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thinking about being mad at Sam and giving him the silent treatment so he makes you talk by burying his face in between your thighs and only letting you cum if you talk to him.
it’d had been about 5 minutes before you finally caved.
“Y’gonna talk to me, baby?” he asked, before sucking on your clit and making you gasp.
“Gotta talk to me if you wanna cum, sweetheart.“ He groaned against your weeping cunt, wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you in place as he devoured you.
“Mmm- Fuck! Fine, okay! Okay I’ll talk just please let me cum-” You begged, whimpering and whining as he smirked against your cunt. His right arm released its grip from your thigh and dragged it’s way down, two of his fingers slipping into your heat and pumping in and out as you moaned his name like a prayer as you finally cum against his tongue.
“Good girl, did so well f’me.” he mumbled out as he pressed sweet kisses against your thighs.
thinking about riding Sam's abs. you're desperately humping against him, panties off leaving a slick trail from where your pussy drags again his hard abs.
your clit brushes against his skin, your hips rolling whilst you moan loudly in pleasure chasing after relief. Sam is leaning back against the headboard, heavy lidded eyes filled with lust fixed on you while his hands grip your hips tightly guiding your movements.
the dents between his abs catch your clit in the most delicious way causing you to whine, hole clenching around nothing. Sam leans up and takes your tits in his mouth causing you to arch into him while he sucks on one, nipple growing hard. your lips part in lust, head tipping back at the sensation. He gives the other one attention as well before biting along them, sharp stinging bites that have you grinding harder while dark marks of claim bloom across your tits.
you've already cum two times, with a loud cry of his name tits bouncing in his face. your juices run down his abdomen, pooling onto the bedsheets below.
he takes two fingers and swipes at the wetness gathered on his abs, slick stretching between his fingers in strings before he pops them in his mouth and his eyes flutter with a guttural groan leaving him.
ᘏ sam winchester who's favourite thing in the world is to tease his pretty gf
tw. heavy teasing, size kink, dacryphilia, oral (f rec.), p in v, creampie. mdni.
your boyfriend, sam winchester, had mastered the art of teasing you.
while he'd always been a patient man in the bedroom, choosing to take his time to learn your body and its desires over time and prioritise your pleasure over his in true gentleman fashion, sam now enjoyed teasing you and watching you mess of yourself.
he liked seeing how whiny and impatient you got, clawing on his thick biceps with your thighs trembling around his head as he'd spend what felt like hours mouthing at your clit, dragging his tongue through the slick mess between your thighs in languid strokes which gave you just short of the orgasm you'd come to need even as his fingers would scissor you open with knuckle-deep thrusts.
he loved how deep your pretty skin would blush when he'd press his thick shaft flush against your wet folds, grinding against you with controlled thrusts as you'd whine and plead for his cock, for him to finally fuck you. " patience, sweetheart." sam would groan, your slick coating his cock and the swollen veins wrapped around it in sticky rivulets.
sam adored the fat, petulant tears that would start to pour down your flushed cheeks when he'd finally notch the head of his cock into your entrance only to pull back and start fucking into you with shallow thrusts that went just barely past the bulging head of his cock.
and when he'd finally give in to your pleas and fuck you with full, deep pumps of his hips that had the thick, mushroomy tip of his cock kissing your sweet spot with every thrust; sam loved how needy and loud you'd get, your inhibitions melting away as you'd claw trenches into his back, your legs wrapped tight around his pistoning waist while you'd moan— high pitched and pornographic.
and finally, when sam would allow himself to finish, spilling inside you with a deep grunt after he'd made you cum on his cock at least twice, you'd be babbling thankyou's to him.
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dm or comment here to be added to the taglist.
The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the low audio of a movie playing on the television one you both had seen a dozen times before, serving more as background noise than actual entertainment.
Sam sat on the center of the couch, leaning back against the cushions. But he wasn’t sitting alone. You were completely curled up in his lap, your head tucked securely into the crook of his neck, with your arms wrapped tightly around his middle.
To anyone else, it might have looked like an awkward or overly attached position, but to you, it was the only place you wanted to be. You had always been naturally affectionate, but around Sam, that trait amplified tenfold. You were unapologetically clingy, constantly seeking out his warmth, his scent, and the steady, grounding presence he always provided.
