#Sam winchester x you

[sunsbaby]

𓍯𓂃 sam winchester x fem!reader | MDNI

your teeth sunk into sam's flesh, your walls tightening around his cock. you loved to bite, especially during sex.

"mhmm, my pretty baby..." sam murmured from below you, his eyes hooded and filled with lust. his hands gripped tightly onto your hips, large fingers trailing patterns into the skin.

"sam! s..so big–mhmm." you were able to moan out as he thrust his cock deeper into your pink pussy—which soaked his shaft more.

you bit down harder, pulling a whine from sam. you'd never heard him make that noise before, so it fueled you to keep going. you bounced up and down on him, his tip brushing against your cervix every time you'd sink back down onto his thick cock.

his grip on your hips tightened, most likely going to leave a bruise. not that you minded, for you too were marking him. teeth imprints littered his skin, deep, yet not deep enough to where he'd bleed.

"c'mon baby, cum on my dick–use me, pretty girl.." he muttered, his head falling back against the headboard. the bed was creaking from the force of your hips rolling into his—chasing your own release.

"sam!" you cried out, gushing around his cock. whines and moans left your tips as your orgasm came over you, strong.

you swear you heard sam whimper your name as he came, a warm pearly substance filling you up—your womb and velvety walls coated white. his dick now had a pretty white ring around the base. his hands still placed on your hips, looser now, as your eyes admired the marks left on his body.

sam could die a happy man just like this.

sunny yaps! VERY SHORT SAM SMUT!! i want to bite him. HERE U GUYS GOOO!!

special tags! @bluemerakis @dulcescorderitas @figthoughts @h8aaz

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

[samsno1]

warnings: oral s. (f.), pussydrunk sam

Sam never failed to make you see stars. Especially when he had you laid on your back, his hair tickling against your inner thighs and hands holding your hips down with an almost bruising grip as his mouth ate you out like his last meal.

Sam liked going slow, appreciating your taste and the feeling of going down on you. Your legs tightening around his head from time to time, when he hit an especific spot, your fingers going into his hair when you were close, your hips rocking against his face just for you to whine when he stops your squirming with his hands.

It was heaven.

He would get drunk on the feeling quickly, going for minutes and minutes until his jaw gave out — which usually took a long time to happen — leaving you either edged or overstimulated.

"S– Ah– mm..." You moaned out, pushing against his head with your hands. He wouldn't give it up. "T'much baby, too much" You managed to stutter out and Sam finally stopped, but not after giving a last teasing lick over your whole cunt, making you shudder.

He started kissing up your bare body, going through all the previous bites and hickeys he left on his way down. He left one last kiss on your left collarbone before being face to face with you. He had that look on his face, that lovesick, pussydrunk look he always had when he went down on you.

Your hands were tangled in his hair, your lips slightly parted as you let heavy breaths out. Hooded eyes and a lazy smile adorned your features as you looked at all the details in Sam's face.

"Sorry love" He said, pecking your lips. "You just taste so good it drives me insane" He murmured against your lips. You hummed and kissed him yourself, a bit longer, a bit more desperate than a simple peck. You pulled back again.

"You are an addict, that's what you are" You joked with him, shooting him a mischievous smile and his hands squeezed at your waist.

"How can I not be?" He didn't wait for you to answer as he suddenly reached down with his hand and gathered some of your slick in his middle finger. You opened your mouth in a soundless moan, your pussy still sensitive.

He brought his finger up to his mouth and sensually sucked on it, looking directly in your eyes. He made a show with humming — practically moaning — and you were absolutely speechless as you swallowed harshly.

"God..." You whispered.

"Especially when you look at me like that. Fuck, you're so hot" He almost growled as he smashed his lips against yours again, his tongue already invading your mouth in hunger. He arched your back with his hands, urging to be closer to your body.

Sam was absolutely crazy for you and he always showed you just how much.

—

A/N: Hey, this is just a tiny tiny drabble to give you guys something while I finish up a jealous!sam fic. Hope you enjoyed you horny asses.

[losers-clvb]

she tastes like the real thing sam winchester x female!reader

content: fluff, angst, maybe emotional cheating, heartbreak, reader has a small bout of paranoia, messy feelings, open ending

word count: 3.1k

note: kinda sorta based on "fake plastic trees" by radiohead. written with the earlier seasons in mind, but isn't canon compliant. please please do not hate sam. he's just a guy who lost the love of his life :(

You weren’t quite sure when you realized it, but you knew it to be true -- you loved Sam Winchester.

This love wasn’t lustful. You two had sex before, but it was different than the one night stands you’d had in college.

Sam was on your mind at all times.

You saw him in the Wasserman’s dog that lounged in the yard -- “I’d like to have a dog one day, I think.”

You saw him in the battered copy of King Arthur and his Knights he’d lent to you -- “It’s my favorite.”

You even saw him in the way the wind drifted over a field of overgrown grass -- “You’re my calm.”

Well, you’d said that last one. It didn’t make it any less… him. You never wanted to be apart from him.

When you woke up in the mornings before him, you would watch him breathe. You hoped that while he slept, his mind was off. He didn’t need to constantly be thinking; you wanted peace for him.

It wouldn’t take long for him to follow you into the conscious world. He’d wake slowly, his eyes fluttering open and landing on yours. You’d smile, and he would smile back. He would bring his hand up to cradle your cheek, surveying your face like he was trying to memorize it.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he would mumble, voice still hoarse from sleep. You would just laugh and kiss him. Sometimes it would lead to more than kissing, though there were times that’s all it would be.

You moved through the mornings in tandem, like a working machine. You would catch him staring at you in the mirror while you brushed your teeth. It was always the same kind of gaze. Memorizing, searching.

You never questioned it. Why would you? You were a woman in love.

The nights were similar. Dinner -- you two switched off days on who cooked --, then cuddling on the couch watching old reruns until you inevitably fell asleep on him.

Sam would carry you to bed. You knew he often kissed you -- on the forehead, on the cheek, in your hair. You also knew his eyes would linger on you. There it was again. The searching.

Sometimes you would open your eyes, show him you were awake. In the split second before it registered in his mind, you would see the grief weighing on him.

“What’s wrong?” You would ask, brushing fingers through his hair.

“Nothing.” He would dismiss, hands falling to your waist to pull you closer.

“Is it about before?” You wouldn’t have to explain it. He knew what you meant.

Before, with Dean. Sam had told you about his brother, about the falling out they had before he’d met you. It would remind you that you’d only known Sam a handful of months.

“Yeah.” Sam would sigh out after a moment’s hesitation. It wasn’t a lie.

Everything was about before. You just didn’t know the extent of it.

You didn’t know that he looked for Jess in you. She was there, or, at least, he found her in you. The same smile, the same love for old movies, the same warm embrace.

When you hummed, he closed his eyes and saw her.

When you kissed him, he felt her lips on his.

When you pushed your fingers into his hair, it was her fingers.

He didn’t want to compare you to her. It wasn’t fair to you.

But, you were happy, and he couldn’t get Jess back, so he settled -- God, no, he would scold himself when he thought of it that way. He wasn’t settling, he was just… looking on the bright side.

He couldn’t have her. He could have you. You, who loved him like he had hung the stars in the sky. You were good to him.

He would try to be good to you in return.

Flowers every week, kisses littering your body every day, the most thoughtful gifts he could think up.

He took care of you, and maybe he loved you too, but it wasn’t in the way you deserved. Still, he’d rather be here with you than alone without her.

There you were, proving to him how lovely you were.

“I wish I could help you.” You had mumbled, letting your lips brush against his forehead before kissing it.

Sam gave you a weak smile.

“You are,” he pulled you in closer, “you help by just being here.”

You seemed to like that answer because he had felt you relax into him. You rested your head onto his chest and tangled your fingers in his.

“I love you.” You breathed out before falling into sleep. Sam didn’t answer.

It was one of those nights again.

Sam had made dinner, something simple. He didn’t know how to cook much, but he always tried. Now, you two were sitting on the couch, a worn blanket draped over your legs.

You felt his eyes on you again. You turned your head and smiled.

“You’re starin’ again.” You teased, kissing him before he could try to defend himself.

It was a perfect night. A perfect dinner, watching a perfect old movie with your perfect boyfriend. All was as it should be.

Sam had fallen asleep before you. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence. He had a long day at work and had been the first one up that morning.

The uncommon part of it all was him talking in his sleep. It was mumbles and gasps, nothing coherent enough for you to figure out what he was saying, but you hadn’t heard him sleep like this before.

You weighed your options. Wake him from whatever hellish nightmare he was going through and cuddle him back to sleep? Or you could let him ride it out, avoid the risk of his embarrassment at keeping you awake. He often felt badly about things that were out of his control and no amount of your protests against it seemed to help.

Wake him up, you decided. You couldn’t let him suffer like this. He didn’t deserve it.

Your fingertips had just brushed against the bunched up fabric of his sleep shirt when a word -- a name -- slipped past his lips.

“Jess.”

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat like your body already knew the impact this one name would have on your life.

Jess. A sister, maybe? No, he would have told you about her. An old friend, then. The ache that had hung in his voice told you it was more than that. She was more than that.

Sam flinched, muscles in his face twitching before his eyes shot open. He looked at your hand where it rested on his chest, then drifted his gaze to your face. He looked panicked, like he was scared you had gone away. Or he was scared she had gone away, your brain nagged at you.

This wasn’t jealousy, you didn’t think so anyway. What you were feeling was better classified as fear of abandonment. What if he reconnected with Jess and left you? Even when you loved him, even when you were sure he loved you?

“What…?” Sam trailed off, knowing you wouldn’t need any context to answer.

“Nightmare?” It came out as more of a question. You didn’t want to assume anything, even if it was blatantly obvious that something had been wrong. Sam nodded after a moment’s hesitation.

“Do you-,” you started, meaning to ask if he wanted to talk about it, but the wild look of alarm in his eyes made you pause.

“No.” He answered, maybe a bit too quickly.

Right, you thought, why would he want to talk about seeing another girl in his dreams?

It was your turn to nod. You waited for him to talk, or move, or do anything to make the situation less awkward. It shouldn’t be awkward, you knew that. A girl should be able to help her boyfriend through difficult things without problem. You’d done it before. But, now? With the name Jess looming over you like a haunting spirit? It was uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Can I, uh,” Sam sucked in a breath and swallowed, “hold you?” The last part came out in a quiet voice. He didn’t want it to sound as desperate as it did. He just needed to know that you were here, you weren’t leaving. And maybe pretend for a bit that you were someone else, someone he was sure he would always love. He wouldn’t ever tell you that last part.

“Yeah,” you whispered, heart breaking for him. He didn’t need to ask to touch you. You thought he knew that. You had made it clear enough. Whatever it was, whatever happened with Jess, it was beating down on him.

