reyes

The volume on the turntable in your living room drowns out your off-key singing in the kitchen. At this point, you’re dancing more than you’re cleaning but you’re more or less finished, everything smelling faintly of citrus and lemongrass not quite covering the smell of bleach.

✉️ 2 New Messages 

You always scrub the sink last, like the finality of the sparkling chrome. You give the scouring pad a last rinse, pull off your dish gloves, and toss them into the drying rack, spreading your arms to span most of the width of the counter. You drum your fingers on it, surveying your work. 

Laundry’s in the wash, the apartment’s been tidied, bathroom and kitchen are clean. You vacuumed. Mopped. For a man. Your girlfriends would laugh at you, going full Molly Maid because you’re hoping to get laid. Strike that, you know you’re getting laid, you’re just not positive when. Doesn’t matter, they still wouldn’t get it. Can’t. They haven’t met this man. 

This man? Totally worth cleaning for. 

✉️ 3 New Messages 

You tut your tongue a couple times, hips canting in time with the beat, pull down a box of Honey Nut Oh’s. You unfold the top of the box, unroll the bag inside, start popping the sweet and crunchy rings into your mouth a few at a time. 

The thing about getting to see him is the waiting that comes first. It’s exciting, torturous, absolutely horny, not knowing when he’ll appear but sure that he will. It makes something low in your tummy turn somersault, thinking about him, makes you squeeze your thighs together, bite your lip. 

You do one of those exaggerated drama school sighs that are supposed to loosen up your lips and hop from foot to foot to shake it off. You dance it out, dispelling the tension from your limbs and laugh at yourself for being so wound up. You try to remember that it’s a casual thing, worth cleaning for, but he doesn’t even live in town. It’s never going to be more than a hookup and you refuse to freak out over hookups. Even if said hookup is a six-foot-four wall of muscle with the demeanor of a golden retriever. 

The music stops and you finally hear your phone buzzing against the counter. You yank it free of its charger and look at the small display.

✉️ 4 New Messages

Your brows knit together, shocked you’ve missed so many messages, worried for a second he might have bailed on you. It hasn’t happened yet, but there’s a first time for everything. 

You fold the cereal box under your arm so you can still keep munching while you check your texts.

Here. 

You wrinkle your nose, tip your head back, drop a handful of cereal into your mouth. Without the music, your loud crunching echoes inside your head.

Nice undies. You always clean your place half naked?

“Huh?” You pour more cereal into your mouth, crunch some more. It takes a minute for you to realize he must have let himself in already. Figure he’s on the couch, maybe in the bathroom. 

Your ass is perfect, you know that? 

Your crunching slows, you dust crumbs from the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. You look up, take a quick glance around the kitchen, flip to the last message. 

You’re so damn cute. 

“Sam?” You look up again, scanning more thoroughly, freeze when you notice the figure leaning against the doorframe, looking down at his phone. He takes up so much space, you’re not sure how you missed him before.

You always forget how big he is, not just tall but broad, and he’s wearing a suit, which is new. You blink at him, heart hammering in your chest, very aware of the fact that you’re standing there in a t-shirt and panties and nothing else. Not that he hasn’t seen you in less, that’s kind of the point, but there’s usually some sort of preamble to the nakedness. 

✉️ 1 New Message

Your phone buzzes in your hand, it startles you so badly you yelp, nearly drop your phone, actually drop the cereal box trying to keep it in your hand. Honeyed, Nutty Oh’s scatter all over the floor you just finished cleaning and you stand there, stunned, staring at him. 

He flips his phone shut, slips it into his pocket, crosses his arms and looks at you. His eyes scan you top to bottom and back, meet yours as he comes back to look at your face. He’s laughing at you, trying and failing to hide it behind a twitching, pursed lip smile. It’s suddenly imperative that you look down at your phone, to check the message he sent while he was standing there, watching you. Definitely not to hide your embarrassment. 

Hi 

You look back up in time to see him toss his jacket over the back of one of your kitchen chairs, taking long strides towards you. You yelp again then start to giggle as he bends to scoop you up by the back of the thighs, almost tossing you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist like they belong there. 

“Hi.” 

You’re fully blushing, can feel it creeping up from your collar to your cheeks, flaring hot across the bridge of your nose. You try to hide it by burying it against the collar of his shirt. 

“Hey.” He shifts your weight so he’s holding you up with one arm, hand firmly cupping your ass, so his other hand can palm the side of your face, dragging his thumb over your cheekbone. “Don’t hide.” 

