#jared padalecki drabble

[daylighted]

oh em gee i was about to go to sleep but i was js thinking about how baby!reader and sam would also be really close i think

and so maybe one night like during a hunt sam finds baby just like upset cause she’s trying to figure out what a lore book or whatever says and she’s frustrated 1. cause she can’t read it and 2. she doesn’t understand why her eyes are suddenly wet and why she’s feeling this way cause she’s never felt this before

and so sam just like teaches her how to read a little maybe and just helps her understand what she’s feeling and why

IDKKK I JS THOUGHT THAT WAS SO CUTIE

(also trust i know baby is a badass i’m just leaving this thought here (LOVEE YOU AND YOUR WRiTING<3333))

STOP THIS MADE ME GO 🥺 LITERALLY OH MY GOD. i hope i can get this to u before u fall asleep so it can be... ironically ... like a bedtime story :')

and i agree baby is a lil badass so so much and part of that is bc girl feels all of her things SO unapologetically :') !!! so i love this and have been meaning to think more on sam n baby's dynamic too so it is PERFECT.

they were always looking at those books, splayed out on whatever shoddy surface the motel room had. sometimes they had tables shoved into corners, or desks pressed so tightly against a wall that the wallpaper cracked behind it, the little space clearly not equipped for every bit of furniture the owners wanted to cram inside of it.

either way, you'd become aware of the winchesters habits, and that was one of them. a worn and faded leather book beneath one of their big hands, skimming the lines like they'd seen what was in the pages a million times, enough to know where in the book to flip to when they wanted something in particular.

dean went on a food and coffee run after begrudgingly admitting to the fact that this one was going to take all night, and sam decided to jump in the shower while he was gone, leaving you at the desk squished between the wall and the tv stand, one of the books open under your hand.

it was nothing special. inky lines and rough sketches across every page, some things crossed out and others underlined. you'd flipped through the entirety of the book to make sure that this really was all there was to it, and sure enough, there wasn't a deviation. every page had scribbly shapes on it, and every other page a scribbled drawing, and it didn't make any sense.

dean sometimes held the book up on its edge, nose pressed in close like he was trying to read in between what was on the pages, so you tried that, too. you were waiting for something big to happen. that was another thing about the winchesters; looking at one of these leathery things full of paper always led to pieces of whatever case to click together.

nothing clicked. nothing made sense. this was another thing that they shared, something programmed into them that was left out when it came to the making of you, and it was devastating.

you try to breathe in, but your chest catches on it, lips parted as you gasp on it. your throat is tight. your eyes have water in them. all of this at once surely must have meant you were dying, right? you'd breathed normally up until now, and your throat didn't feel like it was closing until now, and your eyes weren't supposed to have water coming out of them, streaming down your cheeks in little rivers, pooling on the desk's warbled surface.

you get up, the catch in your chest only getting worse, banging on the room's bathroom door. sam's shower had stopped running a few minutes ago, so you knew he was in there, either half dressed or holding a plastic thing in his mouth with something foamy on his lips. they did that a lot. helped you do it, too, even though you didn't remember the word for it. how were you supposed to think right now? you were dying.

"sammy?" you ask, and your voice even sounds weaker. you hit the door harder, a little whimper in your throat, terror clawing at the lump like it was trying to break through it. "sammy..."

the door tugs open, sam's tall figure looming over you, a look of concern written into his features. "what's wrong?" it clicks a second after the words leave his mouth, concern half giving way to something sympathetic. "baby."

you keep wiping at your eyes but it keeps coming. "there's something in my throat. and my eyes—" you rub your palms into your eyes, trying to shove the rivers back into the sockets. "they're leaking. they're leaking, they're—"

sam melts further, stepping forward to wrap his arms around you. he's as warm as the bathroom air, slipping through the gapped door he stood in. "you're crying," he says slowly, gently, palm rubbing down your spine, soothing the choke in your voice, "that's alright. nothing's wrong. people cry, sometimes."

that was reassuring, but how were you supposed to get it under control? sure, you weren't dying, but you were a little out of your league, here.

your lack of answer seems to prompt sam to continue, his chin resting on the crown of your head. "what were you doing?" he asks, taking a step backwards to be able to see your face better. "before you started crying. so i can try and fix it, or help, or anything you need."

you point behind you, to the misplaced desk and the stupid leather thing full of useless pages. "i tried to look at it. like you and dean do."

sam nods in understanding, the concern now fully crumbled through and leaving that sympathetic, glimmery look in his eyes.

"it didn't make any sense. i don't know what is in there. it's all just lines and shapes and..." you throw your hands up in frustration, and what do you know? the tears have stopped, and the very familiar feeling of unwarranted fury sits on your tongue. "it is stupid. that thing is unhappy."

the corner of sam's lips quirk. "it can be unhappy." he steps around you, hand on your elbow to easily brush past you. "it's a book. one of dad's. details about the things we hunt on cases."

"books are unhappy."

there was no getting through to you right now, but sam always tried. dean sometimes just got frustrated along with you, but sam always managed to maintain the gentleness that came with trying to teach you the comings and goings of humanity.

he picks the book up and flips through the pages, and you almost see red, knowing that, in that moment, he was doing the exact thing you couldn't. but then he lifts a hand, motioning you to come closer with his finger. "it's unhappy, but it's not gonna bite," sam says, dropping his hand to tug the chair back for you to sit down. you do, though not without the stubborn reluctance. "look at the line at the top."

"no." a puff of angry breath leaves your mouth along with the words. "i already know i do not see what you and dean see. i do not want to start doing the crying again."

sam laughs this time, finger dropping to the line in reference. "it's a sentence. everything on this page is sentences, made up of words that you read." his nail traces the beginning of the page. "that word? wendigo."

your eye is twitching. "i cannot do the read either." you shove his finger out of the way, lifting the book close up to your face. "it looks like loopies and droopies."

"the loopy is a w," he cages you in from behind, one arm on your right side holding him up, the other's index finger back at the word. "words are made of letters. letters are... yeah, for the most part, loopies and droopies."

it sounds silly in sam's mouth, but, whatever. it made sense to you. "the word i told you? wendigo?" he traces beneath the word as he goes, "w-e-n-d-i-g-o."

you stare at it, each piece of the word and then all at once, mouthing the letters to yourself. very fun first word to learn, but that was only one on the whole page, and that was not enough for you. you wanted to understand everything. you hold the book close to your face, again like dean, as you scan over every sentence and word and letter.

sam is patient behind you, and quiet, as he lets you study. you slam the book down, the spine colliding with the wood echoing in the little room. you point at a word in the middle of the page. "when."

forget the loopy in the middle. you saw wen and knew it.

sam pats your shoulder. "yeah, that says when," he reaches up to the desk to close the book, pushing it closer to the rest of books in their pile, "not a very good starting place for learning to read, so we'll do something else later, how about that?"

he pushes it away, so you grab it, palm flat and possessive over the hardcover. "i want this one. i know two words in it already."