Sam let out a breath and wrapped an arm around you. You curled into him. It was effortless, the way you fit into his side.

“Please don’t ever leave me,” he mumbled into your hair, more to himself than you. If you hadn’t been hyperfocused on every sound he made, you would have missed it. The words struck you in your chest, nestling deep into your ribcage like they had been snapped shut in a trap.

The words should have been a relief. They should have validated your connection with him. Instead, they stewed along with Jess and love and leaving, all of it bubbling up inside of you. It didn’t explode, not then, not with his soft breathing putting you to sleep.

It waited until morning to burst.

You awoke with the sun, the chirping of the robins outside the window acting as your alarm. You were alone but the clattering pans in the kitchen told you Sam wasn’t gone, not really.

The night came flooding back to you when your hand landed on his pillow.

Nightmare, mumbling, gasping, Jess.

You tried to push it down, you really did. You readied yourself for the day, ignoring the way everything spelled out her name.

In the splashes of water from the sink, you caught a J. There, in the wrinkles of your sweater, spelled out Jess. The overcooked eggs that Sam served you curved into a perfect loop of twin S’s. The final straw, the thing that changed your life forever, was the purr of the coffee machine morphing into someone chanting “Jess, Jess, Jess” over and over, breaking your ignorance.

“Who’s Jess?” You asked, voice small. You regretted it the moment it left your mouth, flinching when Sam’s fork clanged onto the ceramic of his plate. You didn’t dare meet his eyes.

“What?” He breathed out, hoping he had heard you wrong.

You weren’t supposed to know about Jess. He didn’t want it. That was his past, or at least he was trying to make it his past. She just kept haunting him. He didn’t know how to feel about it all.

Relief with knowing she was always with him? Grief for her death? Guilt for wanting her back with him, even knowing it would mean losing you?

“Um, uh,” you took in a breath, trying to stabilize yourself. You couldn’t keep living like this, paranoid over some woman you didn’t even know. “Jess? Who is that?”

Sam stared at you. It was different than usual. This wasn’t a memorization, a search. It was denial. He was praying to wake up soon because there was no way this could be real.

With his silence, you flicked your eyes up to him. He looked… mournful, scared. Your fingers itched to grab his hand. You didn’t move them.

“Sam?” You tried to catch his attention.

His eyebrow twitched just slightly with the sound. You sounded so much like her in that moment. For a moment, he had been transported back in time, back to his shared space with Jess.

She’d heard him mumbling out names, just like you, but this time, it was Dean instead of Jess. She wanted to know who it was. She hadn’t been as hesitant as you to ask, though the question came out softer than yours.

“Baby,” Jess liked to call him that, “I’m gonna ask you a question, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” She waited for the nod of his head. “Who’s Dean?”

He’d gathered her hand in his and shook his head.

“No one, just an old friend.” Sam had answered then, not wanting to get into it all.

He was tempted to do the same now, brush it off and bottle it away. He remembered how it ended with Jess, how his lack of introducing the supernatural into her life hadn’t been enough to save her. He wasn’t going to repeat history’s mistakes by keeping things from you.

“She’s--she was--my girlfriend.” Sam answered, dropping his eyes to the table. He didn’t want to see your reaction.

Your heart sunk down. Way, way down, out of your body, away from you. You could feel your throat getting tight.

It wasn’t as if you were under the impression that Sam had no prior relationships. You two had talked about it. You had spilled to him how your ex had left you just a week after proposing, claiming he “didn’t feel it anymore”. You told him about the high school flings and college hookups. He’d told you a few things as well. His prom dates, his teenage girlfriends, the lingering looks he’d exchange with some girl in his freshman year of college.

He hadn’t once mentioned a Jess.

“You didn’t…,” you trailed off, confusion and pre-existing heartache taking over.

“I know.” Sam flexed his jaw, trying to focus on giving you the truth without ruining everything.

“You should’ve,” you whispered, not wanting to blame him for anything. It was true, though. He really should’ve felt comfortable enough to tell you. “I told you about Carter.”

Sam looked back at you, eyebrows furrowing in concern for you. He knew how badly your ex leaving had hurt you. He had spent countless hours chipping away at your insecurity, trying to get you to see how worthy of love you were. He knew it wasn’t fair, telling you that you were perfect while wishing you were someone else, but he couldn’t let you live like that anymore.

“It was different.” He answered. He didn’t want to explain everything. Really, he would have preferred for the conversation to be over. It was too late, this was too big.

“Why?” You asked, trying to think. You searched his face for the answer when he was silent. It made your jaw tick when you found it. “You still love her.”

It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t sad. It wasn’t happy. It was just fact. Sam still loved Jess.

“Yeah…,” Sam confirmed, the word just a breath leaving his lungs.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to make sense of it. Sam loved someone else. Did that mean he didn’t love you? Could you love two people at the same time?

“Why, um, why aren’t you with her?” This. This could get it out of him. Because I love you more, is what you should’ve heard. It wasn’t what he said.

“She’s dead.” He spat it out, angry. Not at you, but at the demon that had cut her open and held her on the ceiling to burn above him.

Jesus Christ, you thought. You were paranoid over a dead woman coming to steal your boyfriend. You needed to get a grip on yourself.

“But you still love her?” You didn’t know what else to say, so repeating yourself seemed to be the best option.

“I think I always will.” Sam answered, further driving down the nail in your heart.

“I’m--,” you paused, knowing nothing good was going to come out of this question. “I’m the next best thing, then?”

Sam frowned, reaching for your hand. You flinched away at first before ultimately letting him touch you.

“You’re just like her.” He said it like it was supposed to make you feel better. It didn’t. You didn’t know Jess, yet now you felt like you were competing with her.

“You sound like her. You feel like her. You love me like she did.” Sam continued, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Do you love me like you love her?” You watched him freeze. He wouldn’t meet your eyes. You knew the answer.

You stood, pulling away from him. Work. Work or outside or anywhere except this goddamn space that was now filled with a third person in your relationship. Sam let out an involuntary noise, reaching for you again.

“No.” You shook your head, trying to keep yourself under control. You didn’t want to be mad at him. It just hurt so bad.

“I need you.” Sam almost begged. He was panicking. He couldn’t lose you. It would be like losing her all over again.

“You need someone who you can’t have,” you corrected, “so you’re settling.”

 You stumbled to the hall. You would lock yourself in the bedroom. She wouldn’t be there, right?

“I’m not settling.” Sam argued, voice pleading. “I love you.”

“Stop saying that!” You noticed your hand shaking when you reached for the bedroom door.

“It’s true, please.” Sam’s fingers brushed onto your arm.

“Why do you love me?” You turned to face him. You looked into his eyes. He needed to say the right things before you would believe him. “What do you like about me that doesn’t have to do with her?”

Sam’s blank stare was answer enough.

Your chin trembled. You couldn’t cry in front of him, not when he was the cause of it. You darted into the bedroom, slamming the door and locking it behind you.

Alone, you let yourself fall apart.

You hadn’t felt so… not you before. Sam had been using you this entire time to make up for something he had lost. You thought back to his affirmations on how beautiful you were, how kind, how loving, how smart. Was it all in comparison to her? Everything you did, was it weighed against how Jess would have handled situations?

Did he even mean it when he said he had loved you? You didn’t want to know the answer, not if it meant making it all worse.

You sobbed into your sleeve, hoping he couldn’t hear you.

He did. His heart ached while he listened. He swore for a moment he could feel your body heat on his back, the door being the only barrier between you two.

Things wouldn’t be the same. You didn’t know what would come next, if you could bear to let him hold you with the knowledge that it was all with another person in mind. Sam didn’t know what he would do if you left him.

He couldn’t handle losing her again.

sam winchester taglist : @hobiespick @xoswiftieprincess

everything taglist : @littlesoulshine @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @mostlymarvelgirl @missus-ackles @tinas111 @ambiguous-avery

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

i met jared padalecki today and the first thing i did was gesture to his pants and went “oh my gosh you don’t have any staples on your pants this time!” and he immediately laughed and said something like “not this time” and i asked if i could hug him and he just said “oh get in here” and gave me the BIGGEST squeeze. before i left i just said “i love you so much, and congrats on you and gen for 15 years” and he smiled, put a hand to his chest and seemed like he was genuinely touched (that man doesn’t play about his wife) and went “thank you so much, i love you too”

he was the sweetest man. i’ve ever met. he’s so soft and gentle and keeps such heavy eye contact. i genuinely have no words. what a sweet, precious human being. AND HES SO TALL MWAHAHSB

i also made some new friends in line, and i’m so thankful for this fandom. i love jared:(💘

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ordinary, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: you're lifelong soulmates with sam winchester, from childhood to adulthood. sometimes, life gets boring. but not for you. word count: 629 pairing: sam winchester x reader now playing;｡･:*♫♪ ordinary - alex warren one for @fuiabarcelos ! <3

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

The whole motel room reeks of cheap vodka and stale air.

It’s not often you’re coming back to the motel with injuries, as you’re usually quite careful and let the Winchesters handle the dirty work. But this time, the thing you were hunting grazed you lightly. It doesn’t hurt, but Sam is so, so mindful of you, he just needs to make sure it doesn’t get infected.

You sit up on the counter, clutching the vodka soaked tissues he’s used on your wound. He’s close to your face, feeling his breath ghosting from your cheek to your neck.

You’ve been dating Sam close to a decade. Your first interaction began in freshman year of college. Two clueless kids helping each other find the right class.

Luckily, you both studied law, meaning you already found yourself someone to stick to.

Someone to commit to.

Not a lot of couples can say they have an unbreakable bond with their other half. But with the things the pair of you have endeavoured together? It’s unfathomable.

Sam pulls away, examining your face once more. He smirks at you, tucking his hair behind his ear. You smile back at him.

“All done,” he hums, tossing the used tissues in the bin beside him, and gently taking the ones from your hands too. All you can do is look at him. How he’s so careful with you even now, almost ten years later. It’s hard to think that people like you, hunters like you, are capable of keeping a love that you have for each other alive. Something that’s so rare even in normal times.

Sam glances down at you, huffing gently. “What?” you ask, your eyes leading from the floor, up to his face. “Nothin’, I…” He hesitates. Sam lets out a quick chuckle, rubbing his hand over his stubble.

“Every time I look at you, I’m reminded of college. That first day I met you—man, I fell in love.”

You swear you can see the faintest blush rise on his cheeks.

“Wow. All it took was to sit next to me once in class for you to fall in love with me? I had you whipped, huh?” You joke, playfully batting at his chest. He scoffs. “No.” He rolls his eyes.

“Okay, maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“You had me whipped, yeah.”

You laugh at him. The biggest, silliest grin spread across his face like he’s admitted to something that he’s never admitted before. But in fact, you’ve heard it hundreds of times.

