I'm a princess of hell

With your mouth full, you replied “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Dean.”

Dean glanced at the nearly empty pie tin.

"...Seriously?" he said, one eyebrow raised. "Yeah, no. That's enough for you." Dean took the plate off you, frowning, clearly upset at the fact that you were eating almost all his breakfast. 

You wondered what was going on in Sam’s brain. Maybe he was just as confused as you were, or he regretted the whole thing. Whatever it was, you worried things would never be the same again.

True to his word, Sam buried himself in work. It didn't take him long to find a case. A honeymoon resort had become the site of a string of unexplained deaths. Over the past month, six newly married men had suffered fatal heart attacks during their first week there.

"Okay," Sam said, scrolling through the reports. "Dean and I will go as FBI. We can interview the wives."

Dean leaned over his shoulder, reading the article for himself.

"Local police already questioned the staff," he read aloud. "Found nothing."

Sam clicked through the victims and made an observation, "Every attack happened after the couples checked in."

Dean leaned back in his chair. "So we check in."

"As guests…" You finished.

"Yep, exactly"

Then Dean slowly pointed between you and Sam, "Congratulations. You're married."

You stared at him. "What? Why Sam and me?"

Dean frowned like the answer should've been obvious. "Because I don't plan on wearing a floral hawaiian shirt and pretending to be your husband."

"Besides," he continued, pointing at Sam, "he's tall, awkward, and looks like he'd honeymoon in a cabin with a book."

Sam blinked. "...What does that even mean?"

"It means people'll buy it."

What kind of sick joke is this? you thought. You glanced at Sam. He was staring blankly at Dean, nodding every few seconds as though he were listening, but you knew him well enough to recognize when his brain had completely checked out.

You were really about to spend the next few days pretending to be his wife. It shouldn't have been a problem; you'd hunted with Sam for over a decade. Slept beside him on motel floors. Patched each other's wounds and trusted him with your life more times than you could count. Pretending to be close should've been the easiest part of the job, but it wasn't anymore.

It wasn't just that you'd slept together. It was the way he'd looked at you afterward. The way he'd asked if you were okay. The way he'd hesitated before even walking into your room, like crossing that line, scared him as much as it scared you.

"Okay, guys, get your stuff together. I'll get Baby ready for the trip." 

Dean disappeared down the hallway, and the bunker fell quiet. You and Sam were alone. Neither of you seemed to know what to do with your hands, where to look, or how to fill the silence. It stretched on for nearly a minute before either of you dared to speak.

You forced a nervous chuckle: "Well... we're really doing this." Your eyes drifted everywhere except toward him; the floor, the ceiling, the walls, anywhere that wasn't Sam.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Y/N..." And you finally looked up. "Do you... want to talk about last night?"

Your stomach sank. You couldn’t explain it, but your head was spinning, going through every conversation you’d ever had with Sam. You'd talked about hunts, nightmares, your families, dying, coming back from the dead, but somehow, this was the hardest conversation the two of you had ever faced. 

"You don't have to," he said quietly. "I just... I didn't want to pretend it never happened."

“No, I know." You shook your head, searching for the right words. "I just... I don't want to ruin what we have."

Sam's expression softened immediately, as if the answer had been obvious to him all along. "You're not going to." He took a hesitant step closer, close enough that you could see the uncertainty in his eyes despite the reassurance in his voice. After a moment, he rubbed the back of his neck and let out a quiet breath. "And... thanks. For last night. I needed that."

You raised an eyebrow, "The sex?"

A breathy laugh escaped him as he looked down at the floor, shaking his head to himself. "No." When he looked back at you, a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "A friend."

You couldn't help but smile. "That's... probably the sappiest thing you've ever said to me."

Sam let out a quiet laugh. "Yeah."

"Don't worry," you teased. "I won't tell Dean."

"Please don't." The two of you laughed. It wasn't a long laugh, but it was just enough to break the tension that had settled between you since that morning.

The silence returned, but this time it didn't feel quite as heavy. 

You took a slow breath. "So..." Sam looked at you expectantly. "Fake married."

He groaned, "Fake married."

When the three of you arrived at the resort, you were surprised to find the lobby bustling with guests. Considering six men had died there in the last month, business seemed to be doing just fine. 

Dean peeled off toward the security office while you and Sam headed for the reception desk, dressed like a couple on their honeymoon. You glanced down at the light summer dress you were wearing and tugged self-consciously at the hem.

"I look ridiculous," you muttered.

Sam looked over. "...No, you don't."

You raised an eyebrow. He shrugged, suddenly finding the floor very interesting.

"I, uh..." He cleared his throat. "I think you look nice."

You blinked. "Really?"

He nodded once. ”Yeah."

Another awkward pause.

Suddenly, Sam broke the silence again, "...You should wear colors like that more often." 

What? Heat rushed to your face "Shut up."

"I was giving you a compliment."

"Well... You looked away. "...Don't do that."

As the two of you got closer to the reception desk, you glanced at the line of couples waiting ahead of you. Everyone seemed effortlessly affectionate; arms wrapped around waists, hands resting on shoulders, stolen kisses exchanged while they waited. For a second, you wondered if anyone would believe the two of you were newlyweds if you kept a careful foot of distance between yourselves.

Without allowing yourself enough time to overthink it, you reached for Sam's hand and intertwined your fingers with his.

He stopped for the briefest moment. His gaze dropped to your joined hands before slowly lifting to meet yours, surprise flickering across his face. Neither of you spoke. He didn't pull away, nor did he tighten his grip; he simply looked at you as if trying to understand whether this was part of the act or something else entirely.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth curled into a small smile. His fingers settled more comfortably around yours, and his thumb brushed over the back of your hand. It was such a small gesture that he probably didn't even realize he'd done it, but it sent a warmth through your chest that had nothing to do with the summer heat outside.

You looked away before he could notice the smile threatening to appear on your own face.

"Next!" the receptionist called, pulling both of you back to reality.

You checked in successfully, despite the anxiousness and how little trust you had in the stunt you were performing.

The suite was far nicer than either of you had expected. A king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, facing a stone fireplace, while a large jacuzzi occupied one corner beside a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the lake. Even the bathroom looked bigger than some of the motel rooms you'd spent entire weeks sharing.

You wandered through the suite at a slow pace, running your fingertips over polished wooden furniture you were almost afraid to touch. Everything looked immaculate, expensive, like the kind of place reserved for people who planned vacations instead of hunts. It felt strange standing there, knowing that in another life you might have enjoyed a place like this simply because you wanted to, not because you were chasing another monster.

While you took in the room, Sam stepped back into the hallway after hearing voices outside. A few minutes later, he returned carrying a brochure and wearing the polite, slightly awkward smile he always seemed to reserve for strangers.

"Apparently the resort has a welcome event tonight," he said, setting the brochure on the table. "Every couple gets assigned a number, then they pair you up with another couple for dinner."

You frowned, "Like... a double date?"

Sam grimaced, "Yeah, a blind double date." He paused for a moment and then started to unpack his bags. Then, he took out a gun and bullets. “The good thing is that the more interaction we have, the better, so we need to pay as much attention as possible.”

“We’ll have to be convincing as well,” you said quietly.

Sam looked up from the weapon in his hands. For a brief second, neither of you spoke. "...Yeah," he admitted. "We will."

By the time evening arrived, the two of you had "borrowed" something a little more appropriate for the occasion from a boutique a few miles away. 

Sam wore a tuxedo. It fit him almost too well, making it easy to forget he'd spent the afternoon cleaning guns on the hotel bed. You had chosen a blue velvet dress, which wasn't extravagant, but it hugged you in all the right places, and for the first time in a long while, you caught yourself lingering in front of the mirror. 

And you felt pretty, but at the same time, you were more uncomfortable than ever. It felt like you didn’t have the right to pose as someone else, let alone someone pretty or fancy; every time someone smiled at you in the hallway, you fought the ridiculous urge to apologize. As if they could somehow tell you didn't belong among polished marble floors and candlelit dinners. As if they knew you were just a hunter pretending to be someone worthy of wearing a dress like this. It was a mixture of shame and fear, not because you feared the case itself- you’d done many before- but because deep down you wanted to be the pretty, fancy lady in the blue velvet dress and nothing more, yet you knew with the lifestyle you held, you’d never be that.

You took one last look in the mirror before opening the bathroom door. Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, adjusting the cuff of his tuxedo. At the sound of the door, he looked up.

He completely froze at the mere sight of you. You didn’t know what to say, since the shame never left your body, and now, Sam’s gaze was also making you incredibly nervous. 

You almost opened your mouth to say something, but you had run out of ideas and simply let out a small chuckle. Then frowned, trying to guess what he thought when he saw you like that.

“I-” You smiled from only one corner of your mouth, seeming worried. “I look dumb.”

“No, no,” Sam corrected you quickly, “Not at all, Y/N, I think you look…” He paused again, remembering how awkward it had felt when he first complimented you, afraid to make the same mistake again. "The dress is..." He cleared his throat. "Beautiful."

"Yeah," you replied with a small smile. "It's a nice dre-"

He interrupted you before you could finish. His cheeks flushed almost immediately, as if he hadn't meant to say it out loud. "You're beautiful too."

“Thanks,” You simply replied, hiding the fact that your stomach sank a bit more each time you made eye contact with him. “We should get going.”

“Yeah, let’s do this.” 

The dining hall buzzed with conversation, every table occupied by couples laughing over candlelit dinners. It almost made you forget why you were there. 

As soon as you arrived, you saw the couple eagerly waving at you, holding their numbers, as if they’ve been expecting you for a while now. 

You and Sam sat at the table, facing them and smiling. “Hi, good evening,” Sam said politely.

“Good evening, sir, and Mrs.” The husband added. “My name is Martin, and this is my wife Caroline.

“Very nice to meet you,” you replied, then extended your hand and shook their hands, because you didn’t know better. It felt awkward.

“Do you want a drink?” Caroline asked you two in a warm tone.

“Oh no, no, thanks, I don’t drink on hun-” You realized the huge and stupid mistake you were about to make; you felt every muscle in your body tense,  so you quickly tried to escape from it with the first thing that came to your mind: “I’m pregnant”

Sam stared at you for a second. “You’re what?” He noticed his own slip, so he tried to correct it quickly too. “I mean-” He laughed it off. “I always forget she’s pregnant,” he rubbed the back of his neck. "Crazy, right?”

You laughed as well, trying to save the situation. “It´s fine, I always looked kind of bloated.” You heard yourself and died a little inside.

The couple nervously laughed along with you, and then an awkward silence followed to make everything worse. 

"So... no shots tonight!" you blurted out, immediately regretting opening your mouth again.

Thankfully, Sam cut in before you could make things any worse.

"So," he said with an apologetic smile, "where are you two from?"

Martin happily took over the conversation. "I'm from Florida, but Caroline's from Vancouver."

"We're moving to Canada next month," Caroline added, her face lighting up. "Everything's already planned. We bought a little house outside the city, and..." She looked at Martin with a smile so effortless it almost hurt to watch. "We're hoping to start a family pretty soon."

As she spoke, she slipped her arm around Martin's and rested her head against his shoulder without a second thought. It looked so natural, so practiced, like she'd done it a thousand times before.

As you watched this interaction, you thought of doing something similar so you would look natural like them but were hesitant about what to do. You glanced at Sam. He was listening politely, completely unaware that you were studying him. For a brief moment, you wondered if you should do something similar. Slip your hand into his, lean against his shoulder. The thought alone made your heart race.

After thinking about it for a while, you finally did it; you slipped your arm through his and gently held onto it. The movement was hesitant, as though you were silently asking if this was okay.

Sam looked down at your arm wrapped around his, then up at you. His surprise lasted only a second before his expression softened into the smallest smile. Without saying a word, he relaxed against your touch, just enough for you to know you hadn't overstepped.

“Aw, you look so sweet together,” Caroline exclaimed, placing a huge emphasis on the "aw." “I want to know how you two met.” 

“Do not fuck this up,” you told yourself before answering. 

“We met in college, actually.” You didn’t want to tell Sam, but this part you had actually practiced already. “We were friends for years; I always had a crush on him that I wasn’t even aware of.” You let go of the grip on his arm and looked at him as you kept going. “We also worked together for a while at his father’s company, and I guess that through time I slowly realized that what I thought was just friendship was actually much more than that.” You locked eyes while you said that and stared at each other for a few seconds without saying anything else.

“And??” Caroline interrupted your silence, excited to hear more. “Then what happened?”

"Honestly... nothing dramatic." He shrugged. “I was also having all these feelings, but I was too afraid to say something because of our friendship.” He looked down for a bit, almost as if he wanted to hide himself. “But then one day I gained courage and told her what really happens to me when I look at her.” His eyes found yours again, and this time the look made you shiver. “I told her that whenever I was with her... I felt like I was home.”

“Oh gosh, that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard! Look, you two made us tear up!” Caroline said eagerly as she searched for tissues. 

"M-my wife is overreacting," Martin said, rubbing at one eye. "I just... got something in it." He sniffed and gave up with a sheepish smile. "Ah, who am I kidding? You two are adorable."

The warm atmosphere had finally begun to put you at ease. For the first time since walking into the ballroom, you weren't constantly worried about saying the wrong thing or giving yourselves away. As the conversations flowed around you, you found yourself wondering how many more guests you'd have to charm before one of them unknowingly pointed you toward whatever had been killing those men.

The thought had seemed daunting when the evening began. Now, though, you were starting to feel surprisingly comfortable with the act.

All of a sudden, a woman walked towards your table, seemingly upset.

“Excuse me, I don’t mean to cause any disturbance, but I’m the owner of this place.” Her presence alone was intimidating, and the way she dressed indicated an amount of elegance you could never match. She stared you up and down and then at your fake husband. “I noticed something bizarre about the payment you made with your credit card. I need you to come with me.” 

For the briefest moment, Sam's expression tightened. “Uh, okay, I’ll go.” He then looked back at you in slight panic, and you started thinking of all the things you could say to get him out of that situation.

“I’ll go with you,” you exclaimed, but then the woman put herself between you and Sam quickly.

"That's very kind," the woman said, her smile never wavering. "But I'm sure your husband won't be gone long. Please, have a splendid evening ahead." She guided Sam toward the hallway without waiting for another response. He glanced back over his shoulder only once before disappearing around the corner, leaving you alone at the table with Martin and Caroline and with a growing knot of unease in your stomach. 

