( +18 ) they don’t know about us multifandom october libra ryland grace’s star tattoos&piercings for da boys dean winchester’s babe 80s crop top headphones on 24/7 40 Eridani A b matt murdock’s bf chunky shoes! freckles on pale skin inside the cage ・・・ new ﹏ sam winchester between classes.
summary ﹏ History professor Sam Winchester and his sweet, soft-hearted student have perfected the art of loving each other in secret—hidden in stolen office kisses, quiet afternoon visits, and tender moments between classes. What starts as quick check-ins slowly becomes the favorite part of Sam’s day: listening to you ramble while holding you close in the privacy of his office.
cw ﹏ fluff / slice-of-life fic. fem!reader. college au & professor!sam. established secret relationship. age gap (20s & late 30s). soft intimacy. praise. soft petnames (sweetheart, baby). lovesick behavior. gentle touches.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
By the middle of October, you’ve developed a routine so dangerous in its softness that Sam sometimes catches himself thinking about it during lectures.
It starts after your morning classes, usually sometime between eleven and noon, when the history building fills with the sound of students shuffling through hallways carrying coffee cups and half-finished assignments. The campus always feels busiest then, voices echoing off old brick walls, backpacks bumping into doorframes, professors trying to navigate crowds with stacks of papers balanced in their arms.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it is you—moving through the chaos in oversized knit sweaters and soft skirts that brush your knees, your bag slipping down your shoulder because it’s always too full of notebooks, lip balm, pens with little flowers glued onto them.
Sam notices you before you even reach his office most days. He hears your laugh in the hallway or catches the soft sound of your voice drifting through the partially opened door while he’s pretending to grade papers.
The first time you stopped by his office just to see him, he thought it would be quick.
A hello, maybe a kiss; a few stolen minutes before one of you had to leave again.
But then you sat cross-legged in the chair across from his desk while telling him about a girl in your literature class who cried because she spilled coffee on her laptop, and Sam found himself listening so carefully that he completely forgot he was supposed to be answering emails. After that, it became routine. Yours.
Now you show up between classes with sleepy smiles and stories about your day, and Sam—despite being a respected history professor with a terrifying amount of grading to do—starts unconsciously waiting for it.
“You’re late,” he says one afternoon, though his voice carries none of the sharpness the words should have. You pause in the doorway dramatically, one hand clutching your chest. “I was gone for six minutes longer than usual.”
Sam leans back slightly in his chair, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at his mouth. “Exactly. I was beginning to think you found another history professor.” You gasp softly, scandalized in the prettiest way possible. “Never. You’re my favorite one.”
His eyes flick briefly toward the open office door at that, instinctively cautious, before settling back on you again. “Careful,” he murmurs, lowering his voice slightly. “You keep saying things like that out loud, people are gonna start getting suspicious.”
You soften immediately at his tone, stepping fully inside before gently nudging the office door mostly shut behind you; not closed enough to look strange, but enough to give you a little privacy. “Sorry,” you murmur automatically, moving closer to his desk. “I forgot.” Sam’s expression changes instantly at the apology, warmth replacing the teasing almost immediately. “Hey.” His voice drops softer. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“That.” He sets his pen down fully now, attention completely shifting to you. “Apologizing every time you say something sweet.”
Your cheeks warm up faintly at that, and God, he loves when you do that. Loves how easy it is to make you fuzzy, how your softness never feels performative or calculated. You’re just… genuinely sweet. Warm in a way that catches him off guard even now.
“I can’t help it,” you admit quietly, coming around the side of his desk until you’re standing close enough for his knee to brush your thigh. “You make me nervous sometimes.” Sam lets out a quiet breath through his nose, amused and fond all at once. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to look at you properly, “you’ve been dating me for six months.”
“I know.” Your voice turns smaller somehow, shy despite yourself. “You still make me nervous.”
That does something unfair to him.
Sam reaches for you instinctively then, one hand settling gently around your wrist before sliding down until his fingers lace loosely through yours. “C’mere,” he says softly.
You go immediately, stepping between his knees without hesitation, your skirt brushing lightly against his legs. Sam’s hands settle carefully at your waist, familiar and warm, and the second he pulls you just slightly closer, your whole body relaxes. He notices that every single time; that unconscious softening whenever he touches you, like your body trusts him before your mind can even think about it.