You hop off of the counter, padding over to the bed, laying down and getting comfortable before you let out a content sigh. “I remember thinking you were too damn serious. Always had questions for the lecturer and carrying them fucking textbooks like your life depended on it.”

“My life did depend on it.”

“All until Dean broke into your dorm. The rest is history.” You remark, and Sam makes his way over to the bed too, collapsing down and lifting his arm, waiting for you to tuck yourself underneath, laying your head on his chest. Listening to his heartbeat is so comforting.

Reminiscing with someone who’s not just your best friend, but your soulmate. It feels like you’re drifting through a dream you never want to end. This life is a never-ending nightmare. But with Sam, it’s the closest thing to heaven you’ll ever know.

All because of him.

Sam has shaped you to who you are. To what you know. Every part of him has woven itself into your bones. To your heartbeat. A part that you hope won’t fade away, won’t split as you grow older. You hope that no matter how old you get, you’ll still be by Sam’s side.

The life you know isn’t ordinary, but it’s yours.

[rositaslabyrinth]

Landslide - Sam W

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Years after walking away from hunting—and from Sam—you find yourself on his doorstep again. Some wounds heal with time. Others just wait.

Warnings : just slight angst maybe?? I don’t think there are any!!

Word count ; 2,591

You didn’t expect him to open the door so fast.

Maybe you thought you’d have a moment to change your mind—to run like you always do. But when the cabin door creaked open and you saw him standing there, tall and quiet and so achingly familiar, your feet stayed rooted to the ground.

He hadn’t changed much. A little older around the eyes, maybe. Softer in the way he held his shoulders. But his presence hit you like a memory you didn’t realize you still carried.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, like it hurt to say it out loud.

You swallowed. “Hey.”

There were a hundred things you should’ve said. A hundred more you wanted to. But neither of you reached for them. Instead, Sam stepped aside and let you in like no time had passed at all.

The cabin smelled like cedarwood and dust, like old books and something distinctly him. It was warm, lived-in, nothing like the motels you used to crash in after long hunts. There were throw blankets on the couch, boots by the door. A real life.

You didn’t ask if you could stay. You didn’t have to.

He made grilled cheese.

You stood near the window as he worked, watching the last light of the day fade behind the treeline. The mountains cradled the sky in silence, turning everything blue and gold.

“Still like it the same way?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

You smiled faintly. “Burnt edges, extra cheese.”

He smirked. “Some things don’t change.”

“No,” you said, quieter, “I guess they don’t.”

He handed you a plate and nodded toward the table. You both sat, the old wooden chairs creaking under your weight like they remembered more than you did.

It felt strange—this domestic calm between you, like a dream borrowed from someone else’s life.

“So,” you said after a beat. “Colorado?”

He shrugged. “Felt like the place to go.”

“Not a lot of monsters around here.”

He glanced up at you. “That’s why I picked it.”

You nodded slowly. Sam looked down at his food, then back at you, eyes full of the kind of silence that used to live between you. That familiar ache.

“I missed you,” he said.

Your breath caught. “You don’t even know if I’m still the same person.”

“I don’t care.”

Later, you sat on the porch together, a bottle of whiskey between you. The stars were so bright they didn’t feel real. The kind of night that makes the world feel untouched.

Inside, an old radio played—quiet enough to be background noise, until the chords of Landslide drifted through the open window.

Your chest tightened.

Sam shifted beside you. “You still like this song?”

You stared out at the trees. “Always.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then—

“Why’d you leave?”

You looked down at your hands, at the way your fingers were knotted in your lap like a child’s. “Because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of what we were becoming. Of what I was becoming. The blood, the loss… the life. It was swallowing me whole.”

Sam nodded. His voice was soft. “I was scared too.”

You glanced at him. He was looking straight ahead, his profile lit faintly by the moonlight.

“I thought you’d chase me,” you said.

He exhaled. “I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I figured… if you wanted to go, I shouldn’t stop you.”

“And if I didn’t?”

His gaze shifted toward you, slow and deliberate. “Then I was a coward.”

Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?Can I handle the seasons of my life

The song played on, winding around the quiet like it was made for moments like this. You leaned back against the porch post, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Do you ever think about it?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “About what we could’ve been?”

Sam’s answer was instant. “Every day

You looked at him then—really looked at him. His eyes were tired but kind, full of sorrow and something else. Something warm. Something still beating.

You reached for him, tentative.

He didn’t hesitate.

He took your hand, fingers lacing through yours like they belonged there. Like no time had passed at all.

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing

‘Cause I built my life around you…

“I still love you,” you said.

Sam turned toward you, eyes glassy in the moonlight.

“I never stopped,” you added, voice breaking. “Even when I tried to.”

He let out a shaky breath. Moved closer.

“Then stay,” he said.

And this time, you didn’t run.

You let him wrap his arms around you, let your face rest against his chest, let his heartbeat fill your ears like an old song you’d forgotten the words to. He kissed the top of your head like it was instinct, like his body remembered how to love you before his mind could catch up.

The wind moved softly through the trees. The record skipped, then continued.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt the weight of the past lift—just a little.

You had survived the landslide.

Now all that was left was to build something new.

You woke to birdsong and the rustle of wind through pine trees.

And warmth.

The kind of warmth that came from a body next to yours, from skin against skin. From peace.

Sam’s arms were around you, loose but protective. One hand rested at your waist, the other tucked beneath his pillow. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, slow and even.

It should’ve felt unfamiliar. But it didn’t.

You let yourself stay still for a moment longer, eyes closed, listening to the quiet hum of the morning and the rhythmic sound of his breathing.

You’d almost convinced yourself last night had been a dream.

But then his thumb moved, just slightly, brushing the soft fabric of your shirt. You didn’t move. You weren’t ready to break the spell just yet.

“You awake?” he murmured, voice thick with sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open. “Yeah.”

He shifted behind you, pulling you in a little closer. “I thought I might’ve imagined you.”

You smiled, small and sad. “I thought I’d be gone by now.”

His arm tightened slightly. “I’m glad you’re not.”

You turned then, rolling to face him. His eyes were half-lidded, hair tousled, the kind of sleepy beautiful that made your chest ache. You reached up and brushed a strand away from his forehead.

“You look older,” you said softly.

He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Gee, thanks.”

You smiled. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just… life’s been happening to you.”

He nodded, eyes on yours. “Yeah. It’s been happening to you too.”

You looked away for a second, your gaze drifting toward the window, where sunlight filtered in through thin curtains.

“I never thought I’d come back,” you whispered.

“But you did,” he said. “And I’m not gonna ask you why. Not yet.”

You looked back at him. “Thank you.”

He reached for your hand beneath the blanket, linking your fingers. His touch was so gentle you almost didn’t feel it.

“I kept thinking,” he said quietly, “if I ever saw you again, I’d be angry. Hurt. I’d want answers.”

“Do you?”

He shook his head. “I just want you to stay.”

There was a long pause.

“I don’t know who I am without the road,” you said, voice thick. “Without the hunts. Without the blood. I don’t know how to be still.”

“You don’t have to know yet,” Sam said. “You just have to want to try.”

You looked at him then, really looked—at the way he watched you with that old, familiar tenderness. At the hope in his voice even when it was cautious. Even when he was scared.

“I do want to try,” you said.

His hand slid to your cheek. He leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

The kiss was soft. Barely there. Nothing like the ones you used to share in motel rooms after hunts gone wrong—full of desperation and adrenaline. This was slower. Honest. A first kiss all over again.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you too,” you said. “Every day.”

Later, you sat in the kitchen with two mismatched mugs of coffee between you and a blanket still wrapped around your shoulders. The morning sun poured through the windows, painting the floor in soft gold.

The old record player in the corner crackled to life again. You hadn’t realized he still had it.

He glanced up at you as it played, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I never got rid of it.”

You tilted your head. “The Fleetwood Mac record?”

He nodded. “You left it behind. Thought maybe you’d come back for it someday.”

You swallowed, something thick rising in your throat. “And if I hadn’t?”

“I would’ve kept it anyway.”

You laughed under your breath, brushing away a tear before it could fall. “You’re still such a sap.”

He leaned in and kissed your temple, just once. “Only for you.”

You looked at him then, really looked—at the man who waited, who never stopped making room for you, even in silence.

Mornings became your new kind of prayer.

Not the kind where you whispered names before stepping into danger. Not the kind where you begged the universe to keep him safe. But the soft, holy kind. The one that came with the smell of fresh coffee and the way Sam always ran his fingers through your hair before getting out of bed.

You started waking up earlier just to watch him go through his routine.

He was quiet in the mornings—always had been. Thoughtful. Kind. The sort of man who didn’t talk until you did, who made breakfast and passed you the first mug like it was instinct.

You didn’t talk much at first. It felt safer that way. Safer to just be.

But one morning, you reached for the cutting board before he could.

“I’ll make the eggs today,” you said.

Sam blinked like it had never occurred to him that you’d do something so… normal. “Okay.”

So you stood side by side in the tiny kitchen, shoulder brushing shoulder, as the skillet warmed and the morning sun painted his face in honey light. You felt like you were learning him all over again—not as a hunter, not as a legend, not as someone you lost—but as someone you could build a life with.

He handed you the salt. You passed him the bread. It was nothing and everything at once.

Later that week, you found the box.

It was buried beneath the stairs, beneath some old flannels and notebooks full of research that probably hadn’t been touched in years.

Your name was written on the lid in Sam’s handwriting.

You brought it upstairs quietly and set it on the coffee table, fingers hovering.

“You kept this?” you asked as he came in from the porch.

He looked at the box and paused.

“…Yeah.”

Inside: your old leather jacket, faded photos from your early hunts together, the silver ring you’d worn on your middle finger for years. A crumpled napkin from a bar in Austin with your number scrawled on it.

You looked up at him. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”

He sat beside you, closer than before. “I remembered everything.”

And then, his hand over yours.

You didn’t pull away.

That night, the ache shifted. The silence between you wasn’t heavy anymore. It felt warm. Comfortable.

Sam brushed his fingers down your spine as you sat together on the porch swing, your head tucked into the crook of his shoulder.

“You think we could make it work?” you asked. “For real this time?”

“I think we already are.”

You let yourself believe it.

And then you kissed him—really kissed him—for the first time in years. It was slow and sure and soaked in everything unsaid. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask questions. The kind that said welcome home.

You didn’t go back to your room that night. You stayed wrapped in his sheets, in his arms, in the warmth of something you’d both been too scared to hope for.

For the first time in a long time, you let yourself dream.

The house was quiet. For once.

There were toys scattered across the hallway—plastic dinosaurs and half-built block towers. The fridge was covered in construction paper hearts and drawings done in crayon, all crooked lines and backwards letters.