The lady took Sam to the administration office of the resort. Unlocking the door, she stepped aside to let him enter first. As Sam crossed the threshold, he heard the soft pull of a hairpin behind him. He glanced back and saw how the woman was removing the last pin from the elegant bun she'd worn all evening. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose waves, transforming her appearance almost instantly.

She closed the door with deliberate calm. "Please," she said, gesturing toward the chair in front of her desk.

Sam sat, still trying to figure out why a credit card issue required a private meeting. 

Instead of taking the chair behind the desk, the woman climbed onto its edge, crossing one leg over the other as she looked down at him with an unreadable smile.

"Look, Mr. Sheen." She let the fake surname linger for a moment before smiling to herself. "Or... may I call you Michael?"

Sam returned a polite smile, though something about the question made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "If you'd like."

“I’ve been watching you quite a lot tonight. I mean, it’s your first day here, aren’t you happy?” She pushed him, as if she couldn’t buy his excitement. 

“I am very happy; why are you asking me this?” Everything started to feel strange. Sam knew instantly that she was up to something and got up from his seat. 

“Oh, Michael, I have to be honest with you.” She too got up and started to wander the office, seemingly nervous and uncertain about what she was going to say. “I saw you sitting there and thought you were really handsome.” As soon as she said that, she started getting closer and closer to him. “I know men like you; you don’t actually want to be here, and I get that.” She started caressing his hair and cheeks. Sam stood still, trying to read the situation.

Then, Sam took the lady’s hand from his face and stared at her for a second. “What are you even talking about?”

“I saw you, Michael. I saw you sad and nervous; you could barely look your wife in the eyes.” She kept going, “She doesn’t have to know; it’ll be okay.” She then leaned in to kiss him, but he moved quickly. 

“Stop this. What do you think you’re doing?” Sam frowned, and his tone, despite being upset and judgmental, held a small amount of worry towards the woman. He noticed her sadness, almost as if she was hoping he would kiss her back to prove something. 

“You- You really don’t want me?” She asks him, honestly. 

“No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” He stops for a second. “I’m married.” 

“But you don’t love her.” She insists.

Sam's eyebrows knit together. “What makes you think I don't?” 

“You just looked so sad.” 

Meanwhile, Sam's absence was beginning to gnaw at you.

"I'm so sorry, you guys. We had a great time with you, but I should probably go check on my Sam-" You froze. "My husband," you corrected quickly. "I meant my husband."

Oblivious of your mistake, both Caroline and Martin politely wished you a good evening. You were unsure of where Sam had gone, and he wouldn’t answer your calls, so instead, you dialed Dean.

"Hey," he answered. "What's up?"

"Where are you?"

"I broke into the security office. I'm checking the cameras, but I haven't found anything yet."

You sighed. "Seriously? How'd you even get in? The security guard was huge."

Dean sounded almost offended by the question. "I chloroformed him."

You pinched the bridge of your nose. "God, you're..."

"What?" he asked, clearly amused. "You were about to compliment me, weren't you?"

"...A jerk."

Dean laughed. “Sounded more like you were gonna say genius, but I’ll take that.”

"Yeah, yeah. Listen, I think something's wrong with Sam."

Dean's tone immediately changed. "What happened?"

"The owner said there was a problem with our credit card and took him to her office. That was... about half an hour ago."

A brief silence. Then Dean spoke again, all traces of humor gone. "I'm on my way."

Sam’s interaction with the resort owner had made him think that she was only an unstable woman who really believed his sadness meant that he was unhappy with his marriage. That was until he tried to leave that office. 

“Look, let’s just forget this happened, and it doesn’t have to be a big deal; I don’t mind it,” Sam tried to comfort her. He straightened his jacket, still slightly wrinkled from where she'd grabbed it. But something shifted inside one of the pockets. Frowning, he reached in and pulled out a small cloth pouch tied with black string. His expression hardened instantly; it was a hex bag.

Without another thought, he drew his pistol and aimed it squarely at her. “Don’t move.”

As soon as he did this, you and Dean showed up, and you followed Sam by drawing your guns at the witch as well.

“Don’t shoot, please,” She cried, then attempted to explain herself, “I thought he was unfaithful, okay?” 

Sam didn't lower his weapon. “You've been hexing married men who agree to sleep with you.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “My radar has never failed me before. It's incredibly easy to spot unfaithful men.”

Her gaze drifted back to Sam. “I just got this one wrong.”

You frowned. “When we looked up the resort, two owners came up. You and your husband.”

“Ex-husband,” she corrected quietly. “When I found out he was sleeping with someone else...” She looked away. “I took care of it.”

"Lemme guess. Permanent divorce?"  Dean added.

“Let me guess… hunters?” She cracked it as she stared at the three of you up and down. “You actually had me fooled for a second, with the regular civilian act, so cheers to you for that.” 

She gave a sarcastic clap and then grabbed a hex bag she had hidden in one of her pockets. 

Dean reacted first. "Sammy!"

Before any of you could fire, she muttered a rapid string of Latin under her breath. The lights exploded overhead, and darkness swallowed the room, broken only by the deep red glow of the emergency lights.

You all tried to shoot, but the bullets wouldn’t come off. 

"I won't let three mediocre hunters destroy everything I've built." She tightened her grip around the hex bag. "Or stop me from giving women like me the justice they deserve."

Without another word, she whispered another spell.

Sam gasped, and his knees buckled beneath him, and he crashed to the floor. One hand flew to his chest as his heartbeat turned violent, pounding so hard it felt as though it might burst right through his ribs. Each breath came shorter than the last.

“Sam!” You yelled, and instantly went to help him.

Dean reacted by trying to shoot her again and then going to grab her hex bag, but with a flick of her wrist, an invisible force hurled him across the office. His body slammed into the wall before collapsing to the floor, unconscious, leaving you as the only one who could do something about this.

“Stop this! Please,” You pleaded, as you saw Sam ache from the pain and his breath shortening. 

“Your boyfriend’s going to die, I’m sorry.” She got closer to you and gave you fake sympathy. You spat directly in her face. “Go to hell.” 

“Little bitch,” She slapped you hard, then grabbed you by your jaw, making eye contact. “I used to be just like you; pathetic and in love, thinking it would last forever.” Then she pouted, “Sadly it won't, and I’m just making it quicker for you, before he leaves you for a newer model.” 

“You have no idea who he is, or who I am, so you better let go.” You threatened her. Her grip was still on you. 

“Oh, I know exactly who he is, wanna see?” She then snapped her fingers, and Sam came back to normal. He composed himself, but then you fell to the ground, taking his place.

“Y/N!” Sam yelled, “No, no, no, don’t do this.” 

“Look, this is easy, Romeo. " She explains, “I give you two options, and you choose! Fun game, right?”

“What do you want?” He asks, out of breath.

“Tonight, one of you will die, so it’s either you or her; you choose.” She lets out a laugh. “Come on, choose quickly; you don’t want your hunting partner to wake up and see this.” 

“Me, I die, take me,” Sam replies, with not much hesitation.

“Are you sure?” The witch tried to push Sam towards the edge, and he wasn’t having any of it.

“I am; just leave her alone.” 

“Then, if you’re so brave, you’ll do it yourself.” She hands him a gun, smirking.

You cried on the floor and tried to move even though you were choking. 

“Come on, be quick, you don’t want her to die too, right?” 

Sam drew the gun to his head slowly, accepting his fate. 

Summoning what little strength you had left, your trembling hand searched blindly across the floor. Your fingers brushed against rough fabric: the hex bag. A few inches away lay your lighter, so you dragged yourself forward, every movement sending another wave of agony through your body.

“Look at your face; there it is, that sadness.” The witch kept torturing Sam, who had already made up his mind to save you. Then, she gazed at him for a while before concluding. “Maybe I was wrong; maybe what actually hurts you so much is that you really do want to keep her safe, isn’t it?”

She then snapped her fingers again, and you came back to normal. 

That’s when you quickly grabbed the hex bag and burned it. “Don’t!” She screamed. 

“Too late.” You proceeded to punch her and grabbed her other hex bag as well, burning it too. 

Behind you, Dean groaned as he pushed himself upright, rubbing the back of his head. “Man...” he muttered. “Witches suck.” 

He walked over to the witch, aimed his gun, and fired. The room instantly fell silent and for a long moment, none of you moved.

Sam slowly lowered the gun that was still in his hand. His eyes immediately found you.

"...You okay?"

You nodded, still trying to steady your breathing. "Yeah."

You looked him over from head to toe, almost making sure he was really standing there. "You?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah."

You three left the resort, beware of any cops nearby, trying your hardest to not be noticed by anyone in particular. 

“Mrs Sheen?” You heard as you were about to hop on the Impala. It was Martin.

He smiled as he approached, though confusion quickly replaced it when he noticed your luggage. "You two are leaving already?"

"Oh... yeah." You forced a small smile. "We're really sorry. We had a baby emergency."

His eyes widened. "Oh my God. Is the baby okay?"

"Yeah," you assured him quickly. "Everything's fine. It's just a precaution. We thought it'd be better to head home."

"That's a shame." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Caroline and I... we really liked you guys."

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "We were actually hoping you'd come visit us in Canada someday."

He handed it to you. "These are our numbers. Mine and Caroline's."

You unfolded it carefully.

"You're always welcome." He insisted.

A genuine smile spread across your face. "Thanks." You paused for a second. "For everything."

Martin smiled back. "Take care of each other." He gave a small wave before heading back toward the resort.

You got in the car and went back to the bunker. 

When you got there, you couldn’t help but notice Sam’s stiffness. He was still in shock about what happened, and you were as well.

It was clear to you both that the lifestyle you had meant to be close to losing each other every single day, at any moment. And that crushed you, because you knew that if he had pulled that trigger, a part of you would’ve died with him. 

You went to sleep that night cursing yourself for not being able to tell him any of this to his face, and replaying the night you spent together over and over, trying to find the true meaning behind every kiss, every touch, and stare. You couldn’t bat an eye.

The silence of the bunker made you feel lonely; even if Sam and Dean were in their respective rooms, you still felt like the place was way too big and held too many things within itself for you to feel safe. Then, in between thoughts, it hit you: the only time you were able to sleep there feeling safe was when you slept next to Sam.

A deafening crash shattered the silence, making you jump from the bed.

What the fuck was that? You thought. As you left your room with a weapon. 

Both Sam and Dean also did, guns in hand too.

In the dark, you spotted a figure. It was a blond woman, standing in the living room, covered in blood. You’ve never seen this woman before, and yet she had sneaked into your bunker at night. You aimed your gun at her.

"Don't move."

The woman didn't even look at you. Instead, her eyes locked onto Sam. "Sam?" She sounded like she was crying.

Sam’s face lost all color all of a sudden. “Jessica?” 

The simple stabbing and killing, ended up becoming a whole family of the wretched beasts that you, Sam, and Dean now had to deal with.

Even after all that, Sam decided he wasn't going to rest when you finally got back to the bunker like you and Dean decided to, he was gonna look up more cases and research how to kill the monsters involving them.

Leave it to him to put hunting above his own well being. You had tried to convince him to rest up before sitting at a desk for hours but he wouldn't budge "People need help." he had said.

Which is why, you aren't surprised when you walk into the war room and see him fast asleep on the chair he had been sitting in, his head pressed against his hand which is resting on the keys of his laptop.

You smile to yourself and walk over to him, not wanting to wake him up and it's not like you can you can carry him to the bed so you simply grab a blanket, one which Dean had wrapped around himself earlier while he watched some chick flick and giggled like a child.

You walk over to Sam, trying to keep your footsteps as soft as possible as to not wake him up before draping the blanket over his shoulders.

Before you can even register what's happening, your wrist is caught in his hand and you're being tugged down into his lap, causing you to tumble forward due to the lack of balance. "Dude what the fuck!" you gasp the smallest bit, the whole action having caught you off guard.

He only replies by looking down at you with a sleepy and lazy gaze, a small smirk appearing on his lips. "What? I wanna cuddle." you look at him flabbergasted at his ability to go from dead asleep to teasing you in mere seconds.

"I thought you were asleep." you mumble which only makes him chuckle. "I'm a light sleeper. Plus I always know when you're around." you roll your eyes at his flirty comment but can't stop the smile that's now on your face.

"Alright well you wanna go lay on an actual bed? Or do you just want your back to ache so you can ask me for a massage tomorrow?" his smirk widens as he pretends to think about the offer before muttering.

"Well I wouldn't be opposed to a massage but fine I'll go to bed." the words barely leave his mouth before he scoops you up from his lap, carrying you bridal style into your shared bedroom which causes you to yelp. "Stop man handling me you lug!"

He only laughs before entering your bedroom and practically tossing you onto the bed, his own body following suit after. He buries his face in you neck, inhaling in your scent before placing a kiss there. "God you smell good." his voice barely audible in the crook of your neck.

"Shut up and sleep idiot." you say in an attempt to keep up the annoyed facade but of course he can see right through you so he just nuzzles further into you and mumbles "Your idiot." and you couldn't be happier cuddling and falling asleep with the idiot who has proclaimed himself as yours.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭: @yourbitchwriter @fangirl700146

the ventilation system breathes through the concrete, filling the library with a low mechanical hum. somewhere deeper in the bunker, an old pipe groans, the sound vibrating through the floor before fading into the soft turn of a page and the rhythmic clicking of sam’s keyboard.

you sit across from him with an open book resting beneath your hands. ancient burial rites, according to the cracked leather cover.

you’ve been staring at the same paragraph for so long that the words have lost their meaning. black ink blurs against yellowing paper, every line sliding through your mind without leaving a trace.

another click.

the light from sam’s laptop washes his face in alternating flashes of white and pale blue. his shoulders curve slightly toward the screen, hair falling across his forehead while he reads. an untouched cup of coffee sits beside his elbow, the surface gone still and cloudy with cold.

he looks tired. he always looks tired lately.

you try not to watch him, but you fail.

sam’s mouth barely moves. just the smallest pull at one corner, softening his face into a private smile. something inside your chest twists before you can stop it.

"good news?"

sam glances up. the smile disappears so fast that you could almost convince yourself it had never been there.

"what?"

you gesture toward the laptop with the end of your pen.

"you smiled."

