#Sam winchester one shot

[sleepyangelkami]

COSTUME s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.4K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 A/N - this is my first ever time writing about sucking dick, please be nice to me, i'll cry.

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you had to dress up as an FBI agent with the winchester brothers. you felt stupid in a costume but luckily for you, sam really liked seeing you in a skirt.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, oral(s!rec), no p!v sex, size kink, praise kink, fingering, slight manipulation, reader lowk flexible, cum eating, messy sex, squirting, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

"come on, y/n, we gotta go!" you heard dean's not so gentle knock against the bathroom door as you slipped on your last mary jane shoe.

you weren't usually chosen for tasks like this.

usually, it was the winchester boys that did all this kind of thing, you know, fraud? you were usually just the researcher, sitting in the motel room as back up, with a laptop perched on your lap or sitting in baby, the key inside and waiting to be their getaway car.

you weren't really hands on when it came to being a hunter.

you never really had to go out into the real world for much. but this particular demon was snatching girls, twenty something year old girls about your age and appearance. the brothers thought it would be best if another girl accompanied them when investigating the missing girls' roomates and not two six-foot men dressed in suits.

dean's head turned as the creaky bathroom door opened. "I feel stupid."

his eyebrows raised to the tips of his forehead, a look of shock passing over him as he cleared his throat with a breathy laugh. "wait 'til sammy sees you." you just gave him a confused look before grabbing the pretty pink purse that sat on the bed. "aah-ah." you look up at dean confused. "kind of ruins the whole FBI vibe, don't you think?"

you eyed the purse in your hands.

it was a little bag, hardly able to hold anything other than your phone and your lipgloss, not that you ever had to worry about holding your wallet when you had the boys around but nonetheless, a card was wedged in there too.

it was pink with darker pink flowers on it and a ribbon attached to the strap. sam had gotten it for you after a case that you worked particularly hard on.

but dean was right, it didn't fit the whole 'FBI vibe' so you sighed and placed it back on the bed, passing the man an unhappy glance.

sam was outside, sitting in the passenger seat of the infamous impala named 'baby' by dean. he'd packed and started the car, waiting for the two of you when you caught his eye.

or should he say, your outfit.

you often wore pretty little sundresses or blouses and skirts paired together with a pretty cardigan drawn over you. but this? This seemed awfully different to your usual attire.

the white blouse was a little too low for comfort and he could tell by the way you were pulling it up over your cleavage that you agreed. your black pencil skirt was high, too high with a pair of long black stockings that stopped just above your knees paired with the infamous mary janes that you wore with almost everything.

sam was staring.

"what are you wearing?" was the first thing he asked when you and dean got into the car. "what is she wearing?" he turned back to dean.

you owned the stockings and the mary janes before hand but the rest of the outfit? it'd been dean's job to pick it out (which was no wonder you looked like... that.) "dude, she has to play the part."

"yeah of an FBI agent not some sexy stripper cop." sam spoke, exasperated.

"thank you!" you beamed from the back seat before your eyes furrowed. perhaps your boyfriend hadn't been complimenting you at all.

sam passed you a glance through the mirror but was more focused on blaming his brother. how could he let you go out looking like that for everyone to see? how could he make sam watch you while his pants tightened and his bulge was on show?

you thought the interviews went smoothly. you sat down with most of the women. the college women who's roomates had gone missing. dean was too busy fraternizing with the college girls to care about the case anymore and sam... well sam had seemed a little distracted from the beginning.

he couldn't rip his eyes away from you. you sat so perfectly, pieces of hair falling into your face as you nodded and sympathised with the women, asking them questions and jotting down notes onto a little notepad you had found in the backseat of baby.

sam was staring at you, at the way he could see the outline of your boobs down your shirt or the way your plush thighs protruded from the fabric of your stockings.

he was in awe.

it was hard to focus on anything other than you, which is why he had to excuse himself to talk to the headmaster instead of being stuck in a room with you, too close.

he was your boyfriend, it wasn't as if you hadn't done things with him before. on the contrary, you did... many things with sam before. but this was borderline unprofessional, the way he let his thoughts run.

he could imagine sliding his hands beneath your skirt or listening to your little gasps when he touched your skin, barely grazing it. you were so easily led like that, so audible and obedient. he could imagine unbuttoning your shirt slowly, with you sat on his lap while whines fell from your lips, whimpers following shortly after.

he needed to stop thinking.

or better yet, he needed to fuck you until the thoughts stopped.

dean decided he was going to check out the last spot that the college girl had been taken, assuring you both that he wouldn't be back before dinner. but the wink he shot his younger brother told him that he was merely giving you both alone time because he was no stranger to the look in sam's eyes.

and this was when sam got selfish.

honestly, the motel wasn't that far from the college so you and sam opted to walk back. the air turned brisk and for a split second, sam was about to offer you his jacket, the way he always would.

he thought it was rather adorable, watching the way you nuzzled into the jacket that was far too big for your frame. he was six foot five after all, you drowned in anything he let you wear.

but he found himself feeling selfish. he selfishly liked the way your perky breasts looked in that pretty blouse and the way your plush thighs could be seen peeking out from between the skirt and the stockings. he couldn't stop looking, couldn't tear his eyes away and stop his imagination from roaming.

so he let you walk back to the hotel, keeping a slight distance behind you so he could watch your body as he pleased, the only sound between you two being the click-clop of your mary jane heels as you walked home.

when you finally got inside, you felt yourself sigh in thought.

sam had been acting awfully quiet since you'd left and you'd begun to worry that you'd done something to upset him.

perhaps the outfit was too revealing, perhaps he wasn't okay with it.

you turned, an apology already on the tip of your lips. "sam―"

before you could utter the words, sam had grabbed you. his lips pushed into your own, a kiss filled with no passion or love, you could taste nothing aside from thick hunger, half a growl from inside his throat.

you whimpered into the kiss, taken by surprise. you felt him grab at you, one hand slid up your back, the other grabbing the back of your head and a fistful of hair along with it. again, a noise escaped you while sam was mindlessly kicking off his shoes, guiding you towards the bed.

to say you were surprised was saying the least, you hadn't expected this.

when he sat you gently against the bed, he finally broke the kiss. you looked up at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips while he tugged his suit jacket off, not bothering to take off his tie completely but only loosen it so it didn't hang so close to his neck. perhaps now he could finally breathe.

your eyes followed him curiously as he bent down, eyes never leaving yours while you stayed sitting on the mattress. you felt his hands pawing at your legs, slipping your mary janes from your feet. his hands gently rubbed at your sock-covered feet, a little reminder of his gentleness, despite the roughness he was suddenly using on you.

his fingers trailed upwards, following the little sewing thread between the fabric of your stockings. when his hands reached the top, he snapped the fabric back, leaving it snap against your thighs. "you're keeping these on." he uttered, he didn't sound like he normally did. he sounded as if he were pent up, desperate for relief. and he was.

you just couldn't seem to understand why.

"sam, why are you―"

you were cut off. "you're jus' so pretty all dressed up, honey." sam was towering over you as he stood, his large hand falling on your face, practically taking up a whole cheek as he cupped it. "'n i was hard all day thinkin' about this. you do wanna make me feel good, don't you, sweetheart?"

he watched as your eyes seemingly got rounder. "i wanna make you feel good, sammy." you caught your bottom lip between your top teeth and he could tell you were being honest, so honest.

willing to do anything to make him feel good, his sweet sweet girl. he would have cooed at you had he not been busy using his thumb to pull your bottom lip from beneath your top teeth. "don't do that, baby." he watched as you nodded silently. "good girl, i'll give you something to wrap those pretty lips around, don't worry."

he could see your face slowly building a flush, that kind of blush that had him reeling. he liked when he got you like this, all flustered and squirming. which you were, squirming in your seat with your thighs pushing together.

sam was well aware that if he were to reach up your skirt now, he would find a little wet circle sitting on your satin panties.

but instead, he used his hands to pull his own trousers from him. they were sitting tightly on his hips and when he finally pulled them down, you could see his bulge sticking out from his black boxers.

you gulped, hands playing together in your lap. you wanted to look back up at sam but you couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from him, too engrossed by his dick to think of anything else.

"'s how i felt all day, sweetheart." his voice was a whisper now. "you were teasin' me 'n i couldn't do anything about it. do you know how mean that is?"

your eyes snapped up to his, filling with this red glassiness. "w-what?" you didn't want to be mean to sam. he was so good to you, always making you feel good, you wanted nothing more than to be good to him. "'m sorry sammy, 'm really sorry."

"awh, i know, baby." his thumb swiped against your cheek, playing around with your face as if you were dough, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "you just wanna be my good girl, yeah?"

you nodded quickly. "mmhm, wanna be your good girl, sammy, 'm sorry. 'm really sorry."

"i don't know, you were very bad today." his constant teasing as only making your panties wetter, that tone he was using on you, the one that he knew got you all flustered. "if i give you a second chance, are you gonna be good?"

"uh-huh, 'be so good, sammy, i promise. please, ill be good." you were begging now, eyes as big as saucers and lips wet.

he didn't bother pretending to think about it, he just leaned down, so far that his face was in line with yours, lips against your ear as he softly whispered the words, "then get onto your knee's 'n show me."

when sam winchester told you to do something, you did it, no questions asked.

you'd touched him like this many times before, you on your hands and knees on the mattress while he stood on the ground. he thought it was the most comfortable spot for the both of you, seeing as he was so big.

you did as you were told, moving so you were on your hands and knees against the mattress. your hands moved up to his waist, eyes snapping to his. he watched you intently as you brought your lips to his clothed cock, pressing a pretty kiss against it before using your fingers to pull down his underwear.

you did it without fail every single time.

every time he had you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, you started off with that pretty kiss to his boxers. there was something sickly sweet about it that had his eyes already rolling backwards. it was almost an innocent and naive act of love towards him, laced with lust.

you were on just your knees now, pushing his boxers down with no help from him. his dick sprung free and you could see an idle line of precum dripping down his shaft. instinctively, your hand moved up, thumb swiping the precum and smoothing it over the head of his dick. the act alone caused a grunt to leave his lips.

as pretty as you looked, all curious and ready to take your time, sam simply wasn't having it tonight.

he was too pent up from your silly outfit and his own mindless thoughts that he couldn't help it.

his hand fell to the side of your head, cupping it as he guided it forward. you knew what he was asking and you wasted no time in sticking out your tongue and licking a kitten lick up his shaft.

"fuck," fell from his lips. "good girl." mumbling as your tongue swirled over his head and your mouth wrapped around his dick. sam was a huge man and his dick was no exception to that. he was huge, too big to fit in your mouth but you pushed him in anyway, only covering a little more than half.

sam knew he was big too, he couldn't help the quirk of his lips as he looked down at you, struggling to fit his size into your mouth. his hand slowly guided your head further onto his cock, letting your lips wrap around him completely, your saliva coating him. it wasn't until you gagged that he knew this was as far as you could go.

so he pushed you a little further, anyway.

you brought your head back out then in again, bobbing it as you tongue swirled against him. you were no stranger to sucking sam off but every time you did it, you found yourself getting nervous. you wanted to be good for him and you were doing your upmost best.

his pretty thing.

"fuck, baby, you're doin' so good f'me." and sam knew exactly what effect his words would have on you. "mmph, look so pretty with your lips around my dick, sweetheart."

you couldn't help but moan on his dick.

and his lips quirked into that sickly sweet smile.

he knew how easily you got wet, how all it took was just a few words and you were a moaning, whining mess. sam thought you deserved a little more for all you were giving him than just a little praise.

and like said before, sam was huge so he reached over, his torso towering a little above your head and his arm reached out, soothing down your lower back.

this wasn't the first time sam had pulled something like this. you knew what to do, stomach sinking onto the bed as you rolled your ass into nothingness, wanting to create some kind of friction while your mouth continued to slowly melt around him, licking and sucking, eyes closed as one hand pumped the part of his dick that your mouth couldn't reach.

you felt his fingers tracing the outline of your satin underwear, pulling up your skirt so he could gain access.

you made a noise of complaint, knowing that if he touched you, you wouldn't be able to focus properly on touching him. sam only used his free hand to push your head onto his dick and make you gag again.

he liked watching you fall apart, especially with his dick stuffed in your mouth.

he loved watching the way your body had to bend for him to be able to stick his fingers into your gaping whole, watching as you desperately rolled your hips, wanting him him him. you wanted to feel him. taste him. smell him. he was all consuming, you wanted him to take over your every sense.

and he always did, without complaint.

you were wet, undeniably so, he could feel it through the satin material that he pulled back, getting access to your aching pussy. "there you go, sweetheart, tha's it." while easing two fingers into your hole.

you felt like a slut.

he had you completely and utterly full.

"'s that nice, baby? y'feel so warm." both with your mouth against his dick and your soaking wet hole. "you're so pretty for me, you know that, angel?"

he knew you couldn't respond, only whining and whimpering against his throbbing cock. "you're my good girl, aren't you?" he felt you whine, vibrations spreading through him and he also felt your pussy squeeze against his fingers. he grinned at that. "you like that, honey? like thinkin' about how you're my good girl, yeah? all mine, baby, you're all mine."

and you really were. before sam, you wouldn't look at a boy sideways let alone be like this.

you groaned into him, ass rolling against his fingers while your own free hand moved down. you continued sucking his dick while using your nimble fingers to play with your clit.

and that was enough for sam to let out a moan. "oh, baby, you look so pretty playing with yourself while―shit―sucking my cock."

your eyes rolled back, feeling of pleasure coating you while your soft lips bobbed up and down, fingers tracing him and yourself.

"'m gonna cum, sweetheart." a warning, though he knew you wouldn't move anyway. "you gonna be a good girl 'n cum on my fingers while you suck my cock, huh, baby?"

he felt you absentmindedly nod, too fucked out to think straight while feeling a familiar knot deep in your stomach.

your whines got louder and he felt himself nearing the edge. the sight of you, blissed out while sucking his cock, his fingers stuffed into your hole making you feel all full... he couldn't help but let go.

at the same time, he felt your gummy walls clenching around his fingers, wet juices sliding down his hand while spurts of squirt left your pussy every time his fingers pumped in and out of you, riding out your high.

"good girl, good girl. that's it, baby. oh fuck. yeah, my good girl. there you go." he was in awe, watching you squirt around his fingers, the wet feeling as it spurted out from your pussy, decorating the bedsheets in your juices while your pretty socks got ruined in the mess.

when he finally finished, he pulled his fingers out of you, letting you lean back as you parted your lips to show him his cum all over your tongue, spread messily in your mouth.

his hand was on your face, eyes strained on your mouth as he watched you close your lips and swallow like the good girl you were, swiping his thumb against your bottom lip.

he pushed his two fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. while your eyes rolled back, all fucked out and dumb.

"think we have some time before dean gets back, yeah?" eyes already scanning your body and letting his imagination get the better of him.

he just watched your blissed out face nod, cheeks flushed. "mmhm hmph."

he wasn't done with you just yet.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

[5sospenguinqueen]

(Y/N and Dean stare out of the motel window)

Sam: What’re you guys doing?

Dean: TV doesn’t work.

Y/N: So, we’re watching the couple in the car park break up.

[saltcxrcle]

meddle about ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: you have a date night with sam and he gets tipsy (and horny)

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, no use of 'y/n', porn with very little plot, fluff, mentions of drinking, tipsy reader and sam, smut, oral fem! receiving, unprotected p in v sex, a sprinkle of a praise kink, aftercare, title is a chase atlantic song of the same name, kinda edited; all mistakes are my own word count: 1.7K a/n: i just need to have tipsy sex with sam RN, this was inspired by an ask blondie (@ohsc ugh i miss them dearly T-T) sent me a while back but i was reminded of it recently and decided that i needed to write it. lowkey sped run writing this bc intended it to be a blurb but i love to yap so enjoy the one shot! sam winchester masterlist

SAM USUALLY DOESN’T drink a lot, preferring to stay level-headed and coherent enough to watch out for you and Dean when the three of you go out. There are times when he indulges himself after a successful hunt and gets tipsy, but he is usually sobered up by the end of the night. 

Tonight was different though; the two of you had a date night, which was far and in between considering how often the three of you went out on hunts across the country. But lately, monster appearances were scarce, and other hunters were sent to take care of them. But you were starting to get stir-crazy within the bunker. So Sam took the two of you out on a nice dinner date, having gotten a reservation at one of the nicer restaurants in Lebanon.  

The both of you indulged in the drinks that the restaurant was serving, having copious amounts of wine—which always managed to make Sam a giggly and a happy drunk, his cheeks flushed and a dopey smile on his face. 

You were the one who drove back to the bunker since instead of having one last glass like Sam did, you had some water instead, sobering you up quite a bit. You were glad to see that Sam was letting loose for once and that the tension that he always held in his shoulders had dissipated. But once you got back to the bunker, Sam clung onto you and peppered kisses on your face and neck, stopping the two of you from heading to your room by pinning you against the cool walls of the bunker and pulling you into multiple small makeout sessions. 

You laughed against his lips at his sloppy kisses—they were usually more coordinated and precise. But tipsy Sam was eager and uncaring, but his kisses never lacked passion, whether it was a slow and sweet kiss or a lustful and dirty kiss. 

You managed to finally make it to your shared room with your boyfriend. You weren’t as tipsy as Sam, but you had a pleasant buzz thrumming through you, and you could feel that your face was flush with warmth (or it might have been from how Sam cupped your face in his hands as he pushed you against the wall and kissed you). 

Sam’s hands were on your hips and backing you up until you fell on the soft sheets of the bed. He all but collapsed on top of you, catching himself before he could hurt you with his broad frame. You let out a small laugh, Sam smiling widely at the sound, and you saw the amusement and desire shine in his hazel gaze as he looked down at you. 

