Friendly reminder that John was physically aggressive with Sam in the show. Friendly reminder that John punched Sam in the semi canon comics. Friendly reminder that Sam complained to Amy about John’s drunken rages. Friendly reminder that John kicked Sam out of the house and essentially disowned him. Friendly reminder that John planned on killing Sam. Friendly reminder that John did not treat Sam like an angel and Sam wasn’t blind to how horrible of a father John was. Because John abused Sam too.
Summary: Back at the Bunker, fresh off a job with some on-and-off hunting contacts of yours, Sam has some choice words about the men who were supposed to be watching your back.
Content/Warnings: established relationship, argument as foreplay, possessive behavior, protective Sam, stubborn Reader, penetrative sex, regular foreplay, other men being gross, no use of y/n, makeup sex 6.6k words
A/N: Now Playing — Void by The Neighbourhood
((all of the lyrics to this song work so I couldn't just pick one. listen to it if ya like :))
New chapter of Penumbra up sooooooon 😝😘
“You never fucking listen to me—!”
“—Oh I listen plenty, Samuel!” You snap back over your shoulder, marching down the hall away from him.
“It’s Sam! You know I don’t like it when you call me that— you’re just doing it to get a rise outta me! Hey!” His big warm hand wraps around your upper arm and yanks you to a halt.
Years ago, when you first met, he would’ve never even thought to grab you. It’s not like him to use his physical advantages to overpower you, even in a small manner like this. However it’s been years of friendship and trust built up and now in the last few months passionate intimacy so he doesn’t question his entitlement to your focus. He does know it’s gonna make you mad, though.
Your fiery eyes flicker to his as your feet come to an abrupt halt. Staring up into his face with defiance, not a hint of contrition in your expression, you meet his gaze as an equal, even though you’re significantly smaller than him. His nostrils flare and you can’t help the faint tingle that seeing him get worked up always causes in you.
“I’m not asking for the moon, alright?” He says.
“No,” You forcefully shake his hand off of you, “but you are acting like a control-freak!”
“Are you really going to look me in the face and say that hunt went as expected?” Sam raises his voice now, “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt!”
“Well I didn’t!”
“Yeah? And when’s that ever been a good excuse?”
Your mouth snaps shut like a fish. Taking a calm but firm tone you say, “It’s not always like that with them. This was just a bad hunt. They followed their intuitions and they saved the boy. I just got a little scuffed up, that’s all.”
“A little scuffed up—!?” Sam cuts himself off and turns to wipe a hand down his face, in absolute shock at your ambivalence.
The light shifts across his features, revealing a slight sheen of sweat. You wet your dry mouth and set your expression. It’s not fair for him to be so hot while he’s mad.
“A little scuffed up is an understatement.” He grits out through his teeth, “You acted recklessly—”
“—Oh so now I’m the one at fault, huh?”
“Partially!”
“Well what did I do?!”
“You—” He heaves a breath, chest rising and falling. Trying to even out his voice he says, “—you ran unarmed at a vamp.”
“I wasn’t unarmed. I was going to use the deadman’s blood syringe I had in my coat!” You stand firm, “And yeah, instead Chase tackled the huge vamp—”
“—Also taking you down with it!”
“It was an accident!”
“How many ‘accidents’ of theirs are you gonna apologize for?!”
“It doesn’t matter! I didn’t die and the move I pulled off with the machete was sick as hell!”
“Is that your problem, huh? You need to show off to get more attention?” It’s a shallow dig at your character but it works wonders nonetheless.
“Get attention?!” You demand incredulously, “From Chase and Lewis? What the hell?”
“You wore those fucking shorts the other day.” Sam grinds out through his teeth.
“Yeah?”
“You know how good you look in those.”
“I know how much you like the way I look in them!” You put your hands on your hips, “And you’re the only person whose attention I care about!”
His eyes flash, the muscles of his jaw jutting out as he clenches his teeth. “I’m not the only one who was looking.”
You narrow your eyes in disbelief. “Are you really so insecure that you think I’d leave you for one of them?”
“No—”
“—For Chase and Lewis?” You gape, “One of those two fucking bozos? I mean they’re hot but—”
“—Shut up.”
Something is different about Sam’s voice then. Whatever it is you said that set him off turns him stoney and rigid. You were being nasty by bringing up insecurity but now you’re starting to wonder if that didn’t just hit home because it was mean— maybe also because it was somewhat right.
“I don’t want to fucking talk about them any more.” His voice is low and dark. “And I don’t want you hunting with them again.”
You scoff in genuine disbelief. “Seriously? Sam, do you really expect me to listen to your ‘marching orders’ like that? How about you try asking a little nicer and we’ll see what—”
You cut yourself off when you seen the muscle on his jaw jutting out again. By the look of it he’s clenching his teeth as hard as he can. He only does that when he’s holding something back. And it’s also unfairly hot.
“Careful there,” You cross your arms, “you’re gonna chip a tooth.”
