d help set up, all your cousins waiting to see you.

you look at jensen, at how he’s trying so hard to keep it together, jaw clenched tight against the pain. the way his hands shake just slightly on your hips. the lost look in his eyes he’s trying to hide.

fuck.

you pick up your phone, type a quick: ama, i’m so sorry i woke up sick. throwing up, con fever, y todo. don’t want to get anyone sick for christmas. ill swing by when i’m feeling better, i promise. love you.

the lie tastes bitter. tomorrow morning when your cousins ask where you were, when your abuela saves you a plate anyway because she knows you love her pozole, when your abuelo calls to check if you need anything; you will carry that guilt. but right now jensen’s breathing's gone unsteady and his hands are gripping your hips like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

“you didn’t have to do that shit, ma,” he says, watching you put the phone down. “go be with your family.”

“yeah, well.” you grab the antiseptic, warning him with a look before dabbing it on his knuckles. he sucks air through his teeth. “couldn’t exactly show up to christmas with them, knowing you’re here in my apartment looking the way you do.”

“coulda just sent me home.”

“you mean back to your parents where danny is probably still kicking it at?” you raise an eyebrow. “or that messy ass apartment of yours where all your homeboys stay at from time to time and trash it up?”

he doesn’t answer because you both know he’s got nowhere else to go tonight. that’s why he’s here. that’s always why he’s here.

you finish with his hands, carefully applying antibiotic ointment and wrapping the worst knuckles in gauze. move back to his face, using butterfly strips to close the split in his lip best you can. he watches you the whole time, those green bloodshot eyes tracking your every movement.

“there,” you say finally, stepping back to survey your work. “ looks like you’ll live, baby.”

“always do when you’re around,” he says, and fuck him for how soft his voice goes, how his hands pull you back against him like he can’t bare the thought of standing a few inches apart from you. you let him hold you for a moment, feel the tension slowly leaving his body. then you take his hand, lace your fingers through his busted ones careful of the bandages, and lead him out of your bathroom and back into the living room.

he collapses on your couch like his strings got cut, head tipping back against the cushions. you can see the exhaustion hitting him now that the adrenaline’s wearing off. purple shadows under his eyes, shoulders slumped. he pulls the blunt from behind his ear with his good hand, looks at you with a question.

you grab your lighter off the coffee table—the pink bic he always makes fun of—and spark it for him. he takes a long pull, holds it deep, then exhales slow. the smoke curls up toward your ceiling, immediately making your apartment smell like a dispensary. he then passes it to you.

the familiar ritual calms you both. back and forth in comfortable silence, your apartment growing hazy. you crack open a window even though it’s december, cold air mixing with smoke. but neither of cared. when it’s down to the filter he stubs it out in your ashtray, the one shaped like a cat your cousin got you as a joke.

the silence after is different. heavy with something. he turns his head on the cushion to look at you and his green eyes are dark, pupils blown from more than just the weed.

“c’mere, ma,” he says, and his voice has that edge to it. that hunger you’re so used to.

you know what happens next. know you should probably say no, go to your room to let him sleep on the couch, maintain some kind of boundary. but he’s looking at you like you’re salvation and damnation wrapped in one and you never could resist that look.

you swiftly move toward him and he immediately pulls you onto his lap, hands gripping your thighs as you straddle him. he buries his face in your neck, breathing deep. “fuck, i missed you, mamas,” he mumbles against your skin.

“you literally saw me three days ago, at that car show,” you remind him, but your hands are already in his hair, careful of the spiky frosted tips.

“three days too fuckin’ long.” he presses his lips to your pulse point, feels how it races for him. “you smell so fuckin’ good too. like... fuck, like that vanilla shit you always wear.”

the word makes your chest tight. like in some odd way you’re his safe place, his refuge. like he doesn’t just show up when he’s desperate and leave before sunrise. but his mouth is moving up your neck now, finding that spot behind your ear that makes you shiver, and any coherent thought you had becomes an afterthought.

he kisses you like he’s drowning and you’re his air. hungry and desperate with too much teeth. the split in his lip must hurt but he doesn’t seem to care, licking into your mouth like he’s trying to devour you. one hand tangles in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. the other slides down to your ass, pulling you against him so you can feel he’s already hard.

you kiss him back with everything you’ve got, all the worry when you saw him bleeding, all the anger at him for getting in fist fights, all the frustration at this thing between you that neither of you will name. your tongue slides against his and he groans, the sound vibrating through your chest.

