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sunnwila · 14 days ago

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this is everything and more. THANK YOU!

also side note what are they playing ???

Sam Winchester x Reader

You Win

description: it's a quiet fall evening at the motel, and sam passes the time by playing some games. tired of reading, you ask to play and he takes it upon himself to teach you.

warnings: none. no nsfw, just sams giant ass hands and a lot fluff.

since yall voted basically 50/50 on this poll, i wrote the dean version too hehe ::>_<::

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ -`♡´-₊˚⊹ ⋆˚✿˖° 𐙚 ₊ ⊹ ♡ ⋆｡˚⋆˚✿˖°

The hunt had been slow, too slow. No solid leads, no fresh cases, and honestly, it was starting to wear thin on all three of you. For the first time in weeks, you weren't driving across state lines or holed up in libraries or paging through dusty books.

Instead, you were here: a dingy but cozy little motel room. It was fairly quiet except for the faint hum of the heater kicking on every now and then. The sky outside was heavy with clouds, the overcast light bleeding soft grey into the corners of the room. Fall had settled comfortably, that in-between kind of weather where sweaters and warm drinks felt necessary, but the world wasn’t quite ready for winter’s bite.

Dean had gone out to grab food, muttering something about seeing a burger joint down the road before slamming the door shut behind him. That left you and Sam behind, wrapped in a soft kind of peace neither of you got very often.

You lay on Sam’s bed, nose tucked into the book you'd been trying to finish for days. The faint scent of his cologne clung to his blanket beneath you. Warm, subtle, a little woodsy. Across from you, Sam sat at the edge of the bed, controller in hand, playing one of his old games to pass the time. You glanced up from your page.

There was something about watching Sam like this that made your chest ache in the sweetest way. His face, usually creased with worry, constantly buried in lore books, squinting at old newspaper clippings, was finally relaxed. His brow was smooth, his lips slightly parted in concentration, but peaceful.

A sudden sound from the TV made him jolt as his avatar collapsed dramatically on the screen.

He groaned under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle.

"Lossed?" you teased gently, your voice breaking the quiet.

Sam looked over his shoulder, grinning sheepishly. "Yeah," he admitted. "Got careless."

“I wanna try.” You shut your book, smile tugging at your lips, “Might even help you out."

He turned toward you slightly, that playful glint sparked in his eyes immediately, "Oh yeah?"

“Why not?” You shrugged.

"Alright, come here." He said, voice inviting and soft. He scooched back, making room as he patted the empty space between his legs. It was second nature between you two, but still, your heart gave a soft, stupid little flutter.

You placed your book on the nightstand, then shuffled to settle between his legs. His chest pressed lightly against your back and you felt the steady warmth radiating from him. The freakishly long legs that you and Dean teased him for caged yours in comfortably, grounding you.

The controller was handed off to you, but Sam didn’t pull away completely. Instead, his hands hovered close over yours, long fingertips grazing your knuckles.

"Alright," he murmured near your ear, voice dropping into that soft, careful tone he used when explaining things, "Let’s start simple."

"This one controls your movement," he explained, "And this one," Sam continued, his thumb guiding yours to another button, "controls your camera angle."

You nodded slightly, but your mind was half focused on the game, half focused on the way his warm breath tickled the side of your face. Your fingers nearly disappeared beneath his, and you had to suppress the warmth crawling up your cheeks.

You’d always admired his hands. More times than you could count, you’d found yourself idly tracing the lines on his skin when you both sat quietly together. You never brought it up, figuring Sam knew, but thankfully, never said anything.

"You still with me?" he asked with a breath of laughter. “Sorry, I might’ve been rambling.”

"What? No," you managed to say, “It was helpful rambling.”

“Alright then, give it a try,” He chuckled, hands leaving yours to gently take their place on each side of your waist. “I’ll help you out if you need.”

The first few minutes went surprisingly well. You moved your character around, getting the hang of dodging and swinging, though unlocking certain doors and puzzles took more time than you thought it would.

"Here," Sam offered, his hands sliding over yours again.

You couldn’t help but let your gaze wander from his hands to his face. The soft glow of the TV screen highlighted the few moles adorning his nose, the faint curl of hair brushing the back of his neck, the little crease between his brow as he worked through the puzzle for you. For once, he looked his age. Not a hunter, not the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. Just a 22-year-old in a gray crewneck, playing video games on a quiet evening.

He solved the last part of the level with ease and pulled back slightly. "There," he said with a proud grin. "You did well."