“What?” You asked with a smile on your face as you cocked your head to the side slightly as you looked up at the man hovering over you. 

One of his hands came up to caress your cheek. “You’re beautiful. Just can’t believe that you’re mine.” Sam’s words were slightly slurred, but his tone was filled with reverence and adoration. 

“M’all yours.” You said with a breathy smile. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you, his body slotting in between your open legs. “Love you Sammy.” 

“Love you too, honey.” Sam placed his lips against your slightly swollen ones, the feeling of love and desire washing over you as his soft lips moved against yours. He tasted like the sweet wine the two of you were drinking earlier and something you could only describe as distinctly Sam. 

The kiss slowly turned hotter and passionate, Sam’s tongue swiping at the seam of your lips before delving into it and sliding his tongue against yours in a sensual dance. Sam started to rut against you—his jean-covered bulge rubbing against your covered core sent sparks of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t enough, and he could tell. 

Sam broke the kiss, and you didn’t realize that you needed to breathe until you almost gasped for air. However, he was relentless with his kisses, trailing them down your jaw and neck. He nipped and sucked at your neck, marking you up as his hands went to the hem of the dress you were wearing for the date and started to lift it higher on your thighs. 

Sam made quick work of your dress, leaving you in only your underwear in front of him and let out a low groan at the sight of your bare chest. Before he could do anything, you sat up and tugged at the button-up shirt that was driving you crazy all night. It was a simple, crisp white button-up (no doubt from one of his fed getups), but the kicker was that he had rolled them up to the crook of his elbow, exposing the tanned skin of his forearms that never failed to make you salivate over them. You had a hard time focusing on him when all you wanted was to stare at his arms all night.

You managed to get all of the buttons undone before Sam’s hands landed on your shoulders and pushed you back on the bed, making a startled laugh escape your lips before it turned into a soft moan, feeling Sam nip at the smooth skin of your inner thighs as his hands trailed up your legs and thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as his deft fingers found the hem of your soaked underwear. 

Sam’s eyes were honed in on the wet patch of your underwear before leaning in and pressing a sloppy kiss against it, making you jolt from the sudden contact before you heard a rip of fabric. You opened your mouth to chastise Sam for ruining another pair of underwear, but all that came out was a moan of his name as Sam’s dexterous tongue began to lave and lick at your weeping cunt. 

“Taste s’good, baby.” Sam’s words were mumbled into your skin, sending vibrations through you and adding to the already rising heat of pleasure running through you. 

Sam ate you out messily, uncaring of the slick covering his nose, lips, and chin as he drank in your arousal. Your hands were wound in his hair, pulling at it slightly and grinding into his face, chasing your high. 

You could feel sweat coat your body as Sam worked over your heated cunt. You came with a shout as pleasure shot through you and clenched around nothing as Sam kept his lips wrapped around your sensitive clit, sucking on it softly, working you through your orgasm. 

When you came to your senses and calmed down from your high, Sam was in the process of stripping off his jeans, his shirt long gone, and you stared at his bare torso. His sun-kissed skin was littered with scars, some big, some small, and the black ink of his tattoo stood out on his chest. 

“See something you like?” Sam teased as a sly smile grew on his face as he stroked his hard cock. 

You bit your bottom lip. “Yeah, you.” 

Sam let out a small chuckle before getting back on the bed, making you shift up to the pillows as Sam crawled up and over your body. 

There was still a haze over his eyes, but it mainly was lust rather than the haze of inebriation. Sam dipped his head down to kiss you deeply as his bare cock rutted against your slightly sensitive core. 

A groan left Sam’s lips as your tight cunt stretched around his cock. “Fuck, you’re so tight honey.” 

A whine escaped you at the feeling of Sam’s cock filling you up to the brim. The two of you panted into each other’s mouths; the feeling of one another was overwhelming—the air was buzzing with lust and thirst for one another. 

Another whine left you as Sam began to move slowly, pulling out until his tip was the only thing inside of you before pushing back in with a sharp thrust. From there, Sam started to pound into you with reckless abandon; his thrusts were unrelenting as he let his inhibitions run rampant—no longer clouded by rational thought. 

“You feel so good around me– fuck– such a good girl f’me.” Sam groaned out before pulling you into a kiss that was mostly teeth and tongue as he continued to fuck you into the mattress, the headboard thumping against the wall of your bedroom. 

A symphony of moans and groans filled the room alongside the sound of Sam’s skin hitting your flesh. You and Sam ran on your basic instincts and the urge to reach and fulfill your unrestrained desires for one another.

Both of you were unaware of how loud the two of you were being as Sam slammed into you. You were scratching at Sam’s back as his head was buried in the crook of your neck, biting and continuing his work of marking you up— red and purple bruises already blooming in the spots he had already nipped at. 

“My pretty girl, can’t get enough of you. So amazing. Love you so much baby.” Sam’s voice was thick with lust as he murmured praises in your skin and ear. 

He managed to wind one of his hands in between the two of you, Sam’s thumb swirling circles into your clit as he shifted his hips slightly and started to hit your g-spot with every thrust. 

“Gon-gonna cum.” You whined out feeling the heat in your core bloom brighter and hotter. 

“Yeah? Be a good girl and come around my cock.” Sam’s commanding tone made you clench harder around him, a low grunt coming from him as his hips stuttered slightly at the sensation of you wrapped tightly around him. 

Sam pressed down on your clit harder and you came with a sharp cry, your cunt contracting around his thick cock, triggering his own release as he shoved himself inside of you and let his cum fill you up even further.

The two of you stayed connected for a while as the two of you came down from your highs. Sam pulled out his softening cock, a whimper leaving your lips at the sensation of being empty. Sam made his way to the on-suite bathroom and used warm water to wet a hand towel. He quickly cleans you up and then himself up before maneuvering your tired and pliant body underneath the covers—tucking you into his side before falling asleep, uncaring of how he would probably wake up with a slight headache in the morning. 

[studiogrimm810]

Not Good For You

pairings/characters: sam winchester x gn!you, dean is barely there

summary: when sam realizes his feelings for you he gets scared and distances himself from you and you confront him about it

warnings: sexual tension, light make-out scene, self doubt

word count: 2,682

A/N: i'm thinking of doing a part two as a follow up smut scene, currently undecided but i would love to hear your thoughts!!

(edit: i made a part 2!! Good Enough)

———————

The three of you had just gotten back from the police station. The boys had used their FBI badges to get information on some disappearances around town and Sam was confident enough that he had enough information to research what they would be hunting. Dean led the way into the motel room and quickly shed off his jacket and loosened his tie. Sam followed suit, rolling up his sleeves before grabbing his computer bag and sitting at the table provided in the motel's kitchenette.

Sam calls out your name, “do you wanna help?” He asks with a small, warm smile and gesturing to a chair across from him.

“‘Course,” you go grab your own bag and pull out your laptop and notebook. You settle in across from Sam and look up to see Dean flipping through the notes that Sam made.

“I’m really thinking it’s a witch. God, I hate witches,” Dean grumbles, setting the notes back down in front of Sam.

“I’m sure you’re right, but we need to figure out its motive and pattern,” Sam sets his chin in his hand, scrolling through his laptop. You grab Sam's notes and flip through the small pages, getting a glimpse over the information.

You start your research and Dean makes a few more phone calls. Every few minutes or so, you catch Sam looking at you and you give him a small smile but he just looks back down at his laptop.

Your recent relationship with Sam has been a bit tense. When you met the brothers a year or so ago, you started to team up every now and again with them when you were working the same case, but for the past few weeks you had followed them on the road from town to town. You three worked together like a well-oiled machine and you honestly wouldn’t pass up spending more time with Sam who had become a dear friend. Although, this is the fourth case in a row you’ve worked together and it seems like Sam has been getting quieter and quieter the more you’re in his presence.

Dean, however, had been ecstatic. He very much enjoyed your company and kept asking for your help with new hunts. You wondered if this was something he ever thought to run by Sam first.

It was odd, usually there was this spark between you and Sam, you had gotten along beautifully and became quite a good team. Sam seemed to enjoy the hours of research you’d help with and the extra set of eyes to witness and make fun of Dean and his dad-humor.

There had also been this current between you two- electric and heated.

Or maybe you just imagined it.

Because the way Sam was acting now was as if you two were just stuck together for a class assignment.

And it was starting to really piss you off.

An hour or so passes before Dean mentioned getting food and left to order takeout from somewhere.

Sam had undone a few of his buttons and completely discarded his tie by now, and his hair was a little messy from how often he had been running his hands through it. The sun was starting to set and you decided to be done with research because the glare of the sun on your screen was giving you a headache. Sam's head popped up for a moment to watch your hands close the lid but he darted his look back to his own screen.

“Are you okay?” You finally blurt out, looking at him with furrowed brows and a mixed look of confusion and little hurt. His head pops back up for a moment, a little taken back. The way his mouth moves nervously and eyes leave your face makes you think he knows that you’ve picked up on his behavior.

“I’m fine,” he smiles with a small nod, unconvincingly. You sigh softly and look down for a moment before speaking again.

“I think after this hunt I’m gonna head west for a while, check out the coast,” you say, stacking your notebook and laptop to shove it back in your bag. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his face soften into his trademark puppy-dog look but he quickly fixes his face and just nods.

“Okay, yeah,” he clears his throat and closes the lid of his laptop. It’s awkward for a moment. Your hands still hold your bag as you’re leaning over from putting away your items, stuck for a moment to decide what you’re gonna do next. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been tired,” he adds, you can tell he really is sorry, but he’s still lying. 

You drop your hold on your bag and straighten your posture again. “That’s not it,” you state, wanting him to just admit whatever it is that’s going on. “You’re different and I don’t like it,” you continue, looking over his face for a reaction. He swallows and looks down, he’s thinking something deeper, clearer, but he won’t admit it. “Just tell me what’s wrong, please,” you push, knowing- hoping that he will just give in.

It’s quiet for a moment or two before he speaks again. “I think I’m just a bit burnt out from the job,” he says, packing away his own study items in his bag and standing to walk to his bed. You stand with him.

“Sam- don’t bullshit me, I know you,” you scoff, following him. He sets his bag down and spins around to you.

“You don’t know me and I don’t have to tell you everything,” he defends, “You're just a friend helping us out with a few cases, I don’t owe you anything,” he bites, you can tell his heart is pounding from the way his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. You take a step back, not used to this behavior from Sam.

You don’t know what to say. His words cut through your chest like a knife and you feel furious. You look over his face for any hint of an explanation for this behavior because you had never seen him like this before, he had always openly and readily shared his thoughts or feelings. The both of you have had numerous meaningful conversations in the past so you don't understand why he’s lashing out like this.

“Sam-“ you’re at a loss for words, hurt by his outburst, you’re not sure if you should give into your own anger and argue back or try to stay calm and talk him down. Sam lets out a huff of heavy air, closing his eyes and letting his shoulders slump. He runs a hand through his still messy hair. You try to ignore the way his hair, worn-in shirt, and panting frustration make him look and really, if his anger wasn’t directed at you, it would be a lot harder to contain your thoughts.

“Sam, you can talk to me,” you settle for calm coaxing, knowing your own burst of anger won’t help anybody right now. He turns to pace to the other side of the motel room, you just watch him. You can tell he’s trying to gather his thoughts which seem to be spilled everywhere like an annoying red wine, staining his mind- overcoming him completely. He stops for a moment and you can tell he’s just about come up with something to say.

“It’s complicated,” he sounds so defeated as he follows his words with your name, addressing you completely as his eyes meet your own. You would never understand how such a tall, broad, strong man could sometimes look so beautifully pitiful when overwhelmed with emotion just as he is now. Somehow, even when having a good difference of height over you, he’s found a way to look up at you.

“Take your time,” you say without missing a beat, trying to reassure him that you’re there for him. He’s quiet again and for a second his eyes dip down to your lips or neck, or maybe both. You take a few steps closer, showing him again that you’re here for him. “Something is up with you and I just want to help. Is it me? I know I’ve been around a lot lately and-“

“No, no. It’s not you,” he takes an instinctive step forward, “you’re never the problem.” He shakes his head softly, his gaze has altered slowly over the past few moments and now he’s looking back down on you, a look you’re more used to seeing from him. He’s gathered himself again- well, his confidence at least- because his hand reaches up in a gentle fist to let his thumb caress your cheek.

You’re stunned for a moment, not used to such a ginger and intimate touch from him. Your brows furrow slightly and you tilt your head, not meaning to lean into his hold more but not complaining.

His eyes search your face again and this time you can discern when he’s looking at your lips or neck or eyes. There’s a triad of emotion going on in his eyes but you don’t think you could list which three. They’ve clouded his vision and absorbed the previous stain, funneling it all through to his own lips but instead of speaking, he swiftly opens the span of his fist to hook his fingertips at the catch of your neck and pull you up to him. You’re so taken off guard at the quick movement that you stumble but his other hand is quick to press to your lower back and steady you against his hold, engulfing you completely.

Your hands were lifted in surprise but now idle as you melt into him, letting him support your balance fully. His hand slips back a bit into your hair and ever so slightly twists around a strand. The taste of him alone is enough to short-circuit your mind but the independent touches of his hands on your body and his chest pressed to yours make you weak.

He’s giving his all into this kiss- the good, the bad, the anger and the pain.

As your lips unlock you hold back a whine of discontent and he rests his forehead on yours, caressing your cheek with his thumb and his eyes still closed.

He’s so warm, all you can really focus on is how warm he is.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his face overlaid with pain. You pull back enough to look up at him.

“Why are you apologizing?” You ask, still a little dizzy and probably a lot flushed.

“I can’t do this to you,” he mutters and lets go of you completely, taking a step back. Cold air quickly wraps around you and you really want him to hold you again.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, taking a step closer to him but he matches your dance and backs up in sync and that hurts. “Sam-” you call softly, trying to get him to look at you again.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair again. “I can’t do this to you,” he scoffs as if seeing himself as a joke. He sits on the edge of his bed and you just stand for a minute, completely confused.

“Talk to me, Sam,” you plead softly, sitting beside him and you’re relieved when he doesn’t move away or tense up.

“I can’t do this to you,” he repeats and the tone in his voice makes it seem like he thinks it will answer all of your questions if he says it enough.

“Do what?” You push.

“I just can’t,” his eyes squeeze closed in ignorant pain, trying to avoid your gaze and forget everything he’s feeling, “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not good for you,” he scoffs out again, finding dry humor in his own misery, “and I can’t be selfish with you. The life you and I live is dangerous, but together it’s damn near suicidal. I can’t do that to you, I can’t put you in danger- I’m not safe for you,” he says, voice thick with emotion and packed with a thousand more unspoken words- words that quite frankly wouldn’t do him justice. “I’m so sorry.” He peppers your name a few times through his raw explanation and each time he addresses you it makes your stomach flutter and refills the rosy flush on your cheeks. Honestly, you could smack him for kissing you like that just to apologize and speak of it as if it were a mistake.

“How long have you felt like this?” His admittance of feelings for you makes complete sense when paired with his distancing from you, as much as you hate to admit, you understand.

“I’ve always known I’m bad for the people around me,” his words break your heart, he really thinks that? “I’ve accepted that but I can’t let you get caught up in our mess,” he means Dean too.

“Sam, everyone has a mess, and you are not bad for the people around you,” you state, believing every word. He shakes his head with a small scoff, immediately brushing you off. “No, Sam, listen to me,” you grab his hand and squeeze it gently, his eyes drag to your grip and his face softens. “You are good. You are kind and generous and you have a good heart and good intentions. You aren’t bad for the people around you, you protect and love and care for your people and it shows,” you can tell he’s listening to and battling your words in his wine-stained mind, a mess you can’t even imagine, “I know that the life we lead isn’t a damn picnic and I also know that maybe it isn’t the smartest idea but what I do know is that if we have a chance to make ourselves happier then we’re idiots if we give that up.”

You let him absorb every thought at his own pace, the quiet like a blanket of comfort for you both.

He finally looks back up at you, every inch of his face showcasing the internal battle he’s having with himself.

“This isn’t smart,” he agrees with a small shake of his head, his eyes betraying him as they dip back down to your lips, hungry and needy. Fucking needy.

“We don’t always have to be, Sam,” you challenge softly, hoping to god that he’ll just give in and hold you and kiss you like that again.

His chest heaves softly, already panting- so fucking needy. The glint in his eyes show what you might as well call fear- of losing you and of having you.

His free hand grabs your chin gently but forcefully leads you to him, his warm lips taking yours again in a soft, sweet, terrifying battle of what-if’s and worst-cases. You grip his hand tighter and use the leverage to climb over top of him to get a batter angle, straddling his lap. His hands land on your hips and his fingers dig just enough to make you tremble at his grip. One hand remains as the other runs up your back and into your hair again, more forceful than your first kiss and way more intoxicating.

Your hands cup his jaw, guiding him along with your lips. He gets to guide your bodies, pressed close and sensual, but when it comes to his sweet mouth you take lead. You can tell your own forcefulness on him makes him feel weak by the sounds that escaped his and your collided lips.

He pulls back for a moment to get a good look at you, hair messy, lips puffy and cheeks flushed. He quickly lifts you and places you on your back on the bed. “I warned you,” he murmured, crawling back over you and letting his hand cup your neck again- a ghost of his previous hold.

To be fair, he really did warn you.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[writtenbysprout]

The Quiet Ache | Sam Winchester x reader

Word count: 4.5k+

Pairings: Sam Winchester x reader

tags: pining, yearning, tooth rotting fluff

Prequal to The Heated Confession

The bunker was unusually still, its halls wrapped in a silence that felt heavy yet comforting, like a well-worn blanket on a cold night. The only sounds were the faint hum of the electrical systems and the occasional creak of old pipes—a symphony of small, familiar noises that made the sprawling space feel almost alive.