“You have class in ten minutes,” he murmurs, though he makes absolutely no move to let you go. “Mhm.” You nod at his words.
“And you walked all the way over here just to see me.”
“Mhm.” His mouth twitches. “You’re clingy.” You blink down at him innocently, a ghost of a smile on your face. “You like it.” Sam actually laughs quietly at that, low and warm enough to make your chest tighten pleasantly. “Yeah,” he admits, fingers pressing slightly against your waist. “Yeah, I do.”
The relationship is ridiculous, honestly. Not the feelings: ever the feelings but just… the logistics of it.
The sneaking around, the stolen moments, the way Sam has to carefully school his expression during lectures whenever you walk in wearing soft pink sweaters and glossy lips and looking entirely too pretty for his own sanity or the way you have to pretend you aren’t completely in love with the man discussing nineteenth-century warfare while students around you struggle to stay awake.
And God, the office visits; those are the worst or the best part.
Sam still hasn’t decided.
Because every time you wander into his office between classes, carrying iced coffee or pastries or some tiny story you absolutely need to tell him, he forgets how to act normal for a few minutes. He stops being Professor Winchester and just becomes Sam again—your Sam, the one who kisses your forehead while reading essays, who keeps strawberry candies in his desk drawer because you like them, who listens with complete seriousness when you ramble about café playlists or pretty bookstores you found downtown.
Today, you’re talking animatedly about a tiny bakery near campus while perched on the edge of his desk, your legs swinging lightly as Sam pretends to organize papers beside you. “And they put little heart shapes in the whipped cream,” you’re saying earnestly. “Like actual little hearts. It was so cute.”
Sam hums like this is the most important information he’s heard all day. “Sounds life-changing.”
“It kind of was.”
“There she is,” he murmurs dryly. “The dramatic side finally comes out.” You nudge his shoulder lightly with your knee. “You’re mean.”
“I’m realistic.”
“You kissed me goodbye this morning and said my sweater made me look ‘dangerously adorable.’” Sam freezes for half a second, then slowly looks up at you. “You remember everything I say, huh?”
“Yes.” Your answer comes instantly, soft and honest. “Especially the sweet things.” Something in his chest pulls tight. You do that to him constantly without even realizing.
Sam steps closer before he can think too hard about it, one hand settling automatically against your thigh where it rests near the edge of the desk. There’s nothing sexual about it, no; it’s warm and lovely and sweet. His thumb strokes once through the soft fabric there, absentminded and affectionate, and your voice falters immediately.
His eyes flick up to yours, catching the way your lashes lower slightly, the way your fingers tighten faintly around the edge of the desk.
“You okay there, baby?” he asks quietly. You nod too quickly. “Mhm.” Sam smiles a little because you always do that when he affects you more than you expect. “You sure?” Your cheeks warm. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” You trail off helplessly, your expression growing more flustered under his attention. “Like you know things.”
“Oh, lovely.” His voice lowers, gentler now. “I do know things.” You duck your head slightly at that, and Sam feels unbearably fond all at once. He steps between your knees carefully, his hand sliding from your thigh to your waist instead. “You’re cute when you get shy,” he murmurs.
“You make me shy.”
“Good.” Your eyes widen slightly. “Sam!”
“What?” he asks innocently, though his hands are pulling you closer now, guiding you carefully toward the edge of the desk. “I like knowing I can still do that to you.” You let out the softest little laugh then, warm and breathy and embarrassed all at once, and Sam swears he could live inside that sound. “You’re impossible,” you whisper.
“And you still came all the way over here just to kiss me and tell me about your day.”
“…Maybe.”
“Maybe?” His eyebrows lift. You try to hold onto your dignity for approximately three seconds before failing completely. “Okay, yes,” you admit softly. “I missed you.”
God. Sam’s entire expression softens instantly. There’s something almost unfair about how openly you love him sometimes. How easily you say things like that. No games, no hesitation, just warmth offered so freely it leaves him a little stunned every time.
“C’mere,” he murmurs again, quieter this time. His hand slides gently up your side before settling against your jaw, thumb brushing softly along your cheek, and then he kisses you. It’s slowly and carefully like he’s savoring it.