His jaw relaxes and he takes a moment to roll his eyes. You watch him settle a bit then turn back to you, his eyebrows raised expectantly. This makes you scoff again.
“I’m sorry, are you asking me to promise you that?”
“Yes.” He replies immediately.
Your features narrow in incredulity. “Sam that is absolutely ridiculous!”
“No, it’s not.”
“Sam, in what universe is it reasonable to ask your girlfriend to not interface with certain other people just because you don’t like ‘em? You know how that sounds objectively! You’re too smart not to!”
“Yeah well maybe I can’t be smart about this, alright?! You almost died!” He snaps, “Sorry if I can’t be rational about the woman I love almost getting torn to shreds by a monster because some dipshit idiot can’t stick to a fucking plan! I can’t believe I’m having this argument with you!”
“Well I can’t believe you thought I’d just roll over and do as you say because you love me!” You plant your hands on your hips, “What, because you love me you’re entitled to my agency?! Grow up!”
He inhales sharply through his nose and glances away. You can see on his face that he’s trying to regain any semblance of his calm. It’s not like him to get this worked up about other people, especially hunters whom he usually gives a bit more moral-leeway to than you do.
There’s some real concern underneath this, you know it, something Sam’s holding back for some reason. Whatever it is, it’s worrisome enough to him that it’s coming out in anger, not plain concern. Unfortunately for him, your sympathy only extends to the point before a man starts telling you what to do like you’re a robot capable of being programmed.
“I don’t want you hunting with them again.” He repeats steadily, meeting your gaze again. “And you also know that objectively, they handled this hunt like morons. I don’t know how the two of them are still alive.”
You roll your eyes animatedly and finally shake his hand off of you with force. “I knew them before I knew you. I’ve worked with them on-and-off for years.”
You start walking again and you can hear him following close behind.
“They’re good hunters, they’ve saved my ass a few times, just like you—”
“—Don’t compare me to them!” Sam’s nose wrinkles with repugnance, “Don’t compare what we have to some half-assed alliance you had to make before you actually had competent people around to watch your back!”
That surprises you a bit. You spin on your heel with eyes narrowed, about to challenge that when he keeps going.
“Neither of them— neither of them! —watched your back when you told them to! They both left you open to attack while raiding a vamp’s nest!”
“That’s not—”
“—Where the hell were they, huh? I had to come running across the damn building because when that fucking idiot Chase full-body tackled a vamp on top of you, your scream—” He cuts himself off and it’s almost a little shaky.
His chest rises and falls noticeably with his next deep breath. The worry is seeping through and he can see it softening you. He doesn’t want your sympathy, though, he wants to be angry. He wants to get some kind of rise out of you that he hasn’t gotten yet.
“And they were both drunk.”
“No they weren’t.” You scoff, immediately back to defensiveness and no sympathy.
“Yes, sweetheart, they were. Their breath reeked.” He takes a firmer tone, “I’m really baffled by this being an argument! I thought we’d both come away from that hunt with the same feeling, but instead I had to sit through a whole night out with those two fucking idiots drinking and listening to you all reminisce when I know for a fact that those two stopped caring about you the moment you showed up with a boyfriend!”
Your jaw drops and your brows shoot up to your hairline. “Presumptuous, much?!”
He shifts a little in place, clearly uncomfortable, “You know I’m right.”
“No, what I know is that you are fucking paranoid.”
“You might think they’re just idiots— and you’re definitely right —but the two of them thought they had a chance with you, at least at one time, and the second they knew you weren’t going to sleep with them, they stopped caring about keeping you safe. Because the whole time, all they wanted was you to be alive and not scuffed up too bad, so then maybe you might have the energy to put out for them after the job’s done.”
You’re stunned for a moment, staring agape at your boyfriend. “That’s disgusting, Sam! Why would you say something like that?!”
“You know they want you, I refuse to believe you don’t.”
“I don’t know why it matters!” You cry, “I love you! It’s not like they’re ever gonna get anything from me!”
“Well, you should try telling them that. I don’t think they’ll believe you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“It means that they’re the kind of guys who play nice just to get what they want!”
“You barely know them!”
“So do you!”
“I don’t need to know their whole life’s story and their fucking social security number to hunt with them, Samuel!”
“Stop it!” He menaces while you keep going.
“You always act like such a know-it-all about everything! Why do you think you can assess their character better than me, huh?”
“Because I know how men work! Especially those kind of men.”
Your eyes narrow a little. “Oh, and I don’t know?”
He shrugs forcefully, “I can’t tell at this point! You’re acting so oblivious I don’t know what you do or don’t understand! All I’m asking is that the next time they say ‘we’re hunting nearby and need some backup’ you say that you’re busy!”
You stare at him for a long moment in taut silence. His chest rises and falls with his intense breathing but he tries to maintain an emotionless expression. You know him too well at this point for that face to be believable.
Your voice grows dark like tinted glass. “I know how to handle men, Sam.”