You bite your lip, watch his gaze flick from your eyes to your mouth rapid fire until he leans in and presses his mouth to yours. You hear his sharp inhale, feel it against your cheek, when you lean in, kiss him back. 

You wind your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair, it’s longer than it was the last time you saw him. You like it, give it a little tug, just hard enough to make him grunt, break the kiss. 

“You scared the shit out of me.” He hums, nods, kisses your cheek. “I just cleaned the floor.” He finds the spot behind your ear that makes you shiver, chuckles against you as he kisses you there. “It’s good to see you.” 

“Mhm. Yeah, you too.” He kisses a trail down your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “I said hi, you just didn’t hear me.” He nips at you, sweeps his tongue over the same spot immediately. You gasp. “I’ll help you clean up later.” He hitches you up higher on his waist, breathing heavy, grinning at you. “You got any coffee?” 

“We have to make it, but yeah.” You look over your shoulder at the coffee maker on the counter. He goes back to kissing your neck, carries you over, sets you down beside the sink.  

He grabs the carafe and fills it with water, you twist around to pull out a pack of paper filters and a canister of ground coffee from the cupboard behind you, squeeze your knees into his sides as you do. It makes him jolt, splash water over the side of the coffee maker as he’s pouring it into the reservoir. You hide a snicker behind your hand. 

He leans over to pull a spoon from the drawer where he knows you keep them, trades it for the filter you hand him. His fingers draw damp circles on your thigh as he pops out the now filtered basket, holding it out for you to scoop ground coffee into. You count each on quietly to yourself, glancing down at the reservoir to see how much water he’d poured in, see it’s enough for a full pot. He kisses your temple as you do. 

He drops the basket into the maker, flips the lid closed, turns the machine on. It chirps out an electronic beep. He encloses you, resting his hands on the counter, bracketing your hips. His nose rubs back and forth against yours, making you giggle again. For a hot guy, he is such a dork. 

“I’d offer you something to eat, but I’m all out of cereal.” You deadpan and he huffs, wrinkling his nose. You reach up to run his tie through your hands, rubbing the fabric between your finger and thumb. “What’s with the suit?” 

“Just wrapped up a job, had Dean drop me off on his way back to the motel.” That makes your stomach flutter, makes something else flutter too. He came straight here, didn’t even stop to change. “I’m not a big cereal guy.” He slides a hand up your leg, sliding the hem of your shirt up over your hip. “And I can think of something else I’d rather eat.”

“Sam.” It makes you shudder, the thought of his mouth on you again. You work your tongue around in your mouth, try to keep your thoughts straight. “It looks good on you.” He drags your thighs wider, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. “I just cleaned the counter too, y’know.” 

“I know.” He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Got a great look at your legs while you did.” He’s dropping to his knees, hands falling to yours, each to each. “I’ll help you clean up later.” 

“Sam.” You can hear him sweeping cereal out of the way with his foot but some still crunches underneath him when his knees hit the floor. 

“Just a taste, til the coffee’s ready.” His hands are running up and down your thighs, slow and teasing. “Please?”

You bury your fingers in his hair, nodding as he leans into your touch. He closes his eyes, humming softly. He looks happy. “That why we’re making a whole pot for two people?” 

“Maybe.” Sam scrunches his nose and laughs, drops a kiss to your inner thigh. “But Dean said we don’t need to hit the road til tomorrow afternoon. I thought, if you’re up for it.” 

“Really?” He looks up at you, seems delighted that you’ve interrupted him, smiles at how excited you are.

“Really.” You gasp when he makes his way closer to your centre and he smiles against you. “You don’t have other plans, do you?” You shake your head, shift and widen the space between your legs for him, try to guide him where you need him. 

He runs his nose along your clothed slit, you don’t bother trying to hide your moan. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d wanna be right now.” 

“Mhm. Me neither.” He mouths at you through the fabric of your underwear, breathes you in deeply. You half laugh, half groan, fully gasp when he slips his finger under the elastic nestled in your hip crease, pulling it aside to expose you. You’re not soaked, but you’re not far off. 

“Sam.” You run your hand through his hair, try to press his mouth closer. 

“Both hands.” He murmurs against you and it takes you a second to understand what he means. “Use both hands.” 

You do as you’re told, your head tipping back to rest on the cupboard behind you as he lets you push his face against your cunt. He alternates between long, sweeping slow strokes along the length of you with little kitten licks around your clit. 