"baby, there are words in that book that even i don't know how to say," sam says, giving you that look that he always tends to when, and you quote, you're being a little too bossy. "we'll start with the hotel keycard. or the tv guide. very much easier, and not as scary of a topic."

"but—"

"you are already overwhelmed." his voice is so gentle. him and dean have this way of bottling up all of your intense feelings and condensing them into something more manageable for all three of you. "i don't think you want to cry again tonight, so we're starting slow. with how you're learning, it won't take long until you're up there with me and dean, reading easy and naturally."

your eyes roll. his brighten with amusement. "i just don't want to feel so different and wrong." you meet his gaze, and the amusement has tampered, replaced with a sadness that must be reflected in your own. "you and dean do things all the time that i can't. i want to."

"we'll get you there." sam's words are a solid promise, hand coming up to ruffle the mess of your hair. "but in the meantime, no more crying. you shouldn't want to be like me and dean. you're fine just like this."

even you knew that sounded cheesy. you're about to tell him as such, but he holds up a finger. "we know all of this as easily as we do because we grew up too fast, and too afraid. you don't ever need to be upset that you didn't go through all that we did." he lifts your hand off of the book, using that gentle grip to yank you out of the seat and away from your dried tears on the desktop. "but it's normal. normal to cry, normal to get upset over things you can't do. baby, if you're worried about not fitting in with us because you don't feel human enough, that just makes you even more like us than you think."

you might have asked him about that part, but it seemed a little too invasive. you had some limitations to the endless array of questions you bombarded them both with. instead, you move to stand in front of the tv, staring at it, trying to will it on.

"take it to the tv guide." you nod toward it, eyes narrowing still in your efforts to peer pressure it on. "i want to learn to read the show dean watches."

sam grabs a little rectangle off of the stand, shaking his head. "no. no, you really don't."

notes. tagging everyone in this one bc i am classifying it as an official part^tm in the babyverse hope u dont mind.

tags. @titsout4jackles @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @sunsettsam @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @couturewinx @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @angelicalm3ss @nperoconelcositoarriba

[sunsbaby]

𓍯𓂃 sam winchester x fem!reader | MDNI

it didn't take much convincing on your end for sam to get you in the backseat on his brothers 67' chevy impala fucking yourself on his cock.

"atta girl, i know you can take it..." sam practically growled in your ear as his large hands sprawled out on your ass—gripping the flesh harshly.

his hips thrust up meeting yours as you grind down, whines and moans slip past your swollen lips. you'd been doing this for god knows how long, your legs were almost numb and you were so sensitive, but sam didn't care.

"just give me one more, baby. i know you have it in you, princess." sam cooed, coaxing you with sweet words as his cock bullied your insides.

he would purposely push you down onto his cock, just deep enough for his tip to brush against your cervix. the action pulling a whine from your throat—which was practically raw from how loud he'd made you. the car smelled of sex and leather, the seats drenched with your past orgasms. sam's cock had a pretty white ring around the base. squelching noises echoed through the car. your pretty pussy taking him so well.

"c'mon let go for me, sweet thing.." sam whispered into your ear, his calloused thumb rubbing circles onto your clit.

your mind went blank as a series of incoherent babbles push past your lips. sam helped you slightly, bouncing you on his cock just the way he wanted. your moans got louder and your hands dug into his forearms as you approached your climax.

"sam–oh..mhm, sam!" you praised as your body shook with pleasure, orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

his thrusts never let up as he continued to fuck you through your high, your chest heaved and pants left you as he bottomed out. whines came from you as his warm cum filled you to the brim. the pearly white substance dripping onto his cock and mixing with your juices.

"good girl."

sunny yaps! IM TIRED BUT CANT SLEEP BC MY HAUR SO I MADE THIS!! ITS RLLT VAD BUT U GUYS WANTED MORE SAM SMUT SO HEREEE YOU ARE ANGELS!!

special tags! @bluemerakis @dulcescorderitas @h8aaz @figthoughts @starzify @deansbeer

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

[bruisedfig]

I have such a big thigh ride/thigh job kink- like Sam will just be reading a book and you'll be a whimpering mess in his lap and he just nudges his thigh up and down- maybe a little bit of anxiety? But you love him just as much for all him 😩 he whispers sweet praises and tells you how you'll soak his thighs like AAAA

omg i’m not even a sam girly but i’m twirling my hair and kicking my feet at this 🫡 this accidentally turned into a mini drabble idek i love thigh riding lol anyway 18+ pls <3

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

sam’s researching for a case and you’re all needy because he’s been out all day, leaving you alone back at the motel. dean’s gone out for a beer at the local dive, finally giving you and sam some time alone. but sam is just soooo busy. “c’mon, this case is important. can’t you wait?”

but your constant whining and fidgeting is so distracting, pulling his thoughts away from the lore books entirely, which causes him to finally break. “fine. c’mere, baby.”

sam lets you slip onto his thighs, your body cuddling up against his firm torso, your core pressing against his thigh muscle, trapped under his rough denim jeans.

your little fidgeting movements placate the aching between your legs, helping you find relief and pleasure. sam tries not to notice the grinding against his leg, but he’s just a man. his dick twitches in his boxers, and a smirk graces his face.

he starts bouncing his leg a little for you, helping your movements. as louder moans and whimpers tumble out of your mouth from his physical encouragement, he can’t help but praise you. you’re just too sweet. “there we go. is that helping, angel? you’re doing so good. keep going. you feel so warm, baby. gonna soak my leg at this rate.”

andddd you do. and then again, and again, and again, but around his cock when he finally gets you under him on the motel bed, helping you out like a good boyfriend should.

[zepskies]

Wake Up Call

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: Sam often gets up before you in the morning. He enjoys luring you into the waking world. 

AN: Surprise! After writing Rest for Dean, equal parts hurt/comfort and fluff, I’ve been itching to do some “early morning” fluff for Sam…

Word Count: 700

Warnings: 18+ only for smuttishness. Fluff and feels.

Unlike Dean, Sam isn’t one to be sentimental.

It doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. On the contrary, he hordes and treasures memories in his mind, rather than on his shelves.

It also means he’s not one to collect things just to have them. There has to be a practical use, like the way good books can be read again. Even his dad’s journal is a useful resource, not just a record of the man’s most significant words, and in some ways, his legacy.