You sat on the porch, wrapped in a soft flannel blanket, a mug of tea resting in your hands. The sun was just beginning to set, casting the backyard in gold. The swing creaked lazily beside you. And from inside, there was the faint sound of Sam’s voice reading something aloud.

A children’s book, you guessed.

You smiled, sipping your tea, as the screen door creaked open behind you.

“She’s out cold,” Sam said, stepping outside, a soft grin on his face. “Took a whole three pages of Goodnight Moon tonight.”

“She’s growing,” you said, looking up at him. “Too fast.”

He sat beside you, reaching to pull the blanket over his lap. You tucked yourself into his side, like always. His arm settled around your shoulders with the ease of habit.

“She asked about monsters today,” he said quietly.

Your smile faltered. “What’d you tell her?”

“That they aren’t real. Not the ones she needs to worry about, anyway.”

You were quiet for a moment, your hand resting over his chest where his heartbeat still thudded strong and steady.

“You ever miss it?” you asked. “The road?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. His eyes were on the horizon, on the trees swaying in the evening breeze.

“Sometimes,” he said. “The clarity of it. The purpose. But not enough to trade this. Not even close.”

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.

“I think about her sometimes,” you murmured. “The me that left. The one who thought she’d never make it back.”

“She came back,” he said softly. “She made it home.”

He looked at you then, really looked—eyes full of that same warmth, that same quiet knowing he’d always had.

Inside, something shifted. The front door creaked. Tiny footsteps padded across the floor.

You both looked over your shoulders just as your son—barefoot, hair sticking up—peeked out, clutching a well-worn blanket.

“Mama?”

You stood up, crossing to him in seconds.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He shook his head.

You scooped him into your arms and carried him back to the porch. Sam reached for him instinctively, settling him against his chest as the little one yawned and nestled in.

You sat back down, brushing a hand over your son’s hair.

Sam looked over at you, eyes shining in the fading light.

“Can you believe this is ours?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You looked at your boy, at Sam, at the house behind you and the slow, sacred stillness of the moment.

“I believe it,” you said. “Every day.”

And as the sun slipped lower, as fireflies began to flicker in the yard and your son fell asleep between you, Sam pressed a kiss to your temple.

The landslide had come. It had changed you. Broken you, even.

But it had also brought you here—to this porch, this life, this love.

And you had never felt steadier.

Liz talks : I think this is my first official sam fic? Outside of series!!!! I wanted to try something different I hope this is good I genuinely can’t tell LMFAOO I had this song stuck in my head all week last week so obviously I had to make this <33

Tags : @sunsbaby , @starzify , @bluemerakis , @aambearr , @blossomingorchids , @littlesoulshine , @daylighted , @wchswift , @emeraldcrs , @bossyblondie , @lunaleah , @pieandflannel , @sunnyteume , @deanswifeyy , @tinas111 , @deanswidow , @nymphet-quenn , @multiversefanfics , @star-maker-rain-dancer , @juicifeur , @saltcxrcle , @mochiclouds , @kimxwinchester

To be tagged in any future works of mine please check out this post !!

Any engagement is greatly appreciated <33

[wendichester]

｡𖦹°‧ i see you in my dreams⁶,

summary. sam only ever sees you in his dreams

pairing. sam winchester x dreamwalker!reader   genre. angsty

wordcount. 994

⋆.˚ ★— read part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

The first thing you register is warmth.

Not just any warmth—Sam. His arm is heavy over your waist, his breath steady against the back of your neck. The mattress beneath you is firm, too firm to be anywhere else but—

The bunker.

Your heart stutters. You’re not in the void. You’re not trapped between realities. You're here. Real.

The moment shatters with a sharp inhale. Sam wakes up fast—too fast. His body tenses before his mind even catches up, muscles going rigid as his arm tightens around you. Then, he moves. A sharp breath, a twitch of his fingers against your skin, then—

His hand flies up, patting your shoulder, your arm, your ribs, like he’s checking to make sure you’re really there.

Then, his voice—gruff, hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Are you okay?”

Your throat is dry. “I—I think so.”

Sam exhales, pressing his forehead against your shoulder for half a second. Relief, heavy and unspoken, before reality slams into him all over again.

The bed creaks as he sits up, movements quick, alert. His eyes dart to the door, then to you, then back to the door, like he’s expecting the Weaver to claw its way through the walls.

“We need to go,” he mutters. “Now.”

You don’t argue.

You’re barely on your feet before—

BANG BANG BANG

The door swings open.

“Sam, what the hell—”

Dean.

He stops mid-sentence.

His eyes land on Sam first—sleep-rumpled, half-dressed, standing at the edge of the bed like he just crawled out of a nightmare. Then, his gaze shifts to you.

And that’s when his whole body goes still.

“… Who the hell is this?”

A beat of silence.

You and Sam don’t move.

Dean’s expression darkens. “Sam. Who is she?”

Sam’s jaw tightens. “It’s—” He hesitates. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” Dean shoves his way in, eyes darting between you both. “We do not do ‘complicated’ before coffee. What the hell is going on?”

Footsteps echo down the hall.

Cas appears behind Dean, brows furrowed in mild confusion. “Is there a problem?”

Dean gestures wildly toward you. “Yeah. Yeah, there’s a problem! There’s a girl in Sam’s bed, and I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

Cas tilts his head, studying you. You don’t know what you expect—recognition, maybe? A flicker of understanding?

But there’s nothing.

Like you’re a complete stranger.

Because, to them, you are.

You were only ever real to Sam.

The weight of it sinks into your chest.

“… Sam?” Cas prompts. “Who is she?”

Sam runs a hand through his hair. “She’s—she’s someone I met in my dreams.”

Dean blinks.

Cas blinks.

Dean’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. “You—what?”

“It’s true.” Sam looks at you, and there’s something raw in his expression—something almost fragile beneath all the steel. “I met her in a dream. And then… I met her again. And again. It wasn’t a coincidence.”

Dean’s face twists. “Okay, hold up. You’re telling me you dreamed her up, and now she’s—what? Real?”

“Yes.”

Dean stares at him. Then, with all the grace of a man seconds away from an aneurysm, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Sam says nothing.

Cas steps closer. “If what you’re saying is true, then how did she cross over? There are very few entities capable of—”

“The Weaver,” Sam cuts in.

Cas freezes.

Dean looks between them. “Okay. I feel like I should know what that is, but I really don’t.”

Cas’s expression hardens. “That’s because the Weaver is not something that should be known.”

Sam exhales, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Found that out the hard way.”

Dean throws up his hands. “Great! Awesome! Love that! So what, this thing plucked some girl out of your brain and dropped her into reality?”

Cas shakes his head. “No. That’s not what the Weaver does.” He looks at you, gaze unreadable. “It corrects.”

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Your pulse kicks up.

“… Corrects what?”

Cas doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps forward, like proximity will make things clearer. You feel the air shift—him shift—as he studies you.

Then, quietly, “You are an anomaly.”

You go still.

Sam’s expression darkens. “She’s not an anomaly.”

Cas doesn’t break eye contact. “Yes. She is.” He tilts his head. “Or, at least… she was.”

Something cold curls in your gut.

Cas continues. “The Weaver does not create. It weaves. It ensures the threads of reality are as they should be. If it sought to erase you, then that means…” He pauses. “You weren’t meant to exist.”

Your breath catches.

Sam steps in front of you, voice sharp. “She exists now.”

Cas doesn’t argue. But he doesn’t look convinced, either.

Dean lets out a slow, measured exhale. “Okay. So let’s say, for the sake of my sanity, that this is all true. The dream thing. The Weaver thing. Her thing.” He gestures to you. “What I wanna know is… why the hell did it stop?”

You and Sam exchange glances.

“… It didn’t,” you say quietly.

Dean’s brows furrow. “Then what changed?”

Sam hesitates. His fingers flex at his sides.

You can feel the tension in his body before he even speaks.

“… I made a deal.”

Dead silence.

Dean’s expression shutters. “What.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” Sam’s voice is steady, but his hands curl into fists. “The Weaver wasn’t going to let her stay. So I—I tied us together.”

Cas’s head snaps up.

Dean’s face twists. “What the hell does that mean?”

Sam swallows. “It means… as long as I live, she lives.”

Cas goes rigid.

Dean takes a slow step forward, voice deadly quiet. “And what happens to you?”

The air shifts.

Sam doesn’t answer.

You don’t either.

Because deep down, you both know.

Dean’s jaw clenches. “Sam.”

Cas inhales sharply. “… Your soul.”

Sam doesn’t look away.

Dean’s face is unreadable.

And then, low and seething,

“What the hell did you do?”

⋆.˚ ★— read part 7

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles; compatibility readings; support my work .ᐟ

[samsblades]

✶ . ၄၃ . soft 'n sleepy — sam winchester

cw : gn!afab!reader, fluffy smut, consensual somnophilia, dry humping, finger sucking, praise, so super sweet sam, swearing, praise, aftercare, pet names (angel, honey, baby), unedited, 1.3K words. requested ! MDNI !!! 18+ ONLY

summary : it doesn't take you long to fall asleep after a long hunt. sam, however, can't seem to fall asleep or keep his hands dick to himself.

you're so pretty and soft every time you fall asleep in his arms. sam just loves it when you're sleepy, eyes bleary and fluttering closed, lips parting and little puffs of breath leaving your nose as he tucks you against his chest.

this hunt was draining, especially for you, and you fall asleep quickly now that it's over. sometimes, all he needs to follow right after you is your presence. having you close is so reassuring, comforting. but tonight, it’s not nightmares or guilt that he’s worried about disrupting his sleep. instead, it’s your closeness that keeps him awake.

your thighs against his, the little shift of your hips that pushes your ass right into his crotch. your soft, even breathing, and your limp fingers splayed across his wrist. he’s been aching for you, but hasn’t said a thing, knowing how tired you are.

and he’d feel guilty about the growing bulge in his pants as he thinks about your pretty chest under the loose fabric of your comfy shirt, the grey panties you fell asleep in, your bare thighs. but you’ve told him, most definitely more than once, that you like the idea of him getting off in bed with you while you’re asleep. you’d used the words “you can use me like that. it’s okay, i promise.” he replays the sound of your pretty voice saying it, sincere and flirty all at once, and he just gets harder. “i want it,” you’d said. you want him to use you like that.

so he really just can’t resist gently tugging you closer, pulling your ass flush against him, and wrapping his other arm around you to softly cup your chest over your shirt. he gives a roll of his hips into you and bites back a quiet groan. and with that, he’s a goner.

you had the sense to get a separate room from dean when arriving at the motel, so as sam gets needier and needier, slowly rocking his hips into you, he doesn’t bother silencing his quickening breath and soft moans. he only keeps his sounds quiet for your sake, though he’s sure you’ll wake eventually.

his hand slides down from your hips, under your shirt, past the sensitive skin of your lower belly, and right over your thinly clothed pussy. he can’t help it, he just loves to hold you there, his hand hot and heavy as he cups your pretty cunt. he groans softly at the feeling, pressing into you with both his hand and hips now.

you stir, just a bit, letting out a little huff of breath through your mouth that just makes him grind against your ass with more desperation. and when a sweet, gravelly moan leaves your lips, he can’t help but indulge himself. the hand that was so softly palming your chest moves upwards, fingertips brushing over your collarbone until he has a gentle grip on your chin. with your lips parted just enough, he’s able to push his finger past your teeth and into the warm wet of your mouth.

he feels your tongue instinctively push against the intrusion and you draw in a deep breath through your nose as you start to rouse. his other hand starts to rub soft circles against the fabric of your panties and despite how painfully hard and turned on he is, even the rocking of his hips against you is gentle, caring, and slow.

a quiet, throaty groan falls from his lips and right into your ear as he feels your lips wrap around his finger, followed by your sweet, sleepy suckling, signaling that you’ve woken and immediately accepted his filthy actions. with your mind still so foggy with sleep, you don’t seem to have much control over your body. your hips squirm tiredly, pushing back into him, and the way that you suck on his finger is unabashed and interrupts the stillness of the room with wet, sloppy sounds. in mere seconds, there’s saliva dripping down his fingers and past the corners of your mouth.

despite your wordless enthusiasm, and the way that his clothed dick pushing into the plush of your ass makes him practically whimper into your ear, sam pauses his desperate movements against you for just a moment.