His next breath in is a little shaky. You take note. Was your statement meant to be a hint at your shared sex life? No. Will you happily take his physical response to it as proof that he seems to be having the same reaction to this fight as you are? Absolutely.
“I heard them.” He says softly. “Talking. About you. About… us.”
Your brows furrow and you shift your stance, now more curious than combative. “What d’you mean?”
He swallows, the bobbing movement of his throat catching your eye for a split second. You immediately look back up to his face but he saw you look, you know it.
“What did they say?” There’s a new wariness to your voice.
Sam runs his tongue across his lower row of teeth, trying to settle himself. “Chase… said that Lewis should’ve… ‘taken his chance when he could in Atlantic City’. When you were ‘drunk and heartbroken’ because… then you might’ve… ‘just finally put out already.’”
Your skin crawls at those words and the tone Sam imitates. It’s not the grossest thing anyone’s ever said about you, but it’s by no means flattering. You were heartbroken three years ago while drunk in a casino with Chase and Lewis (their idea). Lewis had been attentive all night, caring for you in the kind of gruff, noncommittal way hunters can sometimes be. You were indeed considering kissing Lewis at one point but when you noticed that he was treating you nicer than usual, you thought: this must be what it feels like to be the ‘civilian’. For some reason that thought was repellent so you didn’t act on any drunk impulses and went to bed alone that night.
Crossing your arms stubbornly you respond, “Well, he’s not wrong. I was drunk and heartbroken and I did almost kiss Lewis—”
You’ve barely finished your sentence when he raises his voice over yours.
“—What?!” He gapes, “And hold on, wait a second! Wasn’t the Atlantic City hunt you went on the one where you got that big scar on your ribs?! That was them not taking care of you back then, either!”
Goddamn it he’s so fucking hot.
You shouldn’t be thinking about that. Is it strange for you to be horny over how well Sam knows your body? When you first got together you were stunned by how much he wanted to look at you. After the first time you had sex you went to put clothes back on and he softly asked you to stay.
“I’ll be right back.” You giggled at him, a little bemused.
He gave you this gooey look of pleading. “But then you’ll be all covered up. And I don’t want that just yet.”
“What do you want then?”
He tugged you close under the sheets, getting as close to you as possible for a moment. “I wanna look at you laying in our bed.”
And who were you to deny him when he asked so sweetly?
During those first few weeks of lovemaking there would always be about 20 minutes afterward where Sam would just hold you and caress your skin, all of this wonder in his gaze. When he found a new mark, or cut, or scar he’d ask you about it. What he just said now proves without a doubt that he was actually listening when you answered.
“Lewis actually did like me. He asked me out the next time we saw each other, alright?” You say, “I’m not thrilled by the language Chase used either but you know better than me how guys talk to each other about vulnerable stuff like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like, evasively! Like you’re making it kinda into a joke so you can pretend it’s not meaningful or whatever, I don’t know!”
He’s kind of pouting now. “I don’t know how telling me that one of them used to have a thing for you is supposed to make me more okay with you hunting with them again.”
“Oh, come off it, Sam!” You cry, “Just because not everyone who hunts is as good as you or Dean doesn’t mean they aren’t worth helping!”
Muttering your name like it’s a curse he says, “What does it take for you to give up on someone unworthy, huh?”
“For fuck’s—!” You raise and drop your hands, “—I’ve never really given it much thought!”
“Well maybe you should!”
“Maybe you should stop riding my ass!”
“I just don’t think you should help them anymore, that’s all I’m saying!”
“Well I guess I’ll take that opinion into consideration.”
He grits your name out through his teeth, “I don’t wanna keep going around in circles with you like this!”
“Then stop talking!”
The both of you go dead silent. You could swear the Bunker is so quiet now that even this deep into the place you’d be able to clearly hear something fall off a shelf in the library. Somewhat to your surprise, Sam actually doesn’t keep talking. You two stand at a stalemate for a long moment.
His breathing gets more intense the longer you just study him in silence. His chest rises and falls dramatically again and you finally break. Without a word you lean up, grab his cheek and yank him down for a kiss. A noise of surprise and almost dissent escapes his throat but his hands immediately drag you closer— it’s all just muscle memory at this point, reflexes triggered by your proximity that he cannot control.
“Don’t think you can— mm! —make me forget—!” He mumbles in protest against your lips.
“—Fuckin’ watch me, Lawboy.” You grumble back, shoving him into the tiled wall.
All of your plush warmth comes flush with him. Between you both and through his jeans you feel his cock already reacting to your proximity. Fuck you’ve missed this. It’s only been five days while you were assisting the guys since you’ve gotten your fix of Sam’s body and carnal affection but it’s long enough that you’re craving his closeness badly. Your hands fumble with the buttons on his flannel.
He grabs your waist with both deliciously large hands, pulling back enough to speak but not enough to push you away. “You don’t just get to shut me up with your—”
You cut him off again with a searing kiss, hand fisting into the hair on the nape of his neck. He groans against you, both hands moving to palm your butt.