In the library, the soft glow of a desk lamp spilled over the room, pooling across the scratched wood of the table and the spines of worn books stacked in uneven piles. You were curled up in one of the oversized armchairs, your legs tucked beneath you, a knit blanket draped loosely over your shoulders. A steaming mug of tea sat on the table beside you, wisps of chamomile-scented steam curling lazily into the air, forgotten as you lost yourself in the book balanced on your lap.

Your face was serene, your eyes scanning the pages with an intensity that made the rest of the world fade away. Every so often, your brow would furrow slightly, or the corners of your lips would curve into a faint smile, as if the story had drawn you in so deeply that even your expressions danced along with its rhythm.

Across the room, Sam sat at the long wooden table, his laptop open in front of him. Its faint blue glow illuminated a collection of untouched case files, the cursor blinking in the empty search bar. He was supposed to be working, but his mind had long since wandered.

Leaning back in his chair, arms folded loosely across his chest, he let his gaze settle on you.

You weren’t doing anything remarkable, not in the grand sense. You were simply there, existing, caught up in your own quiet world. But to Sam, it was enough to hold him captive.

The way the soft light cast warm shadows across your face. The way you absently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, only for it to fall loose again. The way the blanket slipped from your shoulder, and you tugged it back into place without looking away from your book.

Sam felt his chest tighten.

For years, the bunker had been a place of practicality—an armory, a fortress, a safe haven built for survival. Comfort had always been secondary, a luxury he barely allowed himself to consider. But tonight, it felt different. Tonight, it felt like home.

And he knew it wasn’t the walls or the quiet that made it so. It was you.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your position in the chair. The blanket rustled faintly, breaking the silence, and for a moment, Sam wondered if you could feel his gaze. But you didn’t look up. Instead, you reached for your mug, fingers curling around the handle as you took a slow sip. The faintest smile touched your lips, as if the tea had brought you some small, private comfort.

Sam exhaled softly, the sound barely audible in the stillness.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, watching you, letting the moment stretch out. It felt fragile, like glass—something that might shatter if he moved too suddenly or spoke too loudly. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

You turned a page in your book, your fingers brushing the edge with an absentminded care, and Sam’s lips quirked into a small, private smile of his own.

If he could, he’d freeze this moment, hold onto it forever. No monsters, no hunts, no danger waiting in the shadows. Just you, wrapped in soft light and quiet, the picture of peace.

Crickets chirped in the grass, their song weaving with the soft rustle of leaves in the cool evening breeze. A campfire crackled in front of you, casting flickering orange light across the clearing.

You were sitting cross-legged on a worn blanket, a mug of cocoa cradled in your hands. The fire’s warmth kissed your skin, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the chill entirely, so you’d wrapped yourself in Sam’s flannel jacket. It was oversized on you, the sleeves rolled up clumsily, but the fabric carried his scent—earthy and clean, with a faint trace of soap.

Sam sat a few feet away, leaning back against a fallen log. His long legs were stretched out toward the fire, his hands resting loosely on his knees. He wasn’t cold—his sturdy jacket and natural warmth saw to that—but he still glanced at you every so often, as if to make sure you weren’t freezing.

The quiet between you wasn’t awkward. It rarely was. Instead, it felt like a shared understanding, a mutual appreciation for the calm that neither of you got to experience often enough.

Sam tilted his head back, gazing at the stars scattered across the sky. Out here, away from the bunker’s endless hum and the glow of artificial light, the constellations were bright and vivid. It was the kind of view he imagined people spent their whole lives chasing.

But his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You were staring into the fire, your face illuminated by its soft glow. Every flicker of the flames seemed to paint you differently—gentle one moment, fierce the next. You tucked your knees up under your chin, holding the mug close as if trying to draw every ounce of warmth from it.

Sam’s chest tightened.

There was something grounding about you, something that made everything else fade away. He could be drowning in the chaos of their life—monsters, hunts, and memories that refused to stay buried—and yet one look at you, one shared moment, was enough to steady him.

Do you know? he wondered, the thought circling back like it always did. Do you know what you do to me?

He noticed it all.

The way you blew gently on the cocoa before taking a sip, your breath visible in the crisp night air. The way you smiled softly, almost to yourself, when the fire popped and sparked like it was trying to impress you. The way his flannel looked on you, too big and comically loose, but somehow perfect.

It wasn’t the first time you’d borrowed something of his. A hoodie when it was cold in the bunker. A pair of gloves when your own had worn thin. He didn’t know if you realized it, but every time you returned them, he found himself hesitating before washing them. There was always a lingering trace of you—your warmth, your scent—and it felt like letting go of something precious.

You shifted, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself, and Sam’s fingers twitched against his knees. He wanted to reach out, to pull you closer to the fire—or closer to him—but he didn’t move. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to break the moment, but deep down, he knew it was fear holding him back.

The fire crackled again, louder this time, and you looked up at him, your eyes catching the light.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice soft but clear in the stillness.

Sam blinked, startled out of his thoughts. “Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice a little rough. “Just… thinking.”

You tilted your head, your gaze curious but not pressing. “Heavy thoughts?”

He shrugged, forcing a small smile. “Not really. Just… stuff.”

You smiled at that, shaking your head as you turned back to the fire. “You’re always thinking about stuff, Sam.”

He chuckled softly, your teasing warming him more than the flames. But as he watched you settle back into the quiet, the thoughts returned, unbidden and insistent.

He imagined nights like this one, but different. A small cabin instead of the open sky. The fire crackling in a stone hearth instead of on a pile of logs. You curled up beside him on a couch, leaning into his side as he draped an arm around you.

The fantasy felt so vivid, so real, that it left a bittersweet ache in his chest. He wanted it. God, he wanted it so badly it hurt. But he couldn’t shake the voice in his head whispering that you deserved better—better than hunts, better than him.

The wind shifted slightly, stirring the fire and sending a few embers spiraling into the air. You leaned forward to poke at the logs with a stick, your brows furrowing in concentration. It was such a simple thing, but Sam felt his heart stumble over itself.

You have no idea.

No idea how deeply he cared. No idea how many times he’d thought about telling you, only to talk himself out of it. No idea how much you’d already become a part of his every dream, every hope, every fragile piece of a future he barely dared to imagine.

Sam’s hands clenched into fists, his nails pressing into his palms. He wanted to tell you, but the words felt too big, too tangled. What if he got it wrong? What if it scared you away?

And yet, as he watched you, bundled in his jacket, bathed in firelight, the ache in his chest grew sharper. He knew he couldn’t keep this to himself forever.

But for now, he let the moment hold its quiet magic.

The Impala’s engine hums beneath them as they barrel down the highway, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the landscape. You’re sitting in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dash despite Dean’s half-hearted protests, singing along to the blaring classic rock on the radio.

Dean is grinning as he teases you about missing a lyric, and you laugh, throwing your head back as you belt out the next line with dramatic flair. The sound of your voice fills the car, blending with the music, and for a moment, everything feels light—effortless in a way Sam rarely experiences.

Sam sits in the back, pressed against the worn leather, his book open but unread on his lap. His gaze is fixed on you, his eyes tracing the way your hair catches the sunlight, the curve of your lips as you smile, the ease in your movements as you lean toward Dean, teasing him right back.

It hits Sam all at once, the overwhelming sense of just how radiant you are. It’s not just the way you look, though that alone is enough to make his heart stutter. It’s everything—the way your laugh carries through the air, unselfconscious and real; the way you seem to draw Dean out of his gruff exterior, making him join in your silliness despite himself.

Sam knows he should look away, that staring is bound to get him caught, but he can’t help it. It’s like you’ve filled the car with a kind of warmth he can’t pull himself away from.

God, you’re amazing, he thinks, his chest tightening.

You’re talking now, your hands moving animatedly as you recount a story about some mishap from a previous hunt. Dean is laughing along, throwing in his own commentary, but Sam is barely listening. His focus is entirely on you, the way your face lights up when you’re telling a story, the way you gesture with so much energy, as if you’re reliving the moment.

Sam feels a pang in his chest—a mix of admiration, longing, and something heavier. -You have no idea, do you? he thinks, the familiar ache settling in. No idea how much you mean to me.

Dean cracks a joke, and you double over laughing, your hand flying to his arm as if to steady yourself. It’s a simple, innocent gesture, but it sends a jolt through Sam, sharp and unrelenting.

His grip on the book tightens, his knuckles white as he stares at the two of you. He knows he shouldn’t feel this way—jealousy has no place here, not when Dean is his brother and you’re… well, you’re you.

But the sight of you so close to Dean, so at ease with him, feels like a punch to the gut. Not because he doesn’t want you to be happy—you deserve that and so much more—but because he can’t stop wishing it was him.

Sam shifts in his seat, trying to focus on the book in his lap, but the words blur together. All he can think about is you—your laughter, your smile, the way you’ve effortlessly taken up space in his heart without even realizing it.

He knows it’s not fair. He knows he should let it go, should bury these feelings before they get the better of him. But as you glance back over your shoulder, flashing him a quick smile, he feels his resolve crumble.

You deserve more, he thinks, his chest tight with the weight of it. But God, I can’t stop hoping.

When the car finally pulls into the motel parking lot, Sam is the first to climb out. He mumbles something about needing air, avoiding your gaze as he grabs his bag and heads inside.

You watch him go, your smile fading slightly as you exchange a confused glance with Dean. “What’s with him?” you ask, but Dean just shrugs, chalking it up to Sam being Sam.

But Sam doesn’t head to the room. Instead, he stops just outside, leaning against the wall and staring up at the darkening sky. His heart feels like it’s caught in a vise, and for the first time, he wonders if he’s in too deep.

Because no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he tells himself to let it go, he can’t stop looking at you like you’re the sun.

The diner is quiet, a small, worn-down place nestled between the endless stretches of empty roads and forest. The neon sign flickers slightly above the entrance, casting a soft glow over the worn booths and cracked linoleum floor. Sam and Dean sit in one of those booths, their plates half-finished, the clatter of cutlery and the hum of conversation surrounding them.

But Sam isn’t really paying attention to any of that. His eyes are on you.

You’re walking toward the counter, your steps steady and confident, the soft sway of your hair against your back with each motion. The dim lighting catches the edges of your features—sharp cheekbones, a smile that easily lights up the room—and Sam watches, transfixed.

You order coffee and a piece of pie with an effortless charm, your voice smooth and easy as you exchange a few words with the waitress. You laugh softly at something she says, your expression warm, and Sam feels a tug in his chest.

It’s not just how you look, or how effortlessly you seem to light up the room. It’s everything—your kindness, the way you carry yourself, the quiet way you exist in a world that often feels dark and chaotic.

And Sam can’t help but think how nice it would’ve been if just this moment belonged to the two of you. Alone.

He imagines a different scenario—the two of you seated across from each other in a quiet, tucked-away corner of the diner, away from the clatter of silverware and the distant sounds of other patrons. Just the two of you, a comfortable silence between bites, or soft laughter over a shared joke.

No looming hunts. No looming danger. Just peace.

Sam’s heart twists a little at the thought, and it surprises him. He’s so used to burying emotions under the weight of their world—dealing with demons, hunting monsters, the constant sense of loss. But watching you now, in a simple, mundane moment, feels like a stark contrast to all of that.

You return to the booth, a playful grin tugging at your lips as you slide into the seat across from Sam. “What?” you ask softly, noticing his gaze lingering on you.

He clears his throat, shaking his head slightly. “Nothing.” His voice is low, but it’s not convincing.

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing smile on your face. “You were watching me.”

He pauses, then gives a half-smile in return. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I was.”

There’s a comfortable silence between you for a moment. Dean is off in his own world, too busy grumbling about bad pie and worse coffee to pay attention to the conversation. But Sam can’t focus on that right now.

His mind is too occupied with you.

Sam takes a slow sip of his coffee, his thoughts drifting again. He wonders what it would’ve been like if you were sitting closer—your hands brushing against his, the small gestures that don’t seem significant in other circumstances but feel impossibly intimate in this quiet diner.

“You know,” you start, breaking the silence gently, “this actually isn’t the worst place in the world.”

Sam hums in agreement, offering a faint smile. “It’s not terrible.”

“I mean, for a diner,” you continue, tapping your fingers against the edge of your mug. “It’s kind of charming in a... retro way.”

Sam chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The conversation lulls again, but this time it’s different. Sam isn’t just listening. He’s thinking—thinking about how easy it is to talk to you, how effortless these small moments feel. And it’s that realization that tugs at his heart the most.

“You look good here,” Sam says suddenly, the words slipping out before he can overthink them.

Your eyes meet his, a small smile playing on your lips. “Thanks,” you reply softly, but there’s something lingering in your expression—something like understanding.

Sam reaches for his fork again, picking at his food mindlessly. His thoughts spiral into the possibility—the what-ifs. What if this was the life he could’ve had? One without hunts, without constant danger, where you could hold hands at a table like this and not worry about what’s waiting around the next corner.

It’s a dream, one he knows he might never have, but for this moment, at least, he lets himself wish.

Because watching you now, even in the simplicity of a diner visit, feels like something worth holding onto—something worth dreaming about.

The bunker is quiet, the kind of stillness that settles in after a long day. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead is muted, blending with the soft rustle of pages being turned and the faint clink of your spoon against the ceramic of your tea mug.

You’re curled up in that oversized armchair in the corner of the library again, the warm glow of a single lamp casting a soft light over you. A knit blanket is draped over your shoulders, its edges trailing down to cover your legs. Your chamomile tea sits on the small table beside you, a thin wisp of steam rising from the cup.

Just like the first time he noticed you, really noticed you.

Sam is across the room, seated at one of the long wooden tables with his laptop open. He’s supposed to be researching—digging into lore for the latest case, finding answers that could mean life or death. But the words on the screen blur together, meaningless, as his focus strays again.

To you.

He watches as you shift slightly in the chair, pulling the blanket tighter around you, your brow furrowing in concentration as you read. You reach for your tea, lifting it to your lips, and take a slow sip, your eyes never leaving the page. It’s such a small, mundane moment, but to Sam, it feels like everything.

The corner of your mouth quirks upward in a faint smile, as if something in the story has amused you. The sight tugs at something deep in Sam’s chest, and he feels his breath catch.

He doesn’t understand how you do this to him—how you can just sit there, completely unaware of the effect you have on him, and yet somehow command his entire world.

You’re not trying to be captivating. You’re just… you. And that’s what undoes him the most.

Sam’s fingers hover over the keyboard, but he doesn’t type. His mind is too full—spiraling with thoughts he can’t quite quiet.

He notices everything: the way the soft lamplight makes your skin glow, the way your hair falls in loose strands that you absently brush back every few minutes, the way your lips part slightly as you lose yourself in the story.

It’s in moments like this that Sam feels the full weight of his emotions, the way they’ve grown and taken root without his permission. He’s always admired you, always been drawn to the warmth you bring into the bunker, into his life. But now it’s more than that—so much more.

And that terrifies him.

What if he’s wrong? What if the way you smile at him, the way you tease him, the way you care for him doesn’t mean what he thinks it means? What if he tells you how he feels and it shatters the delicate balance of your friendship?

The thought alone is enough to make his chest tighten, to make him want to bury these feelings even deeper.

But then he looks at you again, and the ache in his chest returns—stronger, sharper, impossible to ignore.

For a moment, he lets himself imagine.

He pictures waking up to mornings like this, only softer—your hair tousled from sleep, your face peaceful as you lie beside him. He imagines you in the kitchen together, teasing him about his ridiculous health smoothies while you make coffee, stealing bites of each other’s breakfasts and laughing when Dean grumbles about the noise.

He thinks about the nights you’d spend curled up together, your head on his shoulder as you watch a movie, your fingers intertwined with his as the weight of the world fades away for a little while.

It’s a life he’s never let himself want—never let himself believe he could have. But now, with you so close and yet so far, he can’t stop the longing from creeping in.

You shift in the chair again, pulling your knees up under the blanket, and glance up briefly. Your eyes meet his, and you smile—soft, warm, utterly disarming.

“What?” you ask, your voice cutting through the silence like a melody.

Sam blinks, caught off guard. “Nothing,” he says quickly, his voice lower than he intended.

You tilt your head slightly, studying him for a moment, and then shrug, your attention returning to your book.

But Sam doesn’t move. He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table, and lets out a slow breath.

The realization settles over him, heavy and undeniable: he’s in love with you.

It’s not a fleeting crush or a passing admiration. It’s deep, rooted in every quiet moment, every shared laugh, every time you’ve looked at him like he mattered in a way he never thought he could.

And as much as it terrifies him—as much as the fear of losing you grips him—he knows he can’t keep this to himself forever.

For now, though, he lets the moment stretch on, savoring the quiet, the comfort of your presence, and the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, you feel it too.

[mizutsugi]

lace-y 𐙚 (sam winchester x reader)

↳ synopsis: you were alone in the bunker with sam and having a movie night with him... while wearing a really pretty white, lace-y lingerie set and one of his oversized tees. what could go wrong!

↳word count: 2,221

↳ cw: nsfw (MINORS DNI!!), smut, fem/afab!reader, fingering, reader is e@ten out, little bit of praise (and this is my first time writing nsfw so maybe that should be its own warning!)

You pushed the door of the bunker open, letting the cold night air whip through your hair before stepping into the warmth and sighing with relief. Sam followed close behind you, closing and locking the door as you made your way down the stairs. You and him were coming back from a hunt alone, since Dean and Cas were busy with their own side mission. You didn’t mind at all- it gave you more solo time with your favorite person. As you reached the bottom of the stairwell, you tossed your bag and keys to the table, noting how your belongings nearly knocked over one of the beer bottles Dean left out. You made a mental note to clean up… tomorrow. You were too spent to do it tonight. 