You feel his finger, feather light, spreading your wetness along its length, readying it for you. He just breaches your entrance, your throat working soundlessly as you flex your hips, rocking close to him. You’re so close to falling off the counter, clinging to his hair so tightly it must hurt, that he pulls your knees over his shoulders. His lips brush your folds as he murmurs that it’s okay, you should hold onto him. You can’t help the way your thighs flex and squeeze around his head. 

The coffee maker gurgles, beeps, tells you your time is up. 

Sam pauses for a moment, then carefully retracts his finger, pulls away. He slides your underwear back into place. The kiss he gives you is soft, lingering. It makes you moan again, slow and deep and filled with yearning. You look down at him, his face half hidden by your mound, his closed eyes and creased brow make it look like he’s trying to memorize something. Maybe it’s you.

“Sam.” You tug lightly on his hair, slide your hand to cup his cheek. “Coffee’s ready.” 

“Yeah.” He takes another deep breath of you, eyelids fluttering, slowly stands back up. He kisses your mouth the same way he kissed your cunt. You taste yourself on him, think you taste yearning on him too. “Cream, no sugar?” 

“Yep. I’m sweet enough.” Arm around his neck you steal another quick kiss. He picks you up again, your legs wrap around him just like before, except he’s holding you lower on his hips this time. 

“Mhm. You are.” When your ankles lock together behind his back, it presses your arousal into his. You gasp, drop your forehead to his shoulder. “Bed?” He carries you out of the kitchen. “Or couch?”

“Couch.” You murmur it against his neck. “You forgot the coffee.” 

“I’ll get it in a minute.” He doesn’t let go of you when he lays you out on the couch, stretches out over you as your back sinks into the cushions. He hovers over you, just looking down at your face. “You’re so damn cute.”

“Yeah?” Hands cradling his face, you arch up, kiss him. You cinch your legs tighter, grinding your hips into him. He groans and you feel it vibrate through his whole body. “What’s cute?”

“You.” He closes his eyes as if reading through a list he’s made, somewhere in his mind. He drops his forehead to yours. “This is cute.” One of his hands slides up your leg, grabs your ass, gives it a light slap and you squeak. “You’ve got cute undies.” He slips a finger under the elastic of your underwear, gives it a snap against your hipbone. “I like your nose, that’s cute, too.” He nuzzles you, lifts his chin so he can run his teeth over the tip of your nose. You giggle, have to force yourself not to shy away from this adoration you asked him for. “Oh, that’s super cute. I love that little laugh of yours.” His hips are moving against you, barely, just the idea of friction. You can’t tell if it’s what he’s saying or what he’s doing, but your thoughts are going gooey. “Watching you wiggle around, cleaning your place for me. That was really cute.” 

“Sam.” You run your hands from his shoulders to his sides, sighing. His forehead is still resting against yours, so you can’t see his face clearly, just bits and pieces. He has a mole by his nose, another beside his lip, keeps flashing you those dimples that shouldn’t make you feel as filthy as they do.  

“I bet you’re a secret slob.” You see the flash of teeth, he has a great smile, it makes you feel gooey again. Gooier. “Are you one of those ‘don’t do laundry, buy new underwear people’?” 

“Sam!” You swat at his ribs, eyes snapping open when he pulls his face away from yours to laugh harder. “I’m doing laundry right now.” 

“Uh huh. Cute.” He kisses you and his mouth tells you he doesn’t just think you’re cute. It’s wetter, hotter than when he kissed you in the kitchen, he lets more of his weight settle on to you. 

You think you like him in slacks, can feel him through them way better than the denim he usually shows up in. You arch into him, moan his name into his mouth. “Sam.” 

“Yeah?” Everything about him is getting less and less tender, more urgent. “Fuck, I like the way you say my name.”

“Sam.” You let your voice get huskier, breathy and sensual. He kisses you, hard, comes away wet. You suck in a deep breath, pat his shoulder playfully. “Coffee. You were the one who made a whole pot.”

He groans, drops all his weight onto you, forcing the air out of your lungs. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, not very hard, shaking his head to tug at the tissue carefully. 

“Ouf. Do you get bigger every time I see you?” 

“Yeah.” He ruts into you, a slow delicious drag through your heat, making his point. A promise of what will come later. “That’s how it works, you know.” 

“Not what I meant.” You swat him on the arm, can’t really laugh with his deadweight covering you like a thunder blanket. “Sam, I can’t breathe.” He pops up immediately, lets you push him all the way up to his knees. “Coffee.” 