You melt immediately, your hands finding his shoulders without thinking, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Sam kisses like he does most things—with intention. Just steady warmth and quiet affection that builds slowly until your heart feels too full to hold it all. You sigh softly against his mouth, and Sam feels it everywhere.
“Missed you too,” he murmurs when he finally pulls back slightly, his forehead resting briefly against yours. Your eyes stay half-lidded for a second longer before you smile, small and dreamy. “You’re supposed to be grading papers.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“You let me.”
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, brushing another kiss against the corner of your mouth, “I practically encourage it.”
You laugh quietly then, your hands smoothing absentmindedly over his shoulders while he keeps you tucked close between his arms. Outside the office, students continue moving through the hallways, voices drifting faintly past the door, the normal rhythm of campus life carrying on around your secret little world.
But in here, tucked into the warm quiet of Sam’s office with his hands steady on your waist and his mouth still lingering close enough to kiss again, everything feels softer somehow.
Safer.
Like love folded carefully into stolen afternoons between classes.
🜲 in love with his country, and his queen!dana evans. found a platonic soulmate in castellan!jack abbot but tolerates his children, princess!samira mohan and prince!frank langdon at best. many would describe his relationships as strained.
🜲 can be found reading up on the state of the country, amidst developing royal decrees. mostly hiding away in the war room, ruminating on the latest plot. typically, treks around the castle and it's grounds to check in on his employees, and his family, rather too often.
🜲 often described as overbearing, always appearing when needed least. intelligent, nothing goes unnoticed yet lacks sympathy at times and prone to lashing out. widely adored and celebrated, creates a constant need for praise that feeds a growing ego. a trusted leader, solid and never fails when it matters most.
a/n: welcome to the first part of my royal au! my plan is to post the rest of the moodboards/characters over the next few days (so if you see any written that aren't posted yet... 😉😉) and the idea was if you all wanted to send me asks etc to know more about characters/relationships then i can make little moodboards and blurbs <3 (ps i made this before i started season two so if anyone has any ideas for the new characters let me know !!!!)
thinking about watching ur (favourite) prisioner, 𝐁𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐃𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐑 — jerk off while you're on duty.
he had entered the correctional facility relatively recently after a disgusting and expensive trial that left him sentenced for a couple of months. murdering foggy nelson condemned him to remain in orange jumpsuits and wear a tired decoy on his face all day and night.
he didn't speak, nor make a gesture. a single exception was that one fucking predatory smile he sometimes aimed at you in the hallway lunch line. it sent sudden ahivers down your spine.
now, you sit bathed in the dim light of the security monitors in the room. you were in charge to look out specially at benjamin's cell, all by yourself. you could see his every move perfectly: how he paced back and forth between those four walls, how he glanced at the security camera and how that wicked smile returned. gosh, what was his damn problem?
his gaze pierces the cam, cutting straight the grainy static of the feed and pinning you to your chair.
and that's when his hand began to move down towards his crotch, leaning his head against one of the walls that offered a perfect view of the camera lens. he started slowly, barely squeezing the base of his cock with his right hand, moving up and down and sighing softly—his eyes still fixed on the flickering lens, knowing you were watching.
your throat goes dry, silence filling the security room. you should hit the klaxon, you should call someone to help you manage this, you should log an infraction on him—yet your hand is frozen mid-air over the console.
benjamin starts to fist his now leaking cock, pace quickens a bit becoming more aggressive with it. benjamin then walks over and leans closer to the cell, breathing visibily heavier and faster, chest pumping.
he mouths something inaudible at the camera, you can't hear him through the mutted feed monitor but the shape of his crooked lips is unmistakable as hell. a taunt, a fucking taunt. even though he couldn't see your face, he was determined to keep playing with your patience.
the flickering light catches his orgasm perfectly, highlighting that same smile appearing on the corner of his lips. a sharp, visible exhale leaves his lips, his body goes rigid for a long moment before finally slumping back against the cold wall, his hand falling away.
he straightens his jumpsuit, feeling cocky and unhurried by doing it, stepping away from the wall until his face can be visible on the entire monitor.
ben's hand brushed against his cock again, then raised it and pointed his index finger at the camera, laughing maniacally until the other prisoners silenced him.