You laughed. "You did all the work."

“Nah,” he teased, nudging you lightly with his knee, "Just needed a little boost."

Once you were more comfortable, you tilted your head back with a grin, "Can we play against each other now?"

He raised an eyebrow, "You sure?"

“I’m certain," you challenged.

“Okay,” Sam sighed as he pulled back, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You huffed, “Just grab a controller, you dork.”

He stood up, grabbing another controller from his duffel before settling beside you this time. The competitive energy buzzed between you as the game loaded. You could feel his focus kick in, brows furrowing just slightly, jaw tightening with mock seriousness.

It was neck-and-neck for most of the game, but when you realized you were slipping behind, you resorted to desperate measures. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you swatted at his hand mid-game.

"Hey!" Sam laughed, his thumb slipping off the joystick, "That’s cheating!"

"I had a spasm," you shot back, biting back your laughter.

The two of you bantered and yelped like kids, giggles filling the motel room as the both of you resorted to smacking each other's hands off the controllers mid match.

Finally, with one final victorious move, your screen flashed

You Win!

“Yes!” You threw your arms up.

Sam rolled his eyes half heartedly as he watched you jump up and practically dance around in circles.

But then you caught it, that little smirk tugging at his lips.

You paused in place abruptly, eyeing him in suspicion,

"You let me win," you accused, still out of breath from your celebration.

“No I didn’t.” He dismissed, wrapping the wires around the controllers to put away, but you saw the smile threatening to tug at his lips.

“You so did!” You started toward him, before swatting at his shoulder, “I wanted a fair match–”

Sam chuckled, trying to dodge you. Before you could land another hit, he caught your wrists in his hands easily, gently tugging you toward him. He wrapped his arms around your waist, looking up at you with that amused grin you’d smack off anyone else.

“Okay, maybe I did let you win.”

You rolled your eyes.

“But only to boost your confidence for next time,” Sam quickly added. He shook his head with a half hearted scoff as he watched you mimic him under your breath childishly.

He flopped backward onto the bed, tugging you down with him. The two of you laughed softly, breaths syncing as you settled there.

“I want a rematch,” You murmur, poking the mole adorning his face.

Sam yawned, eyes fluttering closed as his arms wrapped loosely around your waist, "After I nap."

You catch his yawn, dropping your head against his chest, letting your eyes close too.

"Promise you’ll actually try to win."

“Deal,” He murmured, the angular slope of his nose nuzzling into the crown of your head.

Outside, the soft drizzle continued to patter against the windows. But inside, wrapped up in Sam’s arms, everything felt wonderfully still.

⋆｡˚୨୧˚｡⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ -`♡´-₊˚⊹ ⋆˚✿⋆. ⋆ ˚｡⋆ ꪆৎ ˚ - ⋆˚✿˖° dont be shy, leave a note to lmk what you think (≧∇≦) ZONT forget to read the dean version for those of yall who said "i cant choose `(*>﹏<*)′ !! " on my poll loll requests always open:)

spn masterlist

#sam winchester imagine #cutie patootie #my heart is meltingggg

401 notes · View notes

sunnwila · 14 days ago

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sneaky little shit

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧ page turner,

summary. you know sam through dean, who's your best friend. and dean... well... he can be a little overprotective. so you're still to tell him about you and sam. you will, promise. in the meantime, you'll have some fun with his brother right in front of his eyes.

pairing. sam winchester x reader genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 732

notes / warnings. use of a remote-controlled vibrator (f!receiving), public teasing, orgasm denial, secret relationship (oh, the lies), light dom!sam, oblivious best friend!dean, lots of sexual tension, desperate!reader, light power play, language

You probably should’ve said no.

You told yourself you would—on the drive here, in the parking lot, when Sam smirked at you with that goddamn remote in his hand and said, “Just for fun.”

And now? Well. You’re sitting in a dusty library, pretending to care about folklore, and your panties are vibrating at a setting that can only be described as emotional terrorism.

Sam doesn’t even look at you. He’s across the table, all broad shoulders and biting his lip while flipping pages of some dead guy’s notes, like he’s not holding the remote in his lap under that huge freaking book.

Dean sits between you. Oblivious. Eyes narrowed at his own text, a pencil tapping against his bottom lip. His brow furrows like he’s about to uncover the secrets of the universe—or at least how to kill a banshee with a toothpick.