“So— mm— goddamn impatient!” He fumbles with the doorknob closest to him before he crowds you into the room.
It’s one of the spare rooms that Dean’s been slowly converting into an armory. You’re clinging onto Sam like a barnacle, nipping and kissing at his throat while your fingers tangle into his hair. Trying to handle all of you makes turning the lights on a bit of a challenge but he manages to smack them on eventually. You press all of your body up against his front again, knowing from both empirical data and the current state of him that he can’t resist your body— you’re too enticing to him, just the way he is to you. His jaw clenches in frustration at his inability to overcome desire and remain mad. His foot kicks the door closed behind him with a bit more force than he might’ve used otherwise, the sound sharp and loud enough to make you flinch a little. You don’t pull away an inch, though, pushing up to kiss him more.
Both of his hands grab the sides of your head, fiercely returning the kiss as he guides you backwards. Your eyes are closed while you stand on your tiptoes and loop your arms around his neck. A low sound, almost like a growl, rumbles up out of him and into your mouth as his strong hands hoist you up by your thighs. You squeal against his lips, knowing that he’s not got a very solid hold on you. Luckily, he’s only going to the table a few feet behind you.
He deposits you onto the metal surface with a dull thunk and shoves things out of the way around you. They clang to the floor raucously and you giggle a little against his lips— he’s never this loud when it comes to sex with you. He only ever wants you and him alone in a bubble of intimacy that no one can disturb. So him being this careless about drawing attention is exciting. His need is intoxicating.
Your hands immediately go back to the buttons of his shirt. Were you kissing a different man, you might’ve just ripped the thing open but you know that isn’t so appealing to Sam. He pulls back from your lips to catch his breath. As you fumble with the bottom ones, he grins a little at your impatient fingers, his palms running up and down your thighs.
“I thought you’d have just yanked the thing open by now.” He pants.
You lean up to kiss him as you get the final two. Pulling away just slightly you smirk up at him through your lashes. “I know you like this shirt. I’m not tryin’ta break the things you care about just because I’m impatient.”
With an emphatic flurry you shove the two ends of the now open shirt aside. One of his big hands lifts off your thigh to cup your cheek tenderly. You look up into his face as he bows closer, an expression of all-consuming adoration on his beautiful face.
“I love you.” He murmurs, forehead bumping into yours so gently.
You bite down on a wicked grin. “I thought you said I couldn’t make you forget about the argument—”
He cuts you off with a deep kiss, the force of it sending you backwards a little. Both of your hands fly back to brace yourself against the table.
“You can’t.” He affirms in a brief break between your mouths. “I still don— want you to see ‘em.”
“See them?” You gape, “What, I can’t have friends that you disapprove of?”
He kisses down your throat, tugging the collar of your shirt aside to keep going along your shoulder. “They’re not your friends.”
“Yes—”
One of his arms slipped around your waist at some point and now he tugs you sharply forwards to press the ridge of his cock into the heat of your core.
“Friends don’t act like that.” He mutters, yanking your shirt over your head, “Friends don’t dislike someone who makes you happy.”
You snort as he unhooks your bra, “Oh, so that’s why you’re really mad? Because they don’t approve of you?”
He grunts in annoyance as he tears the bra off your chest, you doing the work to shrug out of the straps. “I don’t give a shit what they think of me.”
“Is that really true, Spaceman?” You continue taunting him, watching it rile him up further and further.
“Yes!” He reaches behind him to tug his hands free from the flannel sleeves. “They’re two-bit douchebags who treat you like a piece’a meat.”
You help him pull his t-shirt off over his head, biting your lip. “You’re sure you’re not mad at them for how they look at you?”
He gives you a flat, displeased look. “How do they look at me?”
You hook both index fingers into the waistband of his jeans and yank him close. His hands thump heavily down onto the table on either side of you. Your chin tips up so you can run your nose along the line of his jaw. All the sudden your touches are soft and fleeting, teasing him with all the love you have for him.
“Like they wanna obliterate you.” You nip at his earlobe, one hand raking into his hair.
“That’s supposed to be a good thing?”
Your grip tightens to a fist in his locks. “They’re jealous of you, honey. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“Shut up.” He scoffs half-heartedly, heat rushing to his cheeks.
“Who wouldn’t be, hm?” You pull back to look at him, your head cocking to the side, “The second you walk into a room their chances of anyone noticing them are diminished to zero.”
He rolls his eyes a bit, “I don’t care.”
“Oh, you don’t, huh?”
“No, I don’t.” He replies firmly, “Because it’s not about me, it’s about you.”
“Oh?”
“It’s about you being kept safe.” He swoops down, massaging both breasts and kissing along your jaw, “You should have nothing less than the best watching your back, always.”
You whine listlessly as he ducks down to suck a nipple into his mouth. Your hands cradle his head just for something to hold onto. When he pulls off of that one he kisses across your chest to your other peak, still talking.
