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lailawinchesterr · 5 days

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remedy (vi) — sam winchester

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summary: just when you thought things were getting easy between you and sam — tags: underage!reader, 22 year old!sam, med student!fem!reader, cursing.

“Why do you have so many nicknames for me?” Sam looks up from his book with a frown, still comprehending your question, and you can’t blame him, it came out nowhere.

It’s only been a few days but you’ve spent the night with each other, though to be fair you’re both mostly studying. You figured it’s a good way to keep him next to you instead of Lily and you’ve always loved study dates. But it hasn’t all been so easy— Jess doesn’t approve of freakin’ Sam Winchester, like, who else would you approve of if not this man?

In other news, Sam has been shutting you down everytime you brought Dean up and you don’t want to push him so he’s been getting away with it even though you can clearly see how bad it’s eating at him.

“What?”

“Nicknames. You use lots of them.”

“Such as? Sweetheart?” He has to know how sensual it is when he says it. He has to.

“You use lots of other ones too. Why?”

“I don’t know, I want to see what fits you and what you like, I guess. Do they bother you?” You raise an eyebrow at him and it might as well have been you calling him a fucking idiot. Hate them? You’ve never been so flustered in your life from one person but every single word out of his mouth makes you want to lean in and kiss him. Which you can technically do.

“Was just wondering.”

“Well, which one do you like best?” He questions with a smirk, he knows how unnerved you get. You’ve gotten plenty of nicknames from other people, but most of them are just your own name twisted around, this is something that’s reserved for… lovers, you guess. Couples? Whatever.

“All of ‘em. They all sound good coming from you.” He raises an eyebrow in question and you shrug, sitting down on the bed next to him, “maybe I like some more than the others. Just a little, though, but I want you to call me whatever you like.”

“Tell me which ones.” It’s the way he doesn’t hesitate that makes you speak up even when everything in your body is begging you not to.

“You know which ones,” it’s a little bit teasing, mostly nerves, but you move closer to him. It seems to be the only position you’re willing to kiss him in, with you on his lap. You really should try to change it up.

“If you don’t tell me which ones I’m gonna have to start calling you honey-pie.” You gasp, a hand on your chest in offense.

“You fucking wouldn’t! Sam, I think I’d actually throw you out.”

“Of my apartment?” You nod absolutely. “Sure you would, baby.” Okay, that’s the one. The one that makes your heart flutter and eyes fall to his lips and makes things jump inside of you. It’s sweet and hot and so so possessive.

“Whatever.” It seemed to be your usual ‘conversation ender’ around Sam. “Anyway, I’m done with studying. Bored. And done.”

“Which one?”

“Bored.” He nods and puts his book on the nightstand, some old classic he’s reading for a literature class, not that you understand why on earth he would increase the work-load on himself, but he does. He loves it apparently, and this one was free, too, so. When he’s done you’re immediately straddling him, smiling down at him and enjoying the fact that this is the only time you’re taller than him.

“What are you doing?” He asks teasingly. You’re about to answer when it hits you all at once. Does he think this is sexual? Surely not, you’ve done it a thousand times (a couple) and you’ve only ever made out. But it is ten at night. Still, so what?

You’re about to shake your head when you feel his lips on yours, unrushed and perfect. The way he’s been doing every time you get in your own head. When he pulls away, you’re chasing after him, basically, “Never anything you don’t want, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, though it comes out a little like a whine, then push him against the headboard again, your lips on his. Sam sucks on your bottom lip, making you squeeze your eyes shut in a silent moan that he swallows.

And then. You’re grinding against Sam, involuntarily. You’ve never done it, never felt like this, never felt so—

“Sam— Sam, wait,” He lets out a small laugh as you push him away. You’re sure your hair’s not obedient at this point and you’re only slightly sweating and off balance, but that’s the least of your worries.