You’re dying. Right here, in your chair. Legs pressed together. Face blank and tight as you pretend to read the same sentence for the twelfth time while your underwear buzzes like it’s trying to send a distress signal.

Sam cranks it up.

Your breath catches.

You nearly choke on your own spit and throw in a cough to cover it. Dean glances over, brow raised. “You good?”

“Mm-hm,” you squeak. Sam, that evil bastard, fakes concern. “You sure? You look kinda flushed.”

“I’m fine,” you hiss, gripping the table so hard your nails dig into the wood. Your thighs are clenched like a vice, and your pulse is skipping beats, and Sam is enjoying every second.

He finally meets your eyes. And you want to slap him. Or sit on his face. Possibly both.

Dean stands with a sigh. “Gonna grab coffee. Either of you want—?”

“No,” you both say way too fast.

Dean frowns. Shrugs. “Alright, be back in a few.” The moment the door swings shut behind him, everything changes.

Sam leans forward, and that goddamn smirk could undress you. “You’re soaked, aren’t you?”

You glare. Your voice is a rasp. “Sam.”

“What?” He whispers like you’re not about to commit murder. “You said you wanted something different.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to cum next to your brother in a haunted library!”

His eyes darken, his smile growing in slow-motion sin. “You didn’t say no, either.”

He dials the setting down this time. Just a little. The relief is so sharp you whimper without meaning to.

Sam’s foot brushes yours under the table. “You like being teased in public. Don’t lie.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

You do. You really do. Even if he’s a smug, unfair, impossibly hot little shit who knows exactly how to push your buttons—figuratively and literally.

He presses the remote again. The pulse switches. It’s stronger now, deeper. You suck in a breath, nearly drop your pen, and slap a hand over your mouth.

Sam groans under his breath, eyes raking over you like he could crawl across the table and take you apart piece by piece. “You’re squeezing your thighs right now, aren’t you? Bet you’re dripping.”

Your brain’s melting. Full-body overheating. Your nipples are hard, and your whole body is one live wire, and if he doesn’t let you cum—

“Please,” you whisper.

“What was that?”

You close your eyes. “Please. Sam. Please let me—”

“Not yet.”

“Sam—”

He turns it off.

You go boneless in your seat like a puppet with cut strings. Every nerve in your body is screaming, and your clit is throbbing, and your face is a furnace.

“You can wait a little longer,” he says, calm as the dead, like he didn’t just ruin your entire soul.

Your jaw drops. “You’re evil.”

He grins. “You’ll thank me later.”

The door creaks open. Dean strolls back in with two coffees. “Man, that guy at the counter was slower than molasses,” he mutters, sitting back down. “You two figure anything out?”

You stare at your book. “Nope.”

Sam flips a page. “Still working on it.”

Dean hands you a cup. “You okay? You look like you ran a mile.”

“I’m fine,” you grit through your teeth, sipping scalding coffee and wishing it would burn your dirty thoughts into ash.

Dean shrugs. “Alright. Well, keep looking. We’ve got a ghost to gank and a motel to check into.”

You blink. Sam smirks.

Motel. He mouths the word like a promise.

And oh, you’re so screwed.

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

#sam winchester

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sunnwila · 14 days ago

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Criminal that we didn't have a Supernatural vintage car show episode, come on now

Dean can infiltrate no problem bc he genuinely knows everything about cars and gets super into discussing fixes, gets wildly side-tracked, while Sam goes off to interrogate a bunch of car-enthusiast hot milfs

Dean is glued at the hip to Cas and Cas always stands awkwardly at the Impala, doesn't know anything about cars, so everyone just assumes Cas is the boyfriend who showed up for support? And the hot young ladies in shorts and boots befriend him bc he's apparently one of the hot girlfriends? And so he gets insight into their lives and solves the case, leading them final-girl style through the monster showdown in a garage full of heavy machinery and angry ghosts

Dean watches him emerge from the garage, shotgun in hand, shirt torn and covered in grease, and he bluescreens so hard he just runs past the flock of bombshells in shorts and tank tops (also covered in grease) to clutch Cas to check him for injuries

#this is beautiful actually

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sunnwila · 14 days ago

Note

Do you write for Dean??