Sam didn’t mind it in the slightest. In fact, the moment you had climbed onto his lap earlier in the evening, his arms had automatically looped around your waist, pulling you flush against him. One of his large hands rested flat against your back, occasionally tracing slow, soothing circles through the fabric of your shirt, while his other hand gently stroked your hair.
"You comfortable?" Sam murmured, his deep voice vibrating slightly against your chest where you leaned against him.
You gave a small, contented nod, shifting just enough to press your face closer into his shoulder. "Very," you whispered, your voice thick with sleepiness. You tightened your grip around his waist, anchoring yourself to him.
He let out a soft huff of laughter, a warm sound that made you smile against his skin. "Good. Because I don't think I could move even if I wanted to. You're like a human koala."
"I am not," you mumbled playfully, though you didn't make any move to loosen your hold. If anything, you pulled yourself a fraction closer, overlapping your legs with his.
"You absolutely are," Sam countered gently, his fingers gently tangling in the strands of your hair, untangling a small knot with immense patience. "Every time I sit down, you magically appear within five seconds. Not that I'm complaining."
It was true. Whether he was reading a book, working on something, or just relaxing, you always found a way to bridge the distance between you. If you couldn't sit in his lap, you were holding his hand, resting your head on his shoulder, or keeping your ankle hooked over his. But being right here, wrapped up in his arms while resting entirely on his lap, was your absolute favorite. It felt safe, warm, and completely secure.
The movie on the screen shifted to a brighter scene, casting a soft glow across the room. Sam shifted his weight slightly to get more comfortable, ensuring you wouldn't slip. His movements were slow and deliberate, always careful with you.
You let out a soft sigh, completely relaxed under the steady rhythm of his breathing. The sheer comfort of his presence, combined with the gentle, repetitive motion of his hand stroking your back, was rapidly making your eyelids heavy.
"Tired?" he asked softly, noticing the way your breathing had slowed down.
"A little," you admitted, your words slightly slurred as you drifted on the edge of sleep. You forced your eyes open for just a second, looking up at him. From this angle, you could see the soft expression in his eyes, completely devoid of the usual seriousness he carried throughout the day. Here, in the quiet of the evening, he was entirely relaxed.
Sam leaned down, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to the top of your head. "Go to sleep," he murmured against your hair. "I've got you."
Hearing those words, any remaining resistance you had to the fatigue evaporated. You squeezed him one last time, a silent thank you, before letting your muscles go completely slack against him. Your breathing evened out into a deep, peaceful rhythm.
Sam kept his arms securely around you, continuing the slow circles on your back long after you fell asleep, perfectly content to stay exactly where he was for the rest of the night.
a/n: lowkey bad but i needed to get something out🫣
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nsfw tw. Sammy Winchester is an angel (most of the time), but you’re the only one who knows his bad side when he’s pissed off at you. / English isn’t my first language, so I use grammar checkers to translate. Sorry in advance if anything sounds weird.
౨ৎ Sam Winchester is not a jealous man. Or, at least, he hides his jealousy extremely well. He would never admit it out loud, but he almost died of rage when Dean flirted with Jessica the moment they met, even though he didn’t say a single word. He is a good guy, an exemplary boyfriend who always strives to present the best possible image of himself.
౨ৎ You would never admit it out loud, but sometimes you felt the urge to make him jealous on purpose. Especially when you chatted animatedly with other guys right under his nose, or when you commented, with feigned innocence, on how attractive his brother was. A remark that, incidentally, never got a response. You loved seeing him jealous; it was almost adorable. However, you had no idea how far you could push Sam’s jealousy until that bomb exploded right in your face.
౨ৎ He didn’t answer the first five times you asked if he was okay or if he was upset with you. He was always honest, if something was wrong, he would have told you directly. Yet he stayed silent. The moment you insisted, leaning in to steal a small kiss, Sam pinned you down against the mattress with his massive hands, gripping your wrists and raising them above your head.
౨ৎ This man is obsessed with biting you, with marking your entire body as a possessive declaration so everyone else knows you are his. Without uttering a single word, he begins to nibble at your soft skin precisely in the spots that make you writhe the most, in that delicious blend of pain and pleasure. Even though you have no mirror to confirm it, you can feel your neck, ribs, and thighs burning with the aggressive trail left by his mouth.