⋆.˚✮ summary: ever since frank langdon has been divorced, he can't afford his own apartment, but he can afford a nice hotel. and it just so happens to be the same one that y/n l/n is staying at during her tour at pittsburgh, and his room just happens to be next to hers. what happens when their paths cross?
⋆.˚✮ pairing: frank langdon x popstar!reader (fc: sabrina carpenter sometimes)
masterlist. 13. 14.
hey guys.. i know its been a while but i wanted to give this series the proper ending it deserved! i'd love love love to continue writing for these two in the future so if you have any requests please put them in my inbox, or other requests for the pitt, since i want to get back into writing! also credits to @/rosemaryswritingg for this format idea, i love their stuff so give it a look if you havent already!!
ynln
♫ ynln - goodbye
ynln goodbye europe! i have loved being with you all so dearly, but its time for me to go home now <3 until next time!
➥ drflangdon missed you beautiful girl
↳ ynln i will see you VERY soon handsome
↳ johnshen okay what about me
↳ ynln you too john
➥ kieraaaaaaa i've had endless fun on this tour with you honey!! can't wait to see what you do next
↳ ynln kiera my love <3 you'll be with me for all of it!
drflangdon
♫ the temptations - my girl
drflangdon finally home
➥ ynln why didn't you post the photobooth pictures frankie...
↳ drflangdon maybe i would have if you hadnt pulled your dress down for the last picture
↳ donniedon some men die of thirst while other men die drowning...
johnshen sickening
➥ drking so happy for you two!
↳ ynln mellyyy ilysm lets do movie night w becca and mira soon!
↳ drflangdon what i dont get an invite?
↳ miramo nope! girls night!!!
ynln
♫ fleetwood mac - you make loving fun
ynln i love my new family!!
➥ drflangdon we love you too honey
↳ ynln never wanna leave you again! <3
➥ miramo why would a man be there
↳ drflangdon you literally hosted it at my apartment
↳ ynln we'll kick him out next time dw!!
↳ drflangdon wtf??
➥ drking thank you for inviting me and becca!! we had lots of fun
↳ ynln i love you both melly bear thanks for coming
➥ user this seems so cute. i'm happy for them!
↳ user let's just hope we get more music out of this...
i know you put out the professor!sam x college!reader fic for sam's birthday the other day but i was wondering if it'd be possible to request a fic (fluff) or headcanons maybe of professor!sam x babydoll!reader??
i totally get if it isn’t but, i don’t know, i just really like the idea 🤭🙈 (p.s. i really like yapping so if you ever see me in your inbox again, it’d be that! okay, bye for now :] )
it’s finally out omg!!!! i’m sorry it took me so long to finish this but it’s here and i hope you like it! thank you for requesting from me and especially for sam and babydoll!reader 🥹 i love them both so muuuuch !!
summary ﹏ History professor Sam Winchester and his sweet, soft-hearted student have perfected the art of loving each other in secret—hidden in stolen office kisses, quiet afternoon visits, and tender moments between classes. What starts as quick check-ins slowly becomes the favorite part of Sam’s day: listening to you ramble while holding you close in the privacy of his office.
cw ﹏ fluff / slice-of-life fic. fem!reader. college au & professor!sam. established secret relationship. age gap (20s & late 30s). soft intimacy. praise. soft petnames (sweetheart, baby). lovesick behavior. gentle touches.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
By the middle of October, you’ve developed a routine so dangerous in its softness that Sam sometimes catches himself thinking about it during lectures.
It starts after your morning classes, usually sometime between eleven and noon, when the history building fills with the sound of students shuffling through hallways carrying coffee cups and half-finished assignments. The campus always feels busiest then, voices echoing off old brick walls, backpacks bumping into doorframes, professors trying to navigate crowds with stacks of papers balanced in their arms.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it is you—moving through the chaos in oversized knit sweaters and soft skirts that brush your knees, your bag slipping down your shoulder because it’s always too full of notebooks, lip balm, pens with little flowers glued onto them.
