Mall Date
Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader (gn)
Warnings: None, just fluff. Reader shops at typically feminine brands.
Prompt: Sam treating reader to a mall date!!
An: Sam would absolutely be the boyfriend who carries all your bags without complaint and remembers exactly which store you spent the most time in. Hope you enjoy!! <3
Word count: 1.3k
It started with a complaint.
"I swear to God, if I have to dig through one more half-empty box of rock salt, I'm gonna lose it." Dean had been rifling through the trunk of the Impala, muttering under his breath. "We've got like. Three shells left. Three, Sam. That's not even a damn warning shot."
Sam had listened, nodding along while Dean catalogued everything they were running low on. Ammo. Salt rounds. Iron bars. Rope. The list went on, and it was depressingly long.
"So," Sam said when Dean finally paused for breath, "sounds like we need a supply run."
"That's what I've been saying!"
"I'll take care of it."
"Okay, but-" Dean squinted. "What's the catch, Sammy?"
Sam had smiled. "No catch. I'll handle the supplies, don’t worry about it."
And he did. Because Sam Winchester had a plan.
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You'd been curled up on the motel bed when Sam came back from whatever errand Dean had sent him on. The case had wrapped yesterday, Dean was off doing something that you didn't ask for too many details about. And you'd assumed it would be an afternoon of nothing, a mini break before you three had to handle another case.
Instead, Sam had walked in with a hopeful look and a single question:
"Want to go to the mall?"
"The mall?"
"It's been a while since we did something that wasn't…" He gestured vaguely. "Diners or gas station coffee."
"That's literally our entire lives."
"I know." He'd crossed the room, settling on the edge of the bed next to you. "That's why I want to take you somewhere else. Somewhere normal. Just for the day."
And he'd looked so genuinely hopeful that you'd found yourself nodding before you could even think about it.
"Okay," you'd said. "Okay. Let's do it."
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The mall was a two-hour drive from the motel.
Sam had chosen it deliberately. It was far enough that Dean wouldn't casually show up. Plus, it was big enough that there was actual variety in the stores and food selection.
"We need to get supplies first," he'd explained as you pulled into the parking lot. "Ammo, salt rounds, the boring stuff. There's a hunting store on the way in. Then.." He glanced at you. "Then we can do whatever you want."
"You planned this."
"Maybe a little."
You'd reached over and squeezed his hand, and his ears had gone pink in that way they always did when you caught him being sweet.
"Sam," you'd said, "you're adorable."
"I'm six-foot-four."
"That's irrelevant."
He'd ducked his head, still smiling, and you'd let him lead you into the store.
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The supplies took exactly twenty minutes.
Sam moved through the aisles; grab, check, double check, and toss in the cart. He knew exactly what they needed and where to find it. Salt rounds, iron bars, holy water, rope, duct tape, and enough ammunition to make a small army nervous.
You'd watched him work, leaning against the cart and occasionally handing him things when he pointed. He was in his element, all tall and focused, his brow furrowed slightly as he counted boxes.
"You're staring," he said, not looking up.
"Am not."
"Your head is literally tilted."
"Maybe I'm just resting it."
He'd finally looked at you then, one eyebrow raised, and you'd grinned at him.
"Done?" you'd asked.
"Almost." He'd grabbed one last box and dropped it in the cart. "Now we're done."
"Great." You'd bounced on your heels. "Now the fun part."
Sam had laughed and let you drag him toward the exit.
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The first store you wanted to visit was Victoria's Secret.
Sam had paused at the entrance, suddenly looking very, very out of his element. There was a pink-and-black color scheme. The huge photographs of attractive models in various lingerie sets. The mannequins were wearing things that made him blush, and there was a sales associate who spotted you both.
"You don't have to come in," you'd said, tugging his hand. "You can wait…"
"No no no-." He shook his head. "I'm coming."
"You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He'd held your hand the entire time, eyes fixed straight ahead, absolutely refusing to make eye contact with anyone. You'd found it hilarious.
"Sam, relax. It's just a store."
"It smells like…" He'd swallowed. "Flowers. And something else."
"Perfume."
"Right. Perfume."
You'd squeezed his hand, holding back your laughter. "You're doing great."
"I feel like everyone is staring at me."
"They're not staring."
He'd looked down at you, very much unconvinced. "I'm a six-foot-four man in a Victoria's Secret. They're definitely staring."
And he wasn't wrong. But you'd just pulled him deeper into the store, grabbing a few things you'd been meaning to buy for yourself.
Plus, it was nice being able to show him off in this way.
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Sephora was next, and this time Sam was ready.
He'd learned from the Victoria's Secret experience to keep his eyes forward. Sam didn't look at anything too closely and used you as a human shield when the sales associate approached to ask if he needed help finding anything.
"I'm good," he'd said, holding up his hands. "I'm just here for…" He'd gestured at you. "For them. I'm just the bag holder."
"You're very sweet," the associate had said, and Sam had made a small, awkward smile in response.
You'd ended up buying a few things, and Sam had carried them without complaint, adding the small Sephora bag to his growing collection of your bags.
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Then there was Bath & Body Works.
"I just want to smell the candles," you'd said.
"It smells like…a lot." He scrunched up his nose at the overwhelming sweet scents that hit him.
"That's the point, Sam."
He'd followed you around the store, sniffing candles when you handed them to him, making faces at the ones that were too sweet or generally too fragrant, which could cause a headache. It had become a game; you'd hold up a candle, he'd sniff it, and either nod or wrinkle his nose.
"That one smells like a beach," he'd said at one point, holding up a small jar. "And something else. Cocount?"
"It's literally called Waikiki Beach Coconut.'"
"Okay, so I was right."
"You were right." You'd smiled up at him, and he'd grinned back, looking so damn happy that you'd almost kissed him right there in the middle of the store.
You'd settled for squeezing his hand instead.
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The food court came next, and Sam had executed his plan flawlessly.
Both of you got your favorite kind of cuisines that you weren't able to get more often on the road. You two were settled at a comfortable table in the corner and had an hour just being together.
"You planned all this," you'd said, halfway through your food.
"A little," he'd admitted. "I wanted it to be good. We don't get a lot of days like this."
"We really don't."
"I know." He'd reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours. "That's why I wanted to make it count."
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The drive back was quiet and comfortable. It was filled with the hum of the radio and the warmth of Sam's hand on your thigh. You'd watched the sun set through the windshield, your bags piled in the backseat, and felt something settled and peaceful in your chest.
"Thank you," you'd said quietly.
"For what?"
"For today." You'd turned to look at him. "For doing all of this. For making it special."
Sam had glanced at you, his expression soft in the fading light. "You deserve it. You deserve all of it."
You'd leaned over and kissed him. It was slow and sweet and full of everything you couldn't quite say.
And when you pulled back, his lips were just a little bit shiny.
"I love you," he'd said.
"I love you too, Sam."
And for a little while, the world had felt normal ᥫ᭡.