“Coffee.” He grunts, leaning down to give you a quick peck before standing up, stretching, taking a second to adjust the noticeable bulge in his pants. He gives you a half smirk but still blushes a little when he catches you watching him. Cocky and shy at the same time. It shouldn’t be so sexy, but it is. Your girlfriends could never get it, but that’s okay. 

You do, and so does he. 

Thank you so much for reading! Gratitude for likes, comments, reblogs and vibes.

he left when the snow ploughs cleared a path for him the next morning. a part of you is glad he hadn’t found you to say good bye. you’re sure he would’ve left with a black eye and a torn shirt if he had. 

sam winchester took everything from you. 

but still, after five years, you can still feel his touch on your skin.  

when you aren’t hunting, you work at a dive bar part time. dean calls a few times a year, never mentioning sam. he says it’s to make sure you’re still alive, but you know he knows if anything happened to you, bobby would tell him. you think it’s because you remind him of his brother, and that realization hurts more than you care to admit. 

your souls fucking intertwined. they weaved together that night just for dean to walk in and hand sam the scissors. 

and god, did he cut too deep. 

 the wound hemorrhaged, then slowly bled, then stung, ached, then began to scab. you pick at it when you’ve had a few too many—a number that would put even bobby to shame. or when you’re in bed with a familiar ache between your legs you know only sam can subside. 

snowy nights are when you pick so hard it bleeds again. luckily this year, south dakota didn’t get too many of those. 

but now, the words “john winchester is dead—the boys are home” leaving bobby’s mouth over the phone ten minutes before your shift ends rips the skin apart. 

you imagine what he looks like now. expensive cologne, maybe? slicked back hair, a suit and tie, too. he probably smells like college textbooks and frat parties, or maybe skanky sorority-girl perfume. the picture your brain paints is rotten and makes you ill, nausea swarming in your stomach the entire ride home in the beater car bobby lets you use. 

the same one he drove you to the fair in. you try to ignore the ticket that permanently resides in the center console cup holders. 

john’s impala is completely wrecked in bobby’s lot, the lights are on in the house, and vomit gets swallowed back in your stomach. 

he’s in there, you repeat to yourself. he’s in there and he’s so different. 

 your scars still linger. your clothes are still blood matted. you still have a hunt lined up next week and he probably has a test to study for. 

it’s this fire—this anger—that fuels your drive to get out of the car and drag your feet to the front step, swinging the door open so hard, it almost flies off its hinges. 

inside, bobby is against the fridge, nursing a beer like always. dean winchester stands beside him, arms folded with eyes that have aged a decade. 

and he is sitting at the table, arms crossed, purple bruises blooming like spring flowers on his face. 

well, you were wrong. 

how?

dean turns around when bobby nods at you, his face brightening almost instantly. 

he breathes your name in relief, striding up to you with burly arms that wrap tight around your shoulders, “been a while there, huh?”

you swallow against the thickness in your throat, shutting your eyes when you feel sam looking at you, “too long.” 

dean pulls back, squeezing your forearm like he knows how much strength it’s taking to even stand upright. 

sam can’t take his eyes off of you. you try to look anywhere but him. 

“what, um…” you try to find the right words, “what happened?”

you aren’t sure if you're asking about their father or why sam winchester isn’t in the middle of an exam. 

“car accident,” dean answers too quickly, too monotone. “dad took the force of it.” 

from the corner of your eye, you see sam bite his cheek and run a stressed hand through his hair—still brown and soft looking, with fringe that still hangs across his forehead. the sight sends a shiver down your spine. 

he’s wearing his same carhartt that’s probably hiding bigger biceps now. he’s missing the suit and tie and lighter fluid, dirt, and that rain soap he always swore by are in place of whatever bimbo perfume you were expecting. 

he looks like your sam. you can almost forget the time between you.

dean must follow your gaze to his brother because he says, “sammy… he’s uh—he’s back hunting now. has been for the past year.” 

of course you wouldn’t know—you told everyone never to utter the name sam winchester to you unless he was dead. questions topple over themselves in your brain, but you try not to let the suddenness of his return to hunting—and to you—show. 

“what happened to college,” you quip, words tumbling from your mouth without warrant.

sam laughs, but it’s snark, “didn’t work out.” 

your heart tugs, like it yearns to be close to him. you’re so far away, and the last time you’d seen him, you were both naked and breathless beside each other. its whiplash how much has changed; how in this moment, he seems farther than he ever was in california. 

 bobby finally perks up, finishing the last of his bottle, “the boys’ll be fixin’ the impala here for a while.”

your stomach drops at that, but you try not to let it show on your face, “if they still know anything about fixing cars, they’ll be gone in a few years.” 

dean huffs a laugh, “you’re snarkier than i remember.” 

you send a crooked smile and pray dean knows who it’s for, “it’s been a while.” 

when sam’s face goes slack, and his fingers start to fidget in his lap, you know he got the message. 