Sam notices you before you even reach his office most days. He hears your laugh in the hallway or catches the soft sound of your voice drifting through the partially opened door while he’s pretending to grade papers.
The first time you stopped by his office just to see him, he thought it would be quick.
A hello, maybe a kiss; a few stolen minutes before one of you had to leave again.
But then you sat cross-legged in the chair across from his desk while telling him about a girl in your literature class who cried because she spilled coffee on her laptop, and Sam found himself listening so carefully that he completely forgot he was supposed to be answering emails. After that, it became routine. Yours.
Now you show up between classes with sleepy smiles and stories about your day, and Sam—despite being a respected history professor with a terrifying amount of grading to do—starts unconsciously waiting for it.
“You’re late,” he says one afternoon, though his voice carries none of the sharpness the words should have. You pause in the doorway dramatically, one hand clutching your chest. “I was gone for six minutes longer than usual.”
Sam leans back slightly in his chair, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at his mouth. “Exactly. I was beginning to think you found another history professor.” You gasp softly, scandalized in the prettiest way possible. “Never. You’re my favorite one.”
His eyes flick briefly toward the open office door at that, instinctively cautious, before settling back on you again. “Careful,” he murmurs, lowering his voice slightly. “You keep saying things like that out loud, people are gonna start getting suspicious.”
You soften immediately at his tone, stepping fully inside before gently nudging the office door mostly shut behind you; not closed enough to look strange, but enough to give you a little privacy. “Sorry,” you murmur automatically, moving closer to his desk. “I forgot.” Sam’s expression changes instantly at the apology, warmth replacing the teasing almost immediately. “Hey.” His voice drops softer. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“That.” He sets his pen down fully now, attention completely shifting to you. “Apologizing every time you say something sweet.”
Your cheeks warm up faintly at that, and God, he loves when you do that. Loves how easy it is to make you fuzzy, how your softness never feels performative or calculated. You’re just… genuinely sweet. Warm in a way that catches him off guard even now.
“I can’t help it,” you admit quietly, coming around the side of his desk until you’re standing close enough for his knee to brush your thigh. “You make me nervous sometimes.” Sam lets out a quiet breath through his nose, amused and fond all at once. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to look at you properly, “you’ve been dating me for six months.”
“I know.” Your voice turns smaller somehow, shy despite yourself. “You still make me nervous.”
That does something unfair to him.
Sam reaches for you instinctively then, one hand settling gently around your wrist before sliding down until his fingers lace loosely through yours. “C’mere,” he says softly.
You go immediately, stepping between his knees without hesitation, your skirt brushing lightly against his legs. Sam’s hands settle carefully at your waist, familiar and warm, and the second he pulls you just slightly closer, your whole body relaxes. He notices that every single time; that unconscious softening whenever he touches you, like your body trusts him before your mind can even think about it.
“You have class in ten minutes,” he murmurs, though he makes absolutely no move to let you go. “Mhm.” You nod at his words.
“And you walked all the way over here just to see me.”
“Mhm.” His mouth twitches. “You’re clingy.” You blink down at him innocently, a ghost of a smile on your face. “You like it.” Sam actually laughs quietly at that, low and warm enough to make your chest tighten pleasantly. “Yeah,” he admits, fingers pressing slightly against your waist. “Yeah, I do.”
The relationship is ridiculous, honestly. Not the feelings: ever the feelings but just… the logistics of it.
The sneaking around, the stolen moments, the way Sam has to carefully school his expression during lectures whenever you walk in wearing soft pink sweaters and glossy lips and looking entirely too pretty for his own sanity or the way you have to pretend you aren’t completely in love with the man discussing nineteenth-century warfare while students around you struggle to stay awake.
And God, the office visits; those are the worst or the best part.
Sam still hasn’t decided.
Because every time you wander into his office between classes, carrying iced coffee or pastries or some tiny story you absolutely need to tell him, he forgets how to act normal for a few minutes. He stops being Professor Winchester and just becomes Sam again—your Sam, the one who kisses your forehead while reading essays, who keeps strawberry candies in his desk drawer because you like them, who listens with complete seriousness when you ramble about café playlists or pretty bookstores you found downtown.