"oh." his gaze drops back to the screen. "yeah. i guess."

you wait for him to explain. he doesn’t.

the cursor blinks inside a white message box. sam’s fingers hover over the keys before beginning to move again.

"case lead?" you ask.

"no." the answer comes too quickly.

sam clears his throat. one hand closes around the edge of the laptop, angling the screen away from you with a movement that is probably supposed to look absentminded.

it doesn’t.

sam guards his computer like it contains the launch codes to every nuclear weapon in the country, but he has never hidden research from you before. he complains when dean touches it. threatens him when he eats over it. he once spent half an hour checking the hard drive because dean used it to search for a burger place without asking.

you have never been included in that distrust until now.

"right," you say quietly.

you return to the book, though the paragraph has become even more impossible to read. a few seconds pass before the typing stops.

"it’s just someone i’ve been talking to," sam says.

your fingers still against the page.

"someone?"

"online."

the word settles like lead beneath your ribs. you keep your expression neutral—at least, you hope you do.

"oh."

sam nods, even though you aren’t looking at him anymore.

"we met a few weeks ago."

"that’s nice." the words sound thin and strange in the enormous room.

you turn the page without reading it. the paper scrapes against your thumb, a sharp physical sting that’s easier to focus on than the sudden warmth crawling up your neck.

sam watches you. you can feel it even without looking—the weight of his gaze lingering across the table, waiting for something you don’t know how to give him.

then his laptop chimes, and his attention returns to the screen.

the clicking resumes.

you last another three minutes before closing the book. the sound echoes more loudly than it should.

"i’m going to bed."

sam looks up again.

"already?"

"it’s almost one."

"you usually stay up later."

you push your chair away from the table. its wooden legs drag against the floor with a low scrape.

"i’m tired." another lie.

sam’s eyebrows pull together, concern appearing with such frustrating ease it almost makes you angry.

he notices when you skip lunch. when you favor one side after a hunt. when the bunker feels too quiet and you need someone to sit beside you without asking questions.

but not this.

apparently, he can notice everything except the way you look at him.

"okay," he says after a moment. "goodnight."

"night."

you leave without looking back.

the hallway feels colder than the library, the concrete leaching warmth through your socks as you make your way toward your room.

behind you, muffled by distance, sam’s laptop chimes again.

—

the next morning smells like coffee, butter, and something beginning to burn.

you find dean standing in front of the stove wearing an apron emblazoned with kiss the cook in large red letters beside a lipstick mark.

you stop in the doorway.

"where did that come from?"

dean glances down at himself as though he has forgotten he’s wearing it.

"a gift."

"from who?"

"myself."

"you bought yourself an apron?"

"self-care." dean shrugs as though this is the most ordinary thing in the world.

you move toward the coffee pot.

"that isn’t what self-care means."

"maybe not to you."

"when did you even buy it?"

"none of your business."

you pour coffee into your mug. steam curls against your face, warm and bitter, and you close your eyes for half a second as you breathe it in.

dean slides a plate of scrambled eggs across the counter before you ask.

"eat."

you look down at them.

"good morning to you too."

"you look like crap."

"thank you."

"you’re welcome."

you carry the plate to the table. dean turns back to the stove, prodding a strip of bacon that has curled almost completely in on itself.

footsteps approach from the hallway. you know they belong to sam before he enters.

you hate that you know.

he appears a moment later, already dressed in jeans and a dark flannel, his laptop tucked securely beneath one arm.

your gaze catches on it.

then on his hands.

then anywhere else.

"morning," sam says.

"morning," dean answers.

you lift your coffee in silent acknowledgment.

sam’s eyes settle on you.

"sleep okay?"

"fine."

"you were up early."

you nearly choke on your coffee and look at him over the rim of your mug.

"how do you know?"

"i heard you walking around."

"you were awake?"

his fingers adjust against the laptop.

"couldn’t sleep."

dean looks between the two of you while slowly chewing a piece of bacon.

"riveting."

sam gives him a tired look.

"what?"

"nothing." dean takes another bite. "please continue discussing each other’s sleep schedules. it’s not weird at all."

you roll your eyes, and a faint flush creeps across the tops of sam’s ears.

he sets his laptop on the table.

the screen wakes before he can close it. a notification appears in the upper corner.

new message from elena.

the name burns itself into your mind before you can look away.

sam notices. his hand moves across the trackpad, closing the notification.

dean notices too. of course he does. teasing sam is an opportunity he never misses.

"elena," he says, dragging out the syllables.

sam’s jaw tightens.

"dean."

"who’s elena?"

"a friend."

"doesn’t look like just a friend."

"you saw one notification."

"one very friendly notification."

"you didn’t even read it."

dean points his fork at him. "it had a heart."

your stomach drops. sam shoots him a look.

"it was just an emoji."

"a heart-shaped emoji."

"most hearts are heart-shaped."

dean looks at you as though sam has just proven his point. you focus very hard on your eggs.

"online friend?" he asks.

sam’s expression darkens.

"why do you care?"

"i don’t." dean grins. "i’m happy for you, sammy."

"don’t."

"your new internet girlfriend."

"she isn’t my girlfriend."

"yet."

sam closes the laptop harder than necessary and stands.

"i’m going to the library."

"tell elena i said hi."

sam mutters something under his breath as he leaves, carrying the laptop against his chest. dean watches him disappear through the doorway, then he looks at you.

"don’t." you take a drink of coffee and ignore his gaze.

"i didn’t say anything."

"but you’re about to."

dean just shrugs.

you push the eggs around your plate. the smell that had seemed comforting a few minutes ago now turns your stomach.

dean leans one hip against the counter and says your name, pulling your attention from the now-unappetizing eggs.

"you okay?"

you scoff. "why wouldn’t i be?"

"your face did that thing." dean waves his fork in your general direction.

you frown. "what thing?"

"the thing it does when you’re pretending you’re not upset."

"i’m not upset."

"there it is again."

you stab a piece of egg harder than necessary.

"sam can talk to whoever he wants."

"never said he couldn’t."

"good."

after a beat, dean says, "you’re jealous."

your gaze snaps up in response, and dean’s mouth curls into a knowing smile.

"i am not jealous."

"sure," he says, dragging out the word.

"i’m not."

"you’re currently trying to murder breakfast."

you release the fork. it clatters against the plate.

"i lost my appetite."

"because of the eggs or elena?"

you glare at him. dean raises both hands, still holding his fork in one.

"just asking."

you take your coffee and stand.

"for the record," he calls as you leave, "the eggs didn’t deserve that."

—

after that, elena seems to exist everywhere. not physically. that might have been easier. instead, she lives inside every soft chime that carries through the bunker and every private smile you catch from across the room.

she is there every time sam looks down at his phone during breakfast or closes a window when you enter the library. every night he stays awake after you leave, the light beneath his bedroom door cutting a thin blue line across the hallway floor.

you know almost nothing about her, but that does not stop your mind from creating her.

she is probably beautiful. the effortless kind, with shiny hair that never tangles and a smile that looks natural in photographs. she probably has a real job she can talk about without inventing a new lie every few seconds. she probably owns clothing that has never been soaked in monster blood.

maybe she likes books. sam would like that.

maybe she listens when he talks about the things no one else understands. maybe she asks about his day and receives the kind of truth he usually keeps locked away.

you hate her a little.

then you feel guilty, because she has done nothing except speak to someone you have no right to claim.

that is the worst part.

sam isn’t yours. he has never been yours.

you have only collected fragments of him over the years, mistaking familiarity for belonging.

the way he takes his coffee dark but forgets to drink it while researching. the scars he never talks about. the crease between his eyebrows when he is worried.

the way his hand finds the small of your back whenever danger gets too close, guiding you behind him as though his body could stop every terrible thing in the world from reaching yours.

none of it belongs to you.

elena only makes that impossible to ignore.

so you begin spending more time with dean.

not intentionally. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

dean is easy. he’s safe. there is no careful distance to measure with him, no fear that touching his hand will expose everything you have spent years hiding.

he lets you choose the movie even while complaining about it. he passes you a beer without asking. he fills the silence before it has a chance to become painful.

tonight, you are sitting beside him on the couch while an action movie plays across the television. rain drums steadily against the bunker’s exterior door, too distant to hear clearly but loud enough to soften the silence between explosions.

on-screen, a car sails over the edge of a bridge.

"that should’ve exploded," dean says.

the car hits the ravine and erupts into flames.

"it did explode."

"not fast enough."

"you’re criticizing the realism?"

"there are standards."

you laugh, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

the bunker door opens behind you.

cool air follows sam down the stairs, carrying the smell of rain and wet pavement. grocery bags hang from both hands, their sides speckled with water.

"hey," you say, looking over your shoulder.

sam stops near the bottom step. his eyes move from you to dean. more specifically, to dean’s arm stretched across the back of the couch behind you.

something flickers across his face, though it is gone before you can name it.

"hey."

dean pauses the movie. "you get pie?"

sam carries the bags toward the kitchen table.

"no."

dean looks personally offended.

"but you went to the store."

"we needed actual food."

"pie is actual food."

sam starts unpacking the bags. a box of pasta lands on the table harder than necessary.

you glance at dean. dean glances at you.

"i’ll help." you leave the couch and approach the table.

sam keeps his attention on the groceries.

"you don’t have to," he says, not looking at you.

"i know."

you reach into the nearest bag at the same time he does. your fingers brush, a brief shock of warmth against chilled skin. sam pulls his hand away almost immediately. the movement is small, but it still hurts.

you take out a jar of pasta sauce and study the label as though it contains something worth reading.

"how’s elena?"

sam’s shoulders tense. "fine."

"you two still talking?"

"yeah."

"that’s good."

"is it?"

you glance up.

sam is watching you now. rain has darkened the ends of his hair, and one drop trails slowly from his temple toward his jaw.

there is something sharp beneath his expression. something almost accusing.

"why wouldn’t it be?" you ask.

"no reason." he turns back to the groceries.

"okay."

dean clears his throat from the couch. neither of you looks at him.

sam takes a carton of eggs from the bag.

"you and dean having fun?"

"we were watching a movie."

"looked fun."

you blink. "it was."

"good."

you pause before asking, "why are you acting weird?"

sam laughs once, but there is no humor in the sound.

"i’m not."

"you are."

“i’m putting groceries away."

"yeah, angrily."

"i didn’t know there was an angry way to put away eggs."

"you’re about to crack them."

sam looks down. his fingers are pressing dents into the cardboard.

his grip loosens.

"i’m just tired."

"right." you step away from the table.

sam exhales through his nose. "i didn’t mean—"

the laptop chimes from inside the bag hanging across his shoulder.

both of you freeze.

another message.

your eyes move toward the sound before you can stop them. sam notices. again.

"you should get that," you say.

"it can wait."

"she might need something."

"she doesn’t."

"how do you know?"

"because i know her."

the answer cuts more deeply than it should.

you fold your arms across your chest. "then why are you always hiding her?"

sam’s eyebrows knit together. "what?"

"the screen. the messages. every time i walk into a room, you close something or turn the computer away."

"that isn’t—"

"then why are you always talking to her?"

the question leaves your mouth before you can stop it.

the room goes silent. even dean doesn’t say anything.

sam stares at you. heat spreads across your face as the meaning of your own words settles between you.

"forget it." you turn.

sam catches your wrist. not tightly, just enough to stop you. his palm is warm against your skin. his thumb rests over your pulse, and you wonder whether he can feel how violently it jumps beneath his touch.

"why do you care?" he asks.

you look down at his hand. "i don’t."

sam’s expression hardens. "you’re a terrible liar."

the lie catches in your throat.

"so are you."

his fingers loosen, and you pull away before he can feel your hand begin to tremble.

"enjoy your conversation."

you leave the room without waiting for an answer.

—

dean finds you in the laundry room an hour later, folding one of sam’s shirts.

you do not realize it belongs to him until you recognize the faded grey fabric and the tiny tear near the hem. you have seen him wear it beneath flannel shirts a hundred times. once, after a hunt outside cheyenne, you fell asleep against his shoulder while he was wearing it.

you remember waking with your cheek pressed to soft cotton and sam’s jacket tucked across your lap. the memory makes your hands tighten.

"he thinks you’re dating me," dean says from the doorway.

you nearly drop the shirt.

"what?"

"sam."

"sam thinks—" you turn toward him. "why would he think that?"

dean gestures vaguely at you and himself.

"because we hang out."

"we all hang out."

"you wear my jackets."

"because you leave them everywhere."

"you steal my food."

"you steal mine."

"you sit beside me during movies."

"because sam’s always on his laptop talking to elena."

dean points at you. "and there it is."

you fold the shirt again even though it is already folded.

"there what is?"

"jealousy."

you scoff. "i’m not jealous."

"you’re folding that shirt like it owes you money."

you look down. deep creases run through the fabric beneath your fingers.

you smooth them out.

"he likes her."

"he’s never met her."

"that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like her."

"he likes you."

a quiet laugh escapes you. dean doesn’t join in, and your smile fades.

"no, he doesn’t."

"yes, he does."

"he barely talks to me anymore."

"because he thinks you want me."

"that’s ridiculous."

"yeah, well." dean crosses his arms. "welcome to my life."

you look down at sam’s shirt again.

"he made a dating profile."

"because he thought you weren’t interested."

your fingers stop moving.

"he told you that?"

"not exactly."

"then you don’t know."

dean sighs. "you two are exhausting."

he pushes away from the doorway.

"where are you going?"

"out."

"it’s almost midnight."

"pie waits for no man."

you stare at him.

"you bought pie yesterday."

"then i’m buying more. sam didn’t buy me any."

"dean—"

he turns back, the humor slipping from his face. "talk to him."

"there’s nothing to talk about."

"then go tell him that."

you clutch sam’s shirt against your stomach.

"what if you’re wrong?"

dean studies you for a moment. when he answers, his voice is quieter.

"then i’m wrong." the honesty hurts more than any reassurance would have. he glances toward the shirt in your hands. "but i know my brother."

"so do i."

"apparently not as well as you think."

he leaves before you can answer. a minute later, the bunker door closes.

you remain in the laundry room with sam’s shirt pressed against you and the unsteady hope dean left behind pressing painfully against your ribs.

—

sam is in the library when you find him. of course he is.

his laptop sits open in front of him, but the screen has gone dark. his hands are folded beneath his chin, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the table. he looks up when your footsteps reach the edge of the room.