Sam’s room is function, not fluff.

That is, until you invaded.

Well, less invaded, and more invited, but still. He sees traces of you everywhere, in the half-drunken mugs of coffee and tea piling up across his nightstand; in the shelves you’ve put up to showcase his books, alongside yours (complete with “cute” little bookends you found at a flea market in town); and in the extra fuzzy blankets and smaller pillows you’ve bought, not only because they’re comfortable, but because they help “pull the room together,” in your words.

Sam had to snort at that one. Somehow, he doesn’t think a few decorative pillows and a lamp from Goodwill are going to make a windowless bedroom in a bunker look like a page out of a Pottery Barn catalog.

But he humored you then, with the same smile he looks down on you with now. It's early in the morning as he sits up beside you in bed with his coffee. He has a fresh mug ready for you on the nightstand. (He's also brought the army of old ones back to the kitchen sink.)

He spares a moment from his laptop to brush your hair away from your cheek as you sleep. His hand drifts down your bare shoulder, as far as he can reach down your arm. Finally, his touch stirs you. Your breathing shifts with a little hum as you creep closer to wakefulness.  

“Awake already?” you grumble at him.

“Yeah. Waiting for you.”

“Hnnmmmmm.”

Sam smiles. You can be so grumpy in the morning.

He takes another sip of his coffee and sets aside his mug and his laptop. He gets up just to raise his side of the blankets, sliding back in and slotting himself behind you. You sigh after his arm has slipped beneath your head, and the other around your waist, pulling you comfortably warm against his chest.

He issues his first plan of attack, laying soft kisses behind your ear, along your jaw. Even with your eyes closed, you smile as his long hair tickles your cheek. He pays special attention to your pulse point, nipping and sucking gently. A shiver tingles down your spine.

“No fair,” you breathe out, reaching back a hand to card through his hair. Your fingers tangle in the dark strands as he smiles against your skin.

He continues his tantalizing path down your neck. His hand moves under the sheets, under your borrowed sleep shirt. His thumb brushes the underside of your breast, earning a pleased hum from you. It encourages him to palm the round softness with his big hand, pebbling the nipple under his nimble, rolling fingers.

Uttering a soft whine, you begin to subtly writhe against him. Your ass presses back into him, accidentally-on-purpose. His arousal rises to meet you, a low-burning fire crackling to life.

Sam’s kisses become more insistent with the brush of his tongue against your skin. His hand moves from playing with your breast, down the soft length of your body. Every move is a form of delicious persuasion, especially when his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties.   

“You awake yet?” Sam teases, his lips moving against your cheek.

Your smile grows. You finally open your eyes and tangle your leg with his under the covers.

“If I’m not, this is one hell of a dream,” comes your cheeky reply.

Sam chuckles. His fingers dip between your legs, into your wet heat. You suck in a breath.

His voice in your ear is enough to raise the hair on your arms.

“Baby, we haven’t even started yet.”

AN: 😘 Hope you enjoy! I haven't written Sam in a while, but I do love him too. 💜

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[starzify]

“You’re pushing it.”

Sam’s voice is low, steady, but there’s a warning beneath it. A slow-burning kind of control that makes your stomach flip. But you don’t stop. You tilt your chin up, letting your lips curl into a defiant little smirk.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say sweetly, dragging the last word out just to test him.

His jaw ticks. The grip on your wrist tightens—not painful, just firm, commanding. He’s had enough of your teasing, your little taunts, your constant pushing. And now, you can feel the shift in the air.

“You want my attention that bad?” he murmurs, stepping in closer, his broad frame completely overwhelming yours. “Fine. You’ve got it.”

In one swift motion, he grips your wrist and yanks you forward, your chest colliding with his broad frame. His other hand settles on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make you whimper. His body is warm, solid, caging you in as he towers over you, his breath hot against your ear.

“You want to act like a brat?” His voice is thick, dangerously soft. “Then you’ll get treated like one.”

Your heart pounds as he spins you around and presses you flush against the nearest surface. His hands are everywhere—roaming, teasing, squeezing. He grips your hips hard enough to make you gasp, pulling you back against him so you can feel just how worked up you’ve made him.

“See what you did?” he murmurs, rolling his hips against you in a slow, deliberate motion that has your breath hitching. “You wanted my attention. Now you’ve got it.”

A whimper escapes before you can stop it, but when you try to move, to take some control back, his palm comes down sharply against your thigh. The sting melts into heat, making you moan.

“Stay still,” Sam growls. “You wanted this. Now take it.”

Then, he gives you exactly what you’ve been begging for.

He starts slow, dragging it out, making you feel every inch, every deliberate motion. His grip tightens with every thrust, keeping you in place, forcing you to take every inch of him. The rough sounds slipping from his lips—deep, broken groans, the occasional muttered curse—make your whole body tremble.

“You gonna be good for me now?” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your shoulder, his teeth grazing over sensitive skin. “Or do I need to remind you again?”

You whimper his name, barely able to think through the haze of pleasure, and Sam chuckles, dark and satisfied.

“That’s what I thought.”

tags: @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @beausling @cowboysandcigarettes @dulcescorderitas @figthoughts @haunteres @h8aaz @inspiredangel @j2archives @deansbeer @misatxox @pointocean @rafespreciosa @rositaslabyrinth @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @sunsettsam @vmiina @whisperingdaze

cassie chats: my flop era is lowkey serving

[tequilai]

yearning sam, who cannot get enough of you. Specifically made for @hauntedrose555

A MAN WHO YEARNS IS A MAN WHO EARNS

once you start predicting his questions he knows he’s cooked (don’t mind my typos and all that shit)

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

CRUSH- S. WINCHESTER

day five of the june bug masterlist

pairing: hunter! sam winchester x hunter! fem! reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: just a typical morning that you and sam have in the motels on a day off from hunting!

warnings: thigh riding, heavy praise and dirty talk, heavy size kink, pet names, finger sucking, sam is a soft dom, swearing, lots of fluff!

*reader description is not mentioned, but sam braids her hair!

“ i only want him if he says it first to me, i wanna, uh, him in the back of his mom's mercury/ he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds, it makes me so, uh, and i can't get enough of it”- crush, ethel cain

You had just finished tugging on your panties when the motel door swung open, and the familiar smell of coffee and fresh mint wafted in.

You didn't even need to look up to know who it was.

“Hiya sweetheart.” your boyfriend Sam called, a paper bag carrying the one thing you had been craving since yesterday.

Bagels. Not any bagels.