Today, you’re talking animatedly about a tiny bakery near campus while perched on the edge of his desk, your legs swinging lightly as Sam pretends to organize papers beside you. “And they put little heart shapes in the whipped cream,” you’re saying earnestly. “Like actual little hearts. It was so cute.”
Sam hums like this is the most important information he’s heard all day. “Sounds life-changing.”
“It kind of was.”
“There she is,” he murmurs dryly. “The dramatic side finally comes out.” You nudge his shoulder lightly with your knee. “You’re mean.”
“I’m realistic.”
“You kissed me goodbye this morning and said my sweater made me look ‘dangerously adorable.’” Sam freezes for half a second, then slowly looks up at you. “You remember everything I say, huh?”
“Yes.” Your answer comes instantly, soft and honest. “Especially the sweet things.” Something in his chest pulls tight. You do that to him constantly without even realizing.
Sam steps closer before he can think too hard about it, one hand settling automatically against your thigh where it rests near the edge of the desk. There’s nothing sexual about it, no; it’s warm and lovely and sweet. His thumb strokes once through the soft fabric there, absentminded and affectionate, and your voice falters immediately.
His eyes flick up to yours, catching the way your lashes lower slightly, the way your fingers tighten faintly around the edge of the desk.
“You okay there, baby?” he asks quietly. You nod too quickly. “Mhm.” Sam smiles a little because you always do that when he affects you more than you expect. “You sure?” Your cheeks warm. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” You trail off helplessly, your expression growing more flustered under his attention. “Like you know things.”
“Oh, lovely.” His voice lowers, gentler now. “I do know things.” You duck your head slightly at that, and Sam feels unbearably fond all at once. He steps between your knees carefully, his hand sliding from your thigh to your waist instead. “You’re cute when you get shy,” he murmurs.
“You make me shy.”
“Good.” Your eyes widen slightly. “Sam!”
“What?” he asks innocently, though his hands are pulling you closer now, guiding you carefully toward the edge of the desk. “I like knowing I can still do that to you.” You let out the softest little laugh then, warm and breathy and embarrassed all at once, and Sam swears he could live inside that sound. “You’re impossible,” you whisper.
“And you still came all the way over here just to kiss me and tell me about your day.”
“…Maybe.”
“Maybe?” His eyebrows lift. You try to hold onto your dignity for approximately three seconds before failing completely. “Okay, yes,” you admit softly. “I missed you.”
God. Sam’s entire expression softens instantly. There’s something almost unfair about how openly you love him sometimes. How easily you say things like that. No games, no hesitation, just warmth offered so freely it leaves him a little stunned every time.
“C’mere,” he murmurs again, quieter this time. His hand slides gently up your side before settling against your jaw, thumb brushing softly along your cheek, and then he kisses you. It’s slowly and carefully like he’s savoring it.
You melt immediately, your hands finding his shoulders without thinking, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Sam kisses like he does most things—with intention. Just steady warmth and quiet affection that builds slowly until your heart feels too full to hold it all. You sigh softly against his mouth, and Sam feels it everywhere.
“Missed you too,” he murmurs when he finally pulls back slightly, his forehead resting briefly against yours. Your eyes stay half-lidded for a second longer before you smile, small and dreamy. “You’re supposed to be grading papers.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“You let me.”
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, brushing another kiss against the corner of your mouth, “I practically encourage it.”
You laugh quietly then, your hands smoothing absentmindedly over his shoulders while he keeps you tucked close between his arms. Outside the office, students continue moving through the hallways, voices drifting faintly past the door, the normal rhythm of campus life carrying on around your secret little world.
But in here, tucked into the warm quiet of Sam’s office with his hands steady on your waist and his mouth still lingering close enough to kiss again, everything feels softer somehow.
Safer.
