Imagine Sam in the bunker’s kitchen drinking coffee in the morning when you walk by wearing only his flannel shirt…
Sam sat in the kitchen, coffee in one hand, newspaper in the other. He, <Y/N>, and Dean had finished up a wraith case last night and he was completely beat. He suspected his brother was still comatose in his room, but by the bustling in the hallway he wasn’t too sure. He leaned forward in his chair, trying to get a glimpse at the doorway.
“Dean?” Nobody showed and the noise faded. Shaking his head, he looked back down at his reading material and took a long sip from his steaming mug. A few moments later he heard the soft, muffled sound of approaching footsteps.
“Oi, Sasquatch, you got the coffee pot on?” <Y/N>’s light, drowsy voice echoed into the kitchen. Sam chuckled to himself. Of course it had been her. She was always up around this time, either going out for a jog or running errands.
“Yup,” Sam called, eyeing up the latest headline. <Y/N>’s steps got closer and closer and soon she flit into the room like a bird, her movements dainty and cat-like. From the corner of his eye Sam caught sight of what she was wearing and stopped reading mid-sentence. Doing a double-take, he turned his body in his chair and looked his friend head on. Her hair was pulled high on her head in a messy bun and he could see her glasses poke out from the tops of her ears. That isn’t what had caught his attention. What caught his attention was the familiar gray and black flannel that was wrapped around her tiny body. His flannel. Just his flannel. It sat off her right shoulder and fell just above her knees…and shit. She looked good. She looked…sexy.
“<Y/N>, are you wearing my shirt?” He asked in slight disbelief, his voice gruff. The girl turned around, a sheepish grin on her face. She fingered the fraying buttons close to her collarbone and laughed slightly.
“Yeah, sorry…it was on the top of the laundry pile and I was so zonked last night that I just grabbed whatever was there.” Her cheeks redden at the admission and Sam’s pulse quickens. His eyes rake over <Y/N>’s body, a deep yearning in his gut. He’d always had feelings for her and now she was walking around wearing his clothes…she was trouble. She must have sensed your unease because she sets down the cup she’d grabbed from the cupboard and eyes you wearily.
“You…you really shouldn’t walk around the bunker like that,” Sam mumbles, biting his lip. <Y/N> must have sensed your unease because she starts towards the doorway, starting to undo the buttons.
“I’ll go change now and throw it in the wash, then,” she says tersely, slightly embarrassed. In an instant Sam has gripped her wrist and pinned her against the dining table, her eyes wide with shock. “What the hell are you–” Sam silences her with a fierce kiss, sliding his free hand up her thigh. <Y/N> moans at his touch, arching her back into him. She breaks the kiss, breathless. Her eyes are questioning.
“You shouldn’t walk around the bunker like that,” Sam pants, “or who knows what I’ll do to this hot little body of yours…” <Y/N>’s eyes flash and she grins, wrapping her arms around Sam’s neck.
“Maybe I’ll do it more often then, if this is the response I get.” She purrs seductively. She, like Sam, had feelings that constantly went unsaid. This had been the breaking point for the both of them.
“You’ll drive me mad, <Y/N>. Do you know how long I’ve wanted you like this?” Sam groans, sliding his hand even further up her thigh. His breath catches when he reaches her pelvis and meets no resistance. His cheeks flush and his chest tightens. “Are you not wearing underwear?” <Y/N>’s only response is a coy smile. With that, Sam lifts her up and she squeals, locking her legs around his waist. He makes his way to the wall of the kitchen and presses <Y/N> up against it, rolling his hips into hers.
“Was this your plan the whole time?” He questions, voice thick with lust.
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