#sam x reader

✦ his head always thrashes side to side, chest heaving, and forehead sweating. he lets out huffs time to time, sometimes a whine slipping through.

✦ he’d shift, unknowingly kicking his blanket clean off and onto the floor. he’d always end up on his stomach, erection pressed firmly into the mattress. each thrust into you in his dream meant a rut into his bed.

✦ sometimes he’d moan your name, desperate and pathetic. it’d come out in a broken whisper tied with a firm grip on his pillow.

✦ after waking up, he’d curse at himself in shame. then, of course, deal with his raging erection.

✦ he’d flip onto his back and lower his sweats. his cock would spring out against his lower abdomen, coating it in a sheer layer of pre. he’d grip himself, letting his thumb run over his tip in attempt of holding off.

✦ but of course, sam was never a patient man. so, he’d begin to pump himself furiously. his head would fall back, and his jaw slacked open.

✦ still, all that flood through his mind was you. your name left his lips like a prayer. he imagined it was your hand around him, pleasuring him while whispering sweet nothings into his ear. he envisioned your eyes narrowing on his throbbing cock before letting out a giggle. it made his back arch.

✦ he would start to rut up into his fist with his eyes screwed shut. he’d moan and whimper, “oh, f-fuck!” the pleasure was always too much for him to bare.

✦ his hips would stutter when he was close, then speed back up after he released over his stomach. he liked to keep going for just a moment, letting himself tense up in discomfort before finally relaxing against the bed.

✦ after cleaning up, he’d lay in bed again with you on his mind. he’d check his phone, hoping one day a notification would come from you, but alas it never did. so instead, he settled on dreaming of you.

“‘welcome to morrow creek. population 1,206.’” you squinted out the window, voice flat with disdain. “cute.”

dean snorted from the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel with a finger. he was already bored. “bet they sell nasty homemade jam.”

“three women,” sam muttered from the passenger seat, flipping through the thick folder of clippings in his lap. “all under twenty-five. found dead in bed, no forced entry, no signs of struggle, uh, local cops think it’s a carbon monoxide leak. but each of ‘em..” he paused, glancing back at you. “they were all virgins.”

the word dropped heavy between the seats, even though dean chuckled like it was just another day at the office. “so.. we’ve got a purity-sucking monster. awesome. what’s next, a ghost nun with mommy issues?”

you leaned your head against the cold window, lips quirking into a smirk that felt a little too tight. “well, good thing none of us fit the bill, right?..”

dean laughed under his breath, but you felt sam’s eyes flick back to you, too quick to mean nothing. you didn’t meet his gaze. instead, you stared hard at the road and let your smile fade.

the motel was standard horror-flick material, though. the three of you tossed your bags into one of the two-bed rooms and you immediately claimed the lumpy couch in the corner before the brothers could bicker about it.

“i’ll take the death trap,” you said, dropping your bag with a thud. “i’ve had worse.”

dean smirked, eyeing the couch like it owed him money. “suit yourself, sweetheart. hope you like springs in your spine.”

sam didn’t say anything, just watched you with an unreadable expression he got when he was thinking too hard. “you sure?” he asked after a beat. his voice wasn’t pushy, it was gentle, as if he wasn’t asking about the couch at all.

you raised an eyebrow, already pulling out the iron blade you kept tucked beneath your jacket. “don’t worry about me, sammy. i’m not exactly delicate.”

that earned the tiniest smile from him, but his eyes didn’t let go of yours right away. you turned your back before it could linger.

the three of you spent the afternoon digging through the town’s pathetic excuse for a library. sam and dean did their usual tag-team, sam sweet-talking the clerk for access to records, dean bitching about how much dust was on the damn files. you tucked yourself into a quiet corner and started scribbling connections, your fingers stained with ink and that familiar buzz of adrenaline humming under your skin.

you were good at this. better than good. you’d learned from the best, but you had your own rhythm now, your own gut instincts that whispered before the lore caught up.

you leaned over the table and tapped your notebook with the back of your pen. “look at the dates. all three deaths were on the waxing crescent. always between midnight and 3 a.m., always in their homes. no signs of entry. that means it’s either incorporeal, or it’s being let in.”

dean leaned over your shoulder, and you caught the faint scent of his cologne. “damn,” he muttered, lips close enough to your ear to make your skin prickle. “you’re getting scary good at this.”

