Summary: Soulless Sam’s reign was short and he did a lot of things Sam wishes he could take back. He made amends with everyone he could but never had the courage to face you or tell Dean exactly what happened. That is until a coincidental case finds him back at your door.
Warnings: smut from the off, slightly rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Soulless!Sam is a bit of a dick, dom vibes, language.
W/C: 1.9k
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, fem!reader
Pairing: Soulless!Sam x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity.)
Summary: Soulless Sam’s reign was short and he did a lot of things Sam wishes he could take back. He made amends with everyone he could but never had the courage to face you or tell Dean exactly what happened. That is until a coincidental case finds him back at your door.
Warnings: smut from the off, slightly rough sex, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), Soulless!Sam is a bit of a dick, dom vibes, language.
W/C: 1.9k
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, fem!reader
Pairing: Soulless!Sam x fem!reader (you - no descriptions of body type or ethnicity.)
Notes: Set around seasons 6 and 10.
A/N: This is intended as a one-shot though I do have an explanation for the ending 😁 (you'll see). Title is a Paramore song of the same name.
Betas: @cockslut-padalecki // but I own all mistakes.
Graphics: images found on google/canva. Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Master Lists: Main // Sam Winchester
Something was off. He was too robotic, almost void of emotion and it was weird. But it was Sam fucking Winchester. The boy you’d fallen in love with all those years ago, back at Stanford. He dated your roommate, Jess, and honestly, they were perfect for each other, so you kept your feelings quiet and made the most of being his friend.
You hung out a lot as friends, spending holidays together on campus when Jess went home to her family. You suspected Sam knew you harboured feelings for him, least of all because drunk on eggnog and the Christmas spirit you’d confessed one Christmas Eve, but Sam being Sam had saved you the embarrassment and claimed he was just as drunk and didn’t remember much from that night.
Three days ago unexpectedly he’d knocked on your door, he said he’d kept tabs on you and was just passing through town and wanted to catch up. Catching up took all of two hours then you’d spent forty-eight blissful hours fucking, eating to refuel and sleeping very little. You’d played hooky at work and though Sam was reluctant to leave the bedroom you convinced him to go out to dinner on the third evening. Dinner turned to drinks, drinks turned to sex in the restaurant bathroom.
The parking lot isn’t secluded, anyone could walk by or pull into the empty spaces beside yours. The idea of being caught is thrilling and you know Sam isn’t going to stop at the fervent make out session.
His hand is up your skirt, teasing your clit and plunging in and out of you, preparing you for him.
You tear his pants open and swallow a whimper when you wrap your hand around his hard cock, wondering, not for the first time, how it all fits in. But damn it does, every delicious inch of it stretches you so perfectly it’s like a key slotting into a lock. A perfect fit; made for each other.
“Backseat?” you ask, nibbling his earlobe.
He growls, low and primal and if it were anyone other than Sam, perhaps it’d have scared you a little. “Not enough room,” he says.
He takes the smallest step back and turns you around, folding you in half over the hood of the car. It’s so sudden you brace your hands against the cold metal and just about stop yourself from headbutting it. “Fuck, Sam, careful.”
“Sorry,” though he doesn’t sound it at all. The dome of his cock prods at your entrance and he smiles when you wriggle to try to get him to slip inside. “But I need to fuck you,” Sam says, “right now.” With that, he shoves forward and hits home in one deep, hard thrust.
You lose a scream in the hitch of your breath but Sam doesn’t allow you the time to find it again before he sets the violent rhythm. Your knees knock the bumper of the car every time Sam’s hips crash into your ass, it’ll leave bruises but you don’t care. He’s relentless and somehow, it feels like punishment. Every forward motion has a sting to it but every time he drags back to the tip of almost falling out, you shove back to impale yourself on him.
“That’s it, fuck yourself on my cock,” Sam praises, but it sounds like a slur; almost like he’s disgusted with you.
You hear voices in the distance and you try to straighten up to find the source, but Sam’s large hand between your shoulder blades forces you back down with a thud. He stills, bends over to whisper in your ear. “Don’t worry baby, they can watch my dirty little slut split herself open on my big dick,” he jerks his hips, grabs a fistful of your hair and straightens up again, “Now, make us both cum, before we get caught.”
You push back and Sam shoves forward, his breath becomes laboured and you know he’s as close as you are. Any thoughts of getting caught are lost, anyone who witnessed Sam ramming into you from behind would have no choice but to watch the show.
You lose your senses, you can’t focus on anything other than the unforgiving pleasure and pain of his cock pistoning in and out of you. You scream into the night when your walls clench and your orgasm hits but Sam isn’t done. Your legs give out but he holds your hips and keeps fucking you.
“One more,” he demands and uses a hard grip on the crook of your knee to place your foot on the tyre. The position lets him sink impossibly deeper and his pace falters. Sam howls his climax into the night while you spasm around him and drip your second down your thighs.
Sam folds over you again, kissing your neck, “how can you still be single when you fuck like that?” he ponders and you feel the smile on his lips against your skin. “But lucky for me, you are.”
He slips out of you and you whimper when the cold night replaces his warmth. Before you find the energy to move Sam uses the shirt he’d removed to clean you up as best he can. “I need to shower,” you say, turning to face him.
“Later,” he agrees, dipping to kiss you, “first, I’ve got an idea.”