౨ৎ “I can’t believe it,” he murmurs in your ear. His voice is deep and husky, laced with barely contained rage. You feel your skin prickle beneath his warm breath as your legs begin to tremble when his fingers slide with commanding authority under your clothes, caressing your soaked pussy without even bothering to fully pull the fabric aside. “Is this what it had to come to?” he continues, his tone dangerously low. “That I have to mark every inch of you so you remember who you belong to? I bet no one gets your pussy this fucking wet like I do, right? Say it, baby. Come on, I want to hear you.”
౨ৎ Sam was an angel most of the time; however, you loved the way he transformed into something feral and possessed when you were between the sheets. He did all kinds of deliciously wicked things to you: he spat on you, bit you hard. Or like now, he slapped your clit with an open hand, simply because he saw you were taking too long to respond. You knew he was genuinely angry, and that, inexplicably, turned you on even more.
౨ৎ “Fuck, Sammy!” you whimpered, your voice breaking. He could feel your arms struggling desperately beneath the iron grip of his hand, twisting and pulling in a frantic search for freedom. “No, nobody, Sammy. Nobody gets me this wet like you do,” you moaned, the words choking in your throat as his fingers thrust forcefully back inside your soaked pussy. He wasn’t gentle at all; on the contrary, he touched you like he hated you.
౨ৎ “I’m going to make it crystal clear for next time, babe,” he warns you. Although the pet names sound sweet, his tone is almost threatening. “I don’t want to see you flirting with other men or talking that shit about Dean. Because you already know how I get when I’m angry. And I suppose you don’t want me coming back to wreck that wet little pussy of yours again, right?”
summary ﹏ History professor Sam Winchester and his sweet, soft-hearted student have perfected the art of loving each other in secret—hidden in stolen office kisses, quiet afternoon visits, and tender moments between classes. What starts as quick check-ins slowly becomes the favorite part of Sam’s day: listening to you ramble while holding you close in the privacy of his office.
cw ﹏ fluff / slice-of-life fic. fem!reader. college au & professor!sam. established secret relationship. age gap (20s & late 30s). soft intimacy. praise. soft petnames (sweetheart, baby). lovesick behavior. gentle touches.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
By the middle of October, you’ve developed a routine so dangerous in its softness that Sam sometimes catches himself thinking about it during lectures.
It starts after your morning classes, usually sometime between eleven and noon, when the history building fills with the sound of students shuffling through hallways carrying coffee cups and half-finished assignments. The campus always feels busiest then, voices echoing off old brick walls, backpacks bumping into doorframes, professors trying to navigate crowds with stacks of papers balanced in their arms.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it is you—moving through the chaos in oversized knit sweaters and soft skirts that brush your knees, your bag slipping down your shoulder because it’s always too full of notebooks, lip balm, pens with little flowers glued onto them.
Sam notices you before you even reach his office most days. He hears your laugh in the hallway or catches the soft sound of your voice drifting through the partially opened door while he’s pretending to grade papers.
The first time you stopped by his office just to see him, he thought it would be quick.
A hello, maybe a kiss; a few stolen minutes before one of you had to leave again.
But then you sat cross-legged in the chair across from his desk while telling him about a girl in your literature class who cried because she spilled coffee on her laptop, and Sam found himself listening so carefully that he completely forgot he was supposed to be answering emails. After that, it became routine. Yours.
Now you show up between classes with sleepy smiles and stories about your day, and Sam—despite being a respected history professor with a terrifying amount of grading to do—starts unconsciously waiting for it.
“You’re late,” he says one afternoon, though his voice carries none of the sharpness the words should have. You pause in the doorway dramatically, one hand clutching your chest. “I was gone for six minutes longer than usual.”
Sam leans back slightly in his chair, trying and failing to suppress the smile tugging at his mouth. “Exactly. I was beginning to think you found another history professor.” You gasp softly, scandalized in the prettiest way possible. “Never. You’re my favorite one.”
His eyes flick briefly toward the open office door at that, instinctively cautious, before settling back on you again. “Careful,” he murmurs, lowering his voice slightly. “You keep saying things like that out loud, people are gonna start getting suspicious.”