“get up,” he growls against your mouth. “ahorita mismo.”

you climb off his lap and he’s immediately standing with you, pulling you down the hall. then pushing you back on your bed and follows you, covering your body with his. his weight presses you into the mattress and it feels like safety and danger all at once.

he strips efficiently and effortlessly, no patience for buttons or zippers. kicks off his air forces without untying them, shoving his 501s, and boxers off. the dickies shirt gets yanked open, buttons scattering across your floor. white pro club quickly pulled over his head and tossed onto the floor too.

his body’s a map of contradictions broad muscle because of genetics, old scars from growing up where he did, fresh bruises blooming across his ribs from tonight. the silver chain catches light as he moves, only thing he keeps on. then his hands are on you, tugging at your sleep shorts, your black tank top, throwing them somewhere behind him. he looks at you spread out beneath him and something fierce crosses his face.

“mamas, you’re so beautiful,” he mutters, hands skimming up your sides. “don’t know how you’re real sometimes.”

before you can respond he’s on you again, everywhere and at once. his mouth hot on your neck, your chest, anywhere he can reach. there’s no gentleness tonight—he needs this too much. needs to forget danny’s words, forget the blood, forget everything except your skin against his.

he works you open quick and rough with his fingers, watching your face as you gasp and arch. when he finally decides to slide himself inside your entrance it’s with a desperation that borders on violence, burying himself to the hilt in one thrust that punches the air from your lungs.

“shit—” he groans, dropping his forehead to yours. “fuckin’ perfect. every time.”

he sets a punishing pace immediately, hips snapping against yours hard enough to shake the bed frame. one hand grips your hip bruising tight while the other plants beside your head, taking his weight. the bandages on his knuckles are already spotted with blood from the movement but he doesn’t care.

you wrap your legs around his waist, meeting each thrust, nails digging into his shoulders. the only sounds are skin against skin, your gasps, his grunts, the protesting squeak of your mattress. he fucks like he fights. “turn over,” he demands suddenly, pulling out and manhandling you onto your stomach.

you get on hands and knees, already knowing what he wants. he’s behind you immediately, hands gripping your hips as he slides back in. the angle’s deeper like this, hitting spots that make you see stars.

“yeah, ma, mmm,” he groans, setting an even harder pace. “take it so fuckin’ good for me.”

his hands are everywhere, tangled in your hair pulling your head back, gripping your throat just hard enough, sliding down to grab your chest. like he can’t decide where he needs to touch most, like he wants all of you at once. the headboard bangs against the wall with each thrust, rhythmic and damning.

“jay,” you gasp when he hits a spot particularly deep.

“mhm, say it again.” his voice is wrecked. “say my name, mamas.”

you do, over and over, his name becoming a prayer and a curse as your orgasm builds. he feels you getting close, reaches around to touch you exactly how you need. you reach your orgasm with a loud choked cry, clamping down tightly around him, and he follows immediately. he groans broken and beautifully as he spills deep inside you, hips stuttering through aftershocks.

but knowing jensen, he’s not done.

he gives you maybe thirty seconds max to catch your breath before he’s pulling out of you, flipping you on your back again, dragging you to the edge of the bed. he stands between them and pushes back in, still hard because he’s twenty-two and full of stamina from all that pent-up anger from earlier.

new angle hits different, way deeper. he lifts up your hips in his hold, holding you exactly where he wants as he starts thrusting again. slower this time but somehow more intense, grinding deep on each thrust. one hand stays on your hip while the other slides up your body possessive.

“eyes up here,” he demands, and when you do his expression makes your heart race. stern and vulnerable all at once, like you’re the only thing holding him together. “i needed this. thank you, baby.”

he fucks you through another orgasm, then another, until you’re overstimulated and thighs are shaking. only then does he let himself go again, pulling out to spill across your stomach with a groan that sounds punched out of him.

after, he collapses next to you on the bed, both of you breathing hard, covered in sweat and his release. your bed’s a disaster, sheets tangled and damp, pillows thrown everywhere. you’re sure as hell gonna be sore tomorrow in places you forgot could be sore. he reaches out, pulls you against his chest despite the mess. you go willing, tucking yourself into his side. his arm wraps around you automatic, holding you close like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

“stay, please,” you whisper against his chest. just once you want him to still be here when you wake up.