"hey."

"hey." you stop on the opposite side of the table.

the distance between you is only a few feet, but it feels enormous.

"you can sit." sam gestures toward the chair across from him.

"i know."

his hand falls back to the table.

you hate this—the careful voices, the space neither of you knows how to cross, the feeling that every conversation has become something you have to survive. it is becoming too much.

"dean left," you say.

"i heard."

"he said he was getting pie."

sam huffs a quiet laugh. "sounds right."

the sound aches somewhere inside you. you sit. sam watches your hands as you fold them in your lap.

"can i ask you something?"

his expression becomes guarded. "sure."

you glance at the laptop. "is she your girlfriend?"

sam follows your gaze. "elena?"

you nod.

"no."

a breath leaves you before you can hide it. sam notices.

"do you want her to be?" you ask.

his eyes return to yours.

"why are you asking?"

"because i want to know."

"you didn’t seem interested before."

"i was trying not to be."

the words settle between you. sam’s expression softens, but only slightly.

"why?"

you laugh under your breath. "you really need me to explain that?"

"yeah," he says quietly. "i think i do."

you look down at your hands.

"because you smile when she messages you."

sam doesn’t speak.

"because you hide the screen whenever i walk past. because you stay up talking to her, and i don’t even know who she is, but she knows you."

"she doesn’t."

you look up, and sam’s gaze remains anchored on yours.

"not really," he continues. "she doesn’t know anything real."

"you’ve been talking for weeks."

"that doesn’t mean she knows me."

"then why talk to her?"

sam leans back. the chair creaks beneath his weight. his eyes close for a moment.

"because it was easier."

"easier than what?"

he opens them. "this."

your breath catches. "this?"

"wanting someone who doesn’t want me."

the bunker seems to go perfectly still. the ventilation system fades. the distant pipes. the faint electrical hum of the lamp. all you hear is your own heartbeat.

"sam—"

"i thought you and dean…" he shakes his head. "it doesn’t matter."

"yes, it does."

"you’re always together."

"because you’re always avoiding me."

"i wasn’t avoiding you."

"you pull your laptop away every time i get near you."

"because i didn’t want you to see it."

"exactly."

"because i was embarrassed."

you stare at him. sam looks down at the table.

"dean sent me the site as a joke," he says. "months ago. i ignored it at first."

"but you changed your mind."

his mouth twists. "i kept watching you with him."

"dean?"

"yeah."

"sam, dean is like my brother."

his gaze lifts. "he told me."

"then why didn’t you say anything?"

"what was i supposed to say?"

"anything."

"you could’ve said something too."

"you had a girlfriend."

"she isn’t my girlfriend."

"i didn’t know that."

"you could’ve asked."

"i did."

sam falls silent, and you look away before your expression can break.

"you never gave me a real answer," you say, tracing a scratch in the tabletop to avoid his gaze.

"because i thought you didn’t care."

"i care too much."

the confession comes out softer than you intend.

sam’s expression changes. the frustration drains from his face, leaving something open and vulnerable behind.

"what?"

your throat tightens again.

you have imagined telling him before.

after hunts, when adrenaline strips away good judgment and makes honesty feel possible. late at night, when you lie awake and hear him moving in the room beside yours. in the impala, watching his reflection in the window while dean drives and music fills every place words might go.

it always sounds easier in your head.

"i care," you repeat. "about you. about who you talk to. about why you smile at your laptop more than you smile at me lately."

"i don’t."

"you do."

"not because of her."

"then why?"

sam’s gaze drops briefly to your mouth. "because i’m usually talking about you."

you blink. "what?"

he reaches for the laptop. the screen wakes, bathing the table in pale light. a conversation fills the page. sam hesitates before turning it toward you.

you know you should not read it. you do anyway.

most of the messages are ordinary. books, work, complaints about insomnia, and sam’s careful, incomplete answers about his life.

then you see yourself. not your name, but pieces of you.

‘my roommate steals my sweaters and pretends she doesn’t.’

‘she makes coffee strong enough to remove paint.’

‘she falls asleep during research, but she always wakes up when i try to put a blanket over her.’

‘she’s probably watching a movie with my brother tonight.’

beneath the last message, elena’s response waits.

‘you talk about her a lot.’

then another.

‘have you ever considered that you joined this site because asking out the woman you actually like scares you?’

your eyes move toward sam.

"you told her about me?"

"not who you are," he says quickly.

"but you talked about me."

"apparently a lot."

despite everything, a small laugh catches in your throat.

sam smiles. it is the same smile you saw that first night, soft and private.

never meant for elena at all.

your chest tightens again, but the pain has changed. it is warmer now. almost hopeful.

"what happens now?" you ask.

sam looks at the screen, then at you.

"i already told her."

"told her what?"

he scrolls to the final messages.

‘i think you’re right.’

‘i’m sorry. there’s someone i should’ve been honest with.’

elena’s answer sits beneath it.

‘then go be honest.’

you read it twice.

"she seems nice," you admit.

"she is."

a small, ugly thread of jealousy pulls tight inside you.

sam notices that too.

"but she isn’t you."

the thread snaps.

"i wasn’t looking for her."

your breathing turns uneven.

"who were you looking for?"

you know the answer, but you still need to hear him say it.

sam stands. the table remains between you. his expression softens into something that looks almost afraid.

"you."

you stare at him.

"you already had me."

"did i?"

you push your chair back. the sound scrapes through the library as you stand and walk around the table.

sam turns toward you. the distance disappears slowly. one step, then another.

"you could’ve," you whisper.

sam’s hand lifts, but he stops before touching you. his fingers hover beside your face, close enough that you feel their warmth against your skin.

"can i?"

you nod.

his palm settles against your cheek, warm and calloused. his thumb rests beneath your eye as though you are something vital and fragile, and you realize then that sam is trembling too.

you lean into his touch. a breath leaves him. his forehead lowers against yours.

for a moment, neither of you moves.

you breathe him in—coffee, rain, laundry detergent, the faintest trace of the cheap soap he keeps in his bathroom.

familiar things.

sam.

"i’ve been jealous of dean for weeks," he admits.

you smile despite yourself.

"i’ve been jealous of a laptop."

a quiet laugh leaves him, warm against your lips. "you win."

"i hated her a little."

"you don’t even know her."

"exactly."

his thumb brushes slowly across your cheek.

"for what it’s worth, she figured it out before either of us did."

"figured what out?"

sam’s gaze meets yours, and all the humor fades.

"that i’m in love with you."

your heart stops.

sam seems to realize what he said at the same moment you do. something uncertain flickers across his face, and his hand begins to slip from your cheek.

"i didn’t mean to say it like—"

you catch the front of his shirt and kiss him.

the rest of the sentence disappears between you.

sam freezes only for a heartbeat. then his hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer.

the kiss is softer than you imagined. you’ve spent too many nights imagining it.

sometimes desperate, after a hunt that nearly kills one of you. sometimes hesitant, shared in the dark when neither of you has enough courage to turn on a light.

you never imagined this. sam kissing you like there is nowhere else he needs to be. like he has spent years holding something back and is still afraid that wanting it too much might break it.

his mouth moves slowly against yours. his other hand settles at your waist, fingers curling gently into your shirt.

when you pull away, you stay close enough that your noses brush. sam’s eyes remain closed.

"say it again," you whisper.

his eyes open. "what?"

"the part about loving me."

his expression softens.

"i love you."

the words are quiet, steady. your fingers tighten in his shirt.

"good."

the corner of his mouth lifts. "good?"

"because i love you too."

sam smiles—a real one this time. wide and unguarded, bright enough to transform his entire face. you barely get a chance to see it before he kisses you again.

the bunker door opens.

"all right, i got—"

dean stops halfway down the stairs. you and sam pull apart just enough to look toward him.

dean stands near the bottom step with a pie box balanced in one hand. his eyes move from sam’s hand around your waist to your fingers still tangled in the front of sam’s shirt.

his expression settles into deep, exhausted vindication.

"finally," dean groans.

sam lets out a slow breath. "dean."

"no. don’t dean me. do you know what i’ve been through?"

you raise an eyebrow.

"you went to buy pie. how awful," you say dryly.

"exactly." he continues toward the kitchen. "this better mean i never have to hear about elena again."

sam looks at you. you glance toward the closed laptop.

"you won’t," he says.

"good." dean stops in the doorway. "also, for the record, i expect credit."

"for what?" you ask.

"all of this." dean gestures between you and sam.

sam shakes his head.

"you caused most of it."

"details, schmetails," dean says, waving you both off before he disappears into the kitchen, muttering something about emotional incompetence and wasted gas.

you turn back to sam. his laptop remains on the table behind him, closed.

for once, he doesn’t glance toward it. his attention stays on you.

"so," you whisper. "what now?"

sam’s hand finds yours. his fingers slip between them naturally, filling the empty spaces as though they have done this a thousand times before.

"now," he says, drawing you closer, "i stop being an idiot."

dean’s voice carries from the kitchen.

"let’s not make promises we can’t keep."

sam closes his eyes. you laugh, pressing your forehead against his chest. beneath your cheek, his heart beats quickly.

"ignore him," sam murmurs.

you lift your head.

"gladly."

You find the whole thing absolutely hilarious. Compared to other hunters you’ve met, the Winchesters are by far the most committed to their craft.

“Is this… a Buc-ee’s uniform?” You snort whilst sorting the laundry into piles — lights on the left, darks on the right. You’re all in agreement that it’s best to pile everyone’s clothes together — family style — to save on money. You certainly don’t have the funds to complain.

Sam glances at you, huffing out a laugh. The cartoonish, buck-toothed beaver grins maniacally on the chest of the bright red T-shirt. “Yeah. Weird case, that one.”

You grin, holding the shirt against you as if seriously considering whether you should borrow it or not. It wouldn’t be the first time you shared clothes with Sam; he always has to downplay how much he likes the sight. “Did the case involve Buc-ee haunting the gas station, or…?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he says with a small smile. He cringes a moment later when he lifts a pair of Dean’s dirty boxers up. He picks it up by the waistband with the very tips of his fingers, tossing it in with the dark pile. “God, this is gross. Dean, come touch your own stuff, man.” 

“In a second,” the older brother calls back, punching his thumb into the keypad of the laundromat’s vending machine. Dean returns to his station a moment later with a small bag of peanut M&M’s and a handful of quarters for the machine. He lets them clang against the top of the washer before looking between you two with a smile. “Hey, wanna vote on who gets to stay with the stinky socks?”

Sam glances at his brother, squinting. “And how, exactly, are we gonna decide that?” Nobody wants to be stuck sitting around with the laundry — everybody knows that.

“Easy,” Dean says. He touches his nose, quickly muttering, “Nose goes!” 

Before Sam can react, you drop a pair of your own pants to touch the tip of your nose. He sends you a look of absolute betrayal, and you shrug, smiling innocently. 

“What? He said nose goes, Sam. I have to respect it.”

Sam’s shoulders sink, and Dean pats his back with a shit-eating grin. “Tough luck, kid.” 

Once the three of you have sorted the laundry into piles, Dean hooks an arm around your shoulders, flashing a smile at his little brother. 

“We’re gonna play hooky. Call us when the chores are done, Sammy.”

You shoot Sam a pitying look, gently removing yourself from Dean’s side. “See you. Don’t have too much fun.”

The younger brother wears a tight smile, watching you leave with his brother, driving off to who-knows-where. He deflates once he’s alone in the laundromat, leaning against the washing machine with a heavy sigh. He begins to shove the clothing into the washing machine — lights in one, then on to the darks in a second machine. In the middle of tossing piles of clothes into the machine, something drops to the floor. Sam bends down to pick it up, only to stop in his tracks. 

Navy blue underwear, clearly yours, lay innocently upon the linoleum floor. Sam’s fingers twitch, still halfway to daintily picking them up and throwing them in with the rest of the load.  

Unfortunately, Sam’s cock twitches, too. 

He shouldn’t be this invested in a pair of underwear. They’re nothing spectacular — there’s not much time for sexy lingerie or lacy panties on the road — but they look soft. Gently worn and lived in. A vision of you wearing one of his shirts with a comfortable pair of underwear beneath is beamed directly into his brain, and he blinks hard, trying to will the arousing yet domestic image away. 

He’s going to pick them up, Sam tells himself, and he’s going to toss them in with the rest of the laundry. Simple as that. He’s not going to be weird about this. He’s certainly not the type to steal them like some creep.

…But he could always borrow them. Just for today — just for a few minutes, really. You’ve borrowed his clothes before, after all. What’s so different about this? 

Even Sam knows that explanation is flimsy bullshit, but it’s all he can offer when he suddenly shoves your underwear down his back pocket and sets the washer to run. The next hour and a half or so will surely be a miserable, boring wait anyway — he might as well have some entertainment. 

Sam glances around him before scurrying off to the restroom in the back corner. He locks the door behind him, presses his back to the door, and reaches for the underwear in his pocket. The fabric bunches up in his palm, crumpled in his big hand. Just looking at it is making him half-hard already. 

Hesitantly, Sam lifts the underwear to his face. He’s terribly curious to know what you smell like — even if pressing the gusset of your panties to his nose makes him blush from the shame of it. Sam inhales deeply, audibly sighing on the exhale. Every fantasy he’s ever had about stuffing his face between your legs is suddenly about to get far more vivid. 

Sam audibly moans, parting his lips against the fabric. He breathes against it for a minute, hot air blowing past his lips. Without thinking, he closes his mouth around the cotton gusset, sucking on your underwear. It’s embarrassing how he’s salivating, his spit wetting the navy dye into black. 

His jeans are already so fucking tight. Sam stuffs your panties in his mouth, holding them in place between his teeth while he reaches down, hastily pops the button, and parts the zipper’s teeth. The second his fingers curl around his cock, Sam stiffens further, standing at attention. He aggressively pumps his cock with his fist, drooling into your underwear all the while. The heady scent of you has him moaning into the cotton, his head thudding back against the door while he leaks into his palm. 

It’s not enough. 

Still drooling, Sam pulls the garment from his mouth, draping it around his stiff cock. He closes his damp hand over it, then begins the friction anew. Your panties are dragged up and down his shaft, getting soaked in spit and precum, until the fabric is little more than a damp rag for him to fuck into. Sam can still taste you, the flavor of your used undergarment lingering on his tongue. He groans, lashes fluttering as he gets off, finally cumming on your underwear with a stuttered sigh. 