You soften immediately at his tone, stepping fully inside before gently nudging the office door mostly shut behind you; not closed enough to look strange, but enough to give you a little privacy. “Sorry,” you murmur automatically, moving closer to his desk. “I forgot.” Sam’s expression changes instantly at the apology, warmth replacing the teasing almost immediately. “Hey.” His voice drops softer. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“That.” He sets his pen down fully now, attention completely shifting to you. “Apologizing every time you say something sweet.”
Your cheeks warm up faintly at that, and God, he loves when you do that. Loves how easy it is to make you fuzzy, how your softness never feels performative or calculated. You’re just… genuinely sweet. Warm in a way that catches him off guard even now.
“I can’t help it,” you admit quietly, coming around the side of his desk until you’re standing close enough for his knee to brush your thigh. “You make me nervous sometimes.” Sam lets out a quiet breath through his nose, amused and fond all at once. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs, tilting his head up to look at you properly, “you’ve been dating me for six months.”
“I know.” Your voice turns smaller somehow, shy despite yourself. “You still make me nervous.”
That does something unfair to him.
Sam reaches for you instinctively then, one hand settling gently around your wrist before sliding down until his fingers lace loosely through yours. “C’mere,” he says softly.
You go immediately, stepping between his knees without hesitation, your skirt brushing lightly against his legs. Sam’s hands settle carefully at your waist, familiar and warm, and the second he pulls you just slightly closer, your whole body relaxes. He notices that every single time; that unconscious softening whenever he touches you, like your body trusts him before your mind can even think about it.
“You have class in ten minutes,” he murmurs, though he makes absolutely no move to let you go. “Mhm.” You nod at his words.
“And you walked all the way over here just to see me.”
“Mhm.” His mouth twitches. “You’re clingy.” You blink down at him innocently, a ghost of a smile on your face. “You like it.” Sam actually laughs quietly at that, low and warm enough to make your chest tighten pleasantly. “Yeah,” he admits, fingers pressing slightly against your waist. “Yeah, I do.”
The relationship is ridiculous, honestly. Not the feelings: ever the feelings but just… the logistics of it.
The sneaking around, the stolen moments, the way Sam has to carefully school his expression during lectures whenever you walk in wearing soft pink sweaters and glossy lips and looking entirely too pretty for his own sanity or the way you have to pretend you aren’t completely in love with the man discussing nineteenth-century warfare while students around you struggle to stay awake.
And God, the office visits; those are the worst or the best part.
Sam still hasn’t decided.
Because every time you wander into his office between classes, carrying iced coffee or pastries or some tiny story you absolutely need to tell him, he forgets how to act normal for a few minutes. He stops being Professor Winchester and just becomes Sam again—your Sam, the one who kisses your forehead while reading essays, who keeps strawberry candies in his desk drawer because you like them, who listens with complete seriousness when you ramble about café playlists or pretty bookstores you found downtown.
Today, you’re talking animatedly about a tiny bakery near campus while perched on the edge of his desk, your legs swinging lightly as Sam pretends to organize papers beside you. “And they put little heart shapes in the whipped cream,” you’re saying earnestly. “Like actual little hearts. It was so cute.”
Sam hums like this is the most important information he’s heard all day. “Sounds life-changing.”
“It kind of was.”
“There she is,” he murmurs dryly. “The dramatic side finally comes out.” You nudge his shoulder lightly with your knee. “You’re mean.”
“I’m realistic.”
“You kissed me goodbye this morning and said my sweater made me look ‘dangerously adorable.’” Sam freezes for half a second, then slowly looks up at you. “You remember everything I say, huh?”
“Yes.” Your answer comes instantly, soft and honest. “Especially the sweet things.” Something in his chest pulls tight. You do that to him constantly without even realizing.
Sam steps closer before he can think too hard about it, one hand settling automatically against your thigh where it rests near the edge of the desk. There’s nothing sexual about it, no; it’s warm and lovely and sweet. His thumb strokes once through the soft fabric there, absentminded and affectionate, and your voice falters immediately.
His eyes flick up to yours, catching the way your lashes lower slightly, the way your fingers tighten faintly around the edge of the desk.
“You okay there, baby?” he asks quietly. You nod too quickly. “Mhm.” Sam smiles a little because you always do that when he affects you more than you expect. “You sure?” Your cheeks warm. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” You trail off helplessly, your expression growing more flustered under his attention. “Like you know things.”