he presses a kiss to the top of your head instead of answering. but his arm tightens around you and his breathing starts evening out and maybe that’s answer enough. you lie there listening to his heartbeat slow, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. the apartment’s quiet now except for distant sirens, someone’s music playing too loud down the hall. christmas lights from the building beside you paint patterns on your ceiling.

this isn’t how you pictured spending nochebuena. you should be at your grandparents’ house listening to your tío’s terrible jokes, helping your abuela hide the good tequila from your cousins, opening presents at midnight even though you’re too old for that tradition.

instead here you are with jensen’s blood under your nails and his cum drying on your skin and bruises in the shape of his fingers blooming on your hips. here with a boy who shows up broken and leaves you that way too, who says you take him so good but won’t call you his girl in broad daylight.

he shifts in his sleep, pulls you impossibly closer, mumbles something that might be your name. his face relaxes in sleep, looks younger without all that anger and damage weighing him down. almost innocent if you didnt know any better.

you trace the bruises on his ribs gentle as you can. wonder what would happen if he stayed. if you woke up together, had coffee, acted like normal people who care about each other instead of whatever this is. but morning always comes and he always leaves and you always let him.

through your window, you can hear kids shout that it’s midnight. christmas day now. somewhere your family’s toasting, hugging, being together.

you close your eyes, jensen’s heartbeat steady under your ear. maybe next year will be different. maybe next christmas you’ll wake up alone in your bed, no blood to clean, no lies to tell. maybe you’ll finally learn that some people only know how to love in the dark, only know how to be soft when they’re breaking.

but tonight he’s here, breathing deep and even, holding you like you matter. tomorrow you will deal with the guilt and the laundry and the inevitable empty bed.

tonight .. this is enough.

୨ৎ gatitareader ⫶ twenty two. natural campus flirt. stoner. 𝐔𝐂𝐋𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄. r&b princess. mac lip gloss. oldies por vida. hand tattoos. baby phat jeans. 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇 𝐂𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒. vigencita pendant. victoria’s secret sets. 𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒. soul tied with @ fuckboyjensen.

P*RNSTAR

the lights were bright and hot, even though the cameras hadn't started rolling yet. your co-star hadn't clocked into the studio yet, so you had to sit there at the makeup table, all hot and sweaty.

you’ve been in hair and makeup for the past hour, lounging around in a silk robe, sipping on a bottle of lukewarm water while the crew works around setting up.

you can hear the director muttering under his breath after about thirty minutes, grumbling about no "work ethic", before he announced that your co-star won't be clocking in today for the day.

"we've got the crew here, lights are ready, everything's in place. we just need.. someone." he says, with a pinch of his nose and an exhausted sigh.

that's when a production assistant, one of the newer ones you don’t even know by name yet, glances across the room, points casually, and says, "what about him?"

you follow his gaze, eyes falling on a tall, broad-shouldered guy whose flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves like he's just wandered in from a farm. his hair is a little too long, falling in his face. he doesn’t look like any actor you’ve ever seen in your time here. he looks.. normal. out of place and nervous as hell.

the production assistant claps his hands together like this is a game show and not, you know, a porn set. "alright, we'll make do. this is sam— he's done one shoot for us before. he's new, but he’s a quick study."

sam shifts from foot to foot, clearly wishing the ground would just swallow him whole. he mumbles, "uh.. hey,” in that gravelly, too-deep voice that doesn't match how uncertain his eyes look.

you smile automatically, but when you lean forward slightly— elbow on your knee, your robe slipping just a touch— his gaze flickers down. just for a split second. your silk robe had parted enough to show the soft swell of your breasts, a teasing glimpse that’s not supposed to mean anything to him yet.

sam's eyes snap back up immediately, like he's been caught stealing. his jaw is clenched slightly as though he’s trying to think of something polite to say and finding only static.

the producer rambles on about something like camera placement, oblivious to the little moment you just had.

"alright, you guys seem pretty good. we'll just start from the couch and go with the flow." the producer said, before looking to the crew. "does anyone have an extra copy of the script?"

sam stands beside you, stiff-backed like he doesn't know what to do with his massive frame. his hand rests on his thigh, tapping nervously. he looks more like a guy waiting for a job interview than about to have sex with you for the camera.

"remember," the producer says, "you're playing it like you just got off a long shift. you're exhausted. she wants to help you relax. simple."

sam nods once, jaw tight. the camera's red light blinks on.

the set quiets when the red light blinks on.

nate nation on july 16th if he doesn't get that goddamned emmy nomination