Speciality bagels that were locally made, from whatever shitty, grungy town you were in now- that had smelt heavenly when the three of you drove by earlier that week. They had been on your mind ever since.

And now? You were about to taste the best  bagel with cream cheese you had ever tasted in your life.

You were sure of it. You ran over to where your moose stood, not even bothering to toss on a shirt over your bra, arms open as you jumped up onto him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, your legs around his torso as he laughed. “Someones happy to be awake. What happened to this chipper energy when I first went out?”

“Didn't have bagels.” you murmured into his neck, planting a kiss, a gentle bite to his pulse point. He gasped, rolling his eyes as your confession, as if he was personally wounded from your words.

“So my girlfriend only cares about me when I bring her food. Got it. That's going great for me, I guess.”

You shrugged, a smirk on your face as you snatched the bag from him, taking a deep whiff of the fresh bread. “You’re cute too, I guess. That's a plus.” you teased, grabbing breakfast and taking a bite, moaning as the warm, soft dough seemed to melt in your mouth.

“Well sit down silly so I can do your hair.” Sam ushered you over to the bed, and you sat down against the frame on the floor, spilling crumbs on the carpet while you happily munched away.

It was routine at this point for Sam to braid your hair. You don't know why he loved doing it so much, but god you were thankful everyday for it.

Whether it was calming for him, as it was for you- or just kept his hands and fingers occupied- you didn't know. But he was so gentle with you, always so concentrated as he twisted the strands nimbly through his fingers.

Plus, you were always rewarded with a gentle head massage beforehand, which almost always sent you back to sleep. But today, you had that luxury.

Not that you wanted to take it- of course, you were much too excited to have a day off from a hunt with Sam, to actually spend time doing something together. Though today, you didn't want to do much of anything.

As if on cue, you heard him break free from thought, taking a second to reach and sip his coffee before letting his fingers continue their duties.

“What do you wanna do today sweetheart?” he asked.

“Hmm. I think there's a creek not too far from here. I wanna catch some frogs.” you confessed. It was so nice out today, a gentle breeze, not too many clouds- yet it was still warm enough for you to wear a nice little cotton dress.

Plus, it was a little damp- perfect for your buddies to be hopping around the taller grass.

“You’re not gonna kiss any, are you?”

You laughed. “When I already have my prince charming? How could I?”

You felt the braid coming to an end, his fingers stretching the elastic around to tie it off, before a little ribbon was tied in a bow. It was pink today, a favourite of his- you noted.

Told you it brought out the softness of your eyes, claiming they were like a bunnies. Or a fawns. It depended on the day.

You whipped your mouth free from crumbs and a little smudge of cream cheese on your lower lip as you finished your last little bite before stretching up to wrap your arms around him again.

A soft kiss was planted to the top of your head as you snuggled into him and the warmth he provided, not quite with enough force to sprawl him backwards on the little double bed, but you sure as hell tried.

“Why are you so big?” you asked, making him smile.

“Why are you so small?”

“Everyone is small compared to you.”

He shrugged, scooping you up so you were firmly pressed against him, chest to chest. “Gonna finish getting ready?” he asked, letting his eyes glance down appreciatively to gaze at the cleavage that tempted him, biting his lip.

Sam Winchester was a gentleman. But with you, it became hard to control his urges.

“Do you want me to finish getting ready?” you batted your lashes seductively, shifting your weight so you straddled one of his thick thighs, humming appreciatively at his longing look.

He parted his lips,as if he were to speak, but stopped himself as soon as the whisper of your lips grazed his. “Thank you for the braid baby. It’s lovely. You always make me feel beautiful.” you smiled, kissing him slow and deep, shifting your hips so you grinded suddenly against him.

He groaned, aware of your little antics. The frogs could wait. The world, in fact- could wait. Right now it was just you and him, savouring the quiet, early morning- the sound of the wind in the tree branches all that could be heard.

“You always look beautiful. My beautiful little fawn.” he murmured, capturing your chin with his thumb, stroking it delicately. You smiled, feeling heat rise to your cheeks at his compliments.

“So should I get ready or- oh!” you squealed as his hands found their way to your hips, rocking them back and forth against the denim.

“Don't be a minx sweetheart. Finish what you started for me. C'mon now.” he smirked, knowing he held the upper hand. You always tried to get him flustered, but it always seemed to work out the other way around.

Here you were, trying to get him riled just for it to actually work. Almost as if that was the point.

As if on command, your hips slide forward, and you started to pick up an easy, steady pace he helped you with, with the quick and rhythmic bounce of his knee.

You moaned at the friction, letting your head loll back as his lips peppered sweet kisses and bites across your neck.

“Atta girl. Feel it out sweetheart.”

You nodded, fingers slipping up to grip his bulky shoulders, clinging onto them for dear life as you began to spiral. He made you feel so good without even barely needing to touch you, just a few sweet praises here and there and you melted into a puddle for him. So malleable, he couldn't help but take advantage of the sweet state you were left in.

“Sammy-”

“Shh. Shush baby. Don't wanna wake Dean in the other room now do we?”

You quickly shook your head, eyes wide as his two fingers slipped in your mouth, the pads warm and heavy against your tongue as you lapped at them appreciatively.

“Just stay like that sweet thing, keep makin yourself feel good for me. You making a mess on my jeans? Dirty girl.” he cooed softly, chuckling at the little wet patch that had formed on the dark blue fabric.

Your eyes refused to leave his, wide with something of shock mixed with pleasure and appreciation at his dirty, but soft words that drove you crazy. Something like a mumbled “Love you.” softly left your lips and he smiled, hand on your hip tightling slightly as you let yourself go, unraveling around him.

“You’re so beautiful when you cum for me sweetheart. So desperate for that little release, yea?”

You nodded, a trail of salvia connecting your lip to his fingers as he tugged them out with a little pop, letting you finally push him back onto the bed, so he was sprawled out under you.

“My turn to tease now.” you hiccuped, eyes glossed over from your sudden orgasm as you restraddled yourself onto the prominent bulge that poked at you, aching.

He smiled, letting you capture his forearms and place them beside his head, like you had any ability to seriously pin him down.

“Do your worst sweetheart.”

Yeah, the frog catching could wait, just a while longer.

[wchswift]

✰ COZY STUDY TIME

→ summary: you love the fact that you went to Stanford with your best friend, now he can help you with your essays while you nap on his lap.

⤿ stanford!sam winchester x best friend!reader / cw: eventual best friends to lovers, fluff, casual intimacy, studying together, reader is also a hunter, sam is a puppy in love, maybe more but I don't remember lol.