I do!! pls gimme any ideas/prompts ! I’d be more than happy to :)

#supernatural #sam winchester #dean winchester #spn #supernatural fanfiction #sunnwila #spn fanfic

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sunnwila · 15 days ago

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i'm so glad i got this reassurance

ICEBREAKER two

pairing: stanford!hockey player!sam winchester x figure skater!female!reader

content: language, slightly ooc sam

word count: 3k

note: here's part two!!! i hope you all love it, even if it is a bit of a filler part. peep the very forward foreshadowing about hockey jess' series, hehe. anyway, hope you enjoy!!

The next few days were a whirlwind of sleep, class, practice, repeat. A bit less of the sleep portion than usual, however, thanks to the stream of texts from a certain hockey player.

The chance for your date – or whatever you two would choose to call it – hadn’t come up yet. You were drilled on your routines for hours on end while also trying to juggle the seemingly endless amounts of homework being thrown at you. Sam was in the same boat, coaches slamming him with new techniques to pick up on before his Friday night game.

So, you two had resorted to flirty texts and pictures. Most were tame enough, just little things here and there that had you biting back a smile during lectures.

I can’t wait to see how that lemonade tastes. And how you taste, Sam had texted once, making you roll your eyes playfully and tap a heart onto the message.

Selfies of him, sweaty from practice and smiling like a golden retriever, were immediately inspected by you, eyes narrowing in on the ripple of his muscle when he was shirtless.

You especially liked the darkened mirror pictures of him post-shower, a towel wrapped around his lips lazily. You wouldn’t ever admit how long you would spend staring down your phone screen when he sent those.

Lissa caught you once or twice smiling at your phone. Despite your deep need to brag about how over the moon about this man you already were, you kept quiet. Right now, for example, she was trying to get to your phone, which you were deftly holding above your head.

“Come on, babe, just let me see who you’ve been blushing over!” Lissa protested, stretching her arms as high as they could go. Fortunately for you, she was just the slightest bit shorter than you, and that slightest bit added the necessary height to keep your phone out of her hands.

“It’s really none of your business, Liss.” You laughed when she sighed in defeat, falling from her tiptoes. She sent a glare your way, one that told you she would push about this topic later. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m just trying to look out for you.” Lissa argued, crossing her arms. You raised a brow, not believing a minute of it. Maybe she was looking out for you, but you knew she was the biggest gossip on your team. You learned that fact when everyone was coincidentally curious about the East coast just a day after telling Lissa that you had matched with a Maine-native on Tinder.

At the sight of your doubtful expression, she threw her hands up defensively.

“I’m serious! What if this guy is a… serial killer who likes feet!” She nodded, her eyes wide. “Your feet are beautiful, you’d be dead in a heartbeat.”

“Why does he have to like feet?” You laughed, hoping this would steer the conversation away from your love life. You would talk foot fetishes all day long if it meant Lissa didn’t find out about your embarrassingly schoolgirl-crush-ish feelings toward Sam.

“Wait!” Lissa gasped, clutching her hands to her chest. “Is it a girl?”

You watched the way she was practically bouncing on her feet, excitement running through her like a shot of adrenaline. Lissa was under the belief that every individual out there had some degree of homosexuality in them. It didn’t matter how many times you told her that just because she had a very large dose of said homosexuality in her didn’t mean everyone did. You almost felt bad for the way you were about to crush her.

“No.” You watched her face fall into a pout.

“Why not?!” Lissa huffed. “Girls are hot and funny and sexy and taste-”

“Liss, I’m gonna stop you right there. I don’t need to hear about the flavor profilings of the human female. Again.” You held a hand up, giving her a face that said I’m done with this conversation.

“I’m just saying, don’t knock it ‘til you try it.” She shrugged, grinning. “Give me a hint about who this mystery man is and I’ll leave you alone, promise.” She held her pinky up.

“I don’t believe you, but fine.” You hooked your pinky into hers, just as you had done third grade on the playground that first day you both had met each other. “He’s… good on the ice.”

“Good on the ice?” Lissa repeated, disappointed with the ambiguity of this hint. “What’s that supposed to mean? There’s so many things that could mean!”

“Ah, ah, pinky promise.” You chided, shaking the hand that was still attached to yours. You raised your eyebrows, expecting a fight. Lissa only kept the pink promises that were really important.

“Fine.” Lissa sighed dramatically. You ignored that little pout, tapping awake your phone screen to view the newest text from Sam.

Sam found himself in a similar kind of situation, only, for him, Dean was much harder to shake off than Lissa.

“Sammy!” Dean drawled out, grinning. “Who’s got you giggling like a chick?” He plopped down onto the worn cushion of the couch.