“i’ve been scary good,” you replied coolly, not looking at him.

you could feel sam watching you again, from behind the half-wall of old encyclopedias. you could feel he was trying to peel something back. you didn’t give him the chance.

by the time night crawled in, the motel felt colder than it should’ve. dean was lounging on his bed with a beer, flipping channels, while sam meticulously salted the windows and doors, making sure every corner was sealed. you added your own touch, drawing sigils on the mirror with charcoal, tucking your blade under your pillow, double checking the line of salt at the threshold until it looked right. you told yourself it was just muscle memory. that you weren’t nervous.

but you were. not because of the hunt.

because of you.

because the second Sam said the v-word earlier, your body went cold. not because you were ashamed, or insecure, or anything stupid like that. you just hadn’t wanted them to know. you hadn’t wanted them to realize you were the kind of girl this monster wanted. pure, untouched. you’d spent years building yourself into something sharp and untouchable. and now, something out there could sniff it out like blood in the water.

you cracked open a beer and forced yourself to take a long sip, masking the shake in your hands with practiced ease. then you stood. “i’m beat. gonna crash early.”

dean waved you off with a lazy salute. “sweet dreams, killer.”

sam said nothing. just watched you walk out like he already knew something you didn’t want him to.

your motel room was just a few doors down, but it felt like another planet once you locked yourself inside. you did what you always did. you locked the door, salted the windows, tested your knife grip, triple-checked the lines on the floor. but your chest still felt tight. your palms were damp. your skin felt… exposed.

you weren’t scared of dying. that had stopped being your biggest fear a long time ago. what made your stomach twist was the idea that you might get chosen. that this thing might sniff you out, and suddenly sam and dean would know. they’d look at you differently. pity you, protect you.

and you didn’t want to be protected. you wanted to be seen as dangerous.

but right now? sitting alone in a dark motel room, knees pulled up to your chest as you stared at the door like it might explode inward, you felt like prey.

a knock broke the silence. your head snapped up.

“hey… it’s me.” sam’s voice was low through the door, almost gentle. he already knew not to scare you more than you were.

you hesitated, heart hammering. “what the hell, sam?”

“i saw that expression when you left,” he said. “you okay?”

the words caught in your throat. you didn’t know how to lie to him right now. there was a long pause. thank fuck he didn’t push.

you stood slowly, crossed the room on quiet feet, and undid the lock. your hand trembled just slightly on the doorknob before you opened it.

“…come in.”

sam stepped inside slowly. honestly, he wasn’t sure you’d actually let him. his eyes scanned the room, your over-prepared salt lines, the open blade on the nightstand, the half-drunk beer. then they found you again. that same look.

and that, somehow, felt even worse.

he stood in the middle of your motel room like he didn’t want to make the first move.

“you gonna say something?” you asked, voice quiet but sharp. defensive. if he touched the wrong nerve, you might shatter or explode. you weren’t sure which.

sam’s gaze softened a little, but it didn’t lose focus. “did you really come in here just to sleep?”

you turned away, busying yourself by pretending to adjust the salt line by the window. “what the hell does that mean?”

“you’re scared,” he said, blunt now. “not of the hunt, or the monster. of being its target. and I think you already know why.”

you felt your pulse in your throat, your fingers twitching at your sides. “so what? you gonna tell dean? put me on some kinda leash? lock me in the car like a liability?”

he was behind you before you even heard his steps, his voice brushed close to your neck. “no. i’m not gonna tell him anything. i’m not here to judge you. i’m here because…” he paused, like he needed to find the exact words. “because if you are what this thing’s looking for, that means you’re in danger. and i’m not letting anything happen to you.”

you turned to face him, and suddenly he was close, his chest nearly brushing yours, his hand ghosting over the air between you. “you don’t get it,” you said quietly. “you don’t know what it’s like… walking around with this stupid secret. being the only one in the room who hasn’t-.. who is-..”

“a fuckin’ virgin?” sam finished for you, gently but without hesitation. “yeah, i got that part.”

your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. “…you think it makes me weak, don’t you?”

“no,” he said, voice low and certain. “i think it makes you brave as hell for coming out here and hunting with us anyway. for pretending like it doesn’t matter when i can tell it’s tearing you apart inside.”

you felt something split wide open in your chest. a dam cracking. you were so tired of holding it in. of hiding behind sharp jokes and harder walls.