The two of you made your way to Sam’s room. You had your own room, of course- the bunker has, like, 84 of them after all- but you had agreed to watch some Netflix together after getting back as a little reward for your efforts. As you got into his room, you smiled. His room always felt so cozy. After he moved in, he slowly made himself at home… a couple books piled on his desk, a few posters from his favorite movies, and a whole lot of flannels on a rack that you liked to occasionally steal from. In all fairness, there’s no way he needs all of them. But there he was- shedding his Carhart jacket off just to reveal yet another flannel, this one a nice burgundy color. He threw the jacket onto a nearby armchair and watched as you did the same with yours, now in a long sleeve shirt and jeans. It wasn’t exactly the cutest outfit, but you couldn’t wear your cute outfits out on hunts where you needed to actually be able to bend over or get dirty. You did note some stains on your outfit, and you wanted nothing more then to change into something cleaner and comfier, but your PJs were all the way in your room…

“Hey Sam, do you have a shirt I could borrow?” You asked as he settled into bed, leaning against the bed frame.

“Uhhh yeah, they’re in the second drawer down, take whatever you want.” He smiled before pulling out his phone. You thanked him and went into his wooden dresser to find a shirt. He had a lot of plain white tees for layering, but when you dug a bit deeper you found some of his older stuff. You grinned when you landed on a gray Stanford shirt, and you pulled it out. Sam was tall enough where any of his shirts fit you like a dress. Without much thinking, you started tugging your own shirt off over your head right in front of him. Sam noticed it and tried not to stare- bless his heart, he really did try- but he couldn’t help but notice the lace white bra you had on. He felt his face heat up and he felt bad for staring, his eyes darting back to his phone as you pulled his oversized shirt over yourself and discarded your pants. After you were all adjusted, you climbed into the bed with him and grabbed the remote off the bedside table. 

“What do you wanna watch?” You asked, already beginning to scroll through movies. You were sitting fairly close, curled up beside him with your thighs just inches away from touching his. 

“Uhhh…” He trailed off, trying to compose himself. 

“You’re never helpful with this, you know.” You rolled your eyes but smiled. You landed on some cheesy horror movie with a god-awful cover and clicked on it. You always found those types of horror movies ironic, given your job as a hunter. Some horribly CGI’d ghost haunting a B-list actress who runs away in heels and trips over herself like every seven seconds… sometimes it felt more like a parody movie.

“Interesting choice.” He quipped as the movie began. You laughed and looked over at him, your head resting against one of the propped up pillows. 

“Hey, if you have a problem with it, then your indecisive ass can change it.” You said. He shook his head silently and leaned back a little bit more.

“No, it’s perfect.” He said. You smiled and returned your gaze to the TV as the camera slowly zoomed out on a dilapidated house in the middle of a forest. You both watched in silence, occasionally scoffing at the horrible effects and dialogue. As the movie went on, you both slowly got more comfortable. At some point, you adjusted and ended up with your right thigh touching his leg. He pretended to not notice, but when you lifted your arms to stretch about 20 minutes into the film, your (or rather, his) shirt rode up a bit and the slightest bit of lace peeked through on your inner thigh. Where there were endless comments and critiques from the two of you before, you noticed he started to go silent, and his eyes were glued to the TV like he would be stricken down on the spot if he dared to look away. 

Your little comments went unnoticed, and you couldn’t help but wonder if something was wrong. After another 10 minutes of painful silence, you finally tugged on his arm a bit to get his attention. 

His eyes flicked in your direction before returning back to the TV. “Yeah?”

“Is something up?” You asked, trying to get even a little bit of eye contact. He made a slight frown and shook his head, eyes still watching the shitty flick in front of him. 

“M-m.” He hummed, hands moving to fidget with the hem of his comforter. You furrowed your brows and reached for the remote, pausing the movie.

“I don’t believe you.” You responded. He just kept staring straight, trying to think of something to say. 

“Hey, can you look at me?” You asked, just a bit frustrated as he seemed to have an aversion to turning to face you. 

He took a small breath before turning his head, eyes immediately darting to your bare thighs before dragging up to your face.

Oh. Oh. 

“Oh uhm… Sorry.” You said sheepishly, now embarrassed. You tried to move your hand to pull the shirt down, but his hand caught yours. You looked up to him in confusion.

He held it there wordlessly, and you could see something change in his eyes. Where he was avoidant and cold before, there was a sort of glint in his pupils, and his attention couldn’t be further away from the TV now. You felt your face flush, and you bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to make the tension dissipate. You saw him glance at your cherry glossed lips, and you almost laughed because he obviously wanted to make a move but was stuck like a deer in headlights.

You moved in slowly until your lips connected, feeling him nearly jolt at the contact. You lingered there for a few seconds before pulling back. 

“Is this okay?” You asked quietly, making sure he was comfortable. He nodded slowly, and this time he leaned forward, connecting your lips again. His hand that once had an iron grip on yours now moved to your cheek, holding you gently in place. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss as his calloused hand moved across your jaw. You’re not sure why you decided to go with the white lace lingerie this morning, but you’re so grateful you did- it saved you from a whole lot more of silent pining. The kiss deepened, and as it got more passionate you slowly moved so that you were straddling his lap, never breaking your connection. His hand dropped from your face and as you pulled away you saw him go still, feeling him harden beneath you. 

It wasn’t that he was ravenous... but there was a sudden sense of desperation as he kissed you again on the lips, and you couldn’t help slowly grinding across his middle. He let out a soft groan before his lips slowly moved to your jaw, then your neck. That shy boy from just seconds ago was gone. You threw your head back a bit, giving him more access. He moved his lips all around your neck, occasionally sucking on your sensitive skin. You felt every sense heighten- his mouth marking your neck, the friction between your thin panties and thick denim, his rough fingers starting to pull at the material of your shirt…

Speaking of which, he lifted the shirt over your head, quickly breaking away from your neck to pull the fabric over your face. As he threw the shirt behind you, his eyes roamed over your body. He could finally see the full set of thin lace white lingerie adorned with small satin bows, the underwear riding up your sides as your legs straddled his. His racing thoughts stilled, and he just sat there looking at you like if he moved, he’d lose his perfect view. When you shifted forward a bit, his trance was broken, and the sensation caused him to immediately attach his lips back on to yours. Your small whimpers fueled his hunger, and he gently pushed forwards, sending you backwards so that your head was hitting the mattress behind you. He was now hovering over you, still kissing you and softly pulling at your glossy lips with his teeth. His lips moved slowly down your face, onto your neck where he kissed a few of his marks from earlier, across your chest between your cupped breasts, down your tummy and ghosting just above where your underwear covered you. You looked down to see his face just above your core, looking into your eyes with caution, silently asking for permission. Your short nod was all he needed, and he gently looped his fingers around the waistband and pulled the panties off and down your legs. You felt your heart race when he gently pushed your soft thighs apart, baring yourself in a way that might have felt embarrassing if he wasn’t practically drooling at the sight.

He ignored his urges and started slowly, kissing up your plush thigh. The sensation of him just inches away from where you needed him most, blended with his hot breath fanning over your sensitive skin was driving you crazy. You needed something, now. 

“Sam..” You whimpered, voice shaking with anticipation. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He looked up with lust-blown eyes, cheek resting on your left thigh.

“Please…” You begged weakly, squirming a bit.

You didn’t have to voice what you wanted. He smiled sweetly at you before moving to your core, gently pushing his tongue past your folds. You gasped and your hands clumsily fumbled around the sheets until they landed on the back of his head, fingers hooking into his soft hair. He lapped at your clit, and you wondered how the hell his brother got all the credit for being a “pussy magnet” when he was eating you out like a damn professional. His breath fanned over your hot, wet core, causing you to grip his chestnut hair tighter. He groaned, causing vibrations that only added to your intense pleasure.

“Fuck…” You hissed, hips slightly rolling. One of the hands that was currently holding your thighs apart slowly moved upward towards your waist in an attempt to keep you (relatively) in place. His tongue, slick with your arousal, was driving you crazy, and your soft moans and whimpers made him work even faster until you were nearing the edge. 

Then you felt one of his hands trail up your thigh, and two long fingers gently prodded at your entrance. You gasped at the feeling as they gathered arousal and slipped effortlessly inside you, his tongue still working at your puffy clit. You were blissed out, softly moaning his name as he worked his impossibly long fingers in and out of you. Your breaths got short and your hips rutted up, and he knew you were close. He pulled his mouth off your core, but kept his fingers at a steady pace, looking up at you for the first time in a while as your hand dropped off the back of his head and onto his shoulder, gripping for dear life.

“That’s it pretty girl, I got you.” He praised, using his free hand to rub gentle circles into your waist. As his pace quickened, you whined his name and felt the pressure in your lower half snap, moaning as you climaxed. Your eyes shut closed, and your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath. He slowly pulled his fingers out as you were still coming down, and the hand that wasn’t coated in slick was reaching up to brush your hair out of your face.

“You okay hon?” He asked, climbing up to kiss you on the forehead. Your face was completely flush, and your hair was a bit of a mess from writhing around on the pillow. You looked up into his eyes and smiled at his gentleness, and you nodded slowly. 

“Felt really good..” You mumbled, still somewhat incoherent as you recovered. He smiled back and kissed you gently.

“You look so cute in white, you know…”

↳ a/n: hiii! this is my first time writing nsfw so please be gentle w me :,) i have no idea what i'm doing even though my tumblr history would say otherwise... anyways i have a bit of free time between now and finals- send requests! thank u for reading lovelies <3

[daylighted]

ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐀.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ━ㅤ ㅤ sam winchester.

the tale of the lord of the sea and the gentle maiden whose home was always amongst the waves.

a poseidon reimagining, through the veiled, handcrafted lens of sam winchester and reader, who brings gods to their knees, addressed as pearl, fem pronouns. interconnected standalone sequel to life unto death.

content warnings. discussions of death & drowning. poseidon is not a total monster. no happy ending. open ending.

word count. 5k

it did not stop pouring the day that the village drowned.

she was always disconnected from the rest of the townsfolk, pearl was. an enigma, her parents sighed in her mention; an enigma, her peers snickered at her presence; an enigma, he whispered to himself, as he watched from the horizon as her entire cruel town was engulfed in lapping wakes of water.

he did not let the water, not a single drop, land on the roof of her cottage by the seaside.

it was not an uncommon occurrence for him to linger atop the shores, breathing in air that he did not need to breathe, so long as he could taste the same salt-twinged air as her.

the town did not rise from the depths, and the water did not draw back into the sea, and yet throughout all of this, pearl did not leave.

he had never been frightened that she would. he'd never doubted her at all, as every other person in her life seemed to. there was something about his pearl that called to him, and as she got more determined, or perhaps more frustrated, she braved the harsh waves and answered his own calls.

there were no words for the goddess she had become in her seclusion. little starfish clung to the glittering, salted strands of her now curled hair; freckles dusted her skin like raindrops; and her pink coral mouth was turned down into the prettiest sneer he'd ever seen.

"why have you forsaken me like this?" she calls from the shoreline that marred the front entrance to her small home. "what have i done to deserve this isolation?"

he was certain that her eyes were locked onto his. he could feel the penetrating gaze of her defiance, her devastation. and, as he'd done many times since his accidental discovery of the girl with salt water in her blood, he took the wind between his fingers and forged a note in between its gusts, and let his words be carried over the miles between them.

you are not isolated, they curl around her ear and promise, for you have me.

maybe he was a selfish bastard; but weren't all gods? give a man an inch, and he will take a mile. give a god an inch, and he will drown the cruel town that tormented his fascination.

she had began to start calling him samuel, his pearl. a title which translated to the name of god, all of which were true, he figures. can't argue with. the mer beneath the ocean's waters called him poseidon, though his attachment to that name slipped away the longer that pearl spoke to him.

and gods, was her mouth colorful. even when he was beneath the surface of the waves, he could hear her cursing him to every other god that she could name - of which he was certain his brothers were getting quite the laugh over.

he did not fully understand her discontent, however: he'd saved her. spared her from the drowning inside of her mind, and from the drowning he unleashed upon her home. the problems of humans were the size of salt grains, to him, and so he could not figure out how to empathize with her, or to apologize.

that day, the cruel twist of pearl's words had fallen off into resignation. poseidon could never deny himself something he wanted or longed for, and so it was easy to rise above the lapping water and steal a peek at the girl of salt water. her fingers danced over the water's surface, playing with the gentle waves that he sent to her. the god of the sea, gone molten in the presence of a woman made up of flame and ire.

"i know you listen to me, samuel," she says, and the rolling waves, his most loyal of messengers, carries the sound of her voice back to him, "i ask you again what i have done, to be trapped in the center of your seas, with no one for company. not even you, who stays beneath more than you come to play."

the cruelest of bastards could not even deny such invitations. the seas parted, revealing a coral lined surface beneath their depths, as he began the distance from his place in the ocean's center, to the woman that he deemed the center of himself.

pearl did not balk, or shrink away. even as tall as he was, even as big as he was, she held her ground, inches beneath the nose he looked down at her from. "where did you get the impression that i had a common name?"

"samuel is not common around here," she shoots back at him, and even as his voice echoes, hers carries, "as i am the only human being left."

"i am here," he hums, and it makes him uncomfortable, to hear what she deems as one of his faults weaponized against him. "is that not enough?"

it is crazy, the things that adoration and affinity cause you to excuse. she was angry with him, but did not curse the very existence of himself. her finger stabs into his chest but he does not take hold of it and break it.

pearl was a girl made of salt and ire. she would not whittle under his pressure. she would blossom anew. "you are not human. you are a god with the temperament of a human, but you are not like me."

his fingers close around her finger, lifting it easily from digging into the bare skin of his chest. "and you were not like them."

her skin is warm beneath his. he is tempted to never let go, to test his luck and see if she glimmers under the heavy weight of his gaze, or crumbles into sand.

"that is not a fair assessment," pearl fires off, and his defenses crumble in its wake, "letting your seas swallow my livelihood was not your call to make."

his tug is gentle, but it is enough to bring her closer to him, to lean down a head's worth of height and meet her eyes properly. "darling, your livelihood was not amongst their numbers. it has always been amongst those seas."

he does not see pearl for a fortnight. it is the longest fourteen days of his life; a hard accomplishment to make, when days blink by like seconds to him, and weeks like minutes.

but she prays. how lovely her voice can be when it's not full of her hurt and her wrath, when it calls to him in times where she cannot see his face except in the depths of her mind. perhaps it is easier that way, to speak her truths without the gaze of a god searing into her as she stumbles for proper words.

"i know the town still exists beneath the surface," pearl whispers to her steepled hands, her forehead to the wooden bedframe, "so i would ask to see it. if it was so important for it to be drowned, i would ask to see what has become of my childhood home and its neighboring predecessors."

he does not listen to every prayer that finds its way beneath the ocean's waves. but he listens to hers every time that they come.

she wakes up in the morning to the seas drawn back deeply, tall waves peaking at the distant horizon and lightly splashing on the doorsteps of dilapidated homes.

she has always seen so much, pearl. poseidon could claim that all of this was done in favor of her protection, but it started as the beginnings of a plan to forge a kingdom beneath the water. as the earthly populations grew, his sea creatures and his mer's did, too.

destroying the lives of people that hurt you was only the catalyst. homes made of wood had already been repurposed and reinforced with coral. algae and seaweed danced in the cracks of the windows and the open doors.

what was once dreary and small, her village, was now crafted anew. her grief was still evident in her expression, but there was a sense of exactly what samuel had grown to expect from her, beneath the surface of her emotions. awe and longing.

she was never at home on the shores. it was why she moved closer to the seaside once she'd reached the age to leave her family; it was why, prior to this, when the rumors flooded her ears and snuck into his in the process, she sought comfort in the gentle laps of waves at her doorstep.

as always, pearl is in tune with his presence, as he is in tune with hers.

"you have been quite busy," she says, a hand raising in a broad gesture to the underwater city.

samuel's head dips into a nod when he steps out from around the house he'd been observing from. it is best not to overwhelm the girl, whose life had already been upturned overnight. sympathy came easier now that he'd seen the blazes in her eyes. "atlantis," he says, his fingers closing around hers as he approaches. "come. let me show you the world."

and her hurt is still deeply embedded within her, but it is shaping and forging into something stronger. he sees it in the way her eyes glimmer with intrigue despite the harsh tilt of her chin, attempting to intimidate him. he is certain that pearl was the only human capable of bringing him to his knees.

pearl allows him to lead her along; small hand entwined with his larger one. it must be hard, he thinks; seeing the place you grew up in to be so empty and desolate, looking so out of place as it grows into something new. it does not help that the water is drawn back, making everything that is supposed to be beneath its depths exposed and wrong in appearance.

the recognition is immediate, when samuel leads her to the home that she spent her youth in. her fingers tighten around his, her other hand running along the rough exterior of coral that'd grown around the planks of wood.

she is silent. he is afraid, for a split second, and not for the first time, that she might cry, and that he has again made the wrong decision in an attempt to soothe the ache in her heart.

pearl's lips part, and he is not expecting the words that come out of them. "what happened to them?"

samuel's expression flattens.

he turns to the ruins and sees a future; she sees a past. he wishes that he could save her from the pain of those memories and let her start anew, and on her own time; but it is not his place to interfere again with what pearl needs or wants.

"they left," he answers finally on a slow exhale of a breath, "at the first signs of an impending tsunami." the light drains out of her eyes like the sun dipping behind the horizon, and he wishes that he had never answered. that he had sugarcoated the truth and spared her some of the heartache. "they did not seek out the girl on the coast. they abandoned her to the wrath they assumed that i felt."

she wipes at her watery eyes, the salt of her tears entwining with the sea salt on her cheeks. "did you? feel wrath?"