“I’m not giggling, Dean.” Sam grumbled, clicking his phone off. He didn’t need Dean giving him shit for being “too romantic” or “too pussy-whipped” as he often did in situations like this. He’d gone through it the entire time with his ex. The brotherly taunting only got worse after Dean discovered the real reason Jess had broken up with him.

“I’m not giggling, Dean.” Dean repeated, in a mocking tone that was obviously supposed to imitate Sam. This earned him a firm push on the shoulder, which did little to move him thanks to his built upper body. “Come on, stop being such a wimp and show me.”

“You don’t need to know.” Sam stood, stretching his arms up and wincing at the soreness in his lower back. Maybe spending five hours straight studying solely the international relations between the United States and Russia wasn’t the best decision for his body.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean followed Sam up, looking quite annoyed at his little brother’s unwillingness to share, “I do.”

“Why?” Sam wasn’t going to give in so easily. He’d realized a few weeks ago how little secrets him and Dean had between each other when Dean had decided to share, in explicit detail, how his first threesome had gone. Sam cut him off at the first mention two pairs of hands grabbing Dean’s ass, unwilling to continue picturing the male-female-male event that had taken place in the bedroom next to his own. He was trying to change that codependency, create a little space between them.

“Well… because… you…,” Dean sputtered, trying to find a suitable answer. Evidently, he wasn’t used to Sam not being instantly obedient. A younger Sam, one who’d idolized Dean like he was God himself, wouldn’t have even required an interrogation. He would have gone running to Dean, words flowing out naturally. This Sam, the one standing four inches taller than his older brother, wasn’t so easy to work with. “I’m your brother, Sammy! You have to tell me.”

Now Dean was the one sounding like a chick, not that Sam would ever point that out to him.

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” Sam mumbled, turning to walk into the kitchen. His phone buzzed with a text from you, making a wide smile break across his face without him even realizing it. This also provided ample distraction for Dean to snatch up Sam’s phone, tapping and swiping through it like he was trying to find evidence for a murder case.

“You’re talking to a chick! God, Sammy, she's hot.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows with a smile that let the tip of his tongue peek out. Sam huffed in frustration, taking his phone back.

“She's off limits.” He grumbled, knowing exactly what Dean was thinking. Yes, it was true that most some of the girls he slept with usually ended up in his brother's bed as well. Often, he didn't care. Who was he to police who they slept with? It wasn't as if he was in love with any of those girls.

Dean always knew his limits. He didn't sleep with Jess because Dean knew Sam was really into her. Even that one sorority girl that had almost ruined Sam's life hadn't gotten into anything with Dean. Though, that may have been more to do with Dean claiming she was a demon from Hell that needed to be exorcised from the earth – dramatism was Dean's middle name – and less to do with Sam's intense whatever he'd had with her.

“Off limits?” Dean raised a brow, a grin spreading over his face. He knew what off limits meant. It meant-

“Sammy likes a gi-rl.” He said in a sing-songy voice, clutching his hands to his chest. “When’s the wedding? You’re wearing the dress, right?”

“Shut up.” Sam rolled his eyes, scoffing. “She’s… special. Just drop it.” He made his way to the refrigerator, pulling out a pre-made pressed juice. Dean nudged him out of the way to grab a beer for himself. How Dean could eat and drink like crap and still be in prime playing condition was beyond Sam. He played it safe with his high water intake and fresh veggies and expensive ass protein powder that the athletic department paid for.

“Ohhh… special, right.” Dean took a swig of his beer. “Why is that?”

Because she’s funny and smart and beautiful and dedicated and-

“She just is, okay?” Sam turned away, swallowing down the blush that threatened to creep up his cheeks. For all his big talk at parties and sport events, he sometimes felt like he was little Sammy again, the one that couldn’t talk to girls without his voice cracking. Though, he hadn’t found a girl that made him like that since Jess.

God, Jess. He should call her. Even broken up, they were still best friends. She’d been the first and only one – other than Dean, of course – to know the real reason why he was so dedicated to excelling at hockey. He’d been the first and only one – again, other than Dean – to know she was in love with her teammate. The same teammate who was her coach’s daughter, who, apparently, wasn’t “into girls like that” despite having really, really been into Jess at that pre-game party they’d all attended.

Yeah. He would call Jess to ask about you. Casually, of course. I mean, the girl’s hockey team and the figure skating team had to mingle, right? Maybe that was more of the mindset that all girls knew each other, something Jess constantly teased him about.