2:00 A.M. creeps on your old alarm clock quicker than it ever has. your sheets are stifling, blankets thrown on the floor and no cold side of the pillow to relieve the sweat. you’ve been tossing and turning for hours, the moonlight serving as your only source of comfort as it streams through the window pane. 

how can you sleep when sam winchester is in the next room? 

finally, you surrender to insomnia, opting to sit up and stare at the ceiling with a million thoughts racing through your brain. thoughts you haven’t been able to let linger without suffering the hurt of them. 

what sam’s lips feel like as they press against yours. 

how fucking painful it was watching him cower in that taxi that morning. 

how cold it was that night you slept alone. 

what sam feels like inside of you. 

what— 

your name is whispered behind your bedroom door, so softly you only catch it because the voice it’s from is one you can never tune out. 

“i know you’re awake.” 

your skin burns impossibly hotter.

“go away.” 

“no.” 

you drag your hand down your face and keep it there when sam twists the knob, door creaking open. his shadow stands in the doorway, shirtless in sleep pants that hang too low on his waist to not catch your eye. 

he’s bigger. burlier. dean wasn’t lying when he said he’s been hunting for the past year. 

“you can’t pretend you don’t hate me.” 

you scoff, “i wasn’t planning on pretending.”

he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, looking off into the moonlight, and your core clenches. 

“it’s late, you need to—” 

“i have spent every day for the past five years regretting everything that happened.” 

your face falls, heart thumping so fast you think it’ll stop any moment. 

“i regret not telling you. i regret making you think i was safe. i regret—” he heaves something bordering a laugh and a sob, “i regret what i took from you that night.” 

you fumble with your hands in your lap, unable to look up in fear the tears pooling in your eyes will spill over and you’ll feel just as weak as you did that night. 

“sam…” you shudder, trying to keep your voice stable, “it’s over, just—” 

“i was scared,” he whines, bending down at your bedside, gripping the sticky sheets in between his fists like what he’s confessing physically pains him, “i needed to leave, i had to. dad was killing me.” 

“and that wasn’t gonna change because you said you loved me,” you say bitterly, sniffling, “or because you fucked me.” 

“don’t say it like that,” he defends, voice strong, “it wasn’t like that.” 

“wasn’t it, though?” you snivel, wiping your nose with the back of your hand, “you got what you wanted and you left.” 

sam looks down and a tear splatters on the hardwood. your chest aches. 

“why did you leave college, sam?” you ask quietly after a moment of composure, “you got what we wanted, you got out.”

he’s silent. then confesses, “i lost someone,” he gulps, “i lost jess.”

jess. a shot of envy is injected into your body even as every moral screams at you that it’s wrong. 

“but, when i lost her i realized it didn’t hurt as much as when i lost you.” 

suddenly, sam stands, pacing back and forth with a hand over his mouth in a panic you’ve never seen. his chest heaves for breath, his face goes the color of chalk. 

“fuck—she fucking died, and i couldn’t get you out of my head.” 

“sam—” you peel yourself off the bed, striding slowly toward him. 

“tell me everything is gone,” he bursts, taking your face in his hand. his touch feels like fire. your body melts. “tell me you don’t feel anything for me anymore.” 

your mouth gaps but no sound comes out. 

“tell me you hate me, tell me you want me gone, tell me i hurt you so bad you can’t forgive me, please.” 

the wound is spilling, yet somehow, you can’t bring yourself to tell him any of it. 

“i—i can’t.” 

you’re all too aware of his palm against your cheek. of his body now pressed against yours. of the tears glistening off the tip of his nose. 

sam’s rapid breath fans across your face, chest rising and falling. 