“You shouldn’t lose value to them because you’re not available anymore,” He growls, sinking his teeth into the meat of your breast for a fleeting moment, “I’ll kill them if they try that shit again.”
“Sam!” You gasp sharply at that, shoving him back to make him meet your gaze.
He sees your horror at that statement plain as day on your face. He digs his heels in.
“I will. I’ll do it.” He pulls you up to his lips briefly, then murmurs against them, “I don’t care what it says about me— I don’t care what it does.”
You shake your head slowly at him, “Weren’t you just saying you think they’re gonna get themselves killed anyhow?”
“Yeah. And potentially it’ll be by me. If they pull some shit like that again—”
Your nails bite into the swells of his shoulders, “—Sam! You can’t just kill people you don’t like!”
“If those two fuckers got you killed then I’d be dead too!” He raises his voice all the sudden.
When that comes out he swallows thickly, gaze dropping as shame finally slips into his expression. His hands slow on you, moving to rub cautiously up and down your thighs again, a layer of denim separating him from the skin he adores. He can’t look you in the eye then, just stares at the ground.
“It wouldn’t matter any more.” He mumbles, “What reason is there to keep my conscience if I’m already dead inside?”
Your brows knit together, and you reach up to cup his cheek. “Sam.”
Hesitantly, he lifts his eyes to yours, looking like a scolded puppy.
“Your conscience is what makes you special.” You trace some hair behind his ear, “It’s what keeps you human in a job like this. Don’t let someone take that from you— including you.”
He tilts his head into your palm. His eyes follow his hands as they glide carefully up to your waist then to your ribs. They pause there, his thumbs brushing across your flesh tenderly.
“I’m sorry I scared you just now.” He murmurs, “I didn’t… mean to get so intense.”
You smirk adoringly, a sympathetically sad look in your eyes for the man you love with all your heart. So much pain is held in that beautiful sinewy body of his. On the outside he seems like a well-oiled machine but you know the truth; Sam Winchester is a tight knot of sadness and pain, always striving to breathe goodness into the world.
“Well, that’s kinda what makes you special, too.” You say, “Well, there’s a lot of things that make you special, but that’s definitely a big one.”
His eyes flicker up to yours, a hopeful glint in them.
“The same way you said I shouldn’t only be worth something to the two of them if I’m on the market or whatever,” You take a deep breath, “you can’t tie all of your worth to me, honey.”
He nods, face tilting down again. “I know.”
You wrap your legs around his and guide him closer again. “I love you, Samuel.”
He rolls his eyes but can’t subdue all of his smile. “It’s Sam.”
“Well, Sam,” You emphasize the correct name, “promise me something?”
He nods gently, eyes lost in yours.
“Even if I do go before you—”
He makes a small noise in protest at the back of his throat, barely audible with his brows pinching together. You shush him sweetly and press one fingertip to his chest.
“Even if I go before you, promise me you won’t let that be an excuse to give up.”
He blinks a few times, honestly stunned by that.
“You’re stronger than loss, Spaceman.” You reinforce, “I know you are. I’ve seen it.”
“It’s different with you.”
“I know.” You nod, both hands smoothing down his front, his chest hair tickling your palms, “I’m not saying it would be easy. But… even if I never hunt with those two again, there’s still… the possibility of either of us dying.”
He swallows, throat bobbing. His eyes are so miserable, you wish you could make it better, but this is the reality. You need him to say it. You need to hear it.
“Promise me?” Your voice drops to a tentative whisper, “Promise me that you won’t kill Sam Winchester on the off chance I get killed first?”
His eyes flit back and forth between yours, a deep sadness in them. He doesn’t protest though, because he knows that you’re right— both of you are at risk a lot of the time. And Sam’s made promises before that have been more painful than this. He’s sworn oaths to untrustworthy people, he’s made bargains with unsavory characters, and he’s been able to keep the ones that mattered, whether they were easy or not. Nothing matters more than this, though— what you two have.
He nods, his stubble brushing the palm you’re still using to hold his cheek. “Okay. I can promise you that.”
You beam up at him, eyes just a little glassy with relief. “I love you so damn much, Sam, it’s ridiculous.”
He chuckles, “Me too. I love you so much.”
You crane up to kiss his lips. He returns the contact, one of his hands cupping the side of your face.
“Even when you’re as stubborn as a mule.” He grins against your lips.
A noise of indignation puffs out of you, your head pulling back to look him more directly in the eye. The playful spark is back between you two, his face all fondness and mischief.
“I’ll show you stubborn—”
He smushes his lips to yours and wraps both his arms around you. Kissing you until your breathless, he lays you back on the table, bracing one of his hands over your head to keep himself somewhat upright. When you settle, your breasts heave with a deep breath, the both of them sitting so pretty on your chest. He hums a groan, cupping them again and beginning a gentle massage.
“I can’t blame ‘em, honestly.” He murmurs, ghosting a kiss between your collarbones, “If I were them? I’d be kicking myself for missing my chance with you, too.”