“You want me to wait? You’re the one moving.” He says fairly, lazy and relaxed. It’s a long way from how he panicked everytime you pulled away only a week ago, which is heartwarming considering you’ve also gotten better at holding yourself back. Everything is easier now, less strained. Okay maybe it’s just the making out, everything else is still new and unknown to you.

“I know, I know, just— I’m scared…”

“Hey, come on, I wouldn’t do anything you don’t—”

“That’s not it. I just don’t wanna do it, you know, wrong.” He shakes his head swiftly, sitting up.

“We’ve been doing this for a week and you haven’t messed up once, what makes you think now’s any different. You’re perfect, sweetheart.” He steals the breath from your lungs— not enough to make your worries disappear though.

“Sam,” you pull away, a little breathless, “I didn’t mean, kissing or whatever, I meant. The whole way.”

His eyes widen dramatically, leaning down to whisper, sarcasm lacing his words, “you mean sex?” Like it’s a secret and you roll your eyes, slapping his shoulder.

“Asshole.”

He uses your arm to bring you back in for a kiss, “we already said we’d wait.”

“I don’t know, Sam, there’s been lots of waiting happening, don’t you think?” Even if you’re right (which you are) Sam’s staying true to his word. He said it would happen when it was the right time, when you’re comfortable enough not to be insecure about it (though that’s probably never so…), and when you’re sure it’s something you want to give to him.

Which— seriously? Longest list ever.

He’s about to remind you of his boring list again when— yeah, that’s a window opening. The one in the living room. Okay. This is okay. No big deal, Sam’s here and he probably knows what to do in cases like these… right?

When you look over at him, he’s already carrying you off his lap to get out of bed, shushing you with his finger over his lips silently before opening the door, looking outside. This is some movie—level type shit, right here, you’re not dying because he’s deciding to take it slow.

“Sam—” He shushes you, sternly this time, with the glare and everything. Which freakin’ terrifies you because up till now you were only overreacting in your head, but very calm on the outside, now you’re shaking on the outside too.

He departs the room so you’re alone with a possible killer in the— “Dean!”

Oh thank God.

You let out a breath you were very much holding for dear life before stashing your phone (your finger was on the emergency contact), and opening the door as wide as it goes to greet Dean. Except you get Sammy on the floor, a snappy remark from Dean you can’t hear, then they switch sides.

“Guys… should I leave?” You hesitate, frowning at the pair. Dean look up at you then fucking winks. Sam’s never scrambled off his brother so fast, you’d guess. They’re both off the floor quick, Sam helping Dean to his feet before he saunters to you, that same smirk from the first time glued to his (pretty) face.

“Hey, sweet—”

“Why are you here, Dean.” Sam asks loudly. States loudly? It’s not quiet, that’s for sure.

Dean clicks his tongue with a look that says, ‘I’ll come back to you’, before turning around. He does something, another expression Sam gets with no words and shakes his head, but ultimately nods.

Great. Another silent conversation you’re not apart of. This is getting real good— “Hey,” Sam steps over to you, a hand on your lower back as he leads you back to his room.

Anyone else think this is getting real fucking repetitive?

“Sam, what’s going on?”

“I’m leaving. With Dean, tonight.”

Sam’s room is the exact same from when you two were having your moment, lights turned down low the way you like it, and suddenly it doesn’t feel so romantic. Neither does his docile tone.

“I don’t want to stop seeing you anymore.”

“Beautiful, every part of you.”

“I want to be with you.”

And the best liar’s award goes to…

“Hey, baby,” You give him a look, one that screams ‘are you on fucking drugs right now’, and he shakes his head. “Not— just till next week. I’ll be back before next week, I promise.” Oh.

“You said if you leave you wouldn’t come back.”

“I thought that would be the case but,” he leans closer, his dimples, oh-so-beautiful, with that smile, eyes glinting, “I have something to come back to.”