“Oh, lovely.” His voice lowers, gentler now. “I do know things.” You duck your head slightly at that, and Sam feels unbearably fond all at once. He steps between your knees carefully, his hand sliding from your thigh to your waist instead. “You’re cute when you get shy,” he murmurs.
“You make me shy.”
“Good.” Your eyes widen slightly. “Sam!”
“What?” he asks innocently, though his hands are pulling you closer now, guiding you carefully toward the edge of the desk. “I like knowing I can still do that to you.” You let out the softest little laugh then, warm and breathy and embarrassed all at once, and Sam swears he could live inside that sound. “You’re impossible,” you whisper.
“And you still came all the way over here just to kiss me and tell me about your day.”
“…Maybe.”
“Maybe?” His eyebrows lift. You try to hold onto your dignity for approximately three seconds before failing completely. “Okay, yes,” you admit softly. “I missed you.”
God. Sam’s entire expression softens instantly. There’s something almost unfair about how openly you love him sometimes. How easily you say things like that. No games, no hesitation, just warmth offered so freely it leaves him a little stunned every time.
“C’mere,” he murmurs again, quieter this time. His hand slides gently up your side before settling against your jaw, thumb brushing softly along your cheek, and then he kisses you. It’s slowly and carefully like he’s savoring it.
You melt immediately, your hands finding his shoulders without thinking, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his button-up shirt. Sam kisses like he does most things—with intention. Just steady warmth and quiet affection that builds slowly until your heart feels too full to hold it all. You sigh softly against his mouth, and Sam feels it everywhere.
“Missed you too,” he murmurs when he finally pulls back slightly, his forehead resting briefly against yours. Your eyes stay half-lidded for a second longer before you smile, small and dreamy. “You’re supposed to be grading papers.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“You let me.”
“Sweetheart,” he says softly, brushing another kiss against the corner of your mouth, “I practically encourage it.”
You laugh quietly then, your hands smoothing absentmindedly over his shoulders while he keeps you tucked close between his arms. Outside the office, students continue moving through the hallways, voices drifting faintly past the door, the normal rhythm of campus life carrying on around your secret little world.
But in here, tucked into the warm quiet of Sam’s office with his hands steady on your waist and his mouth still lingering close enough to kiss again, everything feels softer somehow.
Safer.
Like love folded carefully into stolen afternoons between classes.
Okay I don't have a whole lot of details but I was wondering if you could write a Sam Winchester x short!f!reader fic? (Context, I'm 5'0")
helloooo my tiny friend (meant with love) :3 hope you don't mind, this is gonna be some headcanons instead of a fic, but i will try not to disappoint!!! <3
content warning: fluffy and smutty (with a hint of crack) headcanons about our lanky 6'4" king sam winchester and his tiny (but mighty) gf :3
word count: 387 :)
small note: first time writing for sammy boy, kind of excited. yes, i'm a sam girl all the way... but dw dean can still get it, too!!! >:3
bf! sam winchester who always has to lean over a bit to hear you when you're speaking. you think he's doing it to tease you, but sometimes bro genuinely just can't hear you all the way down there.
bf! sam winchester who may or may not enjoy watching you struggle to reach him for a kiss. you're wobbling on your tiptoes, but he keeps his hands at his sides instead of helping you because you tell him off every time he tries.
bf! sam winchester who has to duck in the shower in order to wash his hair. it's all fun and games until you're standing behind him and left to deal with the runoff, sputtering and wiping at your face while sam just laughs at your misery.
bf! sam winchester who loves hugging you because he can hold you close to his chest. likes it even better when you're in bed and completely engulfed in his embrace.
bf! sam winchester who hoists you up on the counter just to have you eye-level (ish) with him every once in a while. saves him from the neck pain, and gives him an excuse to feel you up.