Dean drums the steering wheel and Sam jolts awake as if he’d been shot with a shout of your name.
“Good afternoon Princess,” Dean quips, “it’s seventy degrees, the skies are clear, the traffic is light and we have a case.”
Sam ignores him, rubbing his tired eyes and sitting up straighter.
Dean gives him a minute to sip some water and watches his hair blowback when he opens the window to let some air in.
Curiosity gets the better of him and Dean can’t keep wondering or waiting for Sam to speak up so he asks, “Whose Y/N?” Sam spits the water out of his mouth, drenching Baby’s dash. “Oh nice one, Sammy! Like my girl hasn’t been through enough! Now you’re giving her your cooties,” he admonishes, shoving some napkins into Sam’s hands to clean his mess up.
The youngest Winchester dabs at the water droplets, apologising but his mind is obviously elsewhere, the crease of his brow so deep Dean thinks he could use it to park Baby in.
“Come on dude,” Dean starts, “‘fess up, who is she? You’ve been saying her name in your sleep for weeks now.”
“An old friend,” Sam says knowing his brother will never let it go if he doesn’t give him something. “From Stanford.”
Dean waits a silent beat for Sam to elaborate but when it’s clear he’s not going to, he sighs. “Sam, talk to me, somethings going on. What is it? Are you dreaming about her?”
“Yes.”
“Premonition dreams? Or just Joe regular dreams?”
Sam scoffs, he hasn’t had premonitions since yellow eyes died, Dean knows that. He rests his elbow on the window, chewing his nail while he contemplates what, or rather how much, to tell his brother. Dean wouldn’t have asked the question lightly, not unless he was truly concerned about the dreams he’d been having meaning something important.
“Joe regular,” Sam replies quietly, “or maybe more memories than dreams.”
“Memories?”
“The last time I saw her, I was…soulless.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what makes her so memorable? That was like what, three, four years ago?”
“I don’t know,” Sam shrugs, the wick on his thumbnail beginning to throb where he chews it. “I apologised to everyone I wronged back then, but I couldn’t bring myself to call her…she deserved more than a phone call but I never,” he sighs heavy and regretful, “I guess she’s been on my mind.”
There’s something in Sam’s tone that tells Dean he’s not ready to get into the thick of it, not right now at least. Maybe he’ll open up about it when he feels ready but pushing him now will cause an argument and Sam will shut down so Dean doesn’t press the issue.
“Well grab your laptop, college boy,” Dean says, wanting to give Sam a distraction. “Garth called while you were catching up on your beauty sleep, got us a job.”
Sam flashes a grateful smile before he reaches over the back seat and grabs his bag. “Okay, what am I looking for?”
“Tree Hill, North Carolina.”
“Real funny, Dean,” Sam’s eyes roll a full three hundred and sixty degrees, “have I been saying that in my sleep too?”
Dean shoots a quick glance at his brother, a sombre expression and Sam turns as white as a movie ghost. “No, that’s where Garth is sending us,” he looks back to the open road and hears more than sees Sam’s gulp. “Is that where she is?”
Sam whispers, “Last time I checked, yeah.”
Luckily the address Garth had given them was on the other side of town to the last address Sam had for you. It was a spirit case, as soon as he found the bones or emblem holding them to this plain, he could salt and burn and get the hell out of dodge.
“So that’s the plan?” Dean asks, disbelieving, “we just knock on the door and tell them we’re the ghostbusters?”
“Yeah,” Sam shrugs, “Garth said they called him and asked him for help with their ghost problem, they must know the life.”
“Okay,” Dean sighs, eyeing the house from the Impala’s window. “But how do they know the life? Garth said they’re a friend of a friend of a friend's cousin’s brother's uncle or something. Are we really gonna reveal ourselves to a stranger?”
“Dean,” Sam groans, puffing out an annoyed breath, “I just wanna get this done and get out of town.”
“I get it,” Dean agrees, trying to placate his brother, “but I don’t want the possibility of running into some ex-girlfriend making you reckless.”
“She’s not my ex-girlfriend, we never dated, exactly.”
Dean smiles proudly and claps Sam on the shoulder, “ol’ Sammy boy, lovin’ ‘em and leavin’ ‘em, who knew you had it in you.”
Sam shrugs his brother’s hand off his shoulder, scowling, “it wasn’t like that.” He’s heard enough and he trusts Garth so he steps out of the car, striding up the path leaving Dean to jog to catch up with him.
Sam pushes the doorbell button as Dean comes to a stop beside him and he tuts, “reckless, Sammy.”
“Shut up,” he says through his teeth and an insincere smile as the door swings open.
“Hi,” Dean says, putting on a friendly smile, “we’re the ghostbusters, and we’re ready to believe you.”
“Fuck,” Sam curses at the same time you do.
Dean looks from Sam to you and back again, throwing his hands up in the air, “Oh shit, it’s her, isn’t it?”
Sam’s eyes never leave yours, he buries his hands in the pocket of jeans, shoulders coming up around his head in that adorable awkward pose you used to love so much. “Hey, hi,” he says and blasts out a long sigh. Shock keeps you mute for a moment so Sam continues, “Y/N this is Dean my brother, Dean this is Y/N my…” Sam hesitates.
The hesitation spurs you into action, wondering if he’ll have the audacity to say it but you can see he’s not going to. So you finish the sentence for him, “his wife.”