“this okay, baby?” he whispers sweetly, gruffly because he’s holding back. one of your clumsy hands finds his wrist, wrapping around it in reassurance.

“mhmm,” you hum around his finger, too sleepy to do much else, but wanting him to know that this is more than okay.

“good,” he huffs out, his hips rolling against yours with more urgency now, voice thick with barely contained desperation. “you’re so good. so good for me, aren’t you, angel? so perfect and pretty, letting me– mmph, use ya while you’re still sleeping. always so– god, so fuckin’ good for me.”

his hand rubbing against your pussy, his fingertips pressing over your clit, are making you just as desperate as him, and the feeling of him pushing a second finger into your mouth only intensifies the pleasure. you suck on his fingers contentedly, and the both of you leak through your underwear enough for the other to feel it.

along with the quiet drip from the janky sink in the bathroom and rush of a shitty window air conditioning unit, the room fills with soft grunts and whines and moans, the rustle of overused blankets, sam’s praises, and your sweet suckling. sam cums first, soaking his boxers and the back of your panties. the sound of his broken moan in your ear and the insistence of his fingers over your covered clit sends you reeling in pleasure just moments after.

he lets you keep lapping at his fingers as you come down from it, knowing the feeling quiets your mind. he’s positive that you’d fall right back asleep with his fingers in your mouth if he didn’t insist on cleaning you up first. so even though it makes you whine tiredly, he slowly slips his fingers out and gently pulls you around to face him.

his reverent lips find your forehead first, then your own spit-slick mouth. he kisses you all chaste and lovely, as if to apologize for waking you, despite it being so good for you too. the kiss is enough to satisfy you after having his fingers pulled away from your eager mouth, so you snuggle up close to him, not resisting the pull of sleep as it tugs down your heavy eyelids.

“honey,” he murmurs into the skin of your forehead, “let me clean you up first, please. then you can sleep as long as you want, promise.” you just give him a sleepy hum, but he rolls with it, untangling himself from you. he strips himself of his dirtied boxers, quickly pulling on a new pair before he pulls the blankets away from your legs. 

he slips your own soaked underwear off, watching your face, barely lit from whatever light seeps in through the blinds of the window by the door. your eyes are barely open, just because you want to watch him, and a soft smile tugs at your lips from his ever present sweetness and care. his heart jumps at the sight, so he covers your bare legs back to avoid giving you goosebumps from the cold, and slips away for a moment. not before leaving a kiss to the skin of your calf.

just moments later, he crawls back into the bed with a warm, dampened washcloth to deal with all the stickiness and a spare shirt because he admittedly got the back of your sleep shirt wet too. he cleans the mess on your skin first, then urges you to sit up just a bit with gentle hands and a tone of voice he know you won’t be able to resist.

“arms up,” he mumbles as he pulls the shirt off for you, then replaces it with one of his own soft, worn t-shirts. then he tucks you back into his chest and under the blankets, fighting off the sleep that was previously evading him until he feels you fall asleep first. then he sleeps like a damn rock and is woken in the morning by your lips on his neck.

[ultravi0lence14]

HAZEL HUE

CARHARTT JACKET ! READER

summary: sam’s jacket needs a name, and the man can’t even fathom that he needs to think about this

HAZEL’S BOX OF CHOCOLATES — 1k

the hum of the motel room blanketed over the silence that sam and dean created, both not knowing what to think or how to react. sam’s carhartt jacket was sitting on the small table by the window, legs kicking back and forth while her brown eyes stared at sam like a gooey box of truffles.

“what do we do with her?” dean whispered, eyes wide and hand increasingly inching towards his back waistband. he felt the need to grab his gun, though this girl looked like she couldn’t hurt a fly.

sam was shell shocked, only able to release a half hearted shrug. “what can we do?” he replied, hands itching to go into his jacket pockets, yet he couldn’t, for his jacket was sitting in front of him, wearing a plethora of knit brown like it hadn’t gone out of style. “it’s not like we can kill her.”

“kill?” your head peaked up, eyes growing wide and somewhat. . . excited? sam was hoping it wasn’t excited. “what are we killing? a werewolf? wendigo? vampire? oh i love going on hunts with you guys!”

yeah, it was definitely excitement.

“we’re not killing anything, sweetheart.” dean prompted, a sickeningly long grin stretching across his face. god, he really was enjoying this. “we just need to figure out what to do with you.”

tilting your head like a labrador, you gripped your knuckles against the table, holding out to not run over to sam and tackle him in a big hug. “well, obviously you guys are going to keep me around, right?”

when sam and dean looked at each other warily, exchanging expressions with their eyes, you slowly caught on to what was going on in their heads.

“oh.” you whispered, head lolling downward as you realized what dean and probably sam was implying. “that’s okay,” you smiled a watery smile, tears already gathering in your eyes. “i understand.”

“what?” sam exclaimed. “no, no, no. you aren’t going anywhere.” he walked over to you slowly, resting two hands on both of your shoulders. “we’re keeping you around, okay? we need you.”

a brighter beam broke through your tears, making a weird swell go through sam’s chest. “really?”

“yeah, really.” sam said, smiling back at you and squeezing your shoulders. when he walked back over to dean, he could see the skeptical look in his brothers eye. “what?” sam whispered, side eyeing dean as his brother stared at him expectantly.

“you know the only reason we’re keeping her around is because we can’t let her run around on her own, right?” his voice was tight, a lilt like sam should know what he was talking about.

sam just gave dean a hard look, eyes quickly flitting back to your wild face and excited eyes looking over the room. “yeah, no shit,” he whispered harshly, hands balling the bottom of his shirt like he’d do with the fabric of his jacket pockets. “we’re just going to treat her like a normal person until we figured out how this happened, okay?”

“a normal person?” dean balked, a laugh on the tip of his tongue. “she’s a fucking jacket, sammy. she’s far from normal.”

“he’s right.” the sound of your sweet chocolatey voice had both sam and dean whipping their heads in your direction. all they were met with was a cute smile on your face, eyes alight with something knowing.

sam just shook his head, advancing towards you as he spoke. “no, you are completely-“

“not normal,” you replied like sam was saying the silliest thing imaginable. “i’m a jacket, sam. you guys are acting like i’m stupid, but i’m not. i know i’m not supposed to be here, and trust me, i’m just as confused as you.”

this brought forth a whole new sense of confusion to the winchester brothers. why were you here? it made no sense. it wasn’t like they were around a witch recently, and magic wasn’t floating around the two usually.

dean was the one to respond — as he usually did in these situations. “great. this just made this whole situation 100 percent easier.” he was exasperated, and sam could tell that his brother was on the brink of a mental breakdown.

“y’know what,” sam smiled, trying to lighten the really — really weird mood. “i’ve got an idea. let’s give her a name.”

dean’s brow raised, and sam could see the skeptical look in his eye. “a name? sam, she’s a jacket, she doesn’t need a name.”

“well, she’s not a jacket right now!” sam emphasized, gesturing to where you were still sitting on the table looking pretty. “she’s a human right now, dean! what are we going to address her as until we figure out what happened? jacket?”

“yeah!” dean exasperated, flinging his arms around like a crazy person. “i didn’t think we were going to be naming your fucking jacket, sammy!”

a tiny cough broke through from the room, your eyes wide and your mouth parted, ready to speak your idea. “i think a name would be nice.” you whispered shyly, hands wringing together. “i’ve been thinking about as you guys talk, and it would be nice.”

“well, sweetheart,” dean grinned, a wary smile on his face. “what name would you want?”

“i don’t know.” you shrugged, hands pulling at the bottom of your skirt.

dean’s jaw dropped. “what the fuck do you mean you don’t know? you just said you thought about this?”

“i just don’t know.” you replied, turning to sam and smiling softly at his features.

sam stared back at you, looking at all the beauty that was the girl in front of him. you were chocolate incarnate, a sweet gluttonous woman who loved like a saccharine box of candies. you were a soft colour of melted brown, and sam had the perfect name for you.

“hazel.” sam breathed softly, smiling at the name on his tongue. “how about the name hazel?”

you squealed, clapping your hands together as you bound off from the table and threw your arms around sam in a hug. “hazel! i love it!”

sam’s hands stayed frozen by your frame, slowly wrapping around your waist in a soft hug. he heard dean snicker behind him, but he didn’t really care.

the hug was nice, and you were possibly the only person who could make him melt like the chocolate you exuded.

“yeah, hazel.” he breathed into your hair, smiling softly. “suits you.”

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @sunsbaby @littlesoulshine @figthoughts @haunteres @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @hvnlygrl @j2archives @thebunkervault @a-lil-pr1ncess @flow33didontsmoke @whump-loverz @s0urw00lf @sunnyteume @mostlymarvelgirl

NAT BABBLES: 2 days to my bday and i just had to write something about my hazel cutie

[sunsbaby]

sam winchester x reader | MDNI

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[wvyik]

sam’s shy gf headcanons. s.w. ₊˚⊹⋆

sam winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: general shy dating hc again!! spoiler; sam is the softest, most patient boyfriend ever. he understands your awkwardness, your shyness, your nervousness—all of it—and he loves you for it.

⤿ warnings: lots of cuteness, emotional moments/support, comfort!! soft boy affection overload, sam being the gentlest giant to ever giant, safe relationship energy that might make you cry, pre-established relationship.