Like love folded carefully into stolen afternoons between classes.
finally posting something tonight aka one of my requests !!! everyone cheers right now because i feel so tired but i finally made my mind about something hehe.
also, will be changing theme sometime this month for summer(ween) and i’m so excited !! + i might be cooking a new oc… yay.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ♱ 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 with sam winchester. mdni 18+
⊱ ۫ ׅ ♱ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 . . . ⁀➴ ꒰ sam winchester x afab!reader ꒱ . . . soft smut, sexual explicit content, a bit of sub!sam, mutual masturbation, mentions of nicknames such as baby, sweetheart, good boy. 1.7k words.
you didn´t mean to get so drunk, head pounding loud with the regret of following dean´s encouragements at the bar earlier, your body finding pleasure in every drink you chased without thinking. sam had stayed behind this time, the toll of earlier’s hunt finally settling heavy on his body. he’d only agreed to let you go after hours of convincing him that you’d be fine, that he could head back without a worry. of course you had lied.
now you were back at the bunker, moving slowly through the quiet halls with your heels dangling from one hand, doing your best not to trip over your own tired steps. the floor was cool beneath your feet and the halls were dim, lit only by the small lamp sam always left on so you could find your way back to him, back home.
sam doesn´t wake when you slip into the room—careful, silent, trying not to wake him with each step you take. your weight dips at the edge of the bed as you grow closer to him, and you can´t help but admire his sleeping figure.
he looked so peaceful like this—that usual furrow of his brow was gone, replaced by something soft, a warm comfort that was only reserved for late nights. your hand unconsciously brushes through his hair, tucking a small strand behind his ear. sam stirs in his sleep, eyelids fluttering at the simple action, though he never fully wakes.
so you start placing small kisses on the side of his face: feather-like, drowned in warmth and love only you could give him. you start with his temple, drifting along his cheekbone before landing on his nose, giggling when it slowly crinkled under your touch. there´s no rush in the way you do this, lips tracing his soft features like gentle touch traces skin.
he eventually wakes up, slow eyes blinking up at you. he doesn´t startle—instead, he melts, the tension in his shoulders smoothly vanishing without much thought. he smiles, a lopsided, sleepy grin as he leans in, placing a small kiss to your cheek, “hi sweetheart, when did you get back?”
oh god. that silent look of his, that shy smile—it gave you enough reason to crawl onto his lap, legs caging his thighs as you straddled him. “not too long ago.” you hummed, smile so innocent it made you look like a saint, though your actions manifested otherwise.
his eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t complain. his hands move to your hips, circling your sides with a low hum. you both don’t speak for a while, and you don’t feel the need to—your unspoken words were enough for him to pick up easily. nevertheless, he´d already caught on to your intentions, which made him shake his head with a small chuckle “you´re drunk baby.”
you frown, not very happy with his response. when your hips roll over his crotch slightly, he´s quick to catch you, hands grounding you in place. “sweetheart—” his tone is gentle as he continues, however he stops the moment he sees you pout. his mouth parts like he´s about to say something, yet no words come—just a quiet smile as he lifts a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as if he could smooth your pout away.
“—i just—don´t want to make it seem like i´m taking advantage of you. y´know, specially when you´re like this.” your frown deepens while you shake your head, “m´not that drunk.”
he sighs, finding it so hard to say no to you, especially when alcohol blurred the line between want and need. the sleepy haze in his eyes soften with something deeper at the sight of your drunk state—affection, restraint, heavy with a quiet struggle of wanting you equally the same but refusing to cross the line, cause he´s a gentleman like that.
you, on the other hand, have no intention of backing down, hips lifting up once more in a second attempt before pressing down on his thigh, drawing slow, deliberate circles. his breath hitches as his hands move to try to stop you, though he can´t seem to bring himself when his boxers grow tighter underneath you.
your name falls from his lips on a shaky breath, shaped more like a plea than a warning. then, without giving you much time to react, sam rolls you over in one smooth motion, trapping you beneath him.
his breathing is still shaky as he swallows, “you´re making this harder than it has to be, y´know that right?”
sam hovered over you now, one arm braced beside your head while the other one pressed gently against your hip like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. the weight of him on top of you wasn’t crushing—just there, warm and solid like an anchor.
his hips dip slightly into yours without meaning to—a reflexive grind—and both of you moan at the contact. a strangled noise escapes him, and for a second, he panics: his body goes still, jaw tightening as if punishing himself for losing control, even it were for a moment. in his mind this was wrong, so undoubtedly wrong, and retreating seemed like a better option than pushing this further.
but you were having none of it; you reach out for him before he had a chance of pulling away, guiding his face towards yours and capturing his lips in a kiss. it´s sweet, gentle, a quiet way to remind him that it was okay, to reassure him that he was safe with you and that you trust him completely.