⤿ word count! 1k (this is short but i'm thinking of writing a part 2...)

lina yaps: sooo I know I usually only write for Dean and Sam isn't even on the list of characters I write for, but I wanted to share the fact that since the first time I watched Supernatural I've been a Sam girl, I defend Sam tooth and nail and I simply love him so much. After many times rewatching it I ended up becoming more attached to Dean and becoming completely obsessed with this man while Sam continued to be my favorite character, even so I always found myself having an easier time writing romantic things for Dean. But then I had this idea while studying for my last exams and I finally had to write for my sammy.

You’d always said Sam Winchester gave the best back rubs.

Though to be fair, you’d also said he gave the best hugs, helped with the worst essays, and had the best judgment—except for that time he thought spaghetti and pickles would be a “fine” combination because you didn’t have anything else in the dorm kitchen.

“Sam,” you grumble, half-asleep, your voice muffled by his thigh. “Please don’t use such big words. I can feel my brain giving up.”

A warm chuckle rumbles through him above you. You’re stretched across the length of his dorm bed, your head resting comfortably on his lap. He’s leaned against the wall with your laptop in front of him, long fingers typing away with that casual brilliance that has always made you both proud and exasperated.

“It’s literally your assignment,” he says, glancing down at you with an amused grin, fingers pausing just long enough to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, but you’re better at it. And I’m sleepy.”

“Are you always this manipulative when you’re tired?”

You squint up at him, one eye half-lidded. “Only with you.”

His lips twitch.

You’ve known Sam Winchester since you were nine years old. Your dad and his dad were both hunters, both stubborn, both terrible at being parents. Dean had always been a kind of older brother figure, but Sam? Sam was yours. Your person. The one who stayed up late researching monsters with you, who fell asleep next to you in the backseat of a dusty Impala on cross-country hunts, who once held your hand so tight during a banshee exorcism that your knuckles ached the next day.

The one who looked at you when you were fifteen and said, “I don’t want to do this forever,” and you just nodded because you’d been waiting for him to say it out loud first.

Stanford had been his dream. You’d just made it your own.

You weren’t exactly sure when his room had become more yours than your own. When your books started showing up on his shelf. When his drawers started having your socks. When his sheets started smelling faintly like your lotion, and neither of you said a thing about it.

And now, Friday evenings looked like this.

Sam working on your American Literature paper. You, curled up beside him, one leg over his, eyes fluttering open every few minutes just to admire his jawline in the low lamp light.

He’s halfway through a sentence when he notices your breathing even out again.

“You’re asleep, aren’t you?” he whispers, almost to himself.

You don’t answer.

He smiles, soft and small. The kind of smile he only ever gives you when no one else is looking.

His fingers slow on the keys, then still. He places the laptop to the side, careful not to wake you, and lets one hand drift into your hair, combing through it gently. You make a faint sound—more content than conscious—and nuzzle deeper into his lap.

He swallows.

You’ve always been affectionate. Since you were kids, you’d leaned into him like a sunflower leans toward light. Rested your head on his shoulder, held his hand in motel beds, tugged on his hoodie sleeves until he laughed and let you wear them. It was never weird. It was never anything.

Except now, sometimes, it feels like something.

He doesn’t know when that changed.

Maybe it was the night you showed up at his door soaked in rain, crying about a failed test, about the fear of never being normal enough to be able to live a normal life and a missed call from Dean, and he just held you, heart aching in a way it hadn’t since he left hunting behind.

Or maybe it was last week, when you walked out of the bathroom brushing your teeth, hair messy and shirt half-tucked, and he thought, God, this looks like home.

His thumb brushes your cheek.

You mumble in your sleep, brow scrunching slightly before smoothing out again.

“I’m almost done with your paper,” he murmurs, as if you can hear him. “It’s not bad. You actually had some good points… not that you’ll remember them.”

His fingers trace the line of your jaw.

He shouldn’t do this. Not like this. Not when you’re so close. So soft. So impossibly familiar.

But maybe that’s just it.

You’ve always been his gravity. His calm in the chaos. The reason he stood up to his father so he could leave and go to college. The reason he didn’t run when college got hard, when he felt too different, too haunted. He’d look across the quad and see you—head thrown back in laughter, eyes bright—and suddenly it didn’t matter what was chasing him. He was still running toward something.

You.

“Sam…” you murmur sleepily, not even opening your eyes.

“Yeah?”

You shift, wrapping your arms around his waist now, head pressed to his stomach. Your voice is drowsy but warm. “Thanks for doing my homework.”

He huffs a laugh. “Anytime.”

“I’ll make you breakfast tomorrow,” you promise, already half-asleep again.

“You always say that.”

“This time I mean it.”

He leans down and presses a kiss to your hair. It’s featherlight, reverent. Your breath stutters just slightly, and he freezes.

But you don’t move.

So he exhales slowly, leans back, and lets the moment hang there between you.

Maybe you felt it. Maybe you didn’t.

Maybe one day, when the world stops spinning so fast, he’ll tell you all of it. How you were always the one. How you never needed to ask him to stay, because he never had a plan that didn’t include you.

But for now, he looks at you—curled up beside him like you’ve always belonged there—and he thinks maybe, just maybe, you already know.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

⛥ main masterlist.

special tag for my sam moots: @tinas111 @blossomingorchids @xoswiftieprincess @acklesarchives @sunsettsam (I don't know if I'll write to Sam again at some point but if you want to be added to a possible taglist let me know <3)

[jaredwnch]

He looks up at you like you’re the only god he’s ever prayed to.

“Please,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Let me touch you—please, I need to—”

“You’ll stay just like this,” you purr, circling him slowly like you’re about to devour him. “Hands behind your back. You don’t touch me unless I say so.”

You bend down and run your tongue along the base of his cock, just once—slow and deliberate—and he jerks in place, gasping.

“Fuck—” he chokes. “That—please—again—”

You smile, wrapping your hand around the base and licking a long stripe up the underside of his shaft, pausing to swirl your tongue around the head. His thighs shake under you.

“You’re so fucking needy,” you whisper against him, lips brushing sensitive skin. “Bet you’ve been hard since the second I walked in.”

“Yes—yes—fuck, you don’t even know—”

You cut him off by taking him into your mouth all at once—wet, hot, tight. Sam cries out, head falling back as you suck him down, bobbing your head slow and deep, letting him feel every second of it. His hips twitch but don’t thrust—he’s trying so hard to be good for you.

You pull off with a wet pop, saliva trailing from your lips to his tip, and he looks absolutely ruined already.

“You wanna come just from that?” you tease, stroking him with slow, cruel precision. “So sensitive. So easy to break.”