"i felt fury." samuel extends a hand to grasp her wrist between his fingers, pulling it away from her face, lifting it to kiss each of those tear stricken fingertips. "that they could isolate someone off of their own misconceptions. that they could choose to leave you."

pearl does not say anything else, but her eyes are locked onto his, and samuel knows that she is finally reading through the lines of what he'd done. drowned the home she'd grown up in, afraid and alone and to her own devices, and built something out of it, with the two things that she loved the most: water, and safety.

"how am i meant to live like this?" she asks, letting him hold her still, but turning on her heel to gesture toward the expanse of sea on either side of them. "i will drown, too. the sea will swallow me whole."

"nothing is capable of dousing the fire that stokes within you," he promises her, his mouth to her palm, "you are made of salt and the sea. it cannot take from you again."

like calls to like.

pearl has always felt at home by the seaside. the foundations of her childhood home were built nearest to the edge of grassland. her first steps were taken in sun-warmed sand. her first friends were the crabs tucked in the dunes beneath the soft surface.

the others of her village feared the coastline. the horizon stretched on endlessly, the waters constantly raged and inched up the shore more and more with every lap of waves. they blamed the god beneath the surface for its temperaments.

she blamed the superstitions of the townsfolk for the unrest beneath the sea. fear breeds anger; more contagious than any disease or ailment.

pearl had been talking to the god for longer than he'd been answering. perhaps it was her own fault, then, that the god reacted so violently to her pleas for understanding.

i am not like them, she'd said once, her head to the bedframe, her knees digging into the mottled wood of the cabin's floor, i do not understand myself to know why. they do not bother to ask.

she didn't know what god she was praying to, just that the one beneath the ocean's surface was closest to home, and pearl could only hope, then, that his answering calls were kind and just.

the next day, she'd awoke to the town flooded, the home abandoned, and her abode untouched.

water sloshed outside of her window. salt made the wooden walls sparkle beneath the sun ablaze. and she was all alone, except for the little creatures that slipped beneath her doorframe with the lapping waves to keep her company.

no, she did not understand, then, what had happened. did not even consider the fact that she'd called upon a god and his answer would come so swiftly. she did not drown with the town, but she drowned in her grief.

samuel, she'd called him, because even the most obscure of gods deserved to be named when they were being cursed, she figured. but samuel was not an obscure god, nor was he a kind one, typically. as much as she was an enigma to those who'd known her, he was an enigma amongst his kind, too.

solitude did not come easily after he'd shown her atlantis. as much as she tried to shut him out for even a day, a sunrise and sunfall at least, he did not leave her. by the end of the week, the mer were leaving gifts at her doorstep — invitations, really, to join him again in the parted seas.

it must have been part of his innate abilities; the way that pearl could dip her toes in the sands, and the water would give way to either side of her, curl around her like a wave about to crash, creating a tunnel into the depths of open water.

she should have feared drowning, after what the god had done. instead, she trusted him as strongly as all devoted do; with her heart, her soul, her fate.

the water stretched for miles, and yet each step, her tunnel of safety did not dissipate. on either side of her, mer pressed against the liquid barriers, the wall rippling as their hands pressed against it to capture her attention, to wave. his assessment was right, after all: the sea was always her home.

she did not know what she was being invited to, was not tuned in to the inner workings of the mer and the god who oversaw them. what pearl did know, though, was that even the sea creatures seemed to bow to her as she slipped into the domains of their home.

"you came," samuel says from the expansive arching entrance of his grandiose kingdom of coral, "i trust your journey was dry."

her smile comes so naturally that she could not believe this was a man that she'd once deemed the greatest monster of all. "much to the dismay of the mermaids watching me."

"they would never dare to flick a droplet onto our awaited guest."

our awaited guest. but there is no one else permitted into the space, then; no one that could be in the same space, what with the water warped into a protective entrance, and the mer without landlegs.

she opens her mouth to question him, but he shakes his head, offering a hand instead. "they are curious, so they will watch, until i tell them away," her hand curls into his, so much smaller in appearance to the god's, "it is not common to have a mortal in our ranks."

"is this your way of telling me that it will become common practice?"

pearl is capable of appreciating the beauty of his home while acknowledging that this is not it at its prime. its prime would be surrounded by blue, drowned in water like her village was. it would be bright and vibrant amongst the clear ocean. it would look like a home, and not a place meant for showing and telling.

but the violets and the pinks and the oranges are striking against the matching sunset backdrop, the seaweed curled around the towering structure's walls flapping with the salted gusts of wind.

she cannot peel her eyes away from each room. the space was open, separated by arches and half-walls of uneven coral, but each room was distinguishable from the others. there, his throne, sat tall on the middlemost floor, the tips of its back rising past the uppermost floor. here, a large open space with...

pearls. pearls everywhere. lining the half walls, making the floor of the kingdom glimmer in shades of cream and white.

"it is my way of offering my home to you," samuel finally answers, his hand still held loosely in hers, almost as if he were more nervous than she was. impossible. she'd never been one for being the center of attention, but here, it was like every pair of eyes on her was awestruck and not scrutinizing.

she turns to face him, something uncertain in her eyes. "i do not understand how that would work."

"the logistics are mine to worry about. if you want to take your place within my walls, it is yours. it has always been yours." sam takes her hand again, leading her past sconces of gemstone and mineral, past the glimmering aquamarine of his throne, and up.

his hand holding hers is what steadies her, or else she might have stumbled at the sudden lurch. they floated higher together, as if she'd been underwater and slowly loosing the breath in her lungs to stay on the ground, and now she was pulling back on it enough to float higher.

she does lose all sense of her breath at what, exactly, she'd been led to.

a bedspace, with a bed of pale blue pressed against the deep blue wall. the first solid wall in the space that she'd seen, and it glimmered like jewels, as deep as ultramarine.

"oh," she says softly, like all of the air in her lungs was whooshed away, and in its place was the water surrounding them.

somehow, she has brought the god to a stutter. "no. no, this is not..."

"oh," she echoes, and suddenly samuel is on his knees before her, her hand still clasped in his.

he squeezes once to get her attention. he is so tall that even knelt, he is merely eye level. "it is yours," he clarifies quickly, as if he could not get the words out fast enough, "if you choose to accept it. and even if you do not, it will remain untouched until the day you take up on the offer."

speech is a privilege. she cannot find an inkling of a thought in her arsenal of them. "oh." this time it elicits a wince from herself, wishing she had something more grateful, or appreciative, anything.

samuel's mouth quirks into an amused sort of smile, which only makes her feel worse about her reactions. "i choose to believe the lack of coherency is a good sign."

it was a good sign. how did she put into words that no one had thought of her, or what she wanted, ever before like this? that in this expanse of a kingdom with its open walls and the houses of her former village in its sandy courtyard, she has never felt so at home?

she does not say any of this. instead, she does something that surprises even herself, and she launches forward to grasp his face into her hands, and kisses him.

to kiss a god is to give oneself away entirely. an offering of its own sorts.

and when samuel picks her up and lays her on the plush of her mattress, she lets him take what she grants to him. again, and again, and again.

the ends of pearl's dress catch in the wind as she sprints down the sandy path she's come to know so dearly.

the seas part, and the water splashes into the sky. dolphins peek their snouts through the thinning barrier, the drippings of water making the sand soft beneath her feet. starfish and sea snails peek out from the safety of the wettened sand, come to watch their goddess return.

pearl is not of any magic, or any god's blood, but she has figured out the pieces of the coral walls and how to climb them. and climb she does, up and up until she's in her bedspace, where samuel is usually there, tidying the space. returning the water back to its natural state after she leaves is always a mess, he told her once, but i do not mind clearing the seahorses out of your blankets, so long as it gets you to come back to me.

but samuel is not there. she has never gotten to see the seahorse embedded in the warm seaweed blankets, but there are two there tucked into the strands, and now something feels wrong.

she listens intently, moments too late. she had time to turn around and leave if she'd not gotten so caught up in the joy curling around her heart.

"this is the pet, then," an unfamiliar male voice says from the surface level, and pearl wishes she could run the opposite way, and not have to face whoever else could brave the parted seas. no mer could, no sea creature could speak to her, and immediately, this is not someone that she feels that she should know.

samuel's voice is enraged. she knows the cadence of his anger, now. no matter the barriers were thinning today; he was fighting against his will to not send the ocean into a frenzy. "she is no pet."

"every human that slips through the cracks of our hearts is a pet, poseidon, and the quicker you learn that, the easier it is to detach."

his voice is deep, bored. from the corner of her singular wall, pearl peers around to find two sets of eyes already watching her.

samuel returns his attention to the man before him. slightly shorter in stature, dressed in dark, and expression ablaze. "you are only angry because persephone had to return to the ground. do not take it out on her."

"say her name again, brother, and i'll test how slowly i can make a mortal bleed dry." pearl's blood in mention runs ice cold. she wraps her arms around herself as if the sudden chill is one that can be rubbed away, and not one that is rooted within her. "come on out, beloved pearl. let me see the face of the woman who has stricken my brother."

it feels like a trap. perhaps it is. but there is no other way to go, with the drowning seas surrounding her, and the deeper levels of the kingdom hardly any security at all. so pearl descends from her room and makes her way between the men too big to be mortal, both wearing carefully placed masks over their feelings.

"pretty," the stranger says, reaching out to dust a thumb over pearl's eyelashes, "and you have certainly made your mark on her."

"that is unkind," pearl snaps back at him, jerking her face away from the light touch of his hand. "you must be mad, calling out for me like i am an animal, and making assessments of me as if i cannot understand you."

the man's mouth twitches. "i see." his eyes dance over to samuel's. "you have always liked dousing the fire out of women alike."

samuel's jaw ticking is the only indication that he heard his brother at all. "it is not a good time, pearl."

"it is!" the other claps his hands together, the look in his eyes brightening in a way that mimics a child with a toy. her, his chosen plaything. "tell me, how cruel does it feel, exactly, to know that your love is destined to wither and die?"

"do not listen to him." samuel grasps his brother's arm and tugs backwards. "he knows only death and destruction. he will see a weakness and latch if only to taste the bitterness of your hurt—"

"spreading lies about your bloodline does not lessen the blow of the truth."

samuel's voice drops. "leave her out of this, hades. out of your games."

hades.

it sends a shiver down pearl's spine, hearing that name uttered so freely. the townsfolk used to whisper of him after a passing of a loved one. used to wish their spirits any other fate than the one that came in the underworld.

he recognizes when pearl clicks the pieces together. and, as samuel said, he latches. "i could free you from those confines," he says slowly, his voice low and easing, "i could grant you the ability to be amongst your god as an equal. an offer i assume poseidon has not offered you."

hurt flashes over her face, and hades has her. hooked, lined, and sinking.

"i do not believe you."

it does not deter the god of the underworld.

"you have prayed for my brother to be banished, and now you plead his name that he never stops," hades' smile is cruel, teasing, unkind, "such a shift in tone does not go unnoticed to the gods that listen. i am not so cruel to deny a girl the fate she wants."

her heart hammers in her chest. he was not supposed to know what she wished. those pleas were for samuel, and him only. her want to be one of his people; to not only worship him, but to be alongside him, and to never have to perish and end up in the hands of his meaner brother.

"he does not know what you wish for, does he?"

samuel's eyes have never left pearl's expression. it is his turn for his eyes to flash with hurt. "what have you kept from me?"

it was not a willful or conscious choice. she prayed and pleaded, but there was no way to make a certain god listen.

"you would give that to me?" pearl asks, her voice small, hesitant.

hades reaches for her hand, and his deep green eyes blacken the moment their skin touches. "i would give you everything."

it is too late for poseidon to pull her free from his clutches. she does not remember at all, now, why she'd ever called him sam before.

the seas do not part again. her abode in the grasslands rots, sea-stained wood mottling and curling in on itself.

the town has drowned, and so has pearl.

he was angry, hades. an angry, bitter god is not one that should be taken up on an offering for a granted wish. but love is blinding and love is cruel. not that pearl knew, anymore, what that love had felt like.

she lives in the sea. the merfolk welcomed her; cleared her a space in the depths of the sea to rest in, a beautiful pink sea anemone just for her. the kingdom she'd began to call home was long gone; the city of atlantis long forgotten and lost.

the water is cruel and rough. when she sits atop one of the protruding rocks in the deep of the ocean, she is splashed with violent waves, salt curling her drying hair, hitting with enough force against the scaly tail in place of her legs that it almost feels like the water is trying to pull her back under. trying to pull her to something.

to feel at home, finally, is a love like no other she has felt. but even then, it does not feel like enough. pearl's heart has swelled tenfold, but there is still a chunk that feels missing.

and so she sits on that rock every night and sings, sings to beckon what she lost back to her, and the only thing it ever brings is lost, lovelorn sailors. they are never what she yearns for. mockeries of the empty hollow in her heart. drowning them is easy. the drowning sea has always been hungry.

every night, she sings, and poseidon listens from the other side of the ocean deep, sat in the soft blues of her bed. there are no gods for him to pray to for her return, for the curse of lost love placed upon his pearl by his petty, furious brother to be taken back.

but there is all of the time in the world with gods. and he had plenty at his disposal, to keep the sea creatures out of her bedspread, in case she finds her way back to him.

notes. this one has been in my drafts for ... i'm not even gonna say how long. it's had many ups & more downs. hope u all enjoy it regardless !!! literally a labor of love.

tags. @frosttbitessam @sthefferrete @cevansbaby-dove @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @mccartneyqp @depressionbarbie2023 @im-bili @chevroletdean @fallbhind @angelblqde @honeyryewhiskey @deansbite @lyarr24 @deanswidow @figthoughts @bluemerakis @fallbhind @beausling @t3l3vangelism @tristimith @whyyouegg @untltledforyourpleasure @ravenchoo @odetoficton @globetrotter28 @theosaurous @starzify @samslovely @aileenunfiltered @rubyvhs @soldiersgirl @fairychris @legalmente-loca @voidsuites @stereotypicalbarbie @arlensw1fe

[syrma-sensei]

→ A Devil's Judgement

gif credit.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!reader.

Summary: Sam Winchester can be very convincing, just like the Devil.

Rating: Explicit.

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings/Tags: Cursing, aggressive behaviour, rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), praise kink...

A/N: I'm making my Sam Winchester taglist, hit the comments if you wanna be added!

“What the fuck, (Y/N)?!” Dean's angry voice booms through the old bunker, “You could've gotten yourself and us killed!”

Splattered by Vampire's blood, your head whips towards the eldest Winchester. Eyes glaring through sweat-dewed lashes.

You're a woman who doesn't take shit from anyone; Dean Winchester is no exception.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you snap, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Would you have preferred I let that bloodsucker rip your throat out?”

Dean scoffs, stepping closer, chest heaving with adrenaline and fury. “You had no business jumping in like that! Sam and I had it handled!”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, sure, Dean. You and Sam, the all-knowing hunters. Hate to break it to you, but you didn’t see that second vamp coming. I did. And I handled it.”

Dean’s nostrils flare. “You ‘handled it’ by nearly getting your damn arm ripped off! You’re reckless!”

Before you can throw another barb his way, a hand lands gently on your arm. “Hey,” Sam’s voice cuts through the tension, calm but firm. “Let’s just take a breath.”

You glance at Sam, the rational one as always, his hazel eyes scanning you for injury. His touch is grounding, a stark contrast to Dean’s firestorm of anger.

Dean runs a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “You keep pulling stunts like that, and one day, you won’t be so lucky.”

You cross your arms, jaw tightening. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Dean.”

He opens his mouth, ready to fire back, but Sam steps between you both. “Enough. We’re all exhausted. Let’s clean up and grab some grub.”

Dean glares at you for a second longer before shaking his head and storming off. The door of his room slams shut behind him, rattling the walls.

A heavy silence settles between you and Sam. He studies you, his expression softer than his brother’s, but still filled with concern. “You okay?”

You exhale, shoulders slumping slightly now that the fight is over. “I’m fine, baby. Really.”

His eyes flicker down to your arm, where a deep scratch bleeds sluggishly. Without a word, he pulls you into the kitchen and tends to your wound on the island. You hiss as he dabs a cotton cloth soaked in alcohol on your injury. When it is sterilised enough, he reaches out for the band-aid, and starts wrapping it around the wound.

“You scared him,” Sam murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. “That’s why he’s pissed.”

You know that. You look up to Dean as a big brother. You understand his concerns, but sometimes you need to remind him that you can take of business too. He and Sam are your family. You couldn't let that vampire kill Dean just because he thought it was reckless of you, and chastise you like you were his little sister for saving his ass.

“Don’t defend him,” You huff, looking away. “He has a shitty way of showing it.”

Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… that’s Dean.”

You groan, “Fuck him.”

Yeah, you're pissed at him too.

You both sit there in silence for a moment before Sam speaks again, voice quieter this time. “You had me scared too.”

Your breath catches slightly. You meet his gaze, and for the first time tonight, the fight drains from your body. “I’ll be more careful,” you say, just for him.

He kisses your temple, “That’s my good girl.” The way he said it makes your core throb in need.

Sam nods, satisfied, leaning to your neck and pressing his soft lips against your skin. You moan at his touch, it's soothing and calming. “Thank you, (Y/N)…” Another kiss, “For saving my brother today.” You shiver as he trails a line of ghost kisses from your neck to your collarbone.

Holy shit, you know he's aware of the effect of his praise on you. You crave for it, you need it. In other time, you'd tell him to stop and take this to your shared room. But the little—no, the big bastard knows what he's doing. He's making you cede in his devilish seduction, as if he can magically absorb all of your fury and turn it into pleasure. That utter devil. No wonder he is Satan's vessel, you think, amused.

“Hmm, you want me to forgive him for what he said after I saved his ass?” You try to shake the haze he put you in off your head. But nope, its mojo is doing its work.