When the post-orgasm clarity hits, Sam slumps against the door, still clutching the soiled panties around his softened cock. The fabric is utterly soaked through with fluids. Sam grimaces at his own handiwork, dragging your underwear over his cock to wipe up the overspill. Now that he’s holding the damp garment in his hand, he’s not sure what to do with it — but the sight of his cum soaking your underwear is truly picture-worthy. With shaking hands, he dares to flip open his phone to snap a photo. Something for later, he tells himself, that isn’t so deplorable. 

Sam washes his hands and reluctantly rinses off your underwear. He’s careful to make sure no one’s around — the laundromat is still empty, thankfully — and Sam quickly tosses your underwear in to be cleaned with the rest of the load. It’s out of his system now. 

Until he plucks them out of the dryer and stuffs them right back into his pocket, that is. A dirty little secret, a last minute decision that has him blushing. It’s fine, he assures himself. He’ll give them back the next time you have to do the laundry. 

You certainly won’t miss a single pair until then, right?

> masterlist. > main.

The moment you set your eyes on Sam, offering him a small smile, you felt the first prick deep in your chest. A sting that settled deep in your lung and had you rubbing at the skin covering your ribs. Your heart rate kicked up at seeing a flash of concern flit across Sam's expression, but you brushed it aside. Chalked it up to your stupid crush on him. No way he had any real feelings for you. He'd even admitted as much not long ago, seeing you as more a sister than a woman he could love and cherish.

Well, love and cherish as best as any hunter could in the world you three traversed anyway.

Another sting, deeper still than the first but higher, nearly had you coughing. You managed to gasp in a few deep breaths that dulled the pain.

Yet, it never fully went away.

Every time you glanced at Sam or felt your heart skitter at his closeness to you, the stinging sensation returned. The pain growing worse with each new episode.

Your eyes practically bulged at the sight of the first petal you coughed up. More soon followed, too. It didn't take long before you had an entire duffel full of worn, withering petals.

The weeks seemed never ending with all the petals you coughed up in the privacy of your car or hotel room. Always out of sight of Sam. You couldn't let him know the trouble you'd brought upon yourself.

For a time, Dean also remained in the dark. It didn't last. Your best friend and confidant, forever watchful though, had come across you one evening, surprising you with his silent entry into your room. He'd held you then, swearing to do whatever he could to help.

So many hours of research finally told you both.

Hanahaki Disease.

Incurable. A death sentence.

At least if your feelings remained unrequited by the one you loved.

No witch could save you. No reversal of this curse existed, either. It was returned feelings or nothing.

"You should tell him," Dean insisted one night after you'd coughed up so many petals. He'd been close to tears at seeing you in such a state. "Please. You gotta tell Sam how you feel. He feels the same, even if he's too stupid to realize it. I don't wanna lose my best friend."

You didn't, either, but you couldn't do as Dean asked.

As much as you wanted him, you couldn't have Sam feeling guilty, especially if his feelings would never amount to more than a friendly type of affection.

So you kept your silence.

With every passing day, the thorns and flowers clogged your lungs. They pushed more petals past your lips. Pain never strayed far as new thorns dug themselves into softer tissues, piercing deeper than ones before. The petals' edges had gained a razor sharpness that burned and scraped on their way up and out. You'd coughed up more than just petals a few times over by then.

*****

It was only as you found some small solace in sleep one night that Dean snuck out, abandoning his bedside vigil over you. He cornered Sam in their room across the hotel parking lot. Told him everything that was happening to you. Begged Sam to find some feelings for you, no matter how small, so you could be saved.

"I don't have the power, Sammy," Dean cried. "But you do. You can break her curse. Set her free. She loves you, man, and you've been so blind to it. If you love her, then you gotta tell her."

You wouldn't know the pain that crossed Sam's face at learning your fate.

Not for a long time.

To say he'd been ignorant of all you'd been going through proved just how well you'd kept it all from him. He'd never even suspected you were sick, let alone so close to your end. It was enough to shatter the walls he'd built around himself. Since his mother. Since Jess. Since every other woman who dared to try and get close to him, only to lose her life.

Rushing from their room, Sam raced to yours. The sight awaiting him nearly had him crumbling to his knees. The petals surrounding you on the bed, the bright red spots dotting them. It was all too much to digest, to understand, under the most normal of circumstances.

He'd never know how he made it to the edge of your bed, but he did. His hand swept up yours with a gentleness that you'd only ever felt from him in all the time you'd known the Winchester boys. Dean was never so careful with you as Sam was. The very thought of you being one of his most precious even as Sam denied his feelings.

"Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick. "Dean told me everything. I can't believe I've been so blind to what you've been going through. I shoulda seen it myself, but maybe I didn't wanna see it. Like maybe I was taking for granted you'd always be here. Waiting until I was ready, you know?"

He inhaled at that, the air stuttering.

You grimaced in your sleep. Pain etched your features as no doubt another thorn grew. The vines had grown thick by now, he was certain. The rundown Dean had given him before he'd rushed to your side had been enough to make his heart twist painfully.

"Don't leave us, sweetheart, please. We need you." He took a breath. "I need you. I haven't done a good job showing it, but I do. I need you. I've wanted you since that day you saved my ass from that demon. You were such a badass, so cool and calm. I didn't think anything could ever shake you, let alone take you down."

You shifted on your bed, your hand clenching around his fingers.

He held onto you a little tighter, not wanting to break away from you. Not then. Not ever.

The pain etched into your features seemed to lessen with his words, so he kept going, saying, "It was the best decision we ever made asking you to join us. You're the best thing that's come into my life in a long time, sweetheart. I've loved before, but I don't know that I really knew what true love was until you."

His breath shuddered, but his voice didn't break.

"Because I do, sweetheart. I love you so much. So please, live for us. Live for me."

For a moment, your grip tightened around his hand. It was almost as if you'd heard him and acknowledged it, but you never woke up. Your hand went lax almost as quickly, too, but Sam took heart in your reaction. Maybe he hadn't been too late to save you. Maybe there was a chance. Just maybe.

He didn't leave your side for the rest of the night. His hand was never not holding yours as you slept for several hours. A feat he soon learned that you hadn't managed in weeks due to the curse, to the disease that'd spread through most of your lungs.

*****

When you finally woke with the sun's first rays beaming into your room, you had to do a double take.

Sam slept in a chair. His body slumped over the edge of your hotel bed, his hand still clasping yours.

Dean sat in the other chair across the room, his eyes also closed. His booted feet rested on top of your small table, something you would normally admonish him for.

Yet, you didn't.

No, you were busy breathing the first freeing breaths you'd breathed in weeks.

You couldn't feel any thorns digging their way through your soft tissues. No petals clogged your throat with their razor-sharp edges.

Soreness remained, of course, but the chronic pain you'd been experiencing had lessened a thousand-fold.

Over the coming weeks, you recovered as if you'd never been cursed. Soon, you were able to join the brothers on their hunts once more, taking down spirits and other supernatural entities with barely a wasted breath.

The only remaining remnants of your curse sat in a jar you carried with you. The crushed petals suspended forever in their watery confines. A reminder to never take for granted what you could've lost but oh so importantly gained.

"Hey, sweetheart," Sam called to you, already loading his bags into Baby, "you ready to go? Dean's already got a lead he's dying to check out."

Stepping out the room, you couldn't help the grin that tugged across your lips. "Yeah, I'm more than ready for this next adventure."

The chewed pen between your lips hasn't been useful in a few minutes.

Its cheap taste of wood is leaving an awkward feeling on your tongue, but you couldn't care less. Despite your poor attempt at remaining concentrated, your mind still remains somewhere else.

A few minutes prior, you decided to do something of your extreme boredom. So, you took the first pen available, one that already carried deeply engraved bite marks, along with your sticker decorated sketchbook, before searching for an idea, or a muse.

Your gaze directly drifted to Sam, carefully lounged on his side across the rough covers of his motel bed, surrounded by newspapers. He has this concentrated frown on his face, one that makes him furrow his eyebrows as he hastily types on his laptop.

Minutes passed, and your burning gaze is still resting heavily on Sam's figure, as if your brain was trying its absolute best to memorize every single inch of his skin, every micro-expression resting on his face, just all of him.

You finally come to your senses as Dean gets up from where he was sitting, near the small table in the corner of the room. He walks towards Sam, probably to show him some piece of information he found about the ongoing case they are working on.

You're not always directly involved in the cases or hunts. You provide some help if needed, but your current job matters most than those side quests your friends take you on. Although you can't help yourself but follow with a smile when they forcefully grab you to join them on simple, less dangerous hunts, as Dean claims it can only do you good to have some fun from time to time. Even if his notion of fun is quite foreign to you.

At this point, you feel totally disconnected from the real world, not hearing any of their shared words as you roughly trace Sam's shape in your sketchbook. The current atmosphere makes it easier to focus, the warmth of sharing a room with your friends always offered a familiar, home-like feeling.

The irregular sketch slowly transforms into a quite accurate drawing, perfectly portraying Sam's soft yet focused traits. The way you outlined his body is almost immodest in the way you emphasized on your favorite parts of him, according more details to his arms and hands and the way those dark wash jeans sit low on his hips, the waistband of his underwear attracting your attention.

By the time you snap out of your trance, Dean is watching you, a mocking smile plastered on his face.

"You okay?" There is no actual concern in his tone, just obvious amusement. His eyes rapidly shift between you and the black notebook sitting in your hands.

Your muscles only freeze for a few seconds, but that's already too much. You look suspicious, and Dean is definitely not going to let that slide.

Staring at him with a clueless expression on your face, you straighten up, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the couch as you actively attempt to figure out if you should just throw that book out the window, or pray that he won't try to snatch it.

He only hums, and Sam lifts is gaze towards you. His hair is messy, a sign that he must've ran his fingers through it at least a couple times. He blinks slowly, daylight streaks reflecting on his pupils. You almost drown in them before Dean snaps you out of it by waving his hand in your direction.

"Yeah, why wouldn't i be?"

You grimace for a millisecond, realizing that this second poor attempt at keeping your composure is only making you look more questionable.

Leaning back against the couch, you make an effort to relax despite the heat radiating off both Sam and Dean's heavy glances. A soft hue of pink rises to your cheeks as you hopelessly try to not meet their eyes.

The two brothers share a look, a hint of mischief coating the air. Dean approaches you slowly while your eyes wander away, then abruptly snatches the sketchbook out of your grasp.

"Alright, what do you think you're doing?" You suddenly get up, ready to steal your belongings back.

"Nothing, just curious," He walks as far as he can away from you, holding the book in the air as if it were a sacred item no one was allowed to touch, then waving it at you with a smile. "What do we have here?"

You determinedly stomp towards him, a groan escaping your lips. "Just give it back man, it's not funny."

He turns his back on you, and before you get the chance to fight him to retrieve your book, he has already opened it on the last used page.

A ridiculous, annoying smile appears on his features, one that clearly hints he's trying not to laugh. You can't tell if he's just entertained, deeply concerned, or a few seconds from making fun of you.

"Well, would you look at that, Sammy," Dean holds the book wide open towards Sam, who lightly squints to make out what's happening in front of him. "You look like those chicks in the playboy magazines."

A laugh escapes his lips as he throws the notebook at Sam, then turns around to face you, opening his mouth like he's about to say something stupid, once again.

"Shut up, Dean."

Sam's voice rises, words escaping in a huff from the other side of the room as the corners of his mouth rise upwards. He's still laying comfortably on his bed with your book in his hands, his fingers roaming on the graphite coated page.

He takes a few seconds to register the amount of care you gave to details. Surely, this is a more explicit depiction of reality, but Sam doesn't seem to mind it. In fact he likes it, knowing that you think about him beyond what you can only see.

What else could you have possibly drawn before? How far does your imagination goes when you think about him? So many questions flow, and grows more curious by the second.

"Sam…" The awkwardness of the situation doesn't even allow you to finish your sentence.

"Don't worry. It's really nice," He replies quietly, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

His words play on repeat in your mind as he carefully closes the book to hand it to you, which you accept with almost trembling hands and pink cheeks.

You decide to cut the moment short, storming to your room like a scared puppy. The heat radiating off Sam's presence, the strength of his perfume clinging to you as you leaned close to retrieve your belongings was too much.

As you get back to your room, you sit in silence, flipping through the pages of your sketchbook, and your realize that most of them are only picturing Sam in many different scenarios. You remember all those time you spent hours at the library with him, pretending to be focused on the random book you picked up upon arrival, when you were in fact focused on your small purse-sized sketchbook hidden between its pages.

You would spend most of your time at the library to examine Sam, remembering him as if it were the first and last time you laid eyes on him, just to doodle the scene of him awkwardly sat on a chair, his long legs spread out as a perplexed expression froze his features.

You loved taking advantage of those quiet moments to properly look at him, the way his bangs sit perfectly on his forehead, how often he tilts his head to one side in confusion, or even the look he'd give you every time you were too deep in your thoughts to notice him staring back at you. Those round, shiny eyes highlighting his puppy-like gaze.

Tonight isn't particularly on Sam's side. His mind's racing, and has been for long minutes, or even hours, reminiscing about today's events.

Sam calls himself stupid for feeling that way, curious and strangely aroused by the thought of you, sitting in silence, imagining every curve of his body, each one of his muscles, while filling the pages of your sketchbook.

He wonders how you would feel if he did the same, staring at you while he smudges graphite on a large piece of paper, laying each one of your beautiful features on it. He wonders if you'd pose for him, a seductive look on your face as his bitten pen marks the pages.

He's desperately trying to hold his thoughts back before they send him waking to your room, banging on your door in hope that you're still awake.

He didn't try hard enough.

In a few seconds, Sam is already standing in front of your motel room door, gathering up the courage to knock on it. His eyes only widen in shock as the handle twists open. The look on your face, taken aback by his unexpected appearance, makes him take a step back.

It gives him the perfect view to really take a look at your figure, his cheeks tinted with a soft, pink hue as he notices your bare legs, the long shirt you're wearing barely covering up your thighs. Wait, is that his shirt?

"Sam?" you breathe out, your eyes follow his gaze, settled on your upper body. He gives you a hint of a smile, visibly amused by the situation. It definitely is his shirt. "What are you doing here?"