He nods like he’s on the verge of tears. “I—I can’t take much more, I swear—please let me—”

“No.”

His eyes widen.

You climb onto his lap, straddling him fully, guiding his cock to your entrance and sinking down onto him in one long, slow motion. Sam makes a broken, wrecked noise—loud, needy, like the air’s been punched out of him.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “You’re so tight, you feel so—fuck—please—”

“Don’t come,” you command, rocking your hips just enough to make him twitch inside you. “You stay still. You take it.”

He bites down on his lip hard, almost whimpering, muscles straining as you ride him slow—grinding and rolling your hips, letting your walls milk him until he’s trembling and gasping beneath you.

“You’re such a good toy,” you whisper into his ear. “Made to fuck, made to please me. You love this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he groans. “God, yes, I love it, I love being yours, please—fuck—I can’t hold it—”

You clench around him tight and slap a hand to his throat—not choking, just holding—watching the way his eyes flutter and roll back at the control.

“You come when I say. Not before.”

He nods frantically, panting, sweating, desperate.

And then—when you feel him right on the edge, cock throbbing inside you, balls drawn tight—you slam your hips down and say:

“Now. Come for me.”

He breaks. Moans your name like a sob, body jerking as he spills deep inside you—hot and endless. You don’t let up. You ride him through it, overstimulating him as he twitches and gasps and whimpers, your name spilling out of his mouth in helpless cries.

You finally stop, letting him collapse back against the wall, boneless and wrecked. You stay on him, still full, still warm, and cup his flushed face in your hand.

He’s breathless. Fucked-out. Beautiful.

“Such a good boy,” you whisper. “And we’re just getting started.”

[sambleeding]

bite me // sam winchester x reader

"hnn—fuck," sam arches his body as you prod your tongue into the heat of his ass, pressing at the rim of his hole. it's savory and warm in the best way, and to have all six feet and five inches of sam winchester writhing below you in simple pleasure? you might come untouched from the thought.

you feel him push towards your tongue as you pull away, tutting before taking the meat of his right asscheek between your teeth and biting down.

now, you weren't expecting the moan that elicited from sam, the way he shifted under you to readjust his leaking cock against the bed.

"oh, sammy," you coo, breath fanning over the skin where you bit him, thumbs rubbing into his hips. "did you like that?"

sam whines and tries pushing his ass against your face again.

"use your words, boy," you say, kissing his soft skin.

"oh—yes, so good."

you knew that was going to be one of the more sensible responses you would get out of him, so you work yourself up his body, planting kisses as you go, til you're breathing in his shampoo and nuzzling into his neck.

sam was gorgeous like this: quietly panting, skin glistening slightly from a thin layer of sweat that perspired itself as you pressed your finger on the rim of his hole, still slick with your saliva, his hair was disheveled and his whole body twitched with need.

"such a good boy for me. all for me," you say as you push yourself in.

you loved how keen he always was for you to be on top. he liked being useful, but he loved being used.

as you push in a second finger, you sink your teeth into the juncture of his neck, almost hard enough to break skin. you don't know if it was from the second finger, or the bite, but sam yelps before moaning and coming with a small, final thrust into the bed.

[daylighted]

Why do I imagine baby not knowing how to drive ? Like she knows how it works but she was always the one being driven around.

Like imagine all of them being on hunt and they expect baby to be a good driver but she actually doesn’t how to.

the plan was simple enough: dean and sam drive to the location, handle the dirty work since you weren't a big fan of the whole "casual murder" thing yet, and you'd take them home, so the mess made in the already-stolen car was as minimum and centered to the backseat as possible.

you could do it. you'd taken them places before many times. what would be different this time? clearly, dean and sam believed in you and your capabilities. their strong-willed belief was always a balm to any worries that you'd conjure up.

they get out of the car, entrusting you with the keys and leaving the driver's seat open for you to take. dean kisses you on the forehead before he leaves, all with a simple parting warning of, "take care of my baby," a pat on the hood making it obvious that somehow, he expected this car to look out for you.

it didn't take long. it never took long, not when the boys knew what they were doing on run of the mill cases like this.

they were very messy, though. climbing into the backseat and bringing along with them the stinging smell of copper. it takes them moments to relax into the backseat, exhaustion in their expressions when you glance back at them in the rearview mirror.

"don't worry about navigating," dean reassures, running a hand coated in flaky, dried blood over his face, "i'll tell you when to turn."

you nod, still fiddling away with the keys in your hand, humming to the low music you'd left playing while they were gone. this was fun, wasn't it? everything but the smell was. you loved hanging out with them.

sam breaks the comfortable silence, giving way to the fact that maybe, it was only comfortable for you. "baby?"

your gaze flicks over to him in the mirror's reflection, now. "hi."

"hi," sam laughs a little, nodding toward the front end of the car, "take us home?"

your face lights up in recognition. home. you knew that word. home was right here. but clearly, they meant something else, since the both of them watched you expectantly now. "oh! i don't know how."

dean leans forward, leather seats creaking in the process. his hand curls around the back of the driver's seat chair. "i already told you, baby, don't worry about that. i'm gonna tell you when to—"

you nod along to his words, listening as intently as you always did when dean spoke, but you're quick to cut him off when you knew that he'd already said this once. "i know."

"so..." dean's hand lifts to lightly pat down on the leather of your seat now. "what's the hold up?"

you shrug. "i don't know how to make it go."

it's quiet for another long few minutes. they are comfortable for you, filled with your low hum to the guitar solo of whatever song played. then, "explain." dean.

"the car is sleeping." you point at the dash, unmarred by the bright lights usually lit up on it. "i don't know how to wake her up."

sam. "do you... know how to drive?"

"i do not know how." you were repeating yourself a lot here. that's okay. they'd been patient with you, you could try to be patient with them. "who is going to carry the car when we walk?"

silence. you didn't know why, either. usually, dean or sam drove them all places. she could not drive, so that was the next solution. leaving a stolen car coated in blood didn't seem like an option, so someone would have to do something with it, if neither of them wanted to drive.

"baby." the soft voice of dean, the one that usually came out when he was masking the eye twitch. "what the hell do you mean you can't drive?"

now, you were getting angry. you could only have patience for so long, just like they could, before it started to get grating, answering the same thing over and over. "i. do. not. know. how."

"you said you could take us home."

"i can. i will be a very good line leader while you guys carry the car."

sam, now, sounding incredulous, stating the obvious. "you were a car."