⤿ notes: on the request of the sweet @everythingisaspectrum!! sorry this took so long (╥﹏╥) for anyone worried on the taglist who signed on just for dean, just hit me up and ill make sure to not tag you on any other characters. plus the taglist got an update!!

HE DOES GROCERY SHOPPING IF YOU’RE TOO STRESSED.. But not in a ‘ugh, fine I’ll go’ way. No, this man is walking out the door with a list you scribbled and texting you stuff like “Do you want the strawberry yogurt or the peach? I forgot which one’s your favorite :(“

HAND-HOLDING IS HIS FAVORITE THING EVER.. He knows you’re shy about PDA, so he never forces it, but when you do reach for his hand? Oh, he cherishes it. He’ll squeeze your fingers gently, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, completely focused on you.

LOVES HEARING YOU TALK ABOUT THE THINGS YOU LOVE.. Even if you’re shy, when you finally start opening up about something you’re passionate about? Sam is so happy. He’ll listen intently, nodding along, asking questions— just completely mesmerized by how cute you look when you get excited.

SAM READS TO YOU.. Like actually, out loud. You’re laying in bed, curled up under a blanket, and he’s got a book in one hand, your hand in the other. He has the most soothing voice ever and every few lines he’ll glance over at you with the softest smile like, “Still with me, sweetheart?”

LOVES IT WHEN YOU GET SLEEPY AND CLINGY.. If you ever get too tired to keep up your usual shyness and just snuggle into him, Sam is in heaven. He’ll wrap you up in his arms, stroking your hair, whispering, “You can fall asleep, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

HE KEEPS A LITTLE MENTAL LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE YOU ANXIOUS.. Crowds, loud places, random new people — he notices and makes plans around it. If you’re ever somewhere you don’t like, he’ll quietly lean over and whisper, “Want to head out, babe?” And if you nod? He’s already guiding you out like a prince in plaid.

HE LEGIT BRAGS ABOUT YOU IN PRIVATE.. Like, if he’s talking to Dean or someone he trusts, he gets this dreamy little smile and is like, “She’s shy, yeah… but she’s got the biggest heart. Smartest girl I’ve ever met.” He’s so down BAD.

WHEN YOU’RE OVERWHELMED, HE GIVES YOU HIS HOODIE.. And i mean, immediately. You’re not even asking, he just sees you getting overwhelmed and wordlessly tugs it off, wraps it around you, and kisses your hair. Now you smell like him and feel safe.

SAM IS OBSESSED WITH YOUR VOICE WHEN YOU TALK JUST TO HIM.. You might be quiet around others, but when it’s just the two of you? When you’re cuddling and whispering things only he gets to hear? He treasures it. He’ll literally say, “I love your voice. It’s like… peaceful.”

HE NOTICES EVERY TINY CHANGE IN YOUR MOOD.. You don’t even have to say anything; he can just tell. He’ll come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, rest his chin on your shoulder and softly ask, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

HE HAS A BABY VOICE, JUST FOR YOU.. Not like silly-baby talk, but that extra soft, affectionate tone that only comes out when he’s holding you close or waking you up in the morning. “C’mon, sweetheart… time to get up. I made your tea.” Like PLEASE he’s your emotional support giant.

HE’S SO GENTLE WHEN YOU’RE UPSET.. If something’s bothering you, he’ll never push you to talk, but he’ll always make sure you know he’s there. He’ll rub slow circles on your back, murmur soothing words, and just be there until you’re ready to open up.

SAM LOVES WHEN YOU PLAY WITH HIS HAIR.. You’re shy about touching him, but the first time you nervously threaded your fingers through his hair? Sam melted. He closed his eyes, leaned into your touch, and let out the softest sigh. Now he begs for it. “C’mere, baby. Just for a minute.”

YOU HAVE A SAFE WORD FOR SOCIAL EXITS.. Sam came up with it. Like if you’re somewhere that’s draining you, all you have to do is say the word (maybe something dumb and cute like ‘moose tracks’) and he’ll immediately get you out, no questions.

HE WRITES YOU NOTES.. Like little sticky notes with stuff like “Drink water today, babe <3” or “I miss you, even if you’re just in the next room” and sticks them where you’ll find them. Your journal, your laptop, the fridge, your pillow, everywhere.

HE FINDS YOUR AWKWARDNESS SO HOT.. Like when you try to be flirty but your voice shakes? Or you avoid eye contact after saying something bold? Sam is grinning so hard. He’ll bite his lip and softly say, “That was really cute. Keep going.” and you’re immediately done for.

IF YOU CRY, HE’S IN FULL ON SOFT MODE.. No panic, no ‘don’t cry’ BS. He just holds you close, rocks you gently, and says stuff like, “Let it out, sweetheart. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” Literal human comfort blanket.

HE NEEDS A KISS BEFORE BED.. Even if it’s just a shy little peck. And if you’re being all bashful and hiding your face under the covers? He’ll laugh softly and coax you out with kisses to your hands. “Don’t hide that pretty face, baby.”

HE BUYS YOU BOOKS THAT REMIND HIM OF YOU.. The titles are always something like “Quiet is Beautiful” or “Loving Someone Soft” or just some cheesy romance novel with a blushing heroine. He always scribbles a note inside like “Saw this and thought of you. You’re my favorite.”

HE LIVES FOR THE LATE NIGHT CONVOS.. You’re in bed, half-asleep, and you whisper something like “do you think the stars look different in heaven?” and this man is suddenly wide awake and in full philosophical mode, holding you and telling you what he thinks while stroking your arm.

HE TOTALLY PICKS UP ON YOUR SOCIAL ANXIETY AND SUBTLY HELPS YOU OUT.. If you’re in a conversation and get flustered, Sam will gently step in without making it obvious. He’ll steer the conversation smoothly so you don’t feel pressured to talk too much, all while giving you reassuring little touches, like a hand on your back.

SAM OFFERS YOU HIS JACKET WITHOUT YOU ASKING.. Cold? You get the jacket. Nervous? You get the jacket. Just existing in the world? Guess what, you’re getting the damn jacket. It’s like a hug from him, and you know he gets a little weak seeing you wrapped up in it.

HE NEVER LETS YOU DOUBT HOW MUCH HE WANTS YOU.. You’re quiet and might have moments of thinking you’re too awkward or not enough. Sam sees it immediately and pulls you into the warmest hug, whispering, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, sweetheart. Don’t ever think you’re not.”

ADORES THE WAY YOU TUCK YOURSELF INTO HIS SIDE.. Like a little shy koala. If you ever burrow into him, face in his chest, holding onto his flannel? He’s DONE. He’ll just wrap you up and murmur, “God, I love you so much.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown @multiversefanfics @littlesoulshine @starzify @ladykitana90 @idontwannabehere78 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @pieandflannel @twelveyearsofit @tinas111 @unstable-cucumber ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[nvrngl]

˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒚 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌

synopsis. law is boring. you need a break.

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

wordcount. 1.9K

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

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

You try to focus. You really do.

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

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

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

He knows.

God, of course he knows.

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

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

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

You nod. “Just… distracted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all it takes.

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

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

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

Sam’s breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“F-Fuck, baby—”

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

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

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

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

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

That only makes you more determined.

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

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

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

He groans like that alone almost finishes him.

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

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

You swallow every drop.

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

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

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

His kiss is hungry.

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

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

“My turn.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sam kneels.

And your breath catches.

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

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

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

His growl is low and dangerous. “Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

Then he dives in.

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t.

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

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

You’re falling apart.

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

His fingers speed up, mouth never leaving your clit.

And then you break.

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

But Sam doesn’t stop.

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

“S-Sam, oh my God, please—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𓂃˖ ࣪⊹ navigation : all works ; guidelines ; let's be friends .ᐟ

[lostalioth]

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐭

→ premise: you in those damn jeans, those stupid jeans that fit you just right. your hips, your waist, your thighs. and god your ass in those jeans nearly had sam drooling. it was shameful he knew it but he couldn’t help it, not when your ass looked so prefect.

→ pairing: sam winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: smut | 18+, anal, caught masturbating, switch!sam? [he’s dominating but also jsut whiny and desperate?], nicknames [angel, baby], no lube or prep really for the anal part [i lowkey didn’t wanna write it lmao], not proofread

→ a/n: kinktober 17

It was pathetic, he was pathetic he knew that and yet he just couldn't care at the moment nor help himself. You looked so good he swore it was driving him clinically insane. So good that it was making his genius brain malfunction, and his downstairs ‘brain’ run on overdrive. 

He couldn't focus, could barely understand a word the witnesses were saying, it was all going in one ear and out the other. His eyes were just glued on you, on your body, on those stupid perfectly fitting jeans you wore. He felt like a hormonal teenager again, getting all worked up over a dumb pair of tight jeans on a woman. It didn't help that Sam has already been nursing a small crush on you that he’s had sense him and his brother met you. 

He had to bail on you and dean in the middle of the interviews, giving the both of you some excuse about not feeling the best and that maybe he needed some extra rest. Though in truth his pants were just getting tighter by the minute and his head getting foggier. He somehow managed to walk himself back to the motel, the short walk doing not a damn thing to clear his head. You in those fucking jeans, those jeans that hug your thighs and your wasit just right, those stupidly tight jeans that made your ass look so fucking bitable it was making him lose his mind. 

Even though muffled by his t-shirt pulled up and tucked between his teeth all that filled the quiet dingy motel room were Sams whines they were so loud. He was a mess the second he unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants and boxers down his thighs. His large hand furiously stroking up and down his aching cock, pulling strangled whimpers and cries from his lips. His precum leaking out from his tip acting as lube for his hand to glide along his shaft faster, squeezing it hard as he goes. 

He was already so close, it only added to his feeling of being pathetic, he really was a horny teenager now, he couldn't even last that long with his fist around his cock and his head filled with thoughts of you. You on top of him riding him as he whines, you under him your limbs an entangled mess as you pant and moan into his mouth. Him with his head buried between your thighs, you on your knees for him with your mouth stuffed full of his cock, any and all different kinds of images of you all over him. “Need you s’bad, s��fuckin’ bad holy shit….” He hissed through his teeth in a hushed tone as his head fell back in pleasure, cries of your name and whines about how good you looked fall from his mouth like a waterfall the closer he gets to the edge.

“Hey Sam? Honey? you doing okay?” Your voice shattered the daydream going on in his head that was just about to make him cum. In shock and embarrassment his hand stills, inadvertently edging himself. The nickname only makes his cock twitch more as a short whine comes out of his mouth in response. He was caught and it should be embarrassing, humiliating even, you caught him jerking off in the middle of the day. He should be feeling anything else but what he was right now, It shouldn’t excite him that you caught him. But he was too far gone into a desperate type of head space to care at the moment. 