Sam scratches the back of his head, unsure if he should say the truth. "I, uh, couldn't sleep. You?"

"I was gonna go grab my book. Left it in Dean's car," you respond simply while giving him a look, one that says i know you're lying.

"At three in the morning?"

You groan at his question, already defeated. You did leave your book in Dean's car, but thats's definitely not what's keeping you up so late.

Your facial expression must've betrayed you, since Sam leans forward, his forearm resting above your head on the door frame. Your breath itches as his face appears slightly closer to yours, the disappearing scent of perfume on his clothes coating the air between your bodies. "Can I come in?"

You nod in response, shifting just enough to leave space for him to enter the room. He does so, looking around the room as if he's never entered it before, while you face the door, shutting the it quietly before you lock it to prevent the outside air's coldness to enter.

When you turn around, you expect him to be sitting on the edge of your own bed in an ungainly manner, with a certain shyness he always carries around when spending alone time with you.

To your surprise, he's facing you. Not too close to be all over you, but enough for his warmth to caress your skin. You both stand there for what feels like a minute or so, his eyes traveling along your features. From the way your eyelashes curl, to the shape of your lips. Your heart finds comfort in the weight of a deafening silence, until Sam breaks it.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks, smiling. Unexpectedly confident in a way that makes your pulse throb.

You nod, and Sam is already all over you. His mouth crashes against yours, hot, starving but still sweet. The sudden weight of his lips on you, along with his large hands cupping your jaw is dizzying in the best way. He takes his time with it, tasting and feeling every inch of your body you allow him to touch.

Slow sweeps of his tongue accompanied by light nips to your bottom lip make you gasp just right, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, the both of you exhaling deeply at the burst of hotness emanating from the shared kiss.

His hands wander, tracing the curve of your hips beneath the fabric of his shirt, settling there before you push his wrist down, urging him to get a better hold of your body until he reaches your ass, squeezing the flesh softly as you hum. His free hand slides up to tangle in your hair, acting as a cushion when he pushes you against the closed door.

He growls as your bodies collide, your messy licks and bites working him up in the most delightful way possible. Your skin is hot, every tiny movements burns: the wet caress of his tongue against yours, his bangs tickling your skin, the way his fingers curl around your ass, pressing you flush against him as his hips desperately grind against you.

Quiet whimpers of desperation slip into your mouth like he just can't help it, and you moan at the feeling. The reciprocated sexual longing tastes absolutely wonderful on your tongue. He breaks the kiss just enough to trail open mouthed kisses down your neck, sucking on your sensitive spot to tear a soft gasp away from you. Each one of the marks sucked into your skin pull at your arousal like a leash, his groans traveling directly to your core.

"Fuck— I need you Sam," you succeed to mumble between gasps, voice thick with desire.

Your fingers fumble at the hem of his shirt, impatient. You tug upward on the soft material, and his hands only leave your body for a split second before he's grabbing you again. He hums in return when he manages to get rid of the only piece of clothing you were wearing, revealing your underwear. Your hands find his hair again, tugging on the soft stands as your lips crash onto his.

"Need you too. So fucking bad," Sam mutters between breaths, eager to taste you better.

"God you're so beautiful," he whispers as his fingers tangle in your underwear. He could just sit there and watch you all night, all pretty and needy for him. "I wish you could see yourself, how good you're gonna look while taking me."

His words make your head spin, and you moan at the thought: you in front of a mirror, slightly bent over with Sam's big hands covering your hips, grounding you as he slides in and out of your cunt like there's no tomorrow.

"The bathroom mirror is broken," you whine at the eventuality of mirror sex with Sam vanishing right in front of you.

His hands settle on your waist, guiding you until the back of your knees hit the sharp edge of your bed. You sit, not breaking the kiss, hands still tangled in his hair.

"Wait for me," Sam whispers, and you already miss the feeling of his skin against yours when he backs away. You can't exactly make out what he's doing, your eyes are too focused on his back. His broad shoulders are glistening, already affected by the warmth of the room and his excitement.

Sam fumbles an attempt at opening your laptop, which was sitting on the edge of a small table standing across the room, perfectly aligned with your bed. He manages to open the camera app, and a green dot appears next to the webcam as his reflection appears on the screen.

You smile when he makes his way back to you, and you slide your panties down your legs as he watches your every movements, lustfulness written all over his face. He licks his lips before getting down on his knees, hands groping your thighs as soon as he hits the floor.

You close the distance between your faces, sliding your tongue in his mouth, so fucking impatient for him to touch you more and more. He hums in satisfaction when his long fingers reach your back, unhooking your bra in one single motion.

His lips trail down to find your chest, and you rest your hands on his shoulders. He drags two fingers along your inner thighs, teasing as he mouths at your breasts. You close your eyes, gasping as his fingers graze your folds lightly.

Sam thumbs at your slit, dragging it up and down your folds before settling on your clit. His lips wrap around the soft skin of your breast, stealing a moan from you as he sucks a dark spot. Your legs open up even more as your vision blurs.

"That's it, baby. So pretty opening up for me." he murmurs, a cool puff of air hitting the wet spots his lips left behind, a gasp tumbling from your lips at the sensation.

"Fuck, Sam—"

He wraps a massive hand around your body, fingers splaying over your back. You're wet. Really wet. You can feel it as he spreads you open with his middle and index finger, eyes blown wide, eaten alive by his arousal.

You whimper when he teases your folds, and it quickly turns into a moan as he leans down to lick the wetness of your cunt, his tongue flat against your sensitive part. "So wet and pretty for me," he hums.

His lips form a seal around your sensitive bud, sucking like his life depends on it. You don't get the time to respond before he dips further, humming against your clit as a thick finger slides inside you, stretching you out beautifully. Your lashes flutter when he drowns in it until the last knuckle, fire pulling at your core.

A second finger enters you, and Sam pumps in slow, wet squelching sounds echoing in the quiet room as he hits your favorite spot, making you whimper as he stuffs you full.

He smiles against your pussy. Your pretty sounds make his head spin, and he can't help but moan against you, the vibrations of his voice electrifying every nerve in your body. "Come on, look at yourself baby. Already a mess."

The tone of his voice makes you shudder. Your half-lidded eyes find your reflection on the laptop's screen. The sight alone could make you cum on the spot. Sam kneeling in front of you, his arm going back and forth as he fingers you eagerly, and those broad shoulders covering the view of your pussy, making it only his to see.

He's right, you are a mess, your eyes are glossy, jaw open, and eyebrows pulled in silent pleasure, waiting for more. "Oh god, Sam!"

Your fingers comb through his hair, unconsciously tugging on it as his pace fastens, pushing his tongue into your throbbing cunt as he rocks his face back and forth. He drags your orgasm down until you're just a wet, moaning mess under his touch.

"Want me to fuck y'like this, baby?" he prattles, curling his fingers to tear another loud moan from you. "Take you right in front of that camera?" Your pussy clenches at his words and he groans, "So you can see how much of a good girl you are?

"Y-yeah," you sob, trying your absolute best to contain your orgasm.

"Say you want it." Sam urges, lapping at your folds. He can already taste your juices on the tip of his tongue, threatening to flow out.

"I— Fuck, want you to fuck me, Sammy. Just like that." You nod frantically.

This was everything you needed to send you over the edge. Sam's fingers curl and thrust deep inside you once again, as his lips find your sensitive clit.

Your climax washes over you, breaking you apart as the overwhelming pleasure makes your brain go numb. You can only babble Sam's name, all over again."God, Sam— Don't stop," you cry out.

"Go on, Sweetheart. Cum all over me." He moans when your juices drip down his fingers, coating them alongside his tongue. He licks and suck on your arousal, tasting you as a low whimper escapes him.

His fingers escape free, and he looks up at you with big caring eyes. Your release coats his chin and lips, and you can see a few drops sliding down down his neck. He drags his fingers to his mouth without hesitation, sucking them clean.

"You taste so good," he grins shamelessly, more than turned on by the sight of you, all broken, thigh open wide for him.

You're barely able to bite back a moan as he bends to capture your lips. His long fingers wrap around your throat, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. His free hand skim over your trembling thighs, soothing you.

Sam is hungry, desperate. He wants to bury himself inside you and stay there forever, he wants you to beg for him, all pliant and starving, ready to swallow him whole.

Soft giggles escape your lips as he picks you up, making you stand in front of the camera. God, how he loves it when you sound like this, so happy and full of light. He can't help it but smile, white teeth showing as he places himself behind you before kissing your cheeks.

You melt against him, leaning you back against his chest as he wraps his long arms around you. The feeling of his restrained cock against your ass makes you shiver, "Look at you," he whispers. "So fucking hot."

You hear the clink of his belt buckle as he takes his remaining clothes off, not wanting to waste a second before he pushes you flush against him, his hardness pressing against your back. You gasp softly and hear a low chuckle coming out of his throat. "Are you ready for me, baby?"

"Don't tease me, Sam. I need you right now," you whimper in desperation.

"So needy," he whispers against your ear before lightly biting your lobe.

Sam slowly shifts and rubs his cock between your folds, you slightly bend over to give him easier access. He lines himself up with your entrance and stays still for a few seconds, taking in the moment. You, on the other hand, can't bear to live another second without him inside your pussy. You suddenly bore down, splitting yourself open on him with a deep moan. "Fuck."

He grunts, then choke on a whimper as you continue, taking him almost to the hilt in one go. "You're so— Big."

"Oh Fuck," he breathes out, your name escaping his lips a he tries to keep his composure. "You didn't even give me a moment to—" His voice breaks again as you rock against him.

His forehead drops to your shoulder, grunting as he rolls his hips back. And, when he thrusts back in, you feel the entirety of him pushing against your walls, the curvy shape of him fitting into your cunt in the most appetizing way. The throaty sound it pulled from you both is obscene. Each one of your moans come out louder than the previous one.

"I'm so full, Sam," you almost cry, already overwhelmed by the fullness of your pussy as Sam's hips collide with your ass.

"Yeah, feels good?" He bites the skin at your shoulder, before licking on it to ease the soft, but delightful pain. "Look at us, baby. You're taking me so good."

The sound of his voice, raspy, burning with desire, has almost the same effect on you as his cock. You feel yourself dripping, your arousal sliding down your thighs as you come closer to a new orgasm. You whimper as he slows down, not far from crying of pleasure and desperation.

Sam wants to take his time with you, not ready to let go. He presses your knees together, closing your legs. He feels even bigger like this, taking you apart entirely. You almost taste him, and you start to think that you might be losing your damn mind over him.

He looks at you through your reflection on the laptop screen, "Let me savor you. 'M gonna take you slow and deep, and I won't stop until you cum all over me." His hand wraps around you face, holding your chin to make you face him. "Would you like that, Sweetheart?"

You nod with half-lidded eyes, and he kisses you. It's slow, full of care and affection. You grab his wrist, guiding his hand near your clit, urging him to touch you. The most broken sound of pleasure escapes you, feeling deep pressure everywhere you needed, craved.

He gently fucks you in return, slow enough to drag long moans from your lips, and your legs start to tremble again. "I wanna cum— Please, Sam"

"Fuck. Me too, baby. I got you," he mumbles, brain completely shutting down as he reaches his high.

You buck against him, meeting each one of his thrusts as he thumbs at your clit before circling it harder. Your eyes flutter open to watch him thrust into you, gasping, cheeks carrying a hot pink color. "Cum in me," you mumble, smiling at the hot frown on his face.

This is too much for Sam. He instantly goes dumb, thrusting harder while keeping a painfully slow pace.

You never thought you could ever be more full until he came inside your pussy, the both of you moaning and panting loudly, as his warmth brings you back to the real world. "That's my girl," he coos, leaving delicate kisses on your skin as you reach the end of your orgasm.

"That was fucking amazing," you pant, and he puts a reassuring hand on your waist. The both of you exchange a look as while coming back to your senses, flashing a smile to each other.

He wipes away the tears pricking at your eyes with a brush of his lips, before wrapping his arms around you. You stand there for a moment, looking at your reflection, until a flash of amusement makes itself known in your eyes.

"You look a mess, Sammy," you giggle, messing with his hair even more as he chuckles before giving you a sweet peck.

"Your fault for being so beautiful." His grip tightens around you, and he picks you up before setting you both on the bed.

You lay comfortably on his chest, sticky and glistening with sweat. You're too lazy, too exhausted to even think about getting into the shower right at this instant. You'd rather stay here, with Sam, the sweetness of your shared moment being more important than anything.

Unfortunately, your body gets the best of you. As Sam draws peppers kisses all over your face while whispering sweet, heartfelt words that sound like the most perfect melody to your hears, the comforting feeling of his presence lulls you to sleep.

The next morning, you wake up to an empty side of the bed. The room is clean, too clean as even Sam isn't here anymore.

You sit up carefully, looking around the room until your eyes catch the shape of a piece of paper, folded and lying on the pillow next to you. When you pick it up to open it, you read:

Left with Dean for the day :(

You looked so pretty asleep, i couldn't wake you up

please, wait for me.

— SW

“C’mon, baby, you can do better than that.”

Sam’s voice rumbles against your center. It’s hard to tell just how long he’s had you pressed against the mattress like this, panting and trembling under his tongue. It feels like it’s been hours since you started, but you haven’t gotten to cum once — all because he’s been edging you, trying to get you to moan nice and loud for him. 

It’s not that Sam doesn’t treat you well — there’s not a single other person on this planet that could possibly make you cum as hard as he does — but you’re naturally quiet in the bedroom. Whether it’s your own hand, a toy, or Sam’s cock stuffed inside you, you’re typically silent during sex, save for some heavy breathing and the occasional low whimper. 

Sam isn’t the type of guy to take it personally at all, but — well, he’s long since had a morbid obsession with trying to break your quiet streak. Call it research. He wants to know what you would sound like, if he could pull some obscene noises out of you. He’s not looking for cheap porn star moans — he wants the real thing. 

So here you are, shuddering and clutching at his hair. You try to tug him back down so you can rub your clit against his nose and finally get off, but the second he realizes what you’re doing, Sam pulls away. You whine petulantly, reaching for him, but you wind up clawing at the air instead of his head. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs, sitting back on his knees between your parted legs. “I told you, baby, I wanna hear you first.” 

“Sam, come back,” you grouse, close to tears. “Please, that’s enough. I wanna cum.”