“i didn’t plan on staying that way forever,” you murmured. “it just… didn’t happen. didn’t feel right. not yet.”

sam’s thumb brushed your jaw. “and now?”

you swallowed. looked up at him through your lashes. “now i feel like a goddamn target. like it’s this thing hanging over me and, sam, i hate it. i hate being afraid.”

his lips hovered close to yours, voice a whisper against your skin. “then let me help.”

you stared at him. “you don’t have to-”

“i want to.”

there was no hesitation in his eyes. no lust-fueled pressure. he leaned in, mouth catching yours in a kiss that was patient but deep, like he’d been holding it back for too long. you melted against him before you could even think, hands grabbing the front of his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you.

his tongue brushed yours and the groan he let out was filthy, like the taste of you knocked the breath out of him. “you taste so fucking sweet,” he muttered against your lips. “been wondering what it’d feel like to kiss that mouth since you first mouthed off at me.”

you pulled back slightly, breathless. “that was, like… day three.”

sam smiled, hand sliding down to the curve of your hip. “yeah. i’m patient.”

you tugged his shirt off, finally getting your hands on all that muscle he kept hidden under layers. his stomach taut under your fingers as he stepped you back toward the bed.

“you sure about this?” he asked one last time, voice rough but gentle.

you nodded. “i don’t want it to be fear that takes it away from me. i want you.”

that did something to him. suddenly he was all over you, mouth on your neck, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. he kissed down your body like a promise. every touch was careful and intentional, but so hungry. and when he finally pushed your thighs apart and knelt between them, he looked up at you like he was about to ruin you.

“i’m gonna make this good for you,” he murmured, voice so deep it made your toes curl. “so good you forget why you were scared at all. so good it won’t matter that you waited this long.”

you barely managed to gasp before his mouth was on you. hot, skilled, tongue licking long deliberate strokes on your pussy. he was memorizing every single sound you made. you clawed at the sheets, moaning his name like a prayer, and he just held you open with those strong hands, eating you out. he’d literally die if you pulled away.

and when you finally came, shaking and gasping, he kissed back up your body, slow and sweet. “i’ve got you,” he whispered, brushing his lips over your jaw. “let me take care of the rest.”

sam moved over you like he’d been dreaming about it. until now, until your back was arched against the bed and his body was finally settled between your thighs, all warmth with pressure and want. the motel room around you felt like it didn’t matter. the only thing real was him.

“you good?” he asked again, voice wrecked and whisper-rough, his fingers brushing your cheek while his other hand slowly guided his cock along your folds, teasing. not out of cruelty, but to give you time to breathe.

you nodded, but your voice cracked a little when you said, “yeah. i want it.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to calm your heartbeat with his mouth. “gonna go real slow,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “you tell me if you want me to stop. you say the word, and i back off. no questions.”

“i won’t,” you whispered, hips already lifting to meet him. “i want you, sam. just you.”

the first push was gentle. he went slow, careful, watching your face the entire time, not even trying to hide how hard he was breathing. you were tight, hot, the stretch just on the edge of too much, and the feeling of him filling you had your eyes rolling back almost instantly.

“oh my god,” you gasped, fingers gripping his shoulders. “sam..”

“i know, baby. i know.” his voice was tight, controlled, but he was barely holding back a growl. “you feel-fuck-you feel perfect.”

he paused once he was buried inside, letting you adjust, kissing your neck and running one hand slowly up your thigh like it would help you relax. “breathe,” he whispered. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good.”

you were trembling, half from nerves, half from the feeling of him, all of him, seated so deep inside you, stretching you open in a way that felt devastating and intimate all at once. you didn’t even realize tears were brimming at your lashes until sam kissed one off your cheek. “you okay?” he murmured, thumb brushing under your eye again.

“i’m perfect,” you whispered. “just, holy fuck, don’t stop.”

his hips pulled back slowly, and when he pushed in again, it was smoother. still deliberate, but deeper, more rhythmic, trying to find his pace with you, tuning his body to yours. you wrapped your legs around his waist and let your head fall back, moaning shamelessly as he started fucking you in deep, slow strokes that made your breath hitch every time he bottomed out.

“that’s it,” he grunted, forehead still pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “taking me so fuckin’ well, baby… i’ve got you. just let go.”

you couldn’t think. couldn’t speak. the way he was moving slow, his name kept falling from your lips in a quiet chant, the only word you could seem to remember.

sam’s hand slid between your bodies, thumb pressing soft circles into your clit. you gasped, body jolting, and he smiled against your neck. “that feel good, sweetheart?” he whispered. “you like when i touch you like this?”