“for five years, i convinced myself all of that was true,” you start shakily, “and—and maybe it is, but, i can’t tell you any of it.” 

he breaks, pressing his forehead to yours. he snivels a sob, and everything he’s lost—jess, his father, his innocence, you—comes to wrap it’s tight fist around his heart and squeeze so hard, he thinks he’ll die right here. in your arms. 

you swallow the whisper of your name that leaves his mouth when you take his lips in yours. they’re still so soft, and plump with emotion as you let your tongue drag across them. he opens to you instantly, gripping you hard under your thighs to hoist you around his waist. 

he carries you to the bed,  hands moving to peel your shirt over your head, running every callous down your body—across the canvas he’s been aching to touch again. 

he huffs a lustful breath, “still so beautiful.” 

you fumble with the tie of his sweatpants in response, and he obliges, tugging them down as he nips and sucks at every sweet spot on your neck. you grow weaker at the fact that he remembers where they are, and almost collapse when you find he’s impossibly larger than before. straining to be inside you after all these years. 

when your sleep shorts are peeled off, the pads of fingers find their spot against your wetness, core slick with every sinful thought you’ve envisioned of him against your will since he’s been gone. your clit jumps when he touches you, rubbing soft circles while he swallows every moan.

“tha f-feels good,” you breathe, his bucking into his hand. 

“you like that?” he asks huskily, teasing your slit with his index finger. 

you nod rapidly, whining, “need you.” 

the feeling of him inside of you again squashes any pathetic thought you have about what you’re doing. him, hovering over you like that night, pushing inside so softly like an apology he cannot speak with his mouth. sam’s head is buried in the nape of your neck, lips open with warm breath fanning your shoulder. 

“god, i missed you,” he huffs, a groan escaping when you clench around him, “been—fuck, been dreaming about this.” 

a part of your heart burns. he’s the one that left. he’s the one that came back. and who knows if he would’ve if jess hadn’t— 

but then he pulls back, eyes interlocking like two pieces of thread knotting together, hazel eyes glowing in the bright moonlight infiltrating through the curtains, with that same, fucking twinkle. 

the love that you felt that night, and every moment where you yearned for that feeling again. 

his body feels so heavy and perfect against yours, and when he picks up speed, thrusting into you harder, with his thumbs imprinting into your waist, he never loses eye contact. keeps his mouth parted so you can swallow every moan that escapes.

sam lifts your hips easily, angling you just right to slam against the soft, spongy part your fingers can’t reach. you burst, throwing your head back in ecstasy as his lips come to trail along your exposed neck. every nerve explodes, pussy clamping down around him, mumbles of i love you and fuck, sam, you’re so good dripping.   

you can tell he’s about to cum—you remember everything. the trembling hands, the onslaught of sounds spilling from his tongue that he can’t even try to control, the pulsing you feel against your walls. 

you never want this moment to end. here, wrapped in sheets, the still of the night surrounding you. 

you wrap your arms around his neck, grinding against him as his thrusts start to stutter. 

“f-fuck—if you keep doing that i’m gonna cum,” he whines, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. 

his words nearly send you over the edge, hands roaming over his pecks and down the crevices of his abs, “i want you to,” you whisper, memorizing every bump, every freckle like you never wanna lose sight of them again. 

he listens. does as you say. like he’s making up for every time he hasn’t. 

warmth floods your core as he finishes, head falling against your sweaty chest as he slowly rides out his high. his arms shake from when they were holding himself upright, but now he collapses. can finally rest against you. 

awareness suddenly becomes a curse. you can feel everything now—not just him. the sheets beneath you as they crumple and itch. the creak in the house as a strong gust of wind crashes. crickets sounding from the open crack in the window. sweat hot between your bodies. 

sam winchester’s body. 

“i meant it then and i mean it now,” he murmurs, lips slick against your breast. his eyes are open—eyelashes feathering your skin as he blinks, “i love you.” 

sam suddenly picks his head up to look at you, searching your face for any sign that this isn’t what you want. 

it’s never been something you didn’t want. 

“i’m gonna do everything i can to prove that to you,” he lifts your hand, placing a delicate kiss to your knuckles that elicit burns in your nose and eyes, “don’t care if it takes a week—” kiss “a month—” kiss “a year—” he reaches to wipe a tear you haven’t realized fell, “i’ll be by your side, always.”

since we were kids, you wanna say, but you know he already knows that. 

you nod, sniffling back emotion whilst bringing his head to yours, pressing kisses to his lips, “i love you, sam.” 

maybe it will take a week. or a month. or a year. perhaps tomorrow, you’ll be angry again. or sad. or yearning to know about the life he lived without you. 

but, here, this moment, is bliss.

from the author ⤷ last part !! thank you all so so much for the love on my lil self indulgence mini series ! i've had this idea for so long and finally found the time to vomit this out between uni and writers block and blah blah blah but i hope you enjoyed and i can't wait to post more soon ! :)

also, mia writing and uploading within a week !? unheard of !