You laugh, fingers carding through his hair as he kisses lower down your front. “You’re too sweet on me, Sam.”
That makes him smirk, his head lifting back up. His lips peck your throat and then sweetly on your chin. You can’t help a warm giggle at him, watching his features melt in adoration at the sound.
“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, falling to his elbow so that hand can trace patterns into your scalp, “I’m so damn lucky I found you.”
You bite down on a big smile, cheeks flushing under his gaze. With his eyes boring deep into yours, his hand glides down the swell of your stomach to the button of your jeans. You squirm a little in anticipation, eyes going from gooey adoration to hesitantly needy. You want him to touch you but you don’t want to have to ask too much— not this time.
He kisses under your jaw again, his warm hand slipping under your clothes right to your bare skin. You shiver from both sensations, a little whine escaping your parted lips. Both of your hands tangle up into his hair again. His fingers part your folds and find them just as wet as he hoped they would be.
“Mm…” He hums, nipping lightly a few times at the column of your throat, “…you’re soaked f’me, sweetheart.”
You release a full-throated whine, unable to stem it.
He groans as he begins slowly circling your clit with two fingers. “The noises you make… s’damn pretty…”
Your throat hiccups with another high-pitched sound that makes him shiver with want. His fingers speed up just a touch, the other hand running up and down the length of your torso, pausing intermittently to kneed your breasts.
“Honey,” You breathe, back arching, “need you.”
“You’ve got me.”
You emit a petulant noise of impatience, “I need you, Sam. Inside baby, need you to fuck me.”
He can’t help a growl as he peppers kisses all over your chest. Inside your jeans he switches his hand’s position to start teasing your entrance too. You writhe under him, back arching in a sensuous roll that presses all of you to him. He pushes back with all his weight, pressing you flat down again.
“Not yet.” He growls, “I’m not ready yet.”
You shudder, feeling one of his fingers breach your hole, then joined by a second one to sink all the way inside. A choked noise of almost disbelief at the pleasure comes out of you instantly. His skilled fingers work quick, pulling you up in a spiral of building pleasure.
“C’mon baby,” He whispers into your skin between kisses laid on your chest, “c’mon sweetheart, come for me. I know you can… you’re so good f’r me, right baby?”
You nod listlessly with a loud keen, eyes squeezed shut. The coil inside of you snaps and waves of bliss wash over your body. It’s so intense that you lurch a few times with the aftershocks, almost feeling a little dizzy off him. Your body deflates with a long exhale of ecstasy, eyes fluttering shut agains the force of it.
“Fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty, baby, you’ve got no idea.” He groans, pulling back for a moment, “S’perfect. All for me, huh?”
You nod again, eyes still closed as the world’s spinning slows down. You hear the rasp of a zipper and then the soft sound of his jeans dropping to the floor. Then his careful hands are tugging yours down with your panties, tender and reverent.
“Sam…” You mumble, a hand reaching out for him while your eyes stay shut.
“I’m comin’ baby,” His heat returns to you, making your eyes open. One of his big hands cups your cheek while he gazes down at you with so much adoration it almost makes you shiver. “Hi, sweetheart,” He brushes his knuckles across your cheek, “You ready for me?”
You nod again, movements sluggish and loopy. He beams down at you, one hand braced by your head again and the other disappearing out of your sight. The blunt crown of his cock drags up your folds, slow enough as to almost be torturous. You whine impatiently for the umpteenth time and he shushes you softly. The tip of him catches on your opening and then he presses forwards.
Your jaw drops with a deep gasp, eyes squeezing shut as he slides home. Your hands scramble up his arms, nails scratching at his skin desperately. He lets out a long, content groan, like he’s laying down in his bed after a long, hard day. The hand near your head tangles fingers into your hair and he bows down to kiss your lips. He’s so soft against your mouth even while he’s hard as steel and hilted inside of you. It’s a contradiction that almost feels unfair due to it’s power over your heart.
“So perfect,” He mumbles, grinding into you with rolls of his hips, not yet thrusting, “s’ warm… so wet… nowhere else I’d rather be…”
You can’t help a breathless giggle at that, despite knowing he’s being completely honest. He doesn’t get butthurt though, he presses a kiss to your lips with a smile. Limply, you throw your arms around his neck, kissing him back and meeting his next roll into you with a grind of your own. He grunts into your kiss as your walls pulse around him.
“More,” You pant between kisses, “more, Sam, please…”
He groans like your words make him weak. As if he can’t resist your command due to it being wrapped up in your sweetness. He pulls out a little then pushes back in. The friction is perfect— a delicious drag that sends sparks outwards into your muscles. Your hands fumble down to his hips, pulling him back in again on the next thrust, encouraging him to move faster.
“Mm…!” You release a long moan and it spurs him on further.
His rhythm picks up. Your nails dig into the meat of his ass, feeling all the muscles working under his skin with every movement. He drops lower onto his forearm beside your head, bathing that side of your face in messy kisses. You reach up to grip his hair with one hand, the other adjusting your hold on his butt. He keeps mumbling and muttering to you between kisses, like he’s delirious. He very well might be.