“yesyes, please, don’t stop-” your voice broke again as pleasure started coiling hot and heavy in your belly. “i’m gonna, sam..”

“i’ve got you,” he said again, voice so loving it hurt. “you can let go. you’re safe.”

you came around him hard, clenching so tightly around his cock that he had to bite his lip to keep it together. your whole body tensed, then collapsed under him as you shook and gasped through it, and he held you like you were something precious, whispering through every twitch.

“that’s it, that’s my girl… fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful like this…”

he kept moving, chasing his own high now, breath stuttering as he fucked into you deeper, a little faster, but never rough. his face was buried in your neck, hand gripping your thigh, and when he came, it was with a full-body groan. he buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

and then… silence.

heavy breathing. the weight of him on top of you, solid and real and safe. you ran your fingers through his hair, and he let out the softest sound, content, like he didn’t want to move.

he stayed draped over you, his hand still curled around your waist like he needed to keep you close in case you disappeared. you felt wrecked, in the best way.

after a while, sam leaned up on his elbow, pushing the sweaty hair off your forehead, looking down at you like you were made of fucking starlight. “you still okay?” he whispered, and his voice was so gentle, so low and fond, it made your throat get tight.

“mhm,” you mumbled, already half-asleep, still spread out and naked beneath him. “i think you fixed me.”

sam chuckled, brushing his lips over your temple. “i’m a healer now?”

“literally,” you sighed. “virginity demon who?”

he kissed your jaw. “oh, the spirit is banished, alright. world saved.”

you rolled into him, lazy grin pulling at your lips. “one orgasm at a time.”

“…one?”

you blinked up at him, then immediately burst out laughing as he smirked like the smug bastard he was. “okay, chill, sam,” you groaned. “my body’s not even functioning yet.”

“i’ll give you thirty minutes,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest, tucking the blanket around both of you like you weren’t still sticky and sweaty and fucked dumb.

“i’m gonna fall asleep like this,” you whispered, fingers drawing little shapes on his bare chest.

“good. you should.” his voice was all honey again. “you’re safe with me.”

and that was the last thing you heard before you drifted off, wrapped in sam’s arms, thoroughly wrecked and absolutely ruined for anyone who wasn’t a 6’4” soft-spoken demon hunter who fucked like he was trying to put your soul back together.

it felt nice finally falling asleep. your legs were tangled with sam’s, your head tucked under his chin, and his hand was still splayed across your ass like it belonged there. which, to be fair, it did. the room was still warm with sex and body heat and whatever leftover cologne he wore that now lived in your hair.

until the door slammed open like it was kicked by a cop.

“you have got to be kidding me.”

you screamed. sam jolted awake with military precision, reaching for the knife on the nightstand in one motion while covering you with his body in the next.

and standing in the doorway, framed by shitty motel light and holding a crumpled paper bag full of snacks, was dean winchester.

mouth open. face full of regret.

you just stared at each other.

“…dude,” sam said groggily, arm still around you like he didn’t have his whole ass out under the sheet. “what the fuck.”

dean blinked again. “nah.”

he turned around immediately. stared at the wall. took a deep breath.

“oh, no, no no no, this is not happening. this is not how I start my fuckin’ morning. i got beef jerky and a coke and now I have to go pour bleach in my brain because my little brother decided to go all lust in the dust with you.”

you groaned, flopping onto your back and dragging the sheet over your head like a corpse. “please kill me. please kill me now.”

“don’t tempt me.” dean yelled, still facing the wall with his arms out like he was trying to keep a crime scene untouched. “i trusted you! you were the normal one! you sat next to me during stakeouts! you made fun of him with me! what the hell?!”

“i don’t think I’ve ever made fun of sam with you-” you started to say, but dean spun around dramatically, index finger raised like a furious little league coach.

“don’t lie to me now, sex goblin! i saw what i saw, and i can’t ever go back from that!”

sam had the audacity to rub his eyes and mumble, “you could’ve knocked, dude.”

“oh, don’t you start,” dean snapped, pacing now. “i’ve heard you. i knew you were in here. i was trying to be respectful. i thought, ‘hey, they probably just fell asleep watching TV, maybe they’re sharing the room, maybe sam’s just being weird and overprotective, maybe she had a nightmare..’ BUT NO.”

he spun to face you both again, looking personally betrayed.

