JUST KNOW THAT I’LL WILL FIND MY WAY TO YOU
summary: Exes who can’t seem to stay away always find their way back. When Sam goes on a hunt alone, he ends up running into his ex or was it intentional?
warnings: black cat x golden retriever trope! making out, sexual tension,mention of blood and death (not them), reader teasing sam, fluff, different povs, hate everyone but sam (he just can’t know it)
The rain in Ohio didn’t just fall it clung to everything like a damp wool blanket.
Sam sat in front of the seat of the impala, the heater blowing dust and dry air into his face as he stared at the flickering neon sign of the diner. He was supposed to be tracking a shapeshifter.
The heavy thud of the car door shutting was the only sound in the gravel lot, instantly swallowed by the quiet of the night. Sam stepped out into the cool air, his flashlight his flash light cutting a sharp beam through the darkness until it landed on the crumble shape slumped against a nearby concrete barrier. He drew his weapon, stepping closer, but the tension in his shoulders dropped the moment he saw the dark, streaming pool of black blood.
He crouched down, shining the light on the monsters chest.
Sam knew the rules of being an ex-hunter boyfriend: you don't call, you don't look up their coordinates on the police scanners, and you definitely don't hope to run into them on a solo hunt. Yet, as he stared at the clean, precise knife cuts on the monster's chest, he knew. It was her signature. Sharp, efficient, and completely reckless.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at the freshly slain beast. Even if he hadn’t been the one to drop it, he couldn’t just leave a monster corpse rotting in a diner gravel lot. It took twenty minutes of heavy lifting, dirt under his fingernails, and a makeshift grave behind a row of pine trees to get the job done.
Back in the front seat of the car, Sam turned the key just enough to kick on the dashboard lights. He pulled out his phone and dialed.
It took four rings before a raspy congested voice answered. “yeah?”
"Hey. You alive?" Sam asked, leaning his head back against the headrest.
“Barely,” Dean groaned, followed by the wet, pathetic sound of sneeze. “My head feels like a bowling ball and the motel cable only has three channels. Tell me you got the damn shifter so i can sleep in peace.”
"I found it," Sam said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Or, well... someone else did. I just got to the parking lot and it was already dead. Clean slash right through the chest."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. The sound of shifting blankets echoed through the speaker. "Wait. Clean slash? like you know"
"Yeah," Sam murmured, his voice softening. "Exactly like that."
A heavy, congested chuckle came through the phone. "Oh, man. Your girlfriend's in town. Have fun with that, Sammy."
“She’s my ex, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes, through there was no real heat in it. “And she’s not my—“
"Whatever you say, kid. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Which, let's face it, leaves you with zero options. I'm going back to sleep."
Sam tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, shaking his head with another eye-roll. He put the car in drive and pulled out of the lot, checking his notebook for his next lead a local bar where the victims had last been seen.
As he drove, a strange, warm flutter bloomed in his chest. He tried to brush it off, tried to tell himself he was just focused on the case. But he couldn't deny the sudden, quiet rush of adrenaline at the thought that, sometime tonight, he was going to see her again.
The neon sign of The Rusty Anchor flickered against the damp brick wall, casting a buzzing red glow over the wet pavement. Sam pulled his brown jacket tight against him and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The smell of stale beer and fried food hit him instantly.
He slid onto a stool at the bar, casually flipping open his leather badge wallet to reveal his fake FBI ID. "Evening. Agent Landis. I’m looking into the recent string of unusual deaths in the area."
The bartender, a tired-looking guy wiping down a glass with a dirty rag, barely blinked. “Already talked to one of your partners earlier today, Agent.
Sam’s brow furrowed, head tilted. He and Dean hadn't talked to anyone yet. "My partner?"
"Yeah. Short lady. Had a real attitude on her, too," the bartender said, setting the glass down. "Wore a black jacket, gold rings, and these low-rise jeans. She came in, ordered a club soda, and started asking the exact same questions about the victims. Then she played a single game of pool by herself, cleaned the table, and walked out without saying goodbye."
Sam’s heart gave a sudden, violent thump that the thought of what she’s wearing.
He knew the way she chalked a pool cue, her eyes sharp and scanning the room while pretending to focus on the game. It was her. She was already ahead of him.
"Right," Sam said, clearing his throat and trying to keep his voice completely professional despite the sudden rush of adrenaline. "My partner. Did she say where she was heading next?"
Leaving the bar behind, Sam drove back to the motel, the tires crunching softly on the wet gravel. He slipped his keycard into Dean’s room first to check on him. The space was an absolute disaster empty soup cans littered the nightstand, tissues were piled like tiny snowdrifts on the floor, and Dean was sprawled face-down across the mattress, snoring so loudly the cheap light fixtures practically rattled.
Sam rolled his eyes, a fond but exasperated huff escaping him as he quietly shut the door and walked over to his own room.
He swiped his key, stepped into the dark room, and tossed his duffel bag onto the luggage rack. Weary from the long drive and the grave-digging, he unbuttoned his jacket, tossing it onto the bed, and reached up to take of his shirt. He turned around, pulling the fabric from his collar and froze.