Now, he just had to find a way to coincidentally bring you up in conversation.

The day was finally here, a section of time when your schedules let up enough to allow for a date. You totally didn’t change your outfit more than necessary, and you’d taken an extra-long shower because you liked the water on your skin, not because you were shaving and scrubbing at everything with an obsessive precision.

A quick five-minute walk later, you were pulling open the door to the cafe, eyes glancing down at your phone to check for any I’m going to be late texts. Some would call the assumption pessimistic, you named it as playing it safe.

You did have a text sitting there in your notifications, it just wasn’t that text.

Waiting on someone else, pretty girl?

It had your eyes scanning the booth tables until you spotted a flop of brown hair and a red Stanford hoodie. Sam grinned at you, gesturing to the plastic cups of that heavenly lemonade sitting in front of him.

You hoped you didn’t look too giddy while you strode over to him.

“I didn’t think you’d show up on time.” You shot at him, settling in across from him.

“Timeliness is my middle name.” Sam scoffed playfully, feigning offense at your jab. Your smile blossomed without any conscious effort.

“Did you try it?” You nodded at his sweating cup, twirling the still-wrapped straw for your own between your fingers. He shook his head, making you frown slightly.

“Wanted to wait for you.” He admitted, his fingertips brushing against the back of your hand. It was like he couldn’t help himself, he just needed to touch you. A bloom of warmth filled you at the confession and for once you ignored the overwhelming urge to be a skeptic about the situation.

Sam really was just a nice guy who also happened to be really good at grinding.

“How charming.” You answered, actually meaning it despite the sarcasm that dripped from the words. He looked triumphant, as if you had just given him a gold-star sticker and called him a good boy.

You freed your straw from its paper, jabbing it through the designated spot on the lid, and flicked your gaze to Sam. He was watching you, amusement crossing his face when you scrunched your nose up.

“What?” You tried to force annoyance into your voice, annoyance that was quickly betrayed by the crooked smile that just slid into existence. He leaned forward, holding himself up on his forearms.

“You’re so cute.” He said it quietly, not needing to raise his volume thanks to his freakishly long torso that allowed him to get mere inches from your face. You shortened the distance further, nose almost brushing his.

“You’re cuter.” You mumbled, staring him straight in the eye. He held eye contact with you for a few moments and you forced your gaze to stay trained on his instead of flicking down to see how tempting his lips were today.

Finally breaking the tension of the moment, he settled back against the booth back, wrapping his hand around his cup.

Without saying a word, you both lifted your drinks, cheersing them together before bringing the straws to your lips. While you were silent about how good the beverage was, Sam let out a long, theatrical moan, rolling his eyes back. You blinked away the immediate flutter of need that sparked in you at the noise just in time for Sam to look back at you, wide eyed.

“This,” he pointed to his cup, “is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” He beamed at you, smile widening when you let out a soft laugh.

“I told you it was good.” You replied, sipping the lemonade again.

“No.” Sam shook his head, locking eyes with you. “It’s not good. It’s heavenly.” His grin tilted a bit. “It’s only fitting, though, since I’m sharing it with an angel.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, fighting down the blush that was threatening to bloom on your cheeks.

“You have anything else planned for today, or was it just going to be lemonade and sex?” You asked bluntly, hoping to get a reaction out of him. It didn’t work.

“Lemonade and sex are perfectly good plans, pretty girl.” Sam sighed, leaning forward again. “But, no, that’s not all. There’s this bookstore a few blocks from here, closer to my place.”

“Are you just trying to get me closer to your bed?” You tilted your head, warmth flooding you at his small head shake and quiet chuckle.

“I just thought you’d like the store. I know you like books, or maybe you just like carrying them around everywhere to look smart.” He teased, looking at you with downturned eyes. You furrowed your brows, confused.

“You know I like books? How?” You couldn’t think of a time when you had brought that fact up, and it’d been a while since you actually read anything. As you excelled in your collegiate figure skating career, it became more demanding, forcing you to exchange lazy reading nights for military-grade skating training.

“Freshman year, eight-am psych class.” It was simple, as if it should cover any other questions you had. You thought for a moment, still drawing a blank on what this had to do with the conversation at hand.

Then you had it. You remembered, with a fuzzy brain, some boy with the same mop of brown hair you now had in front of you. Sam. He’d been a bit hesitant in the beginning of the semester, but by finals, he was having debates with the professor on whatever the lesson was focusing on. You’d forgotten about the class as a whole, the excitement of it getting eclipsed by your first year of college-level skating competitions, the same season you’d received first place at a state level.