The pace picks up steadily over some amount of time you don’t bother even trying to count. His panting breaths tickle the sensitive skin of your throat and ear. You feel yourself beginning to get swept away by the pleasure. Your fingers fist in his hair, your other hand slipping weakly off his ass towards the place where you’re connected, searching for your nub of nerves. He grunts and bats your hand aside, using his unoccupied one instead.
You keen loudly as his fingers restart steady circles on your clit. Your arm draws his head closer to you, your face turning to blindly search for his lips since your eyes won’t stay open. He groans your name with the most pleasure anyone’s ever said it.
The thrusts reach a crescendo. You’re getting lost in the bliss, spiraling up and up to your peak with dizzying speed. Vaguely, you catch on to his voice, still rumbling low just for your ears.
“Mine, mine, mine,” he mutters under his breath like an incantation— like a seal of protection he could place over you. “My girl— my beautiful fuckin’ girl. So perfect, just for me.”
You manage a little nod before your body shatters into your orgasm. As you come, your voice calls shrilly, “Always…!”
The noise he makes at that is akin to the sound of when he gets punched really hard, except this time it’s all pleasure in his rich moan. Your walls pulse around him, milking his cock for everything he’s worth. His fingers press and pinch at your clit as you both ride out your highs. Your body twitches and lurches and writhes under his. He’s not much better, shuddering and choking on whiny noises as he pushes himself a little further into overstimulation. Your fist tightens in his hair until your knuckles pale. Very gradually, both of your movements slow to a halt. Then all that’s left is proximity and panted breaths against sweaty flesh.
“I love you.” He slurs at a mumble, kissing the first bit of you he can reach which ends up being your cheek.
You beam, cheeks burning from exertion and adoration, your arms looping around his neck to hold him close. “I love you, too.”
He hugs you back as best he can, staying inside of you for a few minutes as he softens. Eventually his back starts getting stiff and he reluctantly pulls away from your embrace. Your hands slide down his arms as he goes, not wanting to cease touching him yet. He catches one to kiss the seam of your palm, sweet and fleeting. With his hands gentle on your hips he pulls his cock out of you. He can’t help bending a little to watch the pearly white cum bead at your entrance. His fingers massage the insides of your thighs as a low, content rumble escapes him at the sight.
“Yours.” You whisper without thinking.
His gaze flickers up to meet yours.
“Only yours.” You reaffirm.
The words seem to overwhelm him. His next inhale makes him shudder a bit. Before you can say anything else, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Halfway there you tease him about someone coming home to see you both butt-naked in the hallway. He smudges a kiss to your chin and tells you he couldn’t care any less about a single other person in the whole world right now.
A few weeks pass before Chase texts you again. He and Lewis are “in the area” on a hunt and “could use the extra hands”. Sam’s sitting in bed beside you reading, completely absorbed in his book. Biting down on a self-satisfied smirk you text back a simple reply:
being a samgirl and shipping wincest makes so much sense, just look at how dean treats sam! But being a samgirl and shipping wincest actually makes no sense at all, just look at how dean treats sam!!!
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : cult leader!sam winchester x fem!reader.
𝐜.𝐰 : +18 MDNI. suggestive. manipulation. sexual desire. ingenuity. author's scattered perception of religion. mr. sneaky hands. barely any proofread. author's sleep deprivation really showing.
"Mhm, that's really nice."
The little girl beams up at him, clutching the bouquet made out of wildflowers and weeds she just picked out and tied with a wonky ribbon she pulled from her braids, bouncing the balls of her feet up the grass and down with excitement. Like her offering couldn't have been worth of anything until it had his approval.
"Yeah, real pretty, honey," He nods his head towards the bundle of other kids waiting to be taken to The Temple.
"Go, I'm sure He's gonna love them just as much as I do." His voice is soft like the gossamer fabrics you sometimes wear on special occasions, and it reminds you of how much fleecy it can sound under the dim light of stick candles.
You, with your knees sunk on the damp soil where you're knelt in front of the gardenia shrubs, watch him with stars in your eyes and the roseate path only cohibition could leave behind drawn over your the apple of your cheeks and nose bridge.
Something that's been wrapping itself tight around the soft flesh of your thighs scurries its way up to your lower belly and clamps there hardly when his eyes meet your figure.
His gaze caresses the slope of your shoulder and your dirt-stained hands, slowly traveling all the way up to very briefly notice the sun kissing the exposed skin of your cleavage.
The white fabric of your dress pooling around your knees on the grass, the warmth that's gotten all over your face just because he's got his attention on you now, like you're ready to be blown to pieces with his grandeur and die happy.
You. Sweet, little, tender you. Such a pretty, malleable thing like you falling into his lap really fills him with pride. You just had to end up here, it was destiny.
Because when he had just found you, alone and cold standing outside a dingy gas station, he saw the pain in your eyes, the kind of agony only faith could heal.