Sitting in the worn armchair in the corner of the dim room, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, was a shadow. As his eyes adjusted, the faint neon light from the motel sign outside caught the slight smile on her lips and the dark, glossy leather of her jacket.
You leaned your head back, lips curving into a slow, wicked smirk.
"You stalking me now, Sammy?" you asked, voice a low, teasing purr that cut straight through the quiet room.
Instantly, a hot, furious blush rushed up Sam's neck, heat blooming across his cheeks. He practically choked on his own breath, his fingers fumbling with shirt as he tried to find his words.
"I—no! I'm not stalking you," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he took a hasty, defensive step backward. "I was, I'm on a case. A lead. I was actually just investigating at the bar, and-and how did you even get in here?"
your smirk only widened at his reaction, dark eyes glittering with amusement as you watched him squirm. you loved how easily she could throw the giant, entirely off his game after all she knew how to get under his skin and under him.
"Locks are easy, Winchester," you murmured, standing up slowly, the sheer magnetic pull of her presence filling the small space between them. "And you're still a terrible liar."
you took a slow, deliberate step toward him. The heels of your boots clicked quietly against the cheap linoleum, a sound that seemed to beat in sync with the sudden hammering in Sam’s chest. you stopped just inches away, looking up at him through your eyelashes. your eyes dragged down his frame noting the sharp line of his V line and the way he’s gotten so much bigger , the way his hands still twitched near his collar you were subtly checking him out without a single shred of shame.
you let out a soft, amused hum.
What?" Sam asked, his voice coming out a little breathless. He reached up, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he tried to find somewhere else to look besides your lips.
you didn't answer right away. you just stared at him, hiding the way your heart did a tiny, familiar flutter at his sheer awkwardness. you loved that you still had this effect on him.
"What do you got?" you asked finally, tilting your head.
Sam just stood there. He was completely spaced out, drowning in the scent of your perfume and the sheer reality of you being right here in his room. He stared down at you like a hopelessly love-sick puppy, his mind a total, fuzzy blank.
"Huh?" he mumbled, blinking.
you let out a quiet, mocking laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "The case, Winchester. What do you have on the case?"
Sam let out a soft huff, a quiet smile finally breaking through his shyness. He raised his eyebrows at you, crossing his arms over his chest. "First time I've seen you in months, and that's the first thing you have to say to me?"
you let out a slight laugh, rolling your eyes as you took another half-step forward. The distance between them was shrinking fast. "Oh, I’ve seen you, Sammy. You just haven’t seen me."
A fresh wave of heat rushed to his face, but this time, a playful grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned down slightly, matching your level. "Oh, really? So who’s the stalker now?"
"I’m not stalking, I'm monitoring," your corrected smoothly, your voice dropping to a teasing murmur as you stepped directly into his space. he was close enough now that he could feel the faint warmth radiating from you, close enough to see the quiet, hidden fondness in your eyes that you tried so hard to mask. "There's a difference."
"Right, monitoring," Sam echoed, his voice suddenly thick. He didn't back away this time. Instead, he held her gaze, the playful banter melting into a heavy, charged silence that reminded them both of exactly why they were so dangerous to each other.
"Did you want something?," you muttered, wrapping your arms around his neck. you pulled him in, pressing soft kisses to his neck, taking your time to build what you’re were about to do to him. When you sucked at the spot right beneath his ear, he let out a whimper, throwing his head back slightly to give her more access to his neck and more.
The tension breaks the moment you close the final inch of distance between them, Sam’s mind completely shorts out. His hands hover in the air for a fraction of a second
Within seconds, he wrapped his arms around you and leaned in deeper into the kiss that grew deeper by the second.
When you tried to pull away to get the air you needed and so does sam but he wouldn't let you, he pulled you deeper by the waist. You pull him down more your tongue slipping in his mouth. He lets out a loud whimper understandably. You two haven’t , held and kissed each other in months and that was enough reason for sam. He had been waiting for this. Craving you.
Craving your lips on his, craving your hands wandering up and down his body, craving you whispering sweet nothings into his ears. Telling you how much you missed him. Telling him how good he was for you.
you slowly push him back, guiding him towards the bed. smoothly taking off your jacket.
The sharp, sudden sound of a card swiping in the connecting door shatters the silence.
The door flies open, and Dean freezes in the threshold, wrapped in a blanket, looking pale, congested, and completely bewildered. "What the hell?" he croaks, his voice thick with a head cold.
You pull away from Sam smoothly, not a single hair out of place, while Sam hurry’s and stand up looking flushed, breathless, and looking like he just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. You look over at Dean, and roll your eyes.
"Shut up, Dean," you say flatly.
Without another word, you brush past him, stepping out into the cool night air. The heavy motel door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing through the gravel lot.
a/n: yes there is a part 2 (maybe😗) and this is not edited sorry!!!
turnnoffyourmind
blakekathryn
germansingergirl
areudirty