And you’d be deceiving yourself if you say that it doesn’t calm your heartbeat to hear it. You don’t want to be easy, you want to stand your ground, and tell him there’s no way— but wouldn’t you be as bad as Dean, then? Not letting him do what he craves? Whether it’s law, or being a good brother/son, who are you to dictate that for him? All you have is to be there for him through it.

“And— and we’ll keep in contact?” He agrees feverently, his hands landing on your hips to draw you in.

“No way I’m going to stay for that long and not call you. You said you trust me, right?”

“Right.”

“So trust me, okay?”

“Okay.” He pinched your hips and you let out a yelp, he made sure to capture the moment by stealing a kiss, deepening it immediately. Like he doesn’t want to keep telling you how he feels through words, they’re too little, too underwhelming, not enough to explain what he feels for you.

And you hope, with everything that you fucking are, that that’s what that kiss meant.

When you disconnect, his eyes, if nothing else, serenade you. And you’re sitting on his bed watching him pack with such little disdain, it’s comforting. Even when him and Dean drive you home in the impala, even when you kiss one last perfect time with his promise of next week you’re still composed.

Even when you tell Jess.

“He— what?” She shrieks, her arms crossing in front of her chest. She’s not even angry at him for leaving you. “He didn’t even say goodbye.”

“He’s coming back, jess—”

“Yeah well I come back after every summer vacation, still tell everyone I love them before taking off.”

You shrug, partly agreeing with her but honestly? The fact that you got to kiss him seconds before he took off is enough for you to forgive anything else he’s ever done. Except Gen jumps into the conversation, holding up her phone, reading out loud his ‘hey, Gen, I’m out of town for a few days, love you.’

And Jess is freakin’ seething, it’s actually kind of funny. Gen is rapidly regretting her decision to share with the class and is soothing her girlfriend when you get another text. Thankfully your phone’s on silent so it doesn’t alert both girls, but you feel it vibrate and open the message.

Sam: hey.

Sam: Did you tell Gen and Jess?

You: yeah, why?

Sam: because I don’t wanna tell Jess.

Sam: I can imagine how funny she’s being right now that I said bye to the both of you but not her.

Sam: don’t want her to worry though.

You: asshole.

You: in an affectionate way.

Sam: I’ll text you later, baby.

Maybe he should leave more often if he’ll be this tender and caring with you. You take that back. Because you’d still be on his damn bed talking, kissing, maybe even going a little further if Dean fucking Winchester hadn’t interrupted you.

You were talking about something really important, just for him to, what? Break in! Like a lunatic, no less. But you’ve gotten over it already, new problems, new overthinking material.

You’re thankful for the nights with jess and gen, considering you haven’t been close with them these past few days, always with Sam, sleeping over at his, which is surprisingly easy considering you lock yourself in a room of your own after spending half the night on his bed talking or studying.

But thankful, nonetheless. You needed some alone time. And when you wake up Sam sends you a text, just good morning and when you respond it doesn’t go further than that, you don’t mind. You’re glad to know he’s alive everyday till he decides to come back home. Which is why when he calls two days later, you on your stomach with some assignments in front of you, you answer like he’ll hang up in a second if you don’t.

“Sam Winchester. Who would’ve thought, you do know how to use a phone!” It’s a tease, he’s honestly been incredible with keeping you updated, but it’s good to know he meant it when he said he’ll call.

“How’s our favorite doctor?”

“How’s our hotshot lawyer?”

“Good. Better now that I’m talking to you.” He says, exhaling like he just sat down on his bed and you let out a laugh.

“Stupidest thing you’ve ever said. Hands down.”

“Oh, shut up, you love it.” You do. “How’s school?”

“Fine. Jess said you’re missing important classes. How’s Lily taking it, her partner up and leaving?” He doesn’t answer, just groans like she’s been making his life miserable, though you wouldn’t know. Okay maybe you’re a little bitter about him leaving.

“She’s texting non stop, but I get it— just wish she’d believe that I’m out of town. She probably knocked on my apartment door I swear to God.”