“That was almost three years ago.” You answered, casually, as if you didn’t want to launch yourself across the table into his lap over the fact that he’d remembered your dorky-freshman self.

“You brought a book every day,” he continued to cement in his perfection, “And a new one almost every week.”

“You never said anything to me.”

“Why would I? You were this perfect figure skater and I was still Dean’s rookie little brother ‘Sammy.’” He scoffed, shaking his head. “You would have rejected me in an instant, gorgeous. I was a loser.” You didn’t think there was ever a time little could be used to describe Sam.

“You were hot back then, too, Sammy.” You teased, swiping the tip of your tongue over your lips. “I would have been all over you.” You watched him breathe out a laugh and place his hand on the table, palm turned up.

“Guess we should make up for lost time.” Sam looked into your eyes, almost challenging you. You stared at him for a few moments, trying to gauge whether or not he was serious about this. Could it be more than just sex for him?

You decided there was only one way to truly find out and laid your hand on his, intertwining fingers as he guided you out of the cafe and into a world of new beginnings.

icebreaker tags: @gigiwritess @h8aaz @angzls @myceliumsunshine @unfortunaterat

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

sam winchester taglist : @hobiespick @xoswiftieprincess @whothefvckami

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sunnwila · 15 days ago

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need you

sam winchester x hunter! bsf! reader

⋆༺♱༻⋆

summary: dean and you are coming back from a bar after interrogating someone. sam has been left alone and the two of you find him drunk and stumbling over his words. takes place sometime around season 1, pre "playthings" drunken sam.

warnings: angst, grieving, self-loathing, pining, sort of drunken confession

"Alright, we'll grab the shotgun inside, head over to the farm and gank the sonuvabitch," Dean says, one foot out of the door.

"Are you absolutely positive this needs to happen tonight?" you groan, feeling the soreness in your back from being up for so long.

"The quicker we kill this thing, the quicker we can get back and sleep," he patronizes you with a sugar-sweet tone.

"Whatever," you grumble, opening the passenger side as he begins to unlock the motel room door ahead.

It's well past midnight and you can't believe the days not over yet. All you want is to lay down.

"Are you drunk?" You hear Dean say as you get out of the car. He's ahead of you by several feet, so you don't hear what Sam said to provoke the question, but you hurry to his side to see what's happening. He side-steps out of the doorway to the motel room, and you're met with the sight of Sam slouched on the couch. His head is lolled back onto the cushions behind him, and his legs are spread. He looks half unconscious and your heart drops in worry.

"Dude," Dean trails off. You keep staring, unsure of what to do. Your eyes travel to the half empty bottle of unspecified amber liquor on the floor by his foot.

"What are you thinking, man. We're on a job!" Dean says. You shoot him a look to cut it out. Sam had been having a hard time lately with the loss of his girlfriend and the evasiveness of his father, he didn't need his brother on his case. His head produced enough guilt to last him a lifetime and then some.

He groans from the couch, his head dropping to his chest. You hear the hollow thud of his chin meeting sternum and wince. You step forward, close enough to snatch the bottle from between his legs so that he doesn't knock it down. Once the top is screwed on you hand it back to Dean.

"Let me handle this, just get some of our stuff ready for tomorrow," you nod your head to the duffle bag sitting on the table across from you.

"Tomorrow? We were supposed to do this tonight," Dean says through his teeth, anger rising.

"Yeah, well clearly that's not happening," you whisper shout, "he can't even stand up." Dean stares at you for another second stubbornly, before rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue in his cheek. He sighs before turning to the duffle without another word.

At least that was one battle won.

You turn your attention back to Sam who's looking up at you through his bangs with a remorseful look. You huff and step closer, putting a smile on your face to try and comfort him. His eyes are watery and your heart breaks.

"C'mon sugar," you whisper to him, grabbing his arms that hang uselessly by his sides to try and help him up.

You grunt with effort when he doesn't move to assist you.

"No..." he slurs in protest. You try again, this time crouching to try and use your legs in the effort. He still doesn't budge much, shifting his weight and letting his head roll.

"Sammy, you gotta help me out here," you say with a smile for his benefit.

"Don't deserve it," he mumbles and you furrow your brow. "You guys go without me, I can't help anyways."

"Don't say that, we need you." You remove your hands from him and stay crouched, studying him.