“Oh shit!, i'm sorry i didn't mean to barge in i thought you’d be napping” you babble out, covering your face as heat spreads through your body as you turn around and move like you're about to leave. As you turn sam gets an even better almost 360º view of your body, how the jeans cling to your thighs, the waistband snug around your waist, the denim looks practically painted on your ass, they were so tight.

“Need it s’bad, please i need you s’bad yoou dont have to leave” he whines out, you had already caught him so any composure or decorum he had has been thrown out the window alongside reason. He could be completely ruining your friendship at this moment, you could be disgusted with him and reject him but he was taking that risk cause he was desperate. 

Your body as if moving on its own accord, revealing your own hidden desires turns back around to face Sam, slowly taking your hands away from your face. Your breath hitches in your throat as your eyes scan over his body, his shirt tugged up and stuffed in his mouth exposing his chest, a small trail of hair leading down to where his hand is still wrapped tightly around his cock, a pleading look in his glazed over eyes. Slowly you make your way over to him spread out on the bed, your steps careful as if you were gonna spook him by moving too fast. “What- Uh- what do you need honey?” You question, still a bit confused and extremely nervous. You’d do anything to help Sam, and getting to see him like this all pathetic and desperate was a bonus that was making slick settle in your core and your thighs clench together. 

“I need you, want you s’bad” he whines out dropping his shirt from his mouth as he grabs ahold of your hand when you get close enough. Placing your hand on his stiff throbbing cock with his own, you let out a small gasp at the feeling of his warm cock under your touch. “This is what you do to me, you and ya’ fucking stupid tight jeans” he hissed out, letting go of your hand and taking note of the fact you dont move it off his cock he slaps your ass hard with his big hand resting and gropping at it after it comes down. 

“These damn jeans that make your ass look so good angel, so good that I couldn't focus, baby. Wanna fuck you s’bad, wanna fuck this ass” he was rambling now looking up at you with his signature puppy eyed look that made you melt. He was so hard it was getting painful, especially since he stopped himself right when he was gonna cum.

He's already thrown caution to the wind by this point, there was no going back.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You gave in. 

Willing to do whatever it took to make Sam feel better as well as the fact that all his begging had made you about just as desperate for him. He had you on his lap now, your back pressed against his bare chest. He was quick to strip you of all your clothes, eyes glued to the way he had to practically peel your jeans off your body. Your thighs were spread and laid over his legs that he had bent up, his feet planted flat on the bed. 

Your head was spinning from the feeling of his rough hands exploring every inch of your body. Palming at your tits and his thumb flicking your nipples, squeezing your waist when you squirm in his grasp and grind your ass against him. His lips were mouthing and kissing along your neck, tongue poking out to lick up the side and even behind your ear, sucking patches of small hickies onto the unmarked skin. Your body relaxed more and more in his arms as Sam said; “Need you real relaxed for this angel okay? As bad as i want this i don't wanna hurt ya’” you were certainly relaxed once his thumb started rubbing circles over your bundle of nerves, sighing in a mixture of pleasure and relief. You whine softly as your pussy aches, begging for release already as your folds are dripping in slick, a trail of it sliding down your cunt to your ass even. 

Lifting his hips his tip nudges at the tight ring of muscle of your ass, his precum that hasn't stopped leaking as well as his spit that coated his cock acted as your only form of lube as he bullies his thick cock inside. With a broken gasp in both pain and pleasure at the new sensation you dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm that was wrapped around your stomach holding you against him. “Sam~ Honey- Fuck!” You blabber out in a string of jumbled together moans, losing track of where you were gonna go with your sentence once his cock pushes all the way inside, your hole sucking his cock inside. 

“Atta’ girl, s’good f’me angel. God your ass is so fuckin’ tight” he cries out, he was already still on edge from just his fist but this feeling was gonna send him flying over it faster than he wanted. The pleasure of his cock filing your ass as well as his thumb which hasn't stopped playing with your clit has your pussy clenching around nothing. 

“Baby, m’not gonna last long, it's too much” you moan out as his hips buck up and thrust into you, settling at a fast and relentless pace not giving you any more time to get adjusted. “It’s okay baby, it’s okay, j’ cum, just cum for me angel” he nods his head frantically, moans and desperate cries fill the room and you don't know what sounds are coming from who as you clench down on him. 

Your body tensing up and your eyes screwing shut as your climax washes over you, a loud wanton moan falling out of your mouth. Worry about the other residents hearing anything long since past, Sam even felt a small ego boost knowing they were hearing you scream out his name. His hips not stopping their hard thrusting, Sam too lost in pleasure with his head buried in your neck as his cock pounds your ass making you see stars as you cum. 

“Feel so good angel, holy shit squeezin’ me even tighter as you cum shit~” he groans out, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine as his breath fans across your ear. Your cum leaks out of your pussy, sliding down to Sams cock giving it even more slick for him to fuck up into you harder and faster, chasing his own orgasm. 

“Gonna cum angel, but dont think im done with ya’ when i do, need to fuck that pretty pussy too. Been dreamin’ about that sense we met, need to make you all mine” he cries out as he turns your face towards his and crashes his lips against yours, kissing you like a man starved. His moans are muffled into the kiss as well as more whines of your name as he cums hard.

→ a/n: AHHHH last day of kinktober is tomorrow!! Im hoping i get to post the last day on halloween but i might not so if i dont expect it nov

[heavenlyhotline]

(how i feel like rn because i have so much “sam winchester x reader” stuff in my drafts)

JUST WANNA GIVE MY ANGELS WHAT THEY WANT!

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

You're bossy. And short. (Sam Winchester x female reader)

Sam gets drunk because he’s jealous and you try to put him to bed, but he decides to be difficult...

Read it on AO3

Rated T. 2.1k words. Drunk Sam. Jealousy. Flirting. Sassy Sam my beloved.

“You’re bossy,” you hear someone mutter behind you.

You turn around, looking at Sam, dumbfounded.

“What?” you ask, not believing your ears.

“You’re bossy,” Sam repeats, in a so what? tone.

And then, looking you up and down in a way that makes you shudder, grinning to himself, he adds: “And short.”

You blink a few times. “Are… are you drunk?” you ask him.

Sam is standing in the door, leaning against it, his big frame swaying back and forth a little.

“Yeah,” he answers, raising his hands in challenge, before immediately needing to put one back on the door frame to stop himself from stumbling. “So?”

“Sam,” you say, finding your voice meet a pitch of reason and slight annoyance that you usually only ever have to use with Dean. “We’re on a case. You can’t just get shit-faced in the middle of a job.”

You turn around fully, leaning one hand on the table next to you to drive your point of reasonability home. But Sam just scoffs.

You hold your posture, pretending you're not distracted by his long neck, the tendons pulling there, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down every time he talks.

Or the little dip below that, where sometimes a little bit of sweat collects when he's exerting himself.

Or the way his hair is now falling over his forehead, soft and fluffy and how you just want to run your fingers through it.

Or how his drunkenness is making him look so limber, so unconcerned with being proper and decent and polite, and how his hips have a little sway to them that make you want to bite into the table top next to you.

You swallow, pushing all these thoughts down, which is easy, easy peasy even. Too easy almost, at least until you look at him again after a second and it all comes flooding back.

“Okay,” you say, proud of how little your voice is shaking. “Let’s get you to bed, Sasquatch.”

You walk up to him, taking one of his arms and laying it over your shoulder, which isn't helpful in the least and has the unfortunate side effect of, well, having his arm around your shoulder and also just all of Sam being pretty close to you. So, bad idea all around.

You press your teeth together, determined to come out of this with at least a little bit of your dignity intact.

As you lead him over to his bed, he mumbles: “Don’t need any help.” Now it's your turn to scoff.

“Yeah,” you reply, “you seem totally fine.” You reach the bed.

“Sit down,” you order, but Sam doesn't budge so you use his lack of coordination to push him back a little, making his calves bump into the bed and his ass meet the mattress. It would have never worked if he was sober, but you're okay with using this little advantage in your favor.

Sam sits, still swaying, looking up at you. You go for his jacket, pushing it off his shoulder, and Sam raises his arms trying to shrug it off, but is being the opposite of helpful.

“Jesus,” you say, “how did you get into this state? I saw you three hours ago.”

Sam is waving one arm trying to get his jacket off, and you lean back a little to avoid getting clocked.

“Yeah,” he mutters, “when you sen’ me away. Like I said, bossy.”

You mmh-hmm at him and finally get his jacket off, taking it from him and tossing it on Dean’s bed.

He will sleep more comfortably without it on, but the price you have to pay is seeing him in his shirt, a roughed jeans one that is, like most of Sam’s shirts, a little tight on him, mostly because of his height but also because he is just kind of crap at shopping for himself.

It has ridden up a little in his battle with the jacket, and its hem is now stopping over the waistband of his jeans, over the belt, drawing your eyes to places they are not supposed to be drawn to.

“Shoes,” you say to distract yourself, but Sam doesn't react. He's staring off into the room, his eyebrows pulled down and his mouth in a pout that you would love nothing more than to kiss.

You sigh, then kneel down in front of him.

“I don’t need—” he begins, but you interrupt him.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, “you don’t need help, I know.”

You start untying one of his big shoes, Sam squirming a little. It might be uncomfortable for him to be treated like this, but then he's gotten himself into this situation. He's just gonna have to live with it.

“Why’d you have to flirt with that guy?” you suddenly hear him ask, his voice low. You look up at him, tossing some hair out of your face in the process.

“What?” you ask, shaking your head a little. Sam’s expression is different, in fact his entire mood seems to have changed. Does he seem upset?

“The guy, the witness, the what’s-his-face,” he says, not looking at you, instead suddenly terribly interested in the nightstand next to the bed. “Why’d you flirt with him?” A huff leaves you.

“Sam, I was—" you start. "I was trying to get him to talk about where he got all that money from. I told you that. What do you mean?”

You shake your head, turning back to his shoes. If Sam is going to start giving you shit about using your charm to help solve a case and potentially save some people, you aren't going to give him the satisfaction of getting to do it to your face.

“But why’d you have to—” Sam hiccups a little, then continues. “Why’d you have to touch him and smile at him so much?” You can't help but chuckle. You look back up at him. “Cause that’s what flirting is, Samuel.”

Finally he looks at you. “’s Sam,” he mumbles, and then: “I hate it when you flirt for a case.”

Sam can be a bit of a square, but even for him this seems like an overreaction. Just then you pull his boots off him, after having fought his shoelaces which he’s tied in a weird double knot.

“Yeah, well,” you say, pushing yourself up with your hands on your legs. “Soon as you or Dean grow a pair of boobs I’m happy to stop doing it. Okay, get into bed, you’re going to sleep.”

Sam sways a little where he's sitting, thinking, definitely not lying down as you ordered him to. Then he looks down at his knees.