“Yes,” He answers, voice hoarse.

You quiver as he unclasps your sport bra after he takes your flannel off, cautious not to touch your wound. In a moment, your tender nipple is in his mouth, his hands are working on the zipper of your jeans.

“Don't you think that'll take more than just that?”

His mouth inveigles another moan, his foreigner’s fingertip presses to your swollen clit over your panties. At this moment, you wish you weren't wearing one. But it easily can be fixed. Sam slides them down, and his fingertip is on your hot pearl. Your mind thaws out at the delectable pressure.

“How about this, hmm?” He lowers himself until his mouth is on your nether lips.

“Oh, God, Sam, I need you!” You cry out, voice imploring as his tongue laps your wet folds.

Your hand travels down to his hair, tugging and pulling as he relentlessly grinds his tongue against your clit.

“Oh, fuck, Sam!” You groan.

Sam pulls away just so, gazing up at you with a grin. “How about now?”

Mighty Chuck, is he serious? He stopped mid-tongue-fucking you to ask you if you can forgive his big brother for his assholeness?

“Fuck, he's forgiven!” You hiss, “Now, can you please fuck me?”

“With pleasure, darlin’” He winks, and his tongue is inside of you again. After moments of deliberate work you become undone.

You don't even recover from your orgasm when you grab the collar of his flannel as he stands up, and hauls him in between your knees. His lips crush on yours and you moan at the instant voracity in the kiss. It's always like this with Sam Winchester, strong desire, raw need. And the scent of you on his face drives you mad.

Within the ravenousness of the kiss, your hands shoves his flannel off his broad shoulders. They grope his refined, wet chest after he takes his shirt off and you kiss again. His plump lips smooching and meshing against yours, his body dwarfing yours, dominating. His large hands cupping your ass, pulling you further into his hold. His engorged cock is straining in his jeans in need for you. He flips you on your stomach, your hot skin on the cool island.

“Holy fuck, (Y/N)!” He growls, sheathing his cock inside of your hot, soppy cunt, “You feel so fucking good, baby.”

Sam's thrusts are rough, cruel, brutal. His length and girth fill you up. Your knuckles turn white as you grip on the island's edges.

You lose yourselves in him and he loses himself in you, and you become undone. Sam pulls out just a moment before he comes on your back.

“Good job, baby.”

You smile at his praise, quivering.

You’re still trying to catch your breath, your skin flushed and tangled in a mixture of post-pleasure exhaustion and glow. Your body tenses up when you hear Dean's voice.

“Jesus, really?!”

His gaze darts between you both, his lips parting like he’s unsure whether to speak or just walk away. Then, as if the horror of the situation fully sinks in, his cheeks flush, and he quickly looks away. “And on my pie spot?!”

You and Sam freeze, both turning to look at Dean, who stands in the doorway looking about three seconds away from scrubbing his eyes out with holy water. His nose scrunches in pure disgust as he gestures vaguely toward the table.

"Come on! That’s where I put my pie!"

You, still catching your breath, pull the closest thing—Sam’s flannel—over yourself, face burning. Sam, on the other hand, just sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.

"Dean—"

"Nope! No, I don’t wanna hear it," Dean cuts in, waving a hand as he backs out of the room. "I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see this, but just know—I’m never eating at that table again."

With that, he turns on his heel and storms off, muttering about needing bleach, holy fire, and possibly therapy. But knowing Dean, you're sure he'd suffice with the first two.

A beat of silence passes before you glance at Sam, who lets out a deep chuckle.

You say biting back a laugh, "Guess we’ll be hearing about this for the rest of our lives," you mumble, half amused, half mortified.

Sam groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. "Yeah. And I’m pretty sure he’s gonna salt and burn that table.”

Read more:

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[arjwrites]

Take A Picture, It'll Last Longer- Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: While hunting with the Winchesters, you had picked up a disposable camera to capture some memories. Each photo represented an important point in your collective journey- all the while, hinting at a budding connection behind the scenes.  Warnings: None! Largely gn, but reader is occasionally referred to as "she." Slight language here and there, mostly just silly fluff! A/N: Another idea of mine that has been kicking around for a while. I hope the Sam crew appreciates this! <3

“Alright boys, hold up those shovels!!” You were perched on top of a neighboring gravestone, disposable camera held close to your face.

“You’re kidding, right? We are literally desecrating a grave, and you’re snapping pictures? This could be used as evidence one day!” Of course Sam was throwing sass. He could never just sit there and look pretty for you.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta preserve this stuff for posterity! Sam and Dean Winchester, in their natural habitat!” you laughed. 

Dean, in sharp contrast to his brother’s protests, instantly struck a pose, slinging the shovel over one shoulder and gazing dramatically to the horizon like an action hero. Huffing, realizing he was outnumbered on this matter, Sam limply lifted the shovel in one hand, popped a thumbs-up with the other hand, and slapped a forced, sarcastic smile on his face.

“Perfect! Now they’ll also get to witness each of your unique brands of bullshit!” 

Sam crossed his arms in a (slightly) feigned offense, looking to Dean for backup. Dean simply shrugged- “I mean, she’s got us there. That’s pretty much our bullshit in a nutshell.” 

Sam fought hard to stifle the smile that was working its way to the surface. She knew them too well. 

–

“What are you looking at?” Your voice broke the silence that had been dragging on for longer than you even remembered. The question had came out a little sassy, which you didn’t intend, but you were feeling a little defensive. There was no way Sam was staring at you for any good reason. You were nested against the arm of one of the motel couches, piled high in lore books, researching while sporting an unbrushed head of hair and last night’s pajamas. It was noon. Not your best look. 

“Nothing, nothing. Sorry.” He held your gaze just a moment longer before returning to his work, smiling down into his laptop. You hummed, satisfied, until you felt his eyes peek back up at you. 

“Hey, take a picture, Winchester! It’ll last longer!” You laughed, hiding your hint of insecurity with a bit of sass. It was a joke- completely a joke, and you thought Sam had taken it as such, until…

“You know what? You’re right. Don’t move a muscle.” Sam held his hands out as if to freeze you in your current position, turning on the dramatics as he backed away slowly before spinning on his heels to run to your side of the room.   

“Sam-”

“I said don’t move!” He taunted over his shoulder. 

You heard Sam rustling through your bag, but you didn’t dare turn to look- you figured you’d humor him and comply with the ridiculous request. Sam returned to his perch on the couch across from you, a grin adorning his face and the camera looking comically small in his large hand. He cranked the dial, lined it up with his right eye, and called out- “Say cheese!”

“Cheeeeeese!” You laughed, bathing in the blinding brightness- both from the camera’s flash and Sam’s mile-wide smile. If only the photo had been captured from your point of view- you could stare at that face forever. 

–

“Alright everyone, gather around!” Dinner was finished, the dishes were done, a fresh round of beers were cracked. What better time for you to call for a little family photo?

“Here we go again with the paparazzi,” Bobby gruffed, ruffling your hair as he passed you. 

“Excuse me, it’s called being the family historian. We need to record this touching memory!” 

“Alright alright, get over here, everyone,” scolded Sam with a lighthearted tone. Having him on your side was helpful- his long arms corralled the whole crew with ease, gathering everyone in front of the couch. You smiled a silent thank you, and he winked at you in return, sending your heart aflutter. 

While the team of men behind you figured out the ideal photo formation amongst themselves, you prepped the camera, winding the dial and propping it up on the tv stand while making sure to get the angle just right. After this there would only be one picture left on the camera- you had to make sure to save it for something really good. 

Dean stood behind the couch, arms draped over the shoulders of Bobby to his left and Cas to his right. While Dean was already cheesing, Bobby and Cas weren’t quite as natural in front of the camera- it was taking them a second to settle in. Sam, however, was sat down on the couch, arms outstretched to beckon you in. Eager to get the picture taken, you clicked the button to trigger the countdown.

“Alright, we’ve got ten seconds everyone!” You raced over to plop yourself down next to Sam, who almost instictively wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in as close as possible. You tensed a bit, nerves on fire due to your intimate proximity to him, but your face beamed with joy. In the last few seconds before the photo snapped, Sam pressed a sneaky, soft kiss to the side of your head, returning to his former pose just before the final flash went off. Though you were able to calm your bugging eyes in the nick of time, there was little you could to stop the searing heat that flushed to your cheeks. God, you hoped that wouldn’t show up in the picture.

–

It had been a few months since any of you had so much as thought about that camera. Life had gotten a bit busy, to say the least. The end of the world had brought with it plenty of trials and tribulations, and left very little time for photo ops. That being said, you had finally reached a long awaited moment of peace. Things had died down, and there was a brief moment for you and the Winchesters to catch your breath and lay low for a bit. 

It was well past midnight, and a quiet had fallen over the bunker- not the usual tense, fearful, impending-doom type of quiet. This was much more peaceful. Typically, at this hour of the night, the three of you would still be up researching or figuring out plans for your next move. Tonight, however, Dean had been able to hole himself up in his room for a while, trying to get some kind of sleep, which wasn’t usually an option for him. After dozing off and on unsuccessfully for a few hours, he emerged from his room, in search of something he knew would help knock him right out- a snack. 

Drudging down the hall, Dean was drawn away from his intended destination after noticing the blue glow and soft buzz still emitting from the television. Thinking Sam had left it on before heading to bed, Dean rerouted his path in order to switch it off, mumbling to himself that this was not his job. His frustration remained up until he was able to fully take in the scene in front of him. There on the couch lay you and Sam, fast asleep. Sam’s massive frame dwarfed yours as he held you from behind, face firmly planted in your hair. One of your arms curved in front of you to wrap itself around Sam’s, and the other flopped off the couch, the TV remote dangling loosely in your grasp. Dean felt far too sappy even thinking it, but he could’ve sworn he had never seen either of you two so peaceful. 

After smiling down on the two of you for a few seconds shy of creepy, Dean had a realization. He tiptoed out, careful not to disturb you two, and beelined for a little something he had recently discovered, stashed in a junk drawer. The disposable camera, long forgotten, with only the space for one serendipitous photo remaining. “Finally, you two,” Dean whispered, punctuating his sentence with the quiet click of the camera. He’d been betting on this for months, and now, you and Sam could never live it down.

[mystra-midnight]

Language of Lust

summary: a botched hunt means that you need a refresher in latin thankfully sam is there to help.

warnings: 18+ only. mentions of a panic attack. forced orgasm. multiple orgasms. overstimulation. anal sex. unprotected sex. squirting. creampie.

words: 3.2k

notes: so a while ago i saw a post about being dommed in another language. and honestly it unlocked a kink i never knew i had. that post spawned this idea. please ignore the latin translations if they aren’t correct as i used google to translate. :)

In the days following the botched demon hunt, the atmosphere within the base had become tense, and that meant the three of you had been at each other's throats. It hadn’t mattered how many times you’d apologized or promised to do better next time, how much pie you’d bought for Dean, or that you’d cooked Sam's favorite meal twice; nothing had fixed it.

In truth, you all needed some space.

You most of all.

That panic attack came out of nowhere and left you completely shaken. Even a week later, you were hyperfocused on the details of it—the way the walls of the room had shuddered and groaned as you spoke the ritual words, making dust and old cobwebs fall around you. When you thought about it, your heart would race so fast and slam against your breastbone so hard that you could have sworn it started to crack.

The ringing in your ears had been a deafening crescendo, and your eyes had been a waterfall of tears even when Sam had knelt in front of you and pulled you into his chest. You remembered the sound of his voice and the beating of his heart as he whispered to you soothingly until the tears finally stopped.

You still didn't remember much about what had actually happened, but you knew that the demon had gotten away, and you knew that Dean was pissed and Sam was disappointed. Neither of them needed to say it out loud.

So for the past few days, you've busied yourself with whatever task you could find to take your mind off the entire situation. Dean had very much done the same; you hadn’t seen him since this morning, when he’d come back to grab a few things and then left again.

You knew that Sam was somewhere in the base; you’d seen him in passing a few times, but the two of you hadn’t spoken more than a few words to each other.

Normally, that would have upset you. You hated fighting with the boys, but you were feeling better and in a relatively good mood today.

You sigh as you step into the kitchen after showering to wash the sweat and anxiety from your skin. Your hair is still damp, and you're dressed in one of Dean's old shirts and a tight pair of bicycle shorts. Sam entered soon after, dressed just as casually. He looked entirely undisturbed by the events of the past few days.

"Hey," you say in passing, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"Hey yourself," he answers with a smile. For a moment, there was silence between you, but even that was short-lived. "You got the words wrong, you know," Sam says, leaning a hip against the door frame while he stares at you with arms crossed. He didn't sound angry, but it wasn't like he needed to say it; you knew you'd gotten them wrong.

Your head snaps around to stare at him, eyes narrowing at the fucking audacity he spoke with. Was that really what he wanted to say? "Yeah," you answer, your expression souring and your mouth in a tight-lipped scowl. "I figured that out from the silent treatment." You shrug your shoulders, trying not to let the hurt bleed into your voice as you turn away and busy yourself straightening a piece of paper on the table.

"Silent treatment?" He asks, pushing off the wall to come towards you. "No one is giving you the silent treatment."

"Sure you’re not," you scoff in response.

"We’re not."

"Then where is Dean? He’s running off doing his own thing because he’s pissed off at me for ruining the hunt, and it’s been two days since you said this much to me, Sam." You huff, clearly annoyed, as you cross your arms and glare at him. "No one learns from the silent treatment, Sam. Sure, I messed up. I know I did, and I’ll learn from that. The two of you don’t need to be assholes about it. But whatever, live and let live."

He walks briskly towards you, and you step back, not in fear but because the raw emotions in his eyes stun you—lust and dominance mingling beautifully in the depths of his iridescent orbs. Sam doesn't stop when you back away; instead, he walks until the small of your back is pressed against the edge of the table, and then he cages you between his arms, palms pressed flat against the table top.

"S - Sam?" You stutter when his lips pull into a smooth smirk. One of his hands grabs you by the hip, his fingertips biting into your skin just a little bit too much, and he pulls you against him, painting his body firmly against yours.

And then he’s kissing you, and you kiss him, and whatever anger was on your tongue dies.

Sam does not waste time and pushes his hand into your bicycle shorts, the material so tight that it fits you like a second skin. He wants desperately to rip it down your legs and feast on your pussy, but he shows remarkable restraint.

"If you wanted more lessons," he says between heated kisses that muffle your little gasps when he starts to rub his fingers against your clit. "You just needed to ask, sweetheart." His other hand grasps your jaw hard with his thumb and forefinger, pushing into your cheeks so that you were pouting when he kissed you again, pushing his tongue into your mouth.

You have the notion to argue with him but are silenced when he pushes a finger through your folds, which are slick with desire and anticipation. You grab at his arm when he prods your entrance, making your knees weak. "Sam, I—" you start but are silenced by the stare in his eyes.

"In Latin." 

"Sam?"

"In Latin." He says it again, this time with more force, his words accompanied by a second finger being pushed into your tight hole, drawing a wanton moan from your lips. You’re not sure where this behaviour is coming from. Sam had never so much as hinted at liking you, but in truth, you weren’t one to complain—not when he was knuckles deep in your cunt.

Your fingers curl tightly around the edge of the table, nails scratching at the underside, knuckles white under the pressure. You tilt your head back beneath his wandering mouth, enjoying the warmth of his body hovering over yours and how he pulls your shirt up to expose your tits.

Sam trails hot, wet kisses down your neck, his teeth scraping over your racing pulse. He sucks a hickey on your collarbone until a purple-blue bruise forms beneath his lips. The entire time he’s pumping his fingers into your cunt. Lewd, wet squelching fills the room because you’re that fucking wet.

He forces your legs further apart with his knee so that you're perched on the edge of the table, feet dangling in the air. His mouth moves to your chest, his lips closing around your nipple and sucking hard so that it pops from his mouth with an obscene sound and stands hard atop your tit. And then he takes the other one into his mouth, flicking and twirling his tongue so that you had to fist a hand in his hair.

He whispers something that you can’t make out. His mouth is like fire on your skin, leaving little flames of arousal licking through your veins. And then his fingers hit that spongy part of your pussy that has you hurtling towards a climax instead of slowly building to it.

You can’t help the way your nails dig into his shoulders when you cling to him when your thighs tremble. You cling to him when the storm comes out of nowhere, sweeping you away on a cloud of bliss that has you throwing your head back. He feels your walls tighten around his fingers, fresh waves of arousal against the tips, and then he’s kissing you again, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to keep the aftershocks of climax trembling through you.

His mouth is hot, stealing the air from your lungs until they are burning, but you don’t mind because you're still coming down from your high.

The next thing you know, it’s been an hour, and Sam has managed to make you cum three more times, twice with his fingers buried knuckle deep in your pussy, scissoring them to send you teetering over the edge of oblivion. And then once more, with his mouth on your pussy, lips encircling around your clit and sucking so hard that all you could do was repeat his name like a heaven’s prayer.

You’re done, but he wasn’t, not by a long shot.

Sam spread you out on your back, laying you out like a feast, your skin flushed and tits heaving with heavy breaths. You feel the rough pad of his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, which is slightly swollen and much too sensitive, and you claw at his wrist to push him away. Sam just smiles at you and pins both your wrists to the mattress with one of his large hands.

"It’s too much," you whine, trying to pull away and wiggle your hips away from his fingers, but you’re trapped. And you love it as much as you hate it. Sam growls softly between his teeth, his thumb prodding through your slick folds and getting nice and wet before drifting lower to push against your asshole. Your breath hitches at the sensation, and your mind spins as he pushes his thumb inside, giving a few shallow thrusts to tease you.