"what?" your face twists up, confusion mixing in pretty swirls with the budding anger. "i am not a car. me and this lady do not even look alike."

dean's hand lands on your shoulder, nudging you to look at him. you do, your eyes falling right to the mess on his fingers, now imprinted into the pretty blue of your shirt. the rage, again, overpowers the confusion. "we're unpacking this later. all of this? later."

"there are no boxes." you yank your shoulder free from his grip, the entire direction of this conversation turning to lead in your stomach. you reach up to run your fingers over the risen scar tissue on your collarbone, the shapes of what you now knew were letters so easy to find now. D.W., D.W., D.W.. "this doesn't make any sense. i want to go home."

sam is the angel on your shoulder. he starts talking, and your hand goes over to your other collarbone, tracing the S.W. there subconsciously. "no need to get overwhelmed," yes there was; you could see dean's eye twitching in the rearview mirror, "i'll drive us home. is that okay?"

you nod, even if it's a little hesitant, hating this newer, slimier feeling in your chest. you didn't want them mad. you never said you could drive, just that you could take them home; it felt like you'd failed them, and it hurt the same as crying did.

still, you switch seats with sam, sinking down next to dean without a care in the world about the wet blood staining your jeans, too. you were just as messy as them, now, all of your new favorite clothes reduced to red handprints and smears.

dean watches you as sam starts the car, starting back toward the motel. you don't look at either of them. it felt like claws in your chest, every mean word in your head turning their attention onto you for this mistaken misunderstanding.

he sighs, reaching over to clasp your hand in his, resting them both on top of your knee. he must have come to the same conclusion: your outfit was already ruined, so it wouldn't hurt to get a little blood on your hand.

"sorry," you mumble to him, because it feels right to apologize. they apologize when they hurt your feelings, and they were mad at you, so it felt like the best thing to do. you pause and then repeat it to yourself, your mind trying to apologize to your heart for the mean things you'd said to it. "sorry—"

"why?" dean says, an air of nonchalance to him now, like he'd known that the apologies weren't entirely for either of them, and that your head was turning into a cruel place of hurt, and you needed the gentle remedy of talking around the problem. "this just means i gotta teach you, that's all."

it sounded so simple in his mouth that you didn't know why you'd worried in the first place. a hesitant smile pulls up on your lips. "really?"

"can't have my baby not knowin' how to drive." his thumb traces shapes over your knuckles, and suddenly, you're reminded of why, exactly, the winchesters were your home. "i've got too many places i wanna show her for that."

notes. i'm weak and i did cry when i saw this lil idea btw. bc instantly this cameinto my head. the winchester boys + being sweet to baby :( !!!!!! hope u guys dont mind that i did not want to fancy this one up <3 lots of lil cameos of prev discussed lore here hehehehe

tags. @titsout4jackles @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @aileenunfiltered @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @sunsettsam @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @couturewinx @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @angelicalm3ss @nperoconelcositoarriba

[sunsbaby]

¡ sam winchester x fem!reader

⋅˚₊‧ fluff . sam is a sweetie .

Ever since you and Sam began dating, it's safe to say he was obsessed with you. That man practically worshipped the ground you walked on. He took his time with you, even while in bed.

You both had a rough week, hunts back-to-back and the nagging feeling that something was just off. So, renting a boat and gliding across the salty waters was something you both agreed on.

You were laid on a chair, the sun blazing against your form. The oil you'd put on before making your body shine. Sam walked over, a smile forming on his handsome face.

"Sweetheart, y'know you look so beautiful. The prettiest thing I've ever seen." This was his way of showing how much he appreciated you, showering you with all his love and affection. He sat beside you, twinkling eyes admiring you.

The boat rocked against the waters, the feeling was rather calming. You smiled at Sam, a hand moving to brush a stray piece of hair from his face.

"Thank you, baby, I love you." You spoke sweetly towards him, the words falling off your tongue like silk. 'I love you,' hit him straight in the heart. You loved him. A warm feeling came crashing over him harder than any wave he'd ever felt.

The sun was going down, the sunset, fading into the horizon. Casting a filter over you, so Sam did what he thought was perfect at the moment. He pulled out his camera, telling you to pose, and quickly snapped a picture. Planning on keeping it with him until he died, savouring the moment he knew that you loved him; that someone other than Dean truly loved him.

"I love you too, sweetheart.."

sunny yaps! MY BABY SAMMMM!! I love him OH SO MUCH !! I do not have any motivation to write long stuff SO DRABBLES U GUYS GET!! COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED I LOVE U ALLL 😽

special tags! @bluemerakis @figthoughts

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

[bruisedfig]

https://x.com/koerdnsfw/status/1914104196112015499?s=46

sam winchester. can't tell me otherwise

oh my lord yes !!!!!! i have thoughts…. 18+

x p!link 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

orally-fixated, tit-obssessed sam winchester? i think yes.

finally getting back to the motel room after an uneventful day of studying in the town library—surrounded by boring books filled with pages of unhelpful town history that somehow smelled mustier than dean’s duffel bag.

sam had been itching for you all day, studying you hungrily while you had your nose buried between the pages of some old newspaper clippings. his dick had been half-chubbed since the moment you fluttered your eyelashes at him, grinning sweetly, your face lighting up at every hushed word he spoke to you over the books. he was a goner.

he practically yanked you out of the library when he couldn’t take it anymore. “c’mon, let’s go. we’re not finding anything here.”

“but, sam, there’s–”

“no. we’re going back to the motel.”

when you got inside, all sam could think was “thank god dean’s not back yet.” his desperate hands tugged you out of your clothes with ease, dropping his own just as quickly, before pulling you over to the bed with fervour. his fingers met your slit, working you up into a blushing puddle above him, all pretty and wet from just his fingers alone.

his cock was a mess, leaking out so much pre that it dribbled down his length, and throbbing to the point it must’ve hurt. when you finally sunk down on it, sam groaned. loud.

it only took a few bounces before his needy mouth met your breast, his tongue flicking over your hardened nipple like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

you could feel him pulsing inside your walls, deep grumbles vibrating up his throat and kissing your sensitive nipple as he stayed latched to it, lapping up the taste of your skin.

you came quickly—maybe from seeing how needy your boyfriend was or maybe from how snug he fit inside you. it didn’t matter. sam followed quickly, cumming inside your pussy with a loud whimper, finally detaching his mouth from your boobs and meeting your lips in a bruising kiss with his own wet swollen ones.

[angelickks]

life growing up with the winchesters would include...

pt.2 ->, supernatural mlist!

⛧♱ "smile deanie, you too sammy!"

⛧♱ favorite lyrics in the margins of sam's journal

⛧♱ a handful of polaroids of the three of them in different cities in an old altoids tin stashed in the glove box

⛧♱ "fry tax, losers!"