He smiles at you so sweetly that, had you not witnessed him torturing you for the past hour, you’d find it endearing. 

“I know,” he says, looking almost a little guilty as he kisses your knees. “I know, and you will. I just wanna hear that you like it, that’s all. Not so hard, right?” 

You huff, frustrated and needy. If you weren’t so desperate to get off, you’d up and leave him alone on the bed; you already attempted some time ago to sneak your hand down to your clit, but Sam made you close your legs and just sit there until you promised to behave yourself, so that’s out of the question. Besides, it’s already hard enough finding time to get in bed with Sam without his brother unintentionally cockblocking, so you might as well suffer through it. 

When you’re finally relaxed again — as much as you can be, at least — Sam trails his mouth down your inner thighs, alternating between each, until he’s hovering over your puffy folds. He kisses your slick, glistening cunt before licking a stripe up the middle. You whimper, dragging your hands over the sheets below you. They bunch up into fists when Sam’s tongue juts out further, slipping into you and flicking upward. You audibly squeak, the sound squeezed out of you from your restraint. 

Sam chuckles against you, repeating the motion. His laughter vibrates from your pussy all the way up your body, lighting up every nerve ending. You arch your back, trying to grind against his face, but Sam doesn’t let you — he clamps his hands around your thighs, holding them against the side of his head. His hair tickles your skin, making you jump and shiver while he bobs his head, tongue-fucking you, then sucking your clit, then repeating the actions. 

He eats you like he’s been starving for it — and honestly, he just might be. If there’s one thing you know and love about Sam, it’s this: he loves to taste you. 

Sam is beginning to moan by this point, losing himself between your legs. He starts to eat you out more voraciously, digging his fingertips into the meat of your thighs — and it’s that possessive gesture that makes your hips twitch, and a weak sound escapes you. It’s not quite the full-on moan he’s been waiting for, but he’s getting closer to where he wants you now. 

He pulls his head back briefly, hiking your legs up to sit around his shoulder now. Sam yanks you down by your hips, and you yelp, tugging the sheets down with you. Sam lands on your cunt again with a dark chuckle under his breath. He openly groans, lapping you up and rubbing his nose against your clit like you were hoping for earlier. The sensation is like a zap of electricity to your body — you moan aloud, squeezing your legs around his head. A shuddering sigh escapes you, then another loud whine when his tongue squirms around your clit. 

“That’s it,” Sam mutters between tastes of you. “There you go, just like that.” 

Tears puddle in your eyes, wetting your lashes. You’ve been on the edge for so long now, and the end is finally in sight. Sounds rip from your throat that you didn’t even know you could make — low, warbling sounds and animal-like wails. Sam smiles against your cunt, shoving his face against you until he can hardly breathe. His mouth closes around your folds, kissing and suctioning his lips to make you squirm and moan all over again. He grabs ahold of your hips, lifting them up to meet his face, and stars speckle the outskirts of your vision. 

With a loud cry of his name, your walls clench, then release. You gush right onto his waiting tongue, and Sam eagerly laps up the cum that pours out from between your puffy folds. He doesn’t let a single drop hit the sheets; he slurps it up, making obscenely loud noises that have your cheeks burning hot. 

You’re too sensitive to take much more of his ministrations. One hand lazily reaches for his head, curling into his hair and lightly tugging him off of your pussy. Sam lifts his head up, eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiles at you. His lips and chin are glistening under the lamplight; he makes no move to wipe away your release. 

You and Sam had been dating for a few months and there's a lot you learned about him in that time but one really prominent thing is that he is really possessive.

Even if he doesn't show it. He acts all cool and calm but deep down, he wants to gauge out the eyes of anyone who even dares to look in your direction.

So when you, him, and Dean couldn't get a witness to give you the information you needed, you all knew what had to be done.

You walk into the bar wearing a tight shirt and jeans that are practically your second skin, the boys watching you from the corner while you pretend you don't know them and you walk straight towards the witness who is currently getting obnoxiously drunk at the bar.

"Whiskey sour please." you say to the bartender, putting on your brightest smile as you lean on the bar, letting the bartender and the guy beside you get an eyeful down your shirt. "Comin' right up sweetheart."

The bartender pours your drink while you turn to the witness beside you- Tim they said his name was- and smile, hoping that will be enough for him to initiate a conversation.

"Come here often?" he slurs, making no attempt to hide his gaze as it trails down your chest. You bite your lip knowing Dean is probably holding Sam back from coming over and beating the crap out of Tim.

"No but I will now." you smirk and look him up and down, trying to make the flirting more apparent than your disgust. "Oh, I like the sound of that. Tell me darlin' why don't we go in the back yeah?" Tim spits out, nodding towards the back of the bar towards the bathroom.

"Oh I don't know if I should. I heard there's a serial killer in town. Might just be you." You say as seductively as you can in this situation while trying to draw more information out of him.

"Nah that's just a rumour." he leans in closer, invading your personal space enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath. "It's a vampire." he whispers.

Feigning amusement, you reply "A vampire? I haven't even had one drink yet. I'm so not drunk enough to believe vampires exist." clearly a lie. You know more than anyone how real vampires are.

"I saw one. Yesterday. Come to the back with me and I'll tell you all about it." you dare peek a glance at Sam, giving him a small nod as you follow Tim to the back.

Within a second, his hands are on your hips, pinning you to the wall. You panic, fear overtaking you thinking you're gonna die but then his mouth is on your neck, leaving drunken sloppy kisses and you realize he's just a drunk asshole and not someone trying to actively murder you.

You let our a fake giggle and grip his shoulders "Keep biting my neck like that and I might just think you're the vampire." that only makes him bite harder and you desperately wish it was Sam instead of him.

"Mmm if I was, I wouldn't kill a pretty girl like you." you smile as best you can and mutter "How thoughtful of you." he kisses up your jaw while his hands travel down to your ass, pulling your hips to his and you have to clench your hands into fists in order to not beat his ass up on the spot.

You manage to subdue the anger long enough to let out a fake a moan and mumble "I think vampires are actually really hot. You know how they bite their victims and aren't they supposed to be like 10 times more beautiful than human?"

"You tell me." he smirks and you see a flash of fangs coming out of his teeth. Before your brain even registers what your body is doing, you pull out the knife you always keep in your pocket and stab it right in his neck just as Sam and Dean run up.

Tim runs out of the bar through the back door and Dean chases him all the while Sam is on you checking for injuries and asking if you're ok. "I'm ok I'm ok. I promise." you cup his face and kiss him as if that will wash off the memories of Tim's hands and mouth on you.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him." he mumbles in your mouth and you pull back and look at him. "I know" "I swear to God honey the way he had his hands all over you and his lips- he was kissing your neck like he had any right-" you cut him off with a kiss because you know he'll keep rambling about this forverr if you dont calm him down.

"Shh it's ok. He's gone. We caught him. And I'm all yours." you squeeze his hands to ground him and he sighs, resting his forehead on yours as he whispers "I love you." "I love you too."

Later, in the motel, he shows you just how much he loves you and exactly how possessive he can get. Good thing Dean went to take care of Tim's body as an excuse because all you know is that you definitely won't be volunteering to flirt with another suspect ever again. Unless you wanna lose the ability to walk for a week.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

𝚃𝚊𝚐 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝: @yourbitchwriter @fangirl700146

Sam didn't answer right away. He was slouched into the corner of the couch, one knee drawn up, bottle balanced against it. The blue light from the television flickered across his face as he watched Humphrey Bogart say something that neither of you was really listening to anymore. 

Sam's mouth twitched. “Are you jealous?”

“What?!” You barked out a laugh, “Ew, no, never”

Sam looked down and let out a small laugh. “I meant jealous that he got laid tonight.”

“Oh, please, like it was a skill issue of mine.” You replied, offended, “Shut up.” Then you rolled your eyes. "...Okay, maybe I'm a little jealous."  

“Knew it.” He grinned as he was about to take yet another sip of his beer.

“But c’mon, Winchester, you’ve seen me. I used to get laid all the time.” "It's just..." you admitted more quietly. "It's gotten harder to ignore everything that's going on." 

Sam finally looked away from the television. “Y/N, you know I’m here if you ever need to talk.”

You pointed your bottle at him.

"Nope."

"Nope?"

"No feelings tonight." You shook your head decisively, then immediately had to steady yourself because apparently that had been too much movement. "We're drinking beer. We're watching this boring-ass movie you insisted was a masterpiece."

Sam looked genuinely offended.  “I can’t believe you really are calling Casablanca boring”

“Are we watching the same movie?” 

Neither of you spoke for a while, and you tried to actually concentrate on the film. A character was saying something dramatic on-screen. Someone was probably sacrificing true love. You had absolutely no idea.

The bunker settled around you, all humming pipes and distant ventilation. Sam reached for another beer.

You watched him for a second longer than you meant to.

“How long has it been since you’ve gotten laid?”

The question had just slipped out. It had seemed innocent enough, but the moment the silence settled between you, you panicked.

Sam froze with the bottle halfway to his mouth. “You’re really asking me this?”

“Sorry, it came out of nowhere. Too personal?” 

“No, I mean…” He seemed embarrassed, and you felt a little guilty for asking. He stared at the label on his beer for a long moment. "I honestly don't know." Another pause. "...Eight months? Maybe?" 

“Eight?” You turned to look at him, letting out a small laugh in an attempt to ease the awkwardness. “Whoa, and I thought I was doing bad. No offense.”

You’d never talked to either of the brothers about things like this. There was plenty of teasing between the three of you, but there were also lines you never meant to cross.

“None taken.” He took another drink before setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “I just find it difficult to pretend and not feel guilty afterward. Like I’m lying to them about who I am. I wish I could just have a real conversation with them.”

“I get it. It happens.” You paused for a moment, unable to keep track of the movie anymore. “And have you tried sleeping with another hunter?”

“Not much,” he shrugged. “There aren’t exactly many hunters.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the room. You could hear nothing but Sam’s steady breathing and the muffled dialogue from the television. Neither of you looked at the other. You both kept your eyes on the screen, though neither of you had any idea what was happening anymore. Suddenly, a thought entered your head, but maybe it was just the alcohol. But whatever crossed your mind, you couldn’t bring yourself to say it out loud without risking your friendship with Sam. 

Sam and Dean were the two closest people in your life. You'd known them for over ten years, and even if you'd found one of them attractive at some point, crossing that line had never felt worth it. To you, it meant risking the bond you shared, and that was far more important than anything else. They were your best friends, and you weren't exactly the kind of person who made friends easily. 

The alcohol and the distress from the last hunt were making you feel impulsive. Like you needed to put a band-aid over your sadness right away before you completely crashed. And Sam was there. He always was. Somehow, even when you felt like the most miserable person in the world, Sam Winchester was there to remind you you’d always have a shoulder to cry on. 

And even if sometimes you could find him obnoxiously nice, you’d always be glad to have met him. But of course, you never told him any of this. 

Your hands trembled around the bottle. The whole situation felt ridiculous enough to laugh at, and maybe that was the alcohol talking. God, you were drunk. You wondered if he'd had the same thought that had just crossed your mind. Judging by the way he suddenly became very interested in his beer label, perhaps he had.

“You know, Sam...” You swallowed hard before continuing. “I think I’m going to bed.”

You got to your feet, mentally cursing yourself as you walked toward the bunker hallway. But halfway there, you stopped. 

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you turned around to face him. 

“Sam... you can join me if you want.”

Sam blinked, his brow furrowing as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. “What?”

“We’re both alone,” you replied quickly.

He still looked like he didn't quite understand what you meant. Or maybe he did, and he just didn't know what to do with it. The confusion on his face only made your stomach twist tighter. He had gotten to his feet to head to his own room, but now he stood frozen, staring at you. 

“Y/N I…” 

“Look, you don't have to say anything right now, okay?” You tried not to let your nervousness show. “I'll be in my room, and you can come if you want. But it's okay if you don't. I get it.”

Without waiting for an answer, you turned and walked towards your bedroom, suddenly feeling strangely exposed. You'd never been the shy type, but for some reason, your heart was pounding harder than ever. Maybe Sam saw you the same way Dean did: as family. The thought made your stomach churn, and panic began creeping in with every step you took down the hallway. It was terrifying. 

You entered your room and exhaled. You felt heavy and also sort of dizzy. More than ten minutes passed, and you were pacing around the room, biting your nails, thinking whether you had fucked up, until you heard the door crack open and sat on your bed quickly, pretending as if you were calm and collected.

“Hey, Y/N…” Sam said calmly, then he rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry. I kind of sat in my room for a while trying to figure out what to say." 

He chose each word carefully, like he was terrified of saying the wrong thing. It sounded less like a rejection and more like he was trying not to fuck up. He stood before you, and even if you were sitting in front of him, his big figure seemed to shrink at every sentence. His embarrassment was palpable, and you noticed how he even had trouble looking directly into your eyes.

“Did you really mean that?” He asked. It was almost like he still couldn’t understand what just happened. “We’ve been drinking a lot…”

“I know,” you said, your voice softer than before. “It just... occurred to me as a way to deal with everything that's been going on. Things haven't exactly been easy lately, and since we both said it'd been a while since either of us had been with someone, I thought maybe we could help each other… As friends.” You didn’t know how you could come up with that entire sentence. As your brain was incredibly foggy.

Sam stared at you for a bit and looked around the room as if he were analyzing the whole situation. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” He paused. “I do.”

 I’m just afraid it’d be weird in the morning if we actually do this.”

“I can promise it won’t,” You shifted over, making room for him beside you on the bed, and he sat beside you, looking directly at your eyes. “Let’s just enjoy this night as two very lonely drunk friends.” You smiled at him, which made him feel warm. 

You closed the distance between you and kissed him. As soon as you did, he kissed you back, with more intensity than you’d expected. Then, he grabbed your waist and pinned you to the bed.

“Is this okay?” He asked, to which you replied nodding, completely mesmerized.

The morning after, you woke to the sound of Dean's voice echoing through the bunker. 

"Sammy! Y/N! Rise and shine! I brought breakfast!" You heard how he opened Sam’s door and then closed it as soon as he didn’t find him there. 

Sam's eyes snapped open, and for half a second, he just looked at you. Then he remembered everything. 

"Oh, God.” 

“Morning.” You said awkwardly.

"Dean's back."

"Yeah, I heard."

“Y/N, Are you there?” Dean asks as he knocks. 