"Hic tam arctus es, infans," he says, his voice heavy with lust and muffled against your heaving tits. His breath is hot against your skin, his teeth scrape over your racing heartbeat, and his tongue leaves your skin inflamed and glistening. There is a knot twisting through your belly, slowly pulling tighter as his thumb pushes in and out of your tight hole.

"Ubi vis me?" His words are lost in the haze of euphoria he’s trapped you in, as meaningless as the world around you has become. You were a slave to the sensations he embodied, desperately moving your hips to take him deeper. "Hic?"

"Sam," you whine, your voice straining as you struggle in his grasp. You need him; you need to feel your pussy stretching around his big, hard cock. You need to feel him buried inside you, fucking you into oblivion.

"Hic?" He says it again, twisting his thumb in a way that has you throwing your head back and bucking your hips desperately. You can feel him smiling against your tit as he mouths it, his teeth tugging at your nipple until your back arches.

Your breath comes quicker, little pants, when he pulls his thumb from your clenching asshole, the feeling exquisite and leaving you desperate for more despite the live wires of overstimulation snaking through your veins. Sam lets go of your wrists long enough to pull one of your legs up, laying the back of your thigh up his torso so that your knee is bent over his shoulder, and then he shackles them again, trapping you beneath him.

You move restlessly when you feel his thumb against your asshole again, except this time it's not his thumb, and your eyes go wide, a whimper falling from your parted lips. You weren’t a virgin, not at all, but this would be the first time you’d ever taken something so big in your ass.

There was no mistaking that Sam Winchester was a behemoth of a man. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, and strong—Hercules reborn. Everything about him is big. His hands, his feet, his thighs, and his cock. Everything about him is solid, cut from marble; he is beautiful. His cock makes your asshole sting beautifully as he pushes the mushroom head in.

Inch by glorious inch, he pushed forward, the prominent vein on the underside of his cock dragging along your stretched hole. "Jesus, tam stricta es," he breathes against your neck, but you still don’t understand. He’s slow, letting you get used to the feeling of his cock splitting you open with short, shallow thrusts, making you moan wantonly.

He loves the little things that you do, the simple things; the pleasure that sears through him as he stretches your tightest hole; the way you’re moaning like a whore, rocking your hips desperately against his, grinding against him. He starts moving with more urgency, drawing back so that only the head of his cock is fitted snugly inside, and then he’s thrusting back in with one stroke, hitting deep, leaving you throwing your head from side to side.

Your thighs quiver, and your toes curl. Sam fucks into you at a merciless pace, stretching you out and filling you completely, and the feeling of it is beyond words. It is beautiful and exquisite—pure euphoric bliss. It makes your pussy creamy with desire, so much so that your slick drips down your crack to mingle with his thrusts. That knot in your belly pulls tighter while your clit throbs and the muscles in your thighs ache. Your lungs burn because of how you’re panting, unable to catch your breath.

His fingers tighten around your wrists when you almost buck out of his grasp, the tips of them biting into your skin so that you can feel bruises starting to form, but you don’t care. You’re so close, so fucking close. His mouth is on your neck, his teeth scraping over your racing pulse, his lips leaving hickeys behind, and his tongue leaving your skin hot and wet.

You can feel the pressure building. Your pussy is clenching desperately around nothing, and you can feel your pulse beating in your toes, your clit, even in your fingertips—you’re that close to breaking. It feels so fucking good, but you’re fighting it because the pleasure is starting to border on pain and overstimulation.

And you’re lost in it, trapped as you are beneath him.

You crave that sweet release, the way fire will race through your blood, and the way your world will be scored with lightning. You need it as much as you need to breathe, but every part of you is alive. You can hear the blood rushing behind your ears; hear the beating of your heart as it slams into your breastbone; your eyes rolling back every time his hips snap forward, pushing every inch of him deep inside you.

"Venire," he growls against your neck, his breath literally burning against your sweat-slicked skin. You don’t know what he says, but the lust in his voice and the feral look in his eyes pull that coil painfully tight. You’re breaking—he’s breaking you. He’s got you on the verge of being fucked stupid, sobbing because of him and how good it feels, but he wants more from you.

"Sam! Sam, please, please," you plead, throwing your head from side to side, desperately trying to tug your hands free. You arch your back when he hits a spot that has dots decorating your vision, your tits thrusting into the air. You can’t figure out what you’re asking for. For him to stop or for him to keep going, it’s a blur.

Every movement of his hips has that knot pulling tighter—so tight that you might die. Your pussy is twitching, clenching around nothing, and you’re so wet that it’s shining on his skin every time he bottoms out.

"Venire," he says again, this time against your ear. Your pleasure-addled brain, so drugged with pleasurable pain and desperate for the release he’s forcing from you, only comprehends what he's saying when two of his fingers are shoved through your slick folds and into your clenching hole, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing harsh circles.

You struggle to close your thighs, tears streaming down your face, tits bouncing as he fucks you harder. His cock is stretching your ass beyond belief while his fingers ram into that spongy spot that has your vision decorated with stars. "I - I - I - can’t!" You manage to stutter out, hips bucking against his, your pussy clenching so tight around his fingers.

Except you can because that dam breaks with so much pressure that you scream. It feels like lightning has hit your body, sizzling through your veins until you’re thrashing beneath him, your thighs quivering violently, and your toes curled so much that it hurts.  Sam doesn’t stop, not even when your ass tightens around his cock to the point of pain. He just presses his thumb against your clit, circling, rubbing, and making you scream for him.

You feel a gush between your thighs, your pussy convulsing around his fingers as you cum in a fountain spray. Sam curls his fingers into your g-spot, scissors them, and pulls them from you to draw out as much cum as possible. If you had any brains left, you might have been embarrassed by the way you came, squirting so hard that it hits his abdomen and drips from the nest of curls at the base of his shaft, how it drenches your thighs and pools on the mattress beneath you.

But you’re gone, lost, and fucked dumb, only able to grunt as he keeps fucking you.

"Tam pulchra, infans, tam formosa, tam mihi dura venit." His own voice is trembling, and his balls draw closer to his body as the muscles in his abdomen tighten. He buries himself deep so that your ass is full and your pussy tingles. And you feel it as he grunts against your neck—feel the white-hot ribbons of cum filling your ass.

Sam keeps thrusting until you've milked him dry, and then he pulls out, drawing a pathetic, desperate moan from your lips because of the sensation. Having let go of your wrists, he sits back on his haunches. You lay there, your thighs still trembling, your mind lost. Sam watches the way your pretty pussy twitches and the way your ass puckers, and his sticky cum drips from it in fat globs.

"What do pretty girls say after being filled with cum?" He asks, his voice soft, his fingers pushing his cum back into your stretched-out ass so that you were whimpering and shaking again. You manage to peel your eyes open to stare at him, tears in them, your chest heaving as he shoves two long fingers into your asshole.

He speaks English this time so that you understand, but you are still slow to react, straining to close your thighs. He kisses you without warning, his tongue in your mouth, licking yours until you're clawing at his shoulders to keep him there, desperate for his kiss.

"Gratias tibi." You managed with a weary smile, and that was enough for him for the moment.

the translations ::

Hic tam arctus es, infans. - You’re so tight here, baby.

Ubi vis me? - Where do you want me?

Hic? - Here?

Hic? - Here?

Jesus, tam stricta es. - Jesus, you’re so tight.

Venire - Come/cum.

Venire - Come/cum.

Tam pulchra, infans, tam formosa, tam mihi dura venit. - So pretty, baby, so beautiful, coming so hard for me.

Gratias tibi - Thank you.

[eternalslover]

I got this gif off of pinterest and it's my absolute favorite thing ever

HES SO CUTE OMG

That's my hand BTW! (I'm delusional)

[sleepyangelkami]

PLAYTHING s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 1.2K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - though on the road with dean, sam always comes home to you whatever chance he gets. this time, he feels he's been gone to long and when he finds you sleeping in only his shirt... he aches for you.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, p!v, sleepy sex, praise kink, reader mentioned to be smaller than sam, practically porn with no plot, gentle sex, unprotected sex, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

exhaustion coated sam as he fished around in the back pocket of his jeans, looking for the spare key to your house. it was late and by now, the stars covered the sky. he knew you'd be asleep, that's why he didn't bother knocking.

the door opened silently and sam silently cursed you for leaving your hallway light on. he was always telling you to turn it off before bed but without him there... you felt safer with it on.

he kicked his boots off, not wanting to make a mess of your carpet and found himself walking up the stairs, switching the light off as he went. he tossed his bag somewhere by the top of the stairs, knowing he'd come back to it in the morning.

all that mattered now was well, you.

he opened the door of your bedroom. it was dark but he could still make out the silhouette of your body. your leg was propped up, practically cuddling the duvet. he could see a shirt enveloping your body, too big to be yours.

as he slid his shirt off, he found himself longing to feel you, to touch you. it'd only been a week since he was in this room last and yet it had felt like an eternity that he'd been deprived of your touch.

whenever sam came home after his trips, he'd slide his clothes off and get right into bed. which is exactly what he did now. he wasted no time in enveloping his large arms around your body, pulling you in close.

the smell of your shampoo made his eyes flutter closed and the scent of his own cologne against the sleep shirt you'd stolen from him made his lips quirk.

"sammy?" your voice was a quiet, soft mumble. he loved the way you sounded when you'd just woken, so vulnerable. perhaps he loved it so much because he knew you wouldn't be so vulnerable with anyone else. just him.

"'m here, sweetheart." he felt you move in his embrace. he loved holding you like this, he wished he could get impossibly closer, as if it were possible.

you moved so that you were facing his chest, slightly lower down in the bed than he was. "how was your hunt?" even in the dark, your hands trailed up his arms. he was wearing nothing but his boxers. but feeling his body, there was something about it that just assured you he was really there. "missed you."

"yeah? how much?" the man ignored your first question, his hands sliding around your own body.

you couldn't describe the soft feeling of when he'd come home, feeling him, knowing he was there while he did the same to you. it was rather... lovely.

you felt his fingers inch higher, trailing past the flimsy material of his own shirt on your body. suddenly, you felt the base of his fingers against your panties.

"sammy." you practically whimpered out, low and sleepy. "'m tired."

"i know, honey." you felt him move your hair with his free hands, pressing gentle, damp kisses against your neck. not the kind of kisses he usually left, sucking and leaving marks, roughly and making sure everyone knew you were his. no, this was different. he wasn't kissing you to leave any marks or to induce pleasure, even. he was kissing you so softly, to let you know you were safe with him. "you don' have to do anything, okay? jus' lay there 'n let me do the work, yeah?"

a soft, "okay." left your lips, though your mind was still half torn between sleep and wake.

"good girl." pressing the same, simple kiss to your cheek as his fingers hooked against your cotton panties. you could feel him drag them down against your legs but truthfully, your eyes had fallen shut, tiredness seeping into you.

he pushed his own boxers out of the way too, discarding the clothing against the ground before grabbing his dick in his hand.

if he were being honest, he'd felt himself harden the minute he'd seen your body, pretty cotton panties on show, hardly covered by his own shirt.

perhaps he was being territorial now, but there was something so aching about seeing you in his shirt. he knew you were his, that was a known fact, but seeing you like this, it lit a part of him ablaze.

he moved his hand up and down his shaft, making sure it was hard enough before maneuvering it up against your wet hole.

he didn't push in yet, gently testing the waters as he pushed the tip around your cunt, softly against your clit and finally back down to your sopping hole again.

"jus' relax, baby." littering kisses against your skin. "gonna do all the work."

the hum that left your lips was slick with tiredness but when he pushed himself in, he was met with a stuttered gasp that left your lips. a grunt left his own, usually a string of curses would accompany it.

but not tonight.

often, he'd spend the first few minutes teasing you as much as he could.

but not tonight.

"good girl." he mumbled against your forehead which he had kissed tenderly. "doin' s'good."

he didn't speak much tonight, which he usually did. usually, he couldn't get himself to stop talking. dirty words and the sounds of loud moans would bounce from wall to wall. now, the room was filled with only heavy breaths and lazy whimpers that could be heard from you, buried in the crook of his neck.

but he didn't need you to say anything either. the mere feeling was enough.

it was different than usual. the feeling was indescribable, how comfortable you were with him. the realisation of that on his part was something so riveting.

even now, between the twisted blankets of your bed. you were half asleep, hardly able to keep your eyes open and yet you trusted him with the most vulnerable thing that you could. he realised how protected you felt with him, his large body enclosing around yours, hands gentle against your waist while your head stayed hidden between his neck and shoulder.

your gentle breaths, tiniest of whimpers in his ears was enough for him.

and it didn't take him long to get close.

perhaps he really had been deprived of you.

your breath grew slightly more shallow. "sam." is all you could whimper out, he knew exactly what it'd meant.

"i know, baby." he all but whispered back. "'s okay, let go f'me."

and when you came undone around his cock, he felt himself do the same.

even when everything was done, when the feelings floated away into the air and everything was replaced by this heavy weight of tiredness, he stayed inside you for a few minutes. he stayed inside of you until finally, he realised he was going to fall asleep if he didn't move.

and when he did move out of you, he still kept you close. his large hands trailed up your body, holding it as close as humanly possible.

"really did miss you, sammy." you whispered in the utter darkness.

it was enough for him to think. to really think. perhaps the life he lived wasn't worth it. if he had to give everything up just for a few moments like his with you, then he would.

"missed you so much more, angel."

and with the soft movements of one another's breaths, you fell asleep rather quickly, unable to fight of the tiredness that washed over you both.

sam made sure you didn't leave his embrace until the sun began to rise over the horizon.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

[5sospenguinqueen]

Dean: It’s over. We won.

(Behind him, the monster slowly stands back up)

Sam:

Castiel:

Y/N: Dean…

Dean: No. We won. I’m not turning around to look at it. We won.

[saltcxrcle]

sweet smiles and sweaters ── . ✶ s. winchester

summary: you want to be close to sam as possible, which means you might crawl into his old hoodie... with him in it

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn! reader warnings: no use of 'y/n', fluff, pure fluff, like tooth-rottingly sweet, word count: 1.3K a/n: this is just me being obsessed with sam bc who isn't?? but this was inspired by a video i saw on my feed lol hope you guys enjoy this fluffy fic with sam hehe <3 sam winchester masterlist

IT WAS SCARY how fast you fell for Sam. But how could you not? Sam’s smile never failed to make your stomach flutter whenever he aimed it your way. Oh, and how could you forget to mention the adorable dimples that appeared when he smiled brightly and never failed to make you melt in your seat. You could feel your heartbeat race at the sound of his loud and boisterous laugh when you said something funny and couldn’t help but laugh along with him; his laugh was the best type of pick-me-up you could ever ask for. 

Sam’s mind was one that you always admired; he was brilliant, and you always loved to hear what he had researched for the hunt you guys were on. You loved hearing him talk; the low timbre of his voice never failed to fill your veins with warmth as you stared at him as he spoke—no doubt with love in your eyes; you always smiled and nodded along as he spoke. 

Sam made you feel in a way that you never had experienced before—and it scared you. You never entertained the thought of the chance of him reciprocating your feelings because you thought he could never see you as more than as a friend, someone he hunts with, and someone to confide in—but not be in a relationship with.

The thought of confessing to him made your stomach churn and twist into knots (a rejection from Sam would probably hurt more than the time you were thrown down a flight of stairs by a vengeful spirit on a hunt). Besides, there was no way you were risking messing up the friendship you had established with him, nor with the dynamic you had with the brothers. 

So, your plan of shutting up about your feelings was your best bet to save you from messing everything up until Sam came in with a sledgehammer (a metaphorical one, of course) and shattered it completely. 

The two of you were chatting quietly through a movie (a terrible one at that) that was playing on the TV in the motel room the three of you were sharing. Dean was out at the nearest bar, and Sam was sitting next to you, his shoulder against yours. You chuckled at the joke he had made about the flimsy plot. You looked at Sam as your laughing subsided, seeing a soft smile on his face as he looked at you—fondness glinting in his hazel gaze. 

Sam unconsciously leaned toward you, his hand coming to rest against your face and his thumb swiping against your cheek softly. You couldn’t help but lean into the warmth of his hand, but you were slightly confused at the action. You didn’t verbalize it, not wanting to break the spell Sam had put you under. 

His eyes flicked from yours to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Can I kiss you?” Sam’s breath was fanning over yours, resting his forehead against your own. 

You didn’t realize how close he had gotten but gave him a soft smile. “Yeah.” You murmured. 

Sam mirrored your smile before placing his lips on yours, drawing you in for the sweetest kiss you had ever gotten in your life (until that moment, of course). Your eyes fluttered shut when Sam kissed you, savoring the feeling of his lips against yours.

You were convinced that you were dreaming, but the warmth of Sam’s palm against your cheek told you that this was very much real and Sam was kissing you. It seemed to have lasted forever, but Sam pulled away from you slowly like he was reluctant to part from your lips. But he didn’t stray far; his forehead was still resting against yours.

You could feel your lips stretch into a broad smile, feeling giddy at the fact that Sam just kissed you. You slowly peeled your eyes open to see your favorite sight, Sam beaming down at you—something akin to love coloring his gaze as the two of you locked eyes with one another. 

Dean had a shit-eating grin on his face when the two of you woke up the following day after you guys had shared your first kiss but congratulated the both of you for finally getting over your fears and getting together. 

Now, you were at the table in another motel room, on another hunt in a random town in the Midwest, researching and typing away at your laptop. You couldn’t help but cast glances at your boyfriend, who was lying on your shared bed, his back against the headboard, as he flipped through one of the lore books he was able to check out from the library in this town. Sam’s brows were slightly furrowed, and you wanted to smooth out the wrinkle between his brows with either your fingers or a kiss. 

You smiled at the thought as you continued to look at Sam. He was wearing an old, worn Stanford hoodie that rarely saw the light of day, having been at the bottom of his duffle bag since he left university. You looked back at your laptop; you hadn’t found anything useful before looking back at him. You smirked to yourself before closing your laptop and getting up from the table you were hunched over for the past hour. 