~~~ smutty headcanons ~~~
bf! sam winchester who loves doggystyle with you, even though it hurts his back after like five seconds. he loves being able to see your facial expressions while still being behind you and pressing his cock as deep as it will go.
bf! sam winchester who loves doing lotus position with you because you fit so perfectly in his lap. his big hands are splayed over your back while you rock your hips against him, making yourself feel good... which is all he ever wants.
bf! sam winchester who struggles to bend you over nearby surfaces because your legs are so much shorter than his. instead, he drapes you over them so he's lined up right with your entrance. sure, your legs are dangling and you can't touch the ground, but he'd never let you fall.
bf! sam winchester who was super confused as to why you wanted to try prone bone so badly, until he realized that he practically smothered you when it happened. you told him you liked the feeling of being overpowered, so he just went along with it, not daring to question you.
a/n: ERM even though these might not all apply to me as an average height person, it's still nice to think about being crushed by a lanky guy like sam. (need his cookie bad)
HOPE YOU LIKED THIS LMK IF YOU WANT MORE WINCHESTER WORKS!!!! :3
The room is bathed in the dim, golden glow of the salt lamp Dean insists on keeping in every motel room “for vibes, Sammy”, but right now, the only vibe is the slow, heavy drag of Sam’s cock inside you, his body a warm, solid weight pressed against your back. He’s half-asleep, his movements sluggish, like he’s fucking you in a dream. One he never wants to wake up from.
A pillow’s wedged under your hips, tilting you just enough that every time he sinks in, he stays there, buried to the hilt, his pubic bone grinding against your ass with a lazy, circular roll. You can feel everything—the stretch, the heat, the way his cock twitches inside you when you clench around him, like he’s surprised by how good it feels, even now.
His arm is a band around your waist, his fingers splayed over your stomach, pulling you back onto him with every slow, deep thrust. His other hand is clamped over your mouth, but there’s no real force behind it. Just the quiet understanding that Dean’s in the next room, and if he hears anything—even the wet, obscene sounds of Sam fucking you—he’ll never let either of you live it down.
“Mmm, fuck,” Sam mumbles into the crook of your neck, his voice thick with sleep, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re so tight like this.” His hips rock forward, his cock dragging against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, and you whimper against his palm, the sound muffled but desperate. He smiles, you can feel it against your shoulder—because he knows what he’s doing to you.
His hand on your stomach slides further down beneath you, his fingers finding your clit with the kind of lazy precision that comes from knowing your body. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t need to. His thumb circles you in slow, maddening little swirls, his touch feather-light at first, then firmer when you buck back against him, begging without words.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice a sleepy purr. “Take me. All of me.” And you do. You do, because how could you not? When he’s like this—warm, heavy, his cock throbbing inside you with every shallow breath—there’s nothing else in the world but the two of you, the slick slide of skin, the way his chest rises and falls against your back.
His thrusts are lazy, almost drowsy, but no less deep. Every time he bottoms out, he stays there, his hips pressed flush against your ass, his cock pulsing like he’s savoring the way you clench around him. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispers, his voice breaking just a little, and the sound of it has you squeezing around him harder, earning a broken groan from his chest.
His thumb presses down on your clit, and your body shudders, your orgasm building slow and deep, like a tide pulling you under. You can feel him everywhere—his chest against your back, his cock buried inside you, his fingers working you over, his breath hot against your neck. “Sam—” His name is a plea, a whine, and he swallows it, his hand pressing harder over your mouth as his own rhythm stutters, his hips losing their careful pace.
“I can’t—fuck—I can’t last,” he admits, and the admission is raw, so Sam it hurts. His thrusts turn erratic, his fingers digging into your hip, his cock twitching inside you as he chases his own release.
And then his thumb presses down, hard, and the world tilts. Your orgasm rips through you, slow and deep, your body clamping down around him so tightly he groans, his own release following with a shuddering, broken cry against your shoulder. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he spills inside you, his cock pulsing, his whole body trembling.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the thud of his heartbeat against your back, the way his grip on you loosens just enough to let you drag in a lungful of air. His hand slides from your mouth, his fingers lingering against your lips like he’s memorizing the shape of them.
Then, because he’s Sam, because he can’t not say it—“You okay?” His voice is rough, worried, even now. Even after.
And you laugh, breathless, because of course he’d ask that. Of course he’d still be checking on you when he’s the one who just got fucked senseless.
You turn your head just enough to catch his mouth in a slow, sleepy kiss, tasting the salt on his skin, the faint hint of coffee from the diner down the road. “I will be,” you murmur against his lips, “when you do that again.”
His chuckle is quiet, low, and full of promises. “Oh, we’re definitely doing that again.”