“Gen would’ve known.”

“She’s staying at the apartment?” He questions, and you hear— Dean. Dean is in the background, shouting something about a… woman called Constance. And you’re muted. Great. “Sorry,” he says over the static after a long thirty seconds. “Gen, why’s she not over at yours?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t wanna leave the apartment empty, I guess. Jess is over at yours more often than not, though, if that makes you feel any better.”

“So you’re alone.” You shrug, then remember the obvious, and mumble something about studying. This whole call has been dull the second he spoke. There’s something going on, and it has nothing to do with Gen or Jess or the apartment.

“What’s wrong, Sam?” Everytime sam takes a pause before he answers, or say ‘baby’ in that low voice, full of so much emotion, or shakes his head before he’s even spoke a word, your heart drops for a second. First it was age, then experience, then leaving and now— God, whatever this is. The only reason you’re not always assured with sam is because you have to hold your breath in anticipation when he open his mouth.

“It’s nothing, I’m just— this case is taking longer than I thought.”

They’re called cases, now? What has America come to? “Okay, what’s wrong with that? Is it like… too infected?”

He stutters and it forces you to shut your eyes in agony, just stop. Just stop and say what you mean or you might actually throw the phone.

“Yeah, something like that— I gotta stay for another week.” You huff out a breath, sitting up immediately, another week?

“It’s only been two days! How could you possibly know you’ll need to stay another two weeks?” If your voice is slightly raised, it isn’t because you mean for it to be. In fact, you’re trying with everything in your soul to breathe before you speak but he’s making it so difficult. You feel like you’re being… played or— something is going on and it sucks.

“Look it’s connected to another state and we’re—.”

“You’re what? The only exterminators in the country? Sam what the fuck kind of exterminators are that important, huh?” Suddenly, you're no longer concerned about the volume of your voice, “I swear to god, I just— just give me something, anything, sam! Tell me something I can believe. You promised it'll only be a week.”

He says your name like it’ll stop you from lashing out, and you can just imagine him with his head in his hands over the edge of the bed, or sprawled out on it, a palm pressing into his forehead. Either way he’s stressed and any other day you would’ve tried to be there for him, he’s your friend above all else, but he’s lying to you. “I can’t just— it’s a family thing, okay?”

You scoff, already feeling the tear running down your cheek. Whatever. Fine. You weren’t naive enough to think you’re close enough to be considered anything other than his girlfriend, if you were even that. You’ve never had sex, you’ve only been dating for a week, known each other for a month. You know what? Maybe this is going a little too fast. Maybe this is just—

“No, no, stop it. Please. This isn’t it, okay? We can have fights without ending it, right? Right?”

Right. He’s right. He should be right.

Is he right?

“Tell me the truth.”

“I… am. Kind of. We’re not exterminators for the bugs type of thing— more like bears and other wild animals. Wolves.” So. Much. More. Believable.

You’re in Med school for fucks sake, does he think you got there with your good looks? He can’t be for real. “That’s a lie.”

“It isn’t, I swear.”

“Your promise, your swearing, whatever, doesn’t mean that much right now, Sam.” Even with how mad you are, you know that’s not true, he’s always been true to his word, and you get that this was out of his hands, he can’t help it if there’s an extension of the ‘case’. But it’s as low as you can go. “Whatever. You hunt bears, where’s your dad?”

“He’s, I don’t know.” The way he says it, so heavy with exhaustion and worry, even you can tell it’s as truest raw as it can get. “Me and Dean are looking everywhere. He left us this thing, his journal—”

“Journal?”

“He’s old school. Wrote where he’d be next in it, we just want to find him, then I’ll come back, I have to finish the year.”

“Yeah. And your LSATS. They’re in one month starting tomorrow.”