he melts into your touch like putty in your hands, body finally giving in without any kind of restraint. from this point forward, things start getting heated—the kiss becomes more passionate, tongue inviting itself in his mouth, searching for control. your hand slowly slips down to his boxers, palming his erection through the soft fabric as you make sure to swallow every little sound he makes.
a strand of your dress falls from your shoulder, and sam’s quick to pull it off you—gently of course, steady hands removing it from you as your breast slips out. he doesn’t hesitate in handling you carefully, hand on your lower back as he repositions your body to be closer to his while taking your sensitive bud in his mouth—landing soft, achingly slow swirls of his tongue around it, sucking softly when you whine out his name.
your movements grow sloppier, finally pulling down his boxers swiftly—he´s undeniably thick, flushed at the tip while precum drips down his shaft. you start at the head, dragging his slick all the way down to the base as lube, giving him slow, wet massages that make him moan against your breast, every sound reverberating against your body.
you don´t stop there, you continue stroking him, and when you needed more lube to work with? you´d just bring your hand up to his mouth, and sam wouldn´t even think twice before spitting onto it. you’d smile, call him a “good boy” and seal his lips into another messy kiss before he could even manage to whimper, licking off the excess saliva that coated his bottom lip in the process.
“feels good baby?” he´d nod feverishly, his brain too fogged up to care. you bite down on his lip softly, eliciting a moan from him, “use your big boy words sammy”
“fuck—a-ah, so good baby, k-keep going—” he groans, though it comes out as a muffled sound, “don´t stop—please”
that was enough for you to stroke him faster, his small moans and whimpers acting as encouragement. meanwhile, your thighs cage his left leg, hips gliding up and down in desperate drags, searching for some kind of release. sam takes notice of this, and in what feels like less than a second, his hand disappears down your dress.
he curses under his breath when his fingers meet your exposed pussy instead of your usual panties, and he chuckles against your mouth, though it eventually turns into a moan, “planned this all along, huh? you´re slick a-ah, i´ll give you that.”
before you could even reply with some smartass comment, your words die on your tongue as soon as he slides a finger in between your folds, your clit sucking him up easily. you bite down a moan, and sam presses his forehead against yours to prevent you from throwing your head back, “gotta take care of my drunk girl too.”
his finger curls upwards inside you when your eyes shut down, pressing a kiss to the side of your lips. “don´t act shy now baby.” he hisses at how your walls clench around his finger, and he knows that´s just a sign for him to add another one, “i want you to watch.”
your mind goes blank for a second before your eyes open. a moan bubbles from your throat at the sight—sam´s half-lidded eyes are fixed on you, hair sticking to his forehead while his gaze flickers between your pussy and the way your hands made haste on his dick, the mix of his precum and saliva dripping from your fingers down to your knuckles. he thrusts his fingers in and out of you with practiced ease, and you swear you see stars when he hits that spongy spot inside you.
in between messy strokes of your hands on his cock, and deep thrusts of his fingers against your cunt, you both reach your orgasm, washing over you like a tidal wave. sam´s breath steadies as his mouth still remains on your jaw, landing small, subtle pecks on your side.
his fingers ease up inside you, and releases them out slowly, lapping up your juices without ever losing eye contact. he waits for you to catch your breath before scooping you up in his arms, laying you on his chest with a lazy arm draped over your waist.
he wipes his hand on his shirt, gently lifting your body so he could it take off, toned body exposed to the cool night air. you lay beside him, still breathless as you come down from your high. he shifts towards you, and gives you one long, lingering kiss to your temple. he smiles, his hand never leaving your hip, “want me to run you a bath?”
your head twists to get a better look at him, and the glimmer in your expression gives it all: doe-eyed with flushed cheeks, giving him a small nod, “only if you join me.”
sam laughs, genuinely laughs, low and warm, and offers you a soft, tender smile—only reserved for you, “deal.”
cybella’s thoughts⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ aaa here it iss!!! sorry tumblr wasn’t letting me post it yesterday idk why!! i REALLY like this one omg... also title inspired by fiona apple??? wrote this fic with this song ON REPEAT.