“Dean, wait, I’m changing!” Fuck, you mouthed, scrambling for your jeans as Sam reached for his shirt. 

“What do we do?” Sam hissed, already looking around the room like there had to be an escape route. 

“You know where Sam is?” Dean insists. Sam began gesturing wildly, pointing toward the window, then at his feet, then making an exaggerated running motion. 

“Uh, yeah, he’s out for a run,” You replied quickly.

“He left without his shoes?” 

"Uh..." You glanced at Sam, who looked one second away from having a heart attack. "...He got new ones?" 

There was a pause on the other side of the door. A pause that felt too long since you were sweating, and not the good kind of sweat.

“New ones??” Dean repeated.

“Yeah…?” 

"Uh, Okay." He still sounded unconvinced. "I'll be in the kitchen. Come eat before I finish everything."

His footsteps faded down the hallway. You and Sam exhaled with relief.

There was really not much time to think about what you two had done last night. Yes, it was insanely awkward. You'd liked it far more than you wanted to admit, and you didn’t know if he enjoyed it as much as you did.

"That bought us, what... two minutes?" you muttered.

Sam ran a hand through his already messy hair. "Maybe less."

You looked him up and down, trying to figure out what was going through his head. But then composed yourself and realized you needed to think fast.

"Okay. You need to leave the bunker and come back looking like you've been out for a run."

Sam blinked, "I'm not exactly dressed for a run."

You looked down, and he was still wearing yesterday's jeans.

"...Right." You groaned, rubbing a hand over your face. "Okay then, new plan. I'll sneak into your room, grab your running clothes, bring them back here, and then I'll keep Dean distracted while you slip out the back entrance."

After getting Sam his running clothes, you went to the kitchen and tried to play it as cool as possible. You needed to keep Dean clueless and distract him so he wouldn’t leave the room. 

“Morning, Dean. Sorry, I took so long, I couldn’t find my shirt” 

“It’s fine, don’t wor-” He stopped mid-sentence. “Your shirt’s on backwards…”

“Oh shit, you’re right!” You felt your heart sink for a minute. You almost wanted to die, but fake laughed a bit instead. “I’m that stupid, yeah” 

You sat down and started eating your breakfast in front of Dean, who you felt was trying to read you somehow, like he knew something was off but couldn’t really put his finger on it. The sweat was impossible to ignore now.

Dean took a bite of his pancakes, but his eyes lingered on you a moment longer than usual.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." You forced a smile. "Just had a little too much to drink after you left."

He raised an eyebrow, "You two kept drinking?"

"A little."

"Huh."

"You look like somebody who either got about two hours of sleep..." He paused. "...or got lucky."

You nearly choked on your coffee. "What? Not at all,” The answer came out way too quickly. “We came back here and watched a movie together; that bar was awful”

“Well, it did have many hot chicks,” He leaned back in his chair, then a smug grin crossed his face. “Aaand I left with one of them, so I didn’t find it that awful” 

“Remind me now why she left with you?” You teased him, to which he replied by gesturing toward his face with both hands. 

"This, and years of practice."

You raised an eyebrow, "Practice doing what, exactly?” 

"Being irresistible."

“Humility is your number one trait, love it.”

Dean smirked, "It's one of many."

Before you could roll your eyes again, the bunker door slammed shut with enough force to make both of you jump, and heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. A second later, Sam appeared in the kitchen, slightly out of breath, his running clothes damp with sweat.

 "Morning, Dean, Y/N," he said, nodding toward both of you as he headed for the fridge. Dean looked him up and down.

"You seriously went for a run after a night of drinking?"

Sam shrugged, "Couldn't sleep."

“Dude, do you ever sleep?"

Sam glanced over his shoulder, "Do you?"

"No, but at least I get better cardio." 

Five minutes later, Sam sat down beside Dean, directly across from you. Both of you tried your hardest not to look nervous. You even had to force your leg to stop bouncing beneath the table. Ironically, Dean's presence made things easier. As long as he was there, neither of you had to confront what had happened the night before. The worst part was knowing that eventually he'd leave, and then it would just be the two of you, with no more distractions.

Thank you so, so much for reading!! It's my first time writing here on tumblr. I used to write on ao3 but got into a bit of a hiatus and now decided to try it on here.

hope u liked it!!

lace dividers by @sugarish

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You’d just wrapped up a particularly demanding hunt and headed to Bobby’s to get a bit of downtime. While you were there, Bobby asked for your help researching one of their cases.

“Sounds like a Rugaru to me. Timeline and hunger escalation fit the pattern,” you said casually.

Sam, without missing a beat, went full book-mode. “I mean… that’s a decent guess, I suppose. But Rugarus don’t usually show restraint this long, and the suspect doesn’t have any hereditary signs suggesting so.”

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the healing bruises from your last hunt. Or maybe it was just being sick of male hunters underestimating you. But something about Sam’s reply rubbed you the wrong way.

“A decent guess? Bobby asked me to help because you boys clearly can’t figure this one out yourselves. And how do you even know it’s definitely the husband?” you scoffed.

Sam looked up, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. He hadn’t meant to come across condescending, but by then it didn’t matter. You were too stubborn to let it go.

Annoyed, you glanced at Bobby, who cringed at the scene unfolding. You stood, announced you were leaving, and made a final snide remark about not sitting by while some guy questioned your intelligence, then promptly left the room, not giving Sam a second to explain or protest.

You hadn’t meant to start an argument. But backing down was never really your thing.

Not after years of male hunters brushing you off just for being a woman.

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Several months passed since that first meeting with the Winchesters. Your relationship with Sam? Still rocky. You were both too damn stubborn.

Every interaction came with snide remarks and bickering. Bobby just rolled his eyes. Dean, on the other hand, was thoroughly entertained.

‘’Y’know, for two people who don’t like each other, you sure bicker like an old married couple.’’

Both of you ignored him.

You didn’t know what it was about Sam Winchester, but he got under your skin. He drove you absolutely crazy.

What made it worse was overhearing him talking to Dean after one of your arguments.

“She just won’t let it go. Acts like I’m the bad guy because I questioned her once. I mean seriously, she’s dramatic. Ridiculous.”

After that, you didn’t bother with the petty banter. You went cold towards him. It threw Sam off, but you weren’t about to explain yourself to someone who saw you as a joke.

Which brings you to your most recent hunt.

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“I still think it’s a bad idea,” you muttered, arms crossed in Bobby’s study.

You’d been tracking a demon that left a trail of bodies behind it. When Bobby called saying he had a lead, you jumped in your car and floored it to Sioux Falls.

Dean looked up from where he was cleaning his gun.

“What, you mean going after a couple rogue demons in the middle of nowhere, or doing it with my brother?”

“Both,” you snapped. “Mostly the second one. Not exactly a fan of spending time with Mr. College Know-It-All.”

Bobby snorted into his coffee. “You’ll be fine. It’s your case—you know the details. Sam tracked the lead. Makes sense you two wrap it up. You’re both great hunters.”

You knew Bobby added that last comment to try and flatter you, hoping you would give up arguing. Which you did, but not because of his comment, but because you knew it wouldnt matter if you kept up your argument or not.

Right on cue Sam entered the room, shrugging on his jacket, his eyes flicking breifly to yours before looking away just as fast.

Tension? Still sky-high. Great.

Dean smirked. ‘’You two play nice, yeah? Hate to miss the show’’

“You’re not coming?” you asked, whipping your head around so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.

Dean gestured to his ankle, thickly bandaged.

“Can’t exactly chase demons while hobbling like an old man.”

“And before you ask,” Bobby added, a bit too quickly, “Rufus needs me on phone duty. So I’m out too.”

“So just me and him?” you asked through gritted teeth, glancing at Sam, who very pointedly avoided your gaze.

“Whatever,” you finally muttered, grabbing your bag and heading to the door.

Dean called after you, “Good luck. Don’t kill each other.”

“No promises,” you shot back, shoving past Sam on your way out.

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You were already irritated before the hunt even started.

Sam walked like he owned the damn woods. Long strides. Barely glancing back. You’d been bickering since you got out of the car.

“You know,” you sighed, ducking under a branch, “this would go faster if you didn’t assume I was two steps behind on everything.”

“I’m not assuming anything,” Sam muttered without turning around.

“Right. Except for the part where you keep ‘explaining’ things I already know. I’ve been on this case longer than you, sweetheart.”

“That’s not-” He stopped, turned. “I’m just trying to make sure we don’t miss anything. I’m not here to babysit.”

“Good. Because I’m not here to be babied.”

For a beat, it was just the rustle of the wind through the trees and the steady thud of your heart pounding in you ears, although you werent sure if it was from anger at the man ahead of you or adreline from the hunt, or both.

Sam’s jaw flexed, and he huffed out an impatient breath. ‘’Fine. You take the lead then’’

You shoved past him, heart tight, throat tigher. You knew how to do your job You didnt need him questioning your every step.

But as the silence stretched between you, you felt it, not peace nor quiet, but a strage pull. One you always felt around him.

The way he always lingered a little too close. The way his voice sharpened only when he spoke to you. The way your name sounded different on his tongue, like it carried weight.

You hated it.

More than that, you hated that you didn’t.

You hated that you couldn’t get him out of your head. Much like right now.

So when the demons charged you, your guard was down.

You were quick on your feet but what you thought would be one or two demons, was actually over half a dozen of them.

It felt like you had been fighting the demons for an eternity. You’d finally managed to get down to the final few.

But as skilled and fast as you were, this demon was faster. You had blocked one from getting to Sam, unknowlingly open yourself up for an attack.

The pain was sharp and immediate.

You gasped. Sam’s head whipped toward you.

One second he was in front of you, finishing off the last demon. The next, he was by your side.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to push him off.

Sam ignored you. He grabbed your arm, threw it over his shoulder, and started walking you back to the car.

“I don’t need your help,” you hissed.

“Too bad,” he shot back.

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The second you reached the car, Sam sat you down on a bench nearby and went to grab the crappy first aid kit.

“Let me see,” he said, kneeling.

“I’m fine,” you snapped.

“You’re bleeding.”

“I can handle it.”

“You can barely keep your eyes open.”

You swatted weakly at him. “Don’t need-”

“Later, you can go back to arguing with me. Right now, let me stop you from bleeding out over pure stubbornness.”

His tone was sharp. What caught you off guard wasn’t the words- it was the worry in his voice. The panic.

Reluctantly, you let him work. Mostly because you were losing your energy to fight back fast.

“Shouldn’t have come with just you,” you muttered as he cleaned the wound.

Sam didn’t reply.

“I told Bobby it wasn’t working alone. But of course, you had to doubt me. Again.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “I didn’t doubt you.”

You scoffed, then winced. Sam’s hand steadied you.

You scoffed, then winced. Sam’s hand steadied you.

After a pause, he sighed. “Okay. I didn’t mean to. I thought I was right. I wasn’t.”

Your voice came slower now, breath thin. “I heard what you said to Dean. Dramatic. Ridiculous.”

Sam winced.

“I didn’t-” He shook his head.

You interrupted him“Maybe I jumped on you a little fast. But you have no idea what it’s like. Being a woman in this line of work. Constantly underestimated. Treated like crap.”

“I didn’t mean it,” he said softly. “It was stupid. I was pissed. It’s not an excuse.”

You gave a weak laugh, that was all you could muster, you were losing energy pretty quick.

“Hey,” he said sharply, voice tight. “Stay awake. You don’t get to check out now, we just started getting somewhere. I gotta prove I’m not a total jackass, right?”

Your lips twitched. “...Big challenge.”

He smiled. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here, I can do better when we get back to Bobby’s.”

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The ride back was quiet. Well, apart from the steady hum of the engine and the constant banging in your head.

Sam would glance over every few seconds, jaw tight, kuckled whitneing on the steering wheel.

He hated it, seeing you like this.

You drove him mad, but this, this had his mind racing with fear.

You sat slouched in the passenger seat, eyes half lidded, but still refusing to close and fall to darkness.

“I told you to stay awake,” he murmured.

“I am awake,” you rasped. “Just… resting my eyes.”

“That’s not how that works.”

You shifted uncomfortably, “You’re bossy.”

“And you’re impossible.”

Another silence passed. You shifted again in the seat, hissing at the sharp pain shooting up your back. Sams hand, almost instinctivly, shot to your shoudler, steading you.

You noticed. The hand that lingered on your shoulder. The fact that despite everything, he ran to your side.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“For what?”

“For helping. Even though you hate me.”

Sam hesitated. “I never hated you. And I’ll always help you. No matter how stubborn you are about it.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way you leaned into his touch said enough.

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The Impala’s headlights cut through the late-night gloom as it rolled into Bobby’s yard, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The porch light was already on, Dean leaning on the wall just outside the door, arms crossed, concern etched plainly across his face. Bobby hovered behind him, looking tired but alert.

Sam had called ahead, letting them know the hunt had gone a little sideways.

He was already out of the car and circling around by the time you forced the door open with a wince. You tried to wave him off, but your knees buckled slightly when you stood.

He was there instantly, hands steadying you, an arm looping gently around your waist.

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

“Mhm,” he replied, not even bothering to humor your argumentative nature.

Bobby was at your side the next second. “You alright, kid?”

“Peachy,” you rasped, grimacing.

“She needs rest,” Sam said, eyes locked on you. “And a real med kit.”

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Inside, the house was warm, comforting in its own worn, cluttered way. Sam guided you to the couch, lowering you carefully as Bobby disappeared into the kitchen.

Dean watched as Sam grabbed the kit and knelt beside you, already pulling out bandages and antiseptic.

“You patchin’ her up yourself, Doctor Winchester?” Dean asked lightly. But his eyes flicked between the two of you, reading everything that wasn’t being said.

“She wouldn’t let me take her to a hospital,” Sam replied, not looking up. “Didn’t have much choice.”

“I’m right here, you know,” you mumbled. “Not unconscious yet.”

Dean gave a low chuckle, but his gaze lingered for a beat too long before he moved to help Bobby with supplies.

Sam worked quietly—gentle, but focused. And for the first time since you’d met, you were grateful for his presence.

You didn’t argue.

You didn’t flinch.

You just let him tend to you.

From the kitchen, Bobby and Dean watched in silence.

Bobby muttered, “Took them long enough.”

Dean took a slow sip of his beer and replied, “They still got a little bit of figuring out to do.”

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