"I can't save anyone!" he raises his voice now, lifting his head and looking at you, pain swimming in his eyes.

"Sam..." you trail off, unsure what to say. You didn't know this was weighing on him this much.

"Where's this pity party comin' from?" Dean pipes in from behind you and you whip your head to him, shutting him up with a look.

"Don't listen to him. And what do you mean, you can't save anyone? You save plenty of people all the time," you point out, if only to take his mind off of whatever self-loathing was going on. You knew what he was getting at.

"Couldn't save Jess," his voice cracks when he says her name and you frown. There it is. Your hand itches to reach out and hold him, but he was so unpredictable sometimes, you aren't sure if that's what he needs.

"That's not your fault and you know it," you say, trying to meet his eye. You're speaking so gingerly, you're not even sure if he hears you.

"Dad was right, can't do anything right. Can't help anyone," he mumbles to himself, avoiding your gaze. Your ears strain to pick apart his slurred speech and you shift your position, about to lean closer. He senses this and in a moment of confusion, reaches out, grabbing your hand in urgency. His wild eyes meet yours and you hold your breath, waiting for the next thing, but nothing comes. He sits there, eyes darting between yours and breathing heavy.

"Don't listen to your dad, when have you ever listened to your dad?" you try, gripping his hand to tether him to your words, let them sink into his skull. His face looks like he's on the verge of tears, but he can't cry.

"We need you Sam," you say again to reassure him.

"Dad didn't need me."

"Well John is an idiot. We're not your father," your tone has a finality that he can't argue with, even drunk. His eyes search yours and you watch as he fights with himself. Over what, you're not sure. You catch him staring at your intertwined hands and feel him grip you harder, like you'll disappear.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed," you say softly, afraid to upset him again. This time he listens.

You help him off the couch with some effort and walk him to the bed a foot away. He sits and slumps into you, practically throwing his arms around your waist.

Your hands freeze just above his head, raised and unsure of what to do. He stays there for a moment, breathing you in as you stiffen under the sudden affection. It's quiet, your mind wanders, allowing yourself to selfishly bask in the comfort of Sam hugging you.

"Don't leave me," he says into the denim of your jeans.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, relaxing into his touch and settling your hands on his shoulders. You wish desperately to be able to run your fingers through his hair, but you don't want to cross a line and break the spell.

It's quiet again, and you think Sam has fallen asleep, so you turn to Dean who is watching with a bewildered look in his eye coupled with mild amusement. You mouth, what do I do? to him and he shrugs, still watching the interaction.

You turn your attention back to Sam who is not asleep and is now looking up at you so reverently you feel an overwhelming sense of sadness well up in your throat.

"I love you," he says so quietly you can barely hear him. Your heart splinters and the words die in your throat. You wish so badly that everything was different. That he wasn't drunk and probably stretching the truth. That he wasn't grieving his girlfriend who he thought he'd marry. You wished that maybe in another life you had gotten Sam before Jessica did. That none of this ever happened and that you two were living a normal, apple-pie-life.

But none of that was real. Sam was drunk, and grieving his girlfriend, and feeling bad for himself. So, you took a deep breath and plastered a smile on your face.

"I know, sweetheart," you reply as if the words didn't feel like sandpaper in your throat. As if your heart wasn't plummeting with the jumbled rejection of his drunken affection. As if you weren't contemplating the meaning of all of this. He wouldn't remember this in the morning anyways.

His brow furrows and he pouts before throwing himself onto the bed behind him. He turns away from you and says nothing more, settling himself into the bed like a petulant child. You take a stabilizing breath to distract yourself from the last two minutes and watch as his breathing evens out.

After another quiet moment, you turn and pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened, which is bullshit because Dean was right there.

"Jesus," is all he says. His pistol is taken apart in front of him, lying on the surface of the table as he cleans the barrel.

"Yeah..." you trail off and take a seat next to him, your heart hammering in your chest as you begin to unpack the interaction.

⋆♱

this one is just kinda meh. was supposed to turn it into a loooooong plot with smut but.... kinda thought it was too depressing.

anyhoo!

#sam winchester #sam winchester angst #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x hunter!reader #sam winchester x reader angst #sunnwila #angst #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfic #spn fanfiction #sam winchester fan fiction #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester x bsf! reader

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sunnwila · 15 days ago

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sorry I know this isn’t the point of the post but… the thought of hockey Jess has me kicking my feet and twirling my hair….

anyways!