He gave you something to believe in. He gave you himself, as well as he did with the others, and that's more than enough.
When Sam first understood that no one could ever save him from himself or the cruel circumstances he was put in from a young age, he knew he had to build a place of his own where his uncommitted—yet harshly punished—sins were washed away along with his tainted blood and the rage of his father that still bites at his jaw from time to time.
If he couldn't have it in the traditional way, then he was going to fabricate it.
Something that came out of a loving place. A trusting place. Somewhere no one could question him for.
And, well, who could ever doubt him when he has the light of paradise itself shining in his eyes and the honesty only a saint could brandish against adversities?
Sam is a leader. A benevolent, magnificent, merciful master for the confused, lost souls that came to him and are now inhabiting this beautiful cottage, with these beautiful flowers, and this beautiful community he's shed sweat and tears for.
He has to love the way you cling to his every word he says when he's standing behind the lectern of the old chapel that now works as a sacred place for this cult colony, modest and white and with the paint peeling off the wood everywhere.
He even took down the old cross that used to call people in as a beacon long ago.
See? He only wants the best for his people. No indoctrination, no fairytales. Just the truth.
And you believe it. Every time.
When he decides he's tortured you enough, he looks away from you, walking past and towards the congregation waiting for him beyond the wooden fence, but he still pats your head gently, a little praise for the good job you're doing with these flowers.
His hands linger more often, you've came to notice.
Like right now, with your knees once again pressed heavy and purposefully hurtful against the bare and squeaky hardwood boards beneath you.
You've wet the crumpled linel sheets that are layed on your bed with the tears falling from your eyes with more force and guilt than necessary, because, why wouldn't you want it?
What's so wrong about wanting more? Who says you can't feel all of this and just keep it to yourself, without ever having to let it show? Who decides if you should or shouldn't sigh his name in the dark when you think of him late at night, hand between your thighs and a foggy head full of traces of him?
And, most importantly, if it were to be terribly condemned under the flaw of you being merely flesh and bones and a fragile heart, why would his hand run through your hair this way?
"You have to let it out," Sam's breath is tepid against the shell of your ear, his right hand resting on your back, feeling your heartbeat slamming back and forth against your ribs.
The other one is pressed against your chest, as if he's holding you together in this dim bedroom, knelt beside you as well.
"And you have to let Him in, hm?" His nose brushes against your temple and his sigh of your name stroking your skin makes you think he's absorbing your pain and taking it as his own. "You have to give this to me, you have to let me take the weight."
Sometimes, when you're broken down like this and you need too much, Sam feels for you. He genuinely does.
He sees the tremble of your hands, he sees the way your eyes shy away from him like you can't stand the possibility of him knowing. He sees the clench of your thighs now, he hears the stutter in your breath with every sob, and he knows one of these days he's going to give in to you.
"All of this sorrow," His hand, broad and sore from past wounds and the need to go further and further down, trails down to press into the space between your breasts, the string tying the front of your dress together now undone. "you have to let me take it. You have to ask Him to give me the strength to hold this for you."
You've barely stopped crying, but his lips are soft against your cheek, and then against the corner of your mouth, and you're not strong enough to pick up your own pieces and sew yourself back shut and away from his loving touch.
"Okay," You breathe out weakly just as his mouth stills inches away from yours.
"Okay," He whispers back, giving the both of you a moment to settle into this moment. "It's going to be okay, you just have to trust me."
Not Him, but him. Sam.
And you do. You nod against his forehead and let his fingers trace your moles on your skin that's sticky with sweat on your chest.
You believe him.
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : this gave me a headache. my skull feels tight. also i hope there aren't any inconsistencies or spelling mistakes or strange grammar cause i really couldn't be bothered to read it again.
oh i know it's sam's birthday cuz here comes that wave of crushing love for those ginormous wet eyes, and schiz-OCD tendencies, and scars all over, and long long deer legs that fly in every direction when he flops down, and weird relationship with the divine, that credit card scamming, flannel junkie with buckets and buckets of forgiveness, trying again and again to save as many people as he can even if he can't save himself. sam winchester goes to heaven btw.
A survey made for my presentation. Just wanted to create a primary source to use in my project on common opinions i've seen floating around
Hellloooo spn fans!!!
I've made a survey for a passion project im working on about Sam & Dean's characters & relationship throughout the show. I wanted to create a primary source so my info wouldn't be biased (because I'm a psycho & need my deeply unimportant yet very serious passion project to be accurate lol) & if you love surveys or have the time to share your opinions, pls check it out!! I'm looking for all kinds of opinions from every kind of person in the fandom!! TYSM!
look I’m a deangirl myself, but how come every dean anti is like “yeah, while watching the show seeing some of the ways dean treated sam made me sick”
and every sam anti is like, “from the instant I turned on the show I was PISSED OFF, that fuckass infant in the crib is crying too hard when does he DIE? so castiel can show up”