Your hands went above your head, stretching out the stiff muscles in your shoulders and back before you padded over to the end of the bed where Sam was reading. He hadn’t noticed that you were there until you started to crawl onto the bed and towards him. 

Sam glanced up from the book to see your smirking face as you climbed up his body. “What are you doing?” He asked with a confused smile on his face. 

You didn’t bother with answering him verbally; you just shot him a sly smile before lifting the hem of the red hoodie he was wearing and crawling into it head first. 

Sam let out a shocked laugh, and an exclamation of your name fell from his lips. The book he was reading fell from his grip as you shimmied your way up his sweater. Sam squirmed slightly as your body shifted up his, plastering yourself against his. You eventually got your head through the top of the sweater, now being nose to nose with your darling boyfriend. 

“Hi.” You greeted him with a wide grin. 

“Hi.” Sam chuckled at your antics. His hand came to rest on your back as you straddled his body. “Is there any reason why you’re in my sweater with me?” 

“Do I need a reason to be close to my boyfriend?” 

“I suppose not, but you could have done without almost suffocating yourself in my hoodie.” 

You shook your head. “Nope, this is way more comfortable.” 

Sam let out a chuckle at your words, shaking his head. “Okay then honey.” 

“To answer your question, I was bored and I felt like it.” You weren’t exactly lying. Doing research on your laptop had lost its charm when you kept hitting dead end after dead end. But you weren’t going to admit that you just wanted to be as close to him as possible (there were days that you wanted to crawl into his skin, but you weren’t going to address that thought any time soon). 

“You got bored doing research didn’t you?” 

“Yep.” You popped the ‘p’ as you answered Sam, and he shook his head at you. 

He kissed your forehead, and your eyes fluttered at the feeling of his lips on your skin. Sam pulled back slightly before kissing you. You sunk into the kiss before he pulled back, placing another peck on your lips. 

“Are you going to stay there the entire time?” Sam asked you as he picked up the book from the bed. 

You nodded. 

“Will that be comfortable for you?” Sam had a slight frown on his lips. Not that he didn’t love having you this close to him, but he didn’t think that his sweater was big enough for the both of you. 

“I’ll be fine.” You told him before shifting downwards slightly, resting your head on his collarbone, and closing your eyes. 

Sam couldn’t help but smile at the sight of you through the opening of his sweater. He kissed your forehead again before going back to reading. 

[join my taglist !; read rules before sending in an ask]

[studiogrimm810]

Lazy Morning Discussions

pairings/characters: (established) sam x gn!you

summary: a lazy morning discussion of the future is sometimes painfully unrealistic, but it's still fun to imagine, right?

warnings: suggestive activities, yearning for a better future, kinda sad but a lot more fluffy :D

word count: 1,386

A/N: this was a request!! thank you so much for reaching out and i hope this is what you were looking for!! <3

———————

It was a lazy Tuesday morning at the bunker. There hadn’t been a case to be worked in almost a week and you and Sam were starting to feel the effects of not working. You were definitely taking advantage of that though. Yesterday, you both made homemade pizzas for dinner and made him sit through the Twilight saga that Dean made fun of you for. You stayed up late which led to now being tangled in blankets at almost 11 am. You had never seen Sam stay in bed past 8, sometimes 9 when he was sick, but the two of you just got to talking and made no effort to get up.

After hours of talking, a few rounds of particularly exhausting activities, and talk of coffee, you both remained buried under the comforter and tangled in each other's hold.

“I would prefer a city to be within walking distance of anything we might need, suburbs are too spread out,” you reason, looking up at the ceiling, your clasped hands lifted and toying with his fingers. “I suppose if it was a smaller neighborhood close to a town or main street than that would be suitable.”

“I just would hate an apartment, too cramped,” he frowns.

“Of course you would say that, there’s barely even enough room for me in this bed with you,” you joke, shaking your head. He looks over to you with a shocked expression and sits up to grab your waist and pull you on top of him.

“Personal space has never been a complaint of yours before,” he teases, resting his hands on your hips and toying with the hem of your underwear.

“I think you could manage an apartment if we had a yard or patio of somesort,” you crossed your arms and exaggerated a thoughtful expression on your face, ignoring his comment.

“That would be better,” his hands run down your thighs and back up, blossoming goosebumps across your skin. His eyes trail your body in a slow and adoring manner, leading right back up to your eyes and he settles his head in the pillow as he watches you.

“A townhouse would be nice,” you envision, “maybe we would get to know our neighbors and have cook outs!” You beam at the thought, looking down at him and he just watches you above him, admiring the way your messy hair frames your face like a halo.

“Yeah, sure, but what if we got one of those really difficult neighbors who enforce HOA rules like trash cans being out too long or property lines?” He offers and you roll your eyes.

“Okay, I’m telling you now, if we bought a home, I refuse to listen to someone trying to tell me how to take care of it,” you scoff, your hands braced on his chest with a finger tracing his tattoo.

“Yep, our neighbors would hate us,” he decides with a compliant shrug and you smack his chest lightly with a dropped jaw.

“Hey! You don’t know that!” You shake your head, really picturing the perfect home to share between you two.

“Well, we would definitely need room for a dog,” Sam decides, running his nails up the side of your torso, making you hum in idle pleasure. Your eyes snap open once you realize what he’s doing.

“If you want a dog so bad then I at least get two cats,” you demand. You couldn’t believe his distraction almost got you to agree to owning a dog.

“But that’s three animals- we’ll definitely need more than an apartment,” he hooks his hands around your torso and pulls you down so that you’re flush against his chest and your elbows are braced on the pillow beneath him. “Especially if we ever-.” He stops himself, his expression draining at what he almost said. You feel it too, the ache shared between you two. You sigh and rest your cheek against his chest, tucking your arms under his back.

It was a sore subject- kids. You’ve always envisioned a future with children but took it as a mindless fantasy and nothing more. That was until you met Sam and now all you could think of was the possibility of creating a human that’s half you and half him. It hurt to think about.

It was fun to plan for a fancy home you realistically could never afford or think of what town or city you two would choose if you could. That stuff was just that- stuff. It was all a materialistic day dream that could change from day to day, but children lead to the full stop of imagination. It reminded you both of how truly unrealistic your dreams were.

Sam ran his fingers through your hair, feeling guilty at his slip up. He hated reminding you of what could never be.

“Seattle would be nice,” he spoke, pulling up a blanket once he felt how cold your exposed back was. “Bright, colorful, all four seasons, colder,” he listed, trying to cheer you up with a new city to focus on. You stayed silent though, thinking of how empty a home would feel at this point if you couldn’t create life in it.

“It’s by the water too, beaches. We can bake under the sun and cool off in the water,” he sets it up, all for you, but you can only think of building sandcastles with a child you’re not destined to raise. Sam’s hands continue to roam over your body, trying anything he can to comfort you.

But it’s quiet again and you try to focus on the steady beat of his heart and the warmth radiating from his skin. He lets you for a while, not speaking again and allowing you to be with your own thoughts right now. His hands don’t cease, though.

An undetermined amount of time passes and he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head before gently flipping you over and onto your back so that he’s now the one hovered over you. He doesn’t even have to be directly over top of you to cage you like he does.

You reach up to tuck his hair out of his face and he gazes down at you, a somber smile blessing his lips. He still doesn’t speak but he can tell you’re about to.

“Dean would kill us if we moved to Seattle,” you argue with a gentle shrug. His smile brightens and he drops his head with a laugh.

“Yeah, okay, you’ve got me there,” he reaches a hand to caress your cheek, leaning close to kiss your forehead and lingering for a bit longer than he usually would. When he pulls away, he smooths your hair and settles his hand under your ear.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips and his eyes roam your face, taking in just how beautiful you are to him.

“At what point do you think we need to get out of bed and get ready for the day?” You ask, snaking your arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Today? Never,” he shakes his head, dipping down to peck your lips.

“We have to eat at some point,” you argue, feeling a rumble of hunger in your stomach.

“Debatable,” he murmurs, kissing you again, this time a bit sloppier.

“Sam,” you giggle, turning away but his hand pulls you back into place and he kisses you again, biting your lip teasingly and earning a breathy whimper from you.

“Right, right, you want to get up, you said?” He pulls away, acting dumb but your arms drag him back to you and you pull up with the help of his palm under your skull to lift you into a packed kiss. He chuckles into your lips and keeps you pressed into him.

“I don’t recall,” you whisper, latching your lips onto his in a soft embrace where you can ignore your fears, worries, dreams, and lack thereof. Despite all you wish you could have with Sam, you have to remind yourself just how lucky you are to have him in your life in the first place. After a life of constant fighting, heartache, loss and disappointment, knowing that Sam is still the man you call yours is more than enough.

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thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @blossomingorchids

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

She Stays (Part 3)

Summary: Could you please write one where student!reader appears in Supernatural universe taken from normal life and becomes an angel? Pairing Sam/reader?

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Sam x student!/angel!reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: Wow this is only how many years late? I know it’s been asked for many times for more of She Stays and here it is! Please enjoy this final part!

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“Ow,” you heard Dean shout from the kitchen. When you came in he was sucking on his finger. “Cut it,” he mumbled, moving to the sink to run it under some water. He hissed as the cold hurt and you yanked his hand away.

“That needs stitches,” you said, Dean letting you twist his hand around. He smiled as he nodded approvingly.

“Yes it does,” he said, your hand reaching out and pulling a fresh towel to wrap it in. “You’re coming up to speed on the medical side of things,” he said. “Sammy’s been a good teacher.”

“I like when Sam teaches me,” you said, pulling him along to grab a first aid kit. “You on the other hand...”

“I’m an asshole who doesn’t give you an inch of slack, right?” asked Dean, putting on his mentor face. “Sam would go too easy on you in fights and target practice. You know it too.”

“I know, Dean,” you said, fiddling through the bag to find a needle and thread. “I don’t feel like I make any progress with you though. Sam tells me I’m doing a good job at least.”

“Kid,” said Dean, grabbing your wrist before you grabbed the supplies you needed. “You’ve come a long way in two months. I might even let you go on a salt and burn by yourself.”

“Really?” you said, eyes lighting up. 

“No, but only because Sam would kill me,” said Dean, chuckling as he moved your hand to the towel. “I know you can stitch and blood doesn’t bother you. Go ahead and try.”

“No, Dean,” you said, jerking your hand back. He frowned and feigned sorrow.

“Guess I’ll just bleed out since, Fledgy wouldn’t help me,” said Dean, holding up his finger.

“I need Cas,” you said, Dean scowling hard as he hoped onto the counter. The hunting stuff, that wasn’t so bad compared to knowing you had these abilities. You were still too scared to use them without Cas close by, afraid of hurting someone. 

“I trust you,” said Dean, holding out his hand. “I’m in worlds of pain here, Kid. Help a guy out.”

“Dean, I don’t want to,” you said, reaching for the medical bag again. “Angel stuff is not your area, remember, it’s Cas’.”

“I’m also bad cop,” said Dean. “Now try or I’ll work you so hard today so you’ll be too tired to go on your first date with Sammy.”

“Thank dad you’re not my soulmate,” you said, Dean chuckling as you grabbed his wrist. “Just don’t move or anything.” Dean stopped playing as he moved the towel back and you saw it still gushing blood. You thought of how big a cut it was, how it was deep and throbbing. You pictured it in your mind and then how it was supposed to be. 

Dean shut his eyes as you let warmth trickle from your fingers and told your grace to heal him. Dean jerked a little but when you pulled back he was good as new.

“I didn’t tell you about the bruise on my knee,” said Dean, shoving his pants up and seeing the black and blue mark missing.

“I wanted it to heal whatever was wrong with you,” you said a little timid. It felt intimate to heal someone, like you were touching their pain for the briefest of moments.

“I won’t tell Cas if you won’t,” said Dean, hopping off the counter. “Now it’s time for your surprise.”

“Please no more push ups today,” you said, Dean chuckling as he pushed on your shoulders.

“You’re going on your first date with your soulmate tonight, kid,” said Dean. “I’m taking you to the mall to go pick out whatever you want to wear. Then I’ll tell you a bunch of horribly embarrassing stuff about Sam you can bring up at dinner if you feel so inclined.”

“You’re such a good big brother,” you said, Dean already moving the two of you towards the garage.

Dean had surprisingly been a good shopping buddy. You picked out a few simple black dresses but Dean had found one with an open back that you fell in love with. You weren’t sure at first how it would look on you but once you were in a pair of heels even you couldn’t help but think you looked hot.

Leaving your room wearing it that night, knowing it was just you and Sam in the bunker, you felt a little silly. You weren’t going out or anything, it was dinner at home. But Sam had asked if you could wear a dress so your first date wasn’t in flannels and ripped jeans and you wouldn’t deny him that request.

“Hi, Y/N,” said Sam, working over the stove. “Could you grab...” he trailed off when he spun around and saw you. You could feel him light up as he lost the ability to speak.

“Plates?” you asked, Sam nodding, his eyes glued to every part of you. “Sam, I’m not that pretty.”

“You’re gorgeous,” said Sam, a little breathy. “You’re always beautiful but...I’ve never seen you dressed up before.”

“Slight improvement over you sweats and tee from that first day,” you said, stepping beside him to reach plates from the cupboard.

“You’re comparing apples and oranges babe,” said Sam, reaching up and grabbing the too high plates for you, an excuse to get you close dawning on you. “I love both those outfits. Anything really. I can almost see your wings in your back like that.”

“Sam,” you said, looking down shyly. “I don’t have my wings yet.”

“Yes you do,” he said, ignoring the cooking and running a hand up to the back of your neck. “They’re just very small right now,” said Sam, his hand moving lower and lower until his long fingers scrapped over the ridge of your shoulder blade.

You giggled as it tickled, the motion pulling something from you that you hadn’t quite felt before. 

“Beautiful snow white,” said Sam. “They’re right there, just under the skin. I can’t wait to see them when you’re full grown.”

“How do you know what they look like if you can’t see them?” you asked, resting your head on Sam’s shoulder. You would stay like this forever, him touching this vulnerable spot you didn’t know you had, making you tingle and smile all over.

“I just know,” said Sam, tilting your head back so he could cup your cheek. “I’m glad we took it slow. Got to be best friends first before trying this.”

“There’s no trying, this is...” you said, letting your angel side take over for a minute. “Cas told me something, about fledglings.”

“You’re very pure creatures,” said Sam. “It’s okay, Y/N. He told me too.”

“Then you know we can’t get frisky or anything like that at all,” you said, backing away from him, seeing the hurt on his face. “Where I came from, it didn’t matter but here...you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

“Spending forever with my soulmate? Yes that does sound awful,” said Sam, taking a step closer wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’m not scared, Fledgy. I will never pressure you one way or the other. It doesn’t mean I don’t have a preference for how things will turn out between us.”

“I’m not too young?” you asked, Sam unable to fight back a laugh.

“That’s...that’s what you’ve been worried about?” asked Sam with a smile. “I’m barely older. Fledgy, I love you. Nothing, absolutely nothing will ever stop that. Before you ask, I love you for you, not because of this soulmate thing. I’ve felt that perfect at home feeling with you every second I’m with you since the start, before we touched.”

“Can we eat dinner later?” you asked, the burnt smell of chicken filling your nose. “I’d like to do something with you first.”

“Make me yours, Y/N.”

Dean got home after midnight, only slightly buzzed as he found you and Sam eating pizza on the counter in pajamas.

“How’d the date go you two?” asked Dean, stealing a piece of your leftovers. “Going to be a second one?”

“Yup,” you said, Sam eyeing you up and down.

“Yup,” said Sam, a smirk on his face.

“Is this some couple thing or some angel thing?” asked Dean, watching the both of you. “Or did you two do it finally?”

“All of the above,” you said, Sam smacking your arm playfully. “Hey, someday I’m going to be stronger than you ya know.”

“That’ll be fun in bed,” said Sam, winking as Dean looked ready to gag. “Fledgy’s growing up,” said Sam, holding up a single perfect snow white feather. Just like he’d said it be.

“Angel’s getting her wings, huh? All you two had to do was go at it?” asked Dean, genuinely curious about the fledgling rules as they seemed to differ than a normal angel.

“Actually, it kind of...made me more human in certain areas,” you said, wondering if Dean would be angry. “Mating as a fledgling, with a human, it turns off that angel bit that let’s me...live forever. Normal life expectancy for me now.”

“Makes sense,” said Dean, both you and Sam raising an eyebrow. “Why would Chuck make soulmates that don’t get to be together when it’s all said and done? You two must really like each other to do that.”

“He’s okay,” you said, bumping into Sam’s ribs with a smile.

“It’s not so bad having an angel looking out for me,” said Sam, holding onto your feather like it was precious. 

“So you get anything else new while I was out beside some feathers?” Dean asked, silently reaching out to Sam asking to look at the one in his hand. Sam handed it over carefully as Dean inspected it. “Okay, I’ll admit that’s kind of cool.”

“Too bad you can’t see them like Sam,” you said, moving your left wing to tickle his arm, still so small it didn’t jut out past your back, Sam smirking and Dean looking on confused.

“Don’t stay up too late having angel sex, we’re going to work on werewolves tomorrow,” said Dean. “Night Sammy. Fledgy.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a full day a head of you,” said Sam. “Make sure to carve in some time for your boyfriend if you can.”

“I can always make time for him,” you said, brushing your wing up against his arm again, making Sam laugh. 

“Let’s go to bed,” said Sam, hopping off the counter and picking you up.

“I’m not tired though,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I said go to bed, not sleep, Fledgy,” said Sam with a wink. “I got too much energy I need to burn off before I even think about curling up with you all night long.”

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