⛧♱ knife contests in abandoned fields

⛧♱ wind in their hair, road ahead and the hum of classic rock filling their ears

⛧♱ " freud would say he's compensating for something"

⛧♱ mindlessly humming metallica

⛧♱ sharp polished knives and the odd pair of brass knuckles

⛧♱ "pretty bitchin' huh sammy?"

⛧♱ stash of candy underneath dean's seat riddled with sam's granola bars

⛧♱ multiple fake ids to collect "birthday" freebies

⛧♱ "quit choking him!" "it's fine sweetie, it builds character"

⛧♱ prank wars + "you fuckin' owe me winchester"

⛧♱ the smell of leather, gasoline, and sweet aromatherapy oils being baby's signature scent

⛧♱ "on a scale of one to ten how fucked are we? i mean realistically?"

⋆⁺₊⋆

playlist

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ papa was a rollin' stone - the temptations

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ war pigs - black sabbath

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ the chain - fleetwood mac

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ run through the jungle - creedence clearwater revival

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ wrong way - sublime

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ somebody to love - jefferson airplane

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ carry on wayward son - kansas

⋆⁺₊⋆

authors note: something cute and small i felt like randomly doing! lmk if u guys want more stuff like this, im officially back in my spn era i never really left but college got in the way

[acklesarchives]

Landslide - Sam W

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

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

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

Word count ; 2,591

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

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

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

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

You swallowed. “Hey.”

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

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

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

He made grilled cheese.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a lot of monsters around here.”

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

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

“I missed you,” he said.

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

“I don’t care.”

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

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

Your chest tightened.

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

You stared out at the trees. “Always.”

He was silent for a long moment. Then—

“Why’d you leave?”

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

“I thought you’d chase me,” you said.

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

“And if I didn’t?”

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

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

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

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

Sam’s answer was instant. “Every day

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

You reached for him, tentative.

He didn’t hesitate.

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

Well, I’ve been afraid of changing

‘Cause I built my life around you…

“I still love you,” you said.

Sam turned toward you, eyes glassy in the moonlight.

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

He let out a shaky breath. Moved closer.

“Then stay,” he said.

And this time, you didn’t run.

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

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

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

You had survived the landslide.

Now all that was left was to build something new.

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

And warmth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes fluttered open. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

“You look older,” you said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked back at him. “Thank you.”

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

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

“Do you?”

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

There was a long pause.

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

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

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

“I do want to try,” you said.

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

You didn’t.

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

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I would’ve kept it anyway.”

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

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

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

Mornings became your new kind of prayer.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll make the eggs today,” you said.

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

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

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

Later that week, you found the box.

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

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

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

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

He looked at the box and paused.

“…Yeah.”

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

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

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

And then, his hand over yours.

You didn’t pull away.

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

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

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

“I think we already are.”

You let yourself believe it.

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

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

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

The house was quiet. For once.

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

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

A children’s book, you guessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mama?”

You stood up, crossing to him in seconds.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked.

He shook his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you had never felt steadier.

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

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

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

Any engagement is greatly appreciated <33

[supernotnatural2005]

Drunk in Love - Drabble

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Summary: Drunk Jensen antics

Word Count: 625

Warnings/tags: Established relationship, Nesnej, Drunk!Jensen, he's adorable, fluff.

AN: Just a little something that popped into my head, thought it was cute. Plus I love Drunk!Jensen ❤️ Hope you guys enjoy.

Main Masterlist

Jensen had definitely had a few too many "apple juices" on stage with Jared. You could always tell when he’d hit that point—when the reserved, keep-it-together side of him started to crumble, and in its place, the showman emerged.

He was more performative, more touchy, saying things he normally wouldn’t. Jared, of course, ate it up, encouraging every bit of his antics like the chaos gremlin he was.

By the time Jensen finally got off stage and into the green room, he was already looking for you. His gaze swept the room, glassy but determined, until it landed on you standing near the catering table, laughing at something Gen had just said. His face immediately softened, lips tugging into a lopsided, love-drunk grin.

Like a man on a mission, he beelined toward you, stepping up behind you without a sound. Before you could react, strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You barely had time to register the warmth of him before he leaned in and plucked the mini quiche straight from your fingertips with his mouth.

You gasped, spinning to look at him over your shoulder, eyes wide. “Jensen! That was the last one!”

He chewed dramatically, smirking, the smug bastard. “Mmm… delicious.” He swallowed, then tilted his head. “Tasted even better ‘cause it was yours.”

You huffed, swatting at his chest, but he just laughed, holding you even closer. Gen chuckled, giving you a knowing look before making herself scarce, leaving you to handle your very clingy, very drunk boyfriend.

At home, Jensen was affectionate—always had a hand on you somewhere. But in public, he was usually a bit more reserved, respectful of personal space and the fact that not everything needed to be on display.

Drunk Jensen, however, didn’t seem to remember that little detail.

His lips found the side of your neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses along your skin. His hands wandered freely—one resting at your hip, the other sneaking under the hem of your sweater, rubbing slow circles against your lower back. You let out a soft laugh, trying to pry his arms off you, but he just groaned dramatically and nuzzled into your shoulder.

“Nooo, lemme hold you,” he whined.

“Jay, people are watching,” you teased, though you couldn’t deny how much you loved how affectionate he was being.

“Let ‘em watch,” he muttered, tilting your chin up with two fingers and capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss.

It stole the breath right from your lungs. His lips were warm, tasting faintly of whiskey and something sweet, and when he finally pulled back, his green eyes were hooded and full of mischief.

You blinked, dazed. “Whatever’s gotten into you… I like it.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a grin, he kissed you again, deeper this time, like he had all the time in the world.

Then, suddenly, you were off the ground.

You yelped as Jensen dramatically scooped you up bridal style, making an exaggerated show of carrying you toward the elevators.

“Jensen! Put me down!”

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ with a grin, his steps only slightly wobbly. “Gotta get my girl upstairs. Too much sexy in one room—‘s distracting.”

You covered your face, half laughing, half mortified as the few people still lingering in the green room watched in amusement. Jared, of course, was the loudest, laughing his ass off from across the room.

“Be safe, lovebirds!” Jared called out. “Try not to break anything!”

You groaned, and Jensen just laughed, pressing his lips against your temple. “C’mon, babe. We got important business to attend to.”

And with that, the elevator doors slid shut, leaving you to deal with your very drunk, very in-love boyfriend.

AN: I hope you guys liked this one, was just something short an sweet, but adorable.. If only this were true, am I right? 😫

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

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@suckitands33 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy

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