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ after too many shots celebrating sam’s perfect gpa, the words you’ve been holding back finally spill while you’re dancing in his arms, and sam can’t wait to hear them again somewhere more private.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ stanford!sam winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 1130 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ smut !!
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, drunk consensual sex, semi-public bathroom sex, p in v, use of condom, alcohol consumption, mild language
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
you’re pressed tight against sam’s chest, the bass from the bar speakers vibrating through both of you hard enough you feel it in your bones. the room spins in the best way, warm lights blurring at the edges, laughter and clinking glasses fading into background noise.
sam’s hands are steady on your waist, holding you up because your knees decided to quit somewhere around the fourth shot. or was it the fifth? you lost count after the bartender started cheering for sam’s ridiculous 174 lsat.
he’s the greatest boyfriend. tall, smart, kind in that quiet way that makes your chest ache. you’ve been sharing that tiny off-campus apartment for months now, tangled sheets and late-night study sessions turning into something deeper every single day, but the big words have never quite made it past your lips.
tonight, they do.
your arms loop around his neck, face buried in the warm skin just below his ear. the smell of him—soap and a hint of beer and that faint library-book scent he always carries—makes everything feel safe even while the world tilts.
“i’m so damn in love with you, sam,” you mumble, lips brushing his earlobe. the words tumble out sloppy and honest, soaked in tequila.
sam stills for half a second, his grip tightening. then a slow grin spreads across his face, surprised and so damn bright it cuts through the haze in your head. he pulls back just enough to look at you, hazel eyes warm and a little wide.
“say that again,” he says, voice low, right against your mouth.
your knees buckle a little more. you smile, drunk and dizzy and stupidly happy. “i said i’m stupidly in love with you, sammy.”
the grin turns into something hungrier. he doesn’t answer with words. instead he catches your hand, laces your fingers together, and starts weaving through the crowd toward the back hallway. you stumble after him, giggling, the music still thumping in your chest.
he pushes open the bathroom door—a single stall—locks it behind you with a quick click, and the noise of the bar dulls to a muffled pulse.
before you can say anything he lifts you, big hands under your thighs, and sits you on the edge of the counter, your ass half in the sink, the porcelain is cool through your skirt. sam steps between your legs, tall frame crowding you, and you feel how hard he already is, pressed right against your core through his jeans.
“fuck, baby,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours. his voice is rough, breath warm with alcohol and want brushing your cheek. “you can’t just say shit like that when i’m trying to be responsible.”
you laugh softly, hands sliding under his shirt to feel the warm skin of his back. “but i mean it. been meaning it for months. just… scared, i guess. now i’m drunk and brave.”
sam kisses you then, deep and messy, tongues sliding together while his hands push your skirt higher up your thighs. you moan into his mouth, needy, hips rocking forward to chase the friction.
he’s so hard it makes your stomach flutter.
responsible sam, always the careful one, still pulls a condom from his wallet without breaking the kiss. you hear the foil tear and it sends a fresh wave of heat through you.
“need you,” you whisper against his lips, fingers fumbling with his belt. “right now, sam. please.”
“i’ve got you.” his voice cracks a little, too much feeling packed into three words.
he shoves his jeans and boxers down just enough, rolls the condom on with steady hands even though his breath is coming fast. then he’s pushing your panties aside, fingers sliding through your slick folds once, twice, checking you’re ready.
“jesus christ, baby,” he hisses.
you are. embarrassingly so. the alcohol and the confession and the way he’s looking at you like you hung the moon have you dripping.
he lines up and sinks in slow, one long push that stretches you open and steals the air from your lungs. you gasp, head falling back against the mirror, and sam groans low in his throat, hips stuttering once before he catches himself.
“god, you feel so good,” he murmurs, forehead pressed to yours again. he starts moving, deep and steady, the angle perfect because of how high the counter is.
every thrust drags against that spot inside you that makes sparks shoot up your spine.
“been wanting to hear you say it. i love you too, baby. so fucking much. didn’t know how to say it either.”
your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in through his shirt. the confession feels raw, perfect, the words tumbling out between moans and the wet sound of skin meeting skin.
“love you,” you pant, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. “love your stupid giant brain and how you make me coffee exactly right and how you look at me like i’m the only person in the room even when we’re in a crowd.”
sam’s rhythm falters for a second, then picks up, harder, deeper, like your words are fuel. the counter creaks under you. his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that make your vision spark white at the edges.