“Yeah… I know.” And for some reason, you feel like a dick for being so assertive. Sam doesn’t sound like himself at all, and sure a part of it was probably from him lying to you, but you can still sense there’s something else. You’re done asking for tonight, though, he doesn’t need questions, he needs comfort. You get that, more than anyone. But one last thing—

“Why the hell would you lie to me about something like that, Sam?” Your question isn't accusatory like most of the conversation was, it’s lighter, and seems to flow between you and Sam easier.

“Didn’t want you to worry. What me and Dean do is dangerous, and we kind of seek out these things to hunt them down— only if they’ve hurt someone.” That’s sweet, no matter how moronic it is. His intentions never were malicious, with you or other people.

“Right. That’s petrifyingly risky.”

“Petri—” He chuckles, “Yeah, Shakespeare, what else?”

You scoff affectionately, “Not the point. Just… honesty, okay? That’s all we have, it’s all I ask.”

You can feel him nodding, and you can feel yourself mirror his actions. You’re not even— you’ve only known him for a month and somehow he’s the only man you’ve ever seen yourself have a future with. How? How does he do this to you? Hypnotize you and pull you in, while still being your safety net. It’s comfortable, it’s passionate and God you’re so into him.

“Yeah, baby, honest. Tell me about your day.” If the grin on your face means anything it’s that you’ve never felt like this before, and you might never again with another man.

Sam: morning.

You: hey, how are you?

‘Mornings’ never usually open up to conversations, just a way of reassurance, but it’s been a couple of days since you’ve last called each other and you’re life’s pretty tame right now, why not initiate the conversation?

Sam: hey, i’m okay, what about you?

You: I’m fine, just studying.

Sam: oh, want me to leave you for a bit?

You: no, no, I’m done already.

You: I wanna talk to you.

You: when are you free?

He usually opts to call at night, between ten and twelve before he has to go to sleep and it’s usually just half an hour, maybe an hour if he’s not too tired. He doesn’t say much about Dean or his Dad but at least you get some of him.

Sam: I can call you tonight.

You: okay, stay safe.

Sam: you too.

But then ‘tonight’ comes and it’s as silent as it was the night before, except last night you didn’t have a promise of a call. And you’re not even mad, you’re just worried— not worried enough to throw your dignity to the floor and call or text him yourself— but still pretty worried.

It’s only eleven, maybe he’ll call later?

He won’t. He doesn’t. But he texts good morning. The next damn day there’s a ‘good morning’ text right under your previous texts making plans to call.

So, like the petty person you are, because that is one trait you are not afraid to let shine, you don’t text back. You have classes all day, anyways, and it’s the last day before the long weekend, so it’s busy enough as it is without having to talk to Sam. Which you don’t have to worry about because he doesn’t want to talk to you anyways.

Except when he decides to talk to you. Except when he decides to text you at ten at night two days later, after not getting a response from you;

Sam: can we talk?

part seven: all my habits came back around.

title: it’s ok, I’m ok by tate mcrae — (baby, don’t get it twisted)

can you tell I wouldn’t die in a horror movie with her finger on the emergency contact? one thing about me is I will not write a horror movie bitch no matter what the plot is, she will be calling the police/her mum the second there’s a sound‼️‼️

I’ll make a master list for remedy since I think there 2 chapters left maybe. this one is pretty cute to prepare you for the next one which is just angst at its finest. THEN THE LAST CHAPTER WHAT. okay I won’t get too excited since I’m not sure when I’ll be posting them yet but I hope you enjoyed this.

and I’ll fix the format for the rest of the chapters so that they’re like this one since this is the one I decided on. If u wanna be tagged comment or send me a message!!

tag list:

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@oohjana18294 @user-2538484747490203746579403 @wattpaduser200 @s0urw00lf @ashlynyyyyy

@strabarrybat @anu-piyakya97 @tranquilitybasegrunge

#supernatural #supernatural imagine #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sammy #Stanford Sam Winchester #stanford sam #laila writes!!

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