“I don’t like it when you do it,” he mumbles. You're just about to tell him that he can well and truly get off his high horse, when he adds: “He was starin’ at you and checking you out, being a creep an’ I just wanted to punch him.”

Hmm. Okay.

Weird reaction, and definitely not what you were expecting.

Shaking your head again, you sigh. “Look, he was a creep, but we got the info we needed and it might help us stop this thing before someone else gets hurt.” You shrugg. “If I have to endure the occasional ass grab for that then I think that’s not the worst deal.”

Before you even finish the sentence, Sam is suddenly standing up.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you say, having to take a step back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m ‘a go find him and beat the crap outta him,” he more slurs than says, “that’s what I’m doing.”

“Sam!”

“He can’t jus’ touch you and get away with it.”

“Sam, he didn’t,” you say, raising your hands in the hope to contain him. “I meant generally. He didn’t, okay?”

Sam looks down at you, a confused look on his face.

“Oh,” he says.

“Jeez, what is up with you?” you ask. He suddenly looks very embarrassed.

“I thought…” he mutters, but doesn't finish the sentence. He sways a little again, leaning towards you and for a second his height and broadness and the look on his face almost take your breath away. You put your hands on his elbows.

“Sit down before you topple, okay?” you say.

This time, Sam listens, plopping down on the mattress again. He's still looking embarrassed as you cross your arms in front of you.

“Look,” you say, hoping to put him out of his misery. “It’s really sweet that you want to defend my honor or whatever, but there’s no need.”

Sam smiles a little, bashful, lowering his head to hide it.

“And secondly,” you continue, hoping to finally put this topic, and this interaction that is driving you a little mad, to bed, along with Sam. “Secondly, I know flirting for information is probably below the high and mighty moral standards of Sam Winchester, but sometimes it works, and I’m okay with it.”

Sam looks up at you, eyes narrowed and expression confused.

“What?” he says.

“I said, that flirting for information—” you respond, but Sam interrupts you.

“No, I know,” he says, “but it’s not below my malty— I mean, mighty— I mean, moral standard. It jus’ makes me wish I was the guy.”

You take a sharp breath. What in the actual hell does that mean?

“That…you were the guy?” you ask, your voice careful. Sam opens his mouth a few times, always closing it again.

“I mean,” he finally replies, “I guess, yeah.”

“You mean the guy I’m flirting with?” you ask, wanting to be absolutely certain that you aren't misunderstanding anything.

“Yeah,” Sam confirms, throwing a shy look at your face, “that you were flirting with me instead. Touchin’ my hand on purpose and laughing at my stupid jokes and that, that thing you do with your eyes, where you, where you widen them a little and you lick your lips an’ you just—”

He stops suddenly, clearing his throat. “That.” He shrugs, looked away again. You feel like you have been struck by lightning.

“Sam,” you finally say. “You know that’s not how I actually flirt, right?” Sam’s eyes go up to your face again, not understanding.

“I mean,” you say, “that’s how I do it for these guys who already think they’re god’s gift to the world, who think I’m just some dumb girl who can’t wait to hear all the exciting bullshit they have to say.” Sam makes a grimace.

“But then…” he asks, needing to concentrate, “but then how do you really flirt?”

You can't help but bite your lip. Sam’s face is angled up at you, the low light from the other end of the room throwing gentle shadows across his beautiful features.

“Well,” you say, now feeling a little shy yourself. “I mean I’m not really a big flirt, but I guess if I liked a guy I would listen to what he says and care about what he thinks of what I do, and I would want to take care of him and bring him to bed when he’s being an idiot and gets drunk on his own.”

Sam breathes in slowly, looking at you unbelieving.

“Or,” you continue, too deep in it to stop now, “I might let him call me things like bossy and short, and secretly like it.” Sam winces.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a low voice.

“That’s okay,” you respond. “I am bossy. And compared to you, everyone’s short.” He grins a little at that. There are a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Did I embarrass myself really bad?” Sam finally asks, voice quiet. You shrug again.

“Not too bad. If you’re lucky, you won’t remember tomorrow.”

“I think,” Sam says, his voice a little more confident, “I think I will remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” you ask. “How so?” Now it's Sam’s turn to shrug.

“Cause I guess you were flirtin’ with me,” he says, “and I’ve been kinda imagining you doing that for a long time now.”  

“Have you now?” you ask in a low voice. Sam nods.

Then, before you know it, he's reaching for your hand with his. He finds it, hanging at your side, and gently squeezes it, making goosebumps break out all over your body.

“Can you do it again tomorrow?” he asks carefully. “Flirt with me?” A grin spreads over your face.

“Okay,” you say. “But there’s other ways to do it. You don’t have to get drunk again.” Sam chuckles.

“That’s good, because I don’t thin’ I would survive that.” You chuckle as well.

“Go to bed, Sam,” you say, your voice gentle.

“Okay,” Sam says.

Then he's leaning back, dropping himself on the mattress, and very ungainly scooching himself into a sideways position.

You pull the thin comforter from the foot of the bed, and lay it over him.

“Night, Sam,” you say and look at his face.

“Goodnight,” he responds, looking at yours. 

[kpopgirlbtssvt]

Right???🥰💜

Sweet Treat

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Fem!Reader Warning: nothing but fluff, maybe a little sexual innuendos, cute obsessive Sam (not creepy, just in love) Summary: You wanted to make cookies, but Sam doesn't know how to keep his hands to himself. Word Count: 1,278

Sam really wasn't one for sweets, well, except for you. Anything you wanted, Sam got it for you, and I do mean anything you wanted. Some would say, Sam was obsessed with you, not too crazy or creepy, he was just in love, and he deserved it and you.

You loved baking, making chocolate candies using molds, you loved cooking as well. Any chance you got to be in the kitchen, you took it. Sam loved your cooking, he often made jokes about how his weight is gonna catch up to him from eating all the delicious food you cooked.

On the menu today was chocolate chip cookies, and of course they were made from scratch. You combed through your homemade cookbook trying to find the recipe your grandmother came up with. You wanted them to taste just like hers, although no matter what you made Sam loved it anyway.

Cooking and baking helped you pass the time while Sam was on missions, you didn’t really know what else to do with your time, you worked from home and to be truthful nothing interested you more than making food. After a few minutes of searching, you finally found it. You placed the recipe on the counter and read off the ingredients you needed.

You had everything, you tied your apron on and got to work, Sam wasn’t home he was on a mission and wasn’t due back until tomorrow evening, so you figured bake some cookies and think about what to make for Sam when he got home.

You went to the oven to preheat it, when suddenly your front door opened. You were confused only a few people had a key and they should all be on the mission. You grabbed a kitchen knife and crept toward the living room, as you rounded the corner you swung your arm back ready to stab whoever it was

“Woah woah, it’s just me.” Sam’s hands flew up to keep the distance between you two.

“What the hell, Sam.” You let out a breath and put your arm down “I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.”

He flashed his gorgeous smile at you and followed you into the kitchen “Mission ended early, figured my girlfriend would be happy to see me, not trying to kill me.”

He looked around the kitchen and saw you had all of your cook books out, he smiled and rubbed his hands together

“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” He came up behind you, wrapping his arms around you.

You smiled and leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder, he smiled and pressed soft kisses on your cheek and jaw

“I wanted to try and make my grandma’s famous chocolate chip cookies”

He buried his face in your neck, breathing in deeply, Sam loved your scent, whether you had perfume on or just your natural scent. He was always burying his face in your neck, between your legs, honestly anywhere he could smell you, he even smelled your armpits once. Sam was a silly man, he knew you’d laugh and not be weirded out by his silliness.

“Well, do you want some help?” He pulled back to tie on one of your extra aprons

You looked over at him and nodded. He didn’t help out as much because of being so busy, but when he did it was always an adventure, every time he would walk by you, he would smack your butt, touch your back, back of your arm, something, he just wanted to touch you.

“Okay, can you get the eggs and butter out of the fridge?”

You watched him walk over to the fridge and get out what you asked him to; you loved when Sam helped out, even if he didn’t do it correctly in your opinion, it’s the fact that he wanted to help.

You put the flour, butter, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a mixing bowl. You looked around for the brown sugar and regular sugar, you looked up and saw Sam holding something behind his back.

“Need some brown sugar?” He smirked and peppered your lips with kisses “Oh and I got the actual brown sugar.”

You smiled and took the brown sugar and regular from him, pouring it into the mixing bowl. You mixed everything to together, so it combined evenly. Sam came up behind you wrapping his arms around you once again, this was his way of “helping” along with getting ingredients if you asked, but he mainly held you while you cooked or baked.

“Missed you so much” He buried his face in your neck once more, nuzzling his cheek against neck

“Missed you more, baby.” You smiled and added all the wet ingredients and the chocolate chips to the mixing bowl, turning on the mixer.

Once everything was mixed together, you dumped the dough out onto the flour dusted counter, kneading it and rolling it out. You took a clump of dough rolling it between your hands, Sam put his hands over yours, rolling the dough with you, you smiled and let him help you.

“You are the sweetest, baby.” You looked at him from the corner of your eye, just to see him smile at you

You placed the balls of dough on the cookie sheet, Sam took the sheet and put it in the oven, you had 20 minutes to cuddle and talk about his mission. Sam wasted no time, he picked you up bridal style and carried you to the couch. He plopped down and held you in his lap.

“So, how was my baby today?” He rubbed your back, placing a kiss on your temple.

You adjusted yourself on his lap and wrapped your arm around the back of his neck “Well, I prepared our meals for the week, made dinner for tonight and we just made cookies, I missed you, it was a pretty boring day.”

You looked down at Sam and saw he was looking and listening intently, he always made sure he gave you all of his attention, made sure you knew he was listening, and if someone interrupted you, he would shoot them a glare and they’d apologize and stop talking. Sam smiled up at you, taking in all your beauty, even all covered in flour you were beautiful to him. He made sure to tell you every chance he got, when you were getting dressed, he would hype you up the entire you were changing and definitely hyped you up when you were finished.

Sam was the best thing that has ever happened to you, and he knew it, he was cocky about it too, he knew how you felt about him and that you would do anything for him, and he would do the same.

“How was your mission?” You rubbed the back of his neck, watching him let out a breath

“Hard, but easy. We got our asses handed to us though, but I was just ready to come home to you.” He held you tighter, kissing your cheek.

The timer on the oven beeped, Sam picked you up, carrying you into the kitchen, you giggled and held on to him. He set you down, put on the oven mitt and took the cookies out of the oven, he placed them on the counter and smiled over at you

“They look amazing, baby and so do you” He wrapped his arms around you once again.

You smiled and melted into his touch, he swayed you slightly holding you close to him. Everything was perfect, you had the man, your cookies looked and tasted amazing, what more could you ask for.

A/N: Alright, I really like this one, I hope you guys like it too. If you want to be tagged in future fics comment here or send me a message. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 🥰

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