“say it again,” he demands softly, voice strained. “please.”
“i’m in love with you, sam winchester.” the words come out breathy, broken by a moan when he hits that perfect angle again. “so in love it scares me sometimes.”
he kisses you hard, swallowing the sound, hips snapping forward. the tension coils tight and fast, alcohol making everything feel brighter, more intense. you come first, clenching around him with a cry that he muffles against your neck, body shaking through the waves.
sam follows right after, burying himself deep and groaning your name, hips jerking through the aftershocks. for a long moment you just cling to each other, breathing hard, hearts hammering in sync.
he stays inside you while you both come down, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “we’re doing this right,” he whispers, still a little breathless. “the apartment, the future, all of it. i’m not letting you go.”
you smile against his skin, drunk and sated and so full of love it hurts in the best way. your fingers thread through his hair, holding him close while the muffled music from the bar pulses on.
the bathroom light is too bright and the counter is uncomfortable and tomorrow you’ll probably have a killer hangover, but right now none of that matters. sam is warm and solid and yours, and the words you finally said are still hanging in the air between you like a promise neither of you plan to break.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
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I hate wanting a man so bad that it makes me nauseous bc I know it's a sign that I shouldn't want him, but it makes me want him even more
if evil then why does he leave the firepit to go all the way to the top floor of the frat to bring me a cigarette when I drunkenly ask for one? why does he let me have multiple and light them all for me? why does he send me the pictures of the moon that I asked for?
happy 2026, wanda is losing her goddamn mind chat 😔✊️
if frat man evil why was my head on his lap last night and why did he keep putting his hand on my back and hold my hand at some point? why was he talking to me about how he always expects the drunk text from me?
the journal factory must have exploded bc appearing again just to keep y'all updated
I love having a crush and I hate it too, this is humiliating but also that's my man
also thinking about bf! sam winchester fucking you in a cheap motel bed while dean showers, his big hand clamped over your mouth as he pounds into you, trying his best to keep the mattress from creaking. you’re a mess beneath him, trying to keep your sounds from ever leaving your lips, eyes rolled back and thighs spasming around his hips as he drags his cock in and out, tantalizing and earth shattering. he rests his body weight on top of you, enveloping you in the musky warmth of his skin, whispering hoarsely in your ear as his orgasm approaches. “come on, baby. you gotta hurry up and cum f’me,” he grits out, “you don’t want dean to find you, d’you? see you all fucked dumb, hm?” you shake your head, squeezing tighter around him, moans muffled by his palm as you come undone, milking his cock with each spasm of your tight cunt. he fills you with a barely muffled groan, head dropping to your neck, slowly stilling and pulling out carefully, hissing at the sight of his cum leaking from your hole. “good girl,” he praises, helping you redress, just as the shower cuts off, “you’re a mess, baby. let me clean you up.” you sit, obedient and content, letting him fuss over your hair and the mascara smeared beneath your eyes. finally, dean emerges, eyeing the two of you suspiciously. “you two didn’t do any weird shit in here, did you?” he accuses. “no, man, come on,” sam scoffs, tucking himself beneath the blanket, already reaching for the lamp switch, “you’re paranoid. go to sleep.” later, deep into the night, sam’s fingers slip beneath your pajamas bottoms once more, finding the wetness left behind by your earlier actions. as dean sleeps across the room, oblivious, sam’s fingers expertly work you up into another orgasm, making you cum with your face buried in the pillow, his length pressed firm against your ass.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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zrurnk wanda heree at the scene of the crimee to saty
me and fhiss stupid evicol frsf man against the world's man, he's defnened me agaosnft allll the goosssip Hess literally *the* man iddc if he's a toxic fuckboty like hesss so sweet to me ughgggg
I hate wanting a man so bad that it makes me nauseous bc I know it's a sign that I shouldn't want him, but it makes me want him even more
if evil then why does he leave the firepit to go all the way to the top floor of the frat to bring me a cigarette when I drunkenly ask for one? why does he let me have multiple and light them all for me? why does he send me the pictures of the moon that I asked for?
happy 2026, wanda is losing her goddamn mind chat 😔✊️