“y’all were out here doing the monster mash and i walked in ten seconds too late to stop my retinas from dissolving.”

you peeked out from under the covers. “we didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“oh really?” dean scoffed. “how were you planning to tell me? group text? powerpoint? smoke signals from your fucking bedroom?!”

sam sighed. “dean-”

“no. no ‘dean.’ i need castiel to erase the last ten minutes of my life.”

he turned back toward the door, paused dramatically, and looked over his shoulder with the most betrayed face known to man.

“i hope you know,” he said solemnly, “that i will never sit on that bed again.”

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“no candles and cake?” dean jokes, nudging your shoulder in the booth of an old diner you were getting breakfast at, “or special birthday pancakes?” you see him point to the birthday special written in cursive letters on the sticky menu. 

“no,” you solidify, taking a warm sip of coffee, “being alive and with you idiots is enough.” 

your boyfriend, sam, who's sitting across from you forking his eggs, shakes his head but stays quiet, like he’s planning a surprise attack behind your back. 

you don’t notice him catch dean’s eye as you read over the check, or see them scouting potential places to buy party decorations while you drive to the motel—yes, you insisted to drive baby—and you certainly don’t hear them whispering to each other as you lose yourself in a book on the weirdly comfortable mattress that is probably twice your age. 

when dean comes back from an outing later that night—“just talking to potential witnesses,”—he said, totally suspiciously, you’re eyes run down his arm to him carrying inside the large duffle bag he keeps in the trunk, full of salt guns and holy water. 

you sit up straighter in your seat against the bed frame, suddenly alert, but sam makes no moves, “what’s wrong, why are you—” 

“just would rather have these closer to us,” he rushes quickly, a lopsided smile on his face, dropping the duffle like it doesn’t weigh a ton on the gross motel carpet, giving sam a ‘am i doing okay?’ look that has your brows furrowing. 

“dean, can i see you in private?” sam says through gritted teeth, nodding to the bathroom. 

dean sends him an awkward grin, nodding before they both disappear behind the off white door. in an instant, you’re pressed up against it, ear turned on the highest setting you can, trying to hear through the loud AC unit and buzz of cars outside the open window. 

although, you don’t have to listen too hard. the two of them are so loud, you wonder whether you could’ve stayed sat on the bed. 

“alright, here’s the plan, you stay here and set up—i’ll distract her.” sam’s voice. 

“why do i have to decorate? the cake’s probably smushed in the damn duffle—”

“just let me handle it, okay?” 

“i’m gonna need twenty minutes.” 

“it takes you that long to frost a cake and put up a sign—” 

“thin ice, sammy.” 

you imagine sam’s face and try to swallow a laugh, but the revelation that they’re planning a surprise for you is enough to knock your world off its axis. even though you told them not to fuss, there’s something pure about them doing this for you. something the three of you could use in the midst of the chaos of your lives. 

“how are you distracting her? gonna take her into town or something?” dean’s voice. 

“i don’t know, maybe, i—” 

“no,” 

“dean—”

“you’re not having sex in my car.” 

your face burns. 

“dean, i didn’t—” 

“i saw that look!” 

your palm comes to cover your mouth, stifling another burst of amusement. 

“let me take care of it alright? you just focus on hanging the sign up the right way.” 

you hear shoes shuffling against the bathroom tile, and you spring up quick to settle yourself back comfortably on the bed. 

the door opens and sam meets your eye, “dean thinks he left something in the car,” he says, as if you’re stupid. the inside of your cheek is shredded so you don’t smile. 

“alright,” you throw the book down onto the floral duvet beneath you, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, “shall we?” 

both boys’ faces crease in confusion at your compliance. but nonetheless, you follow sam outside as he sweeps the impala’s keys off the table. 

once outside, you find it hard to keep your hands off him, rubbing your palms up his arms as he walks you to the parking lot, anxious to surprise him. 

when sam shuts the car door, you’re on him in a second, pouncing like a cat onto his lips. he melts instantly into your taste, like every plan and course of action he thought to distract you vanishes from his mind. his large hand comes to cup your cheek, soft under his calloused touch, and you’re moaning at the sensation of his fingers tangling in your hair. 

sam pulls from you just slightly to murmur, “you beat me to it.” 

his voice, husky with desire, has you squirming in the rough leather seats, aching for his touch to cover you everywhere, and you feel giddy knowing it will, “how else am i supposed to celebrate my birthday?” 

a warm chuckle breathes past his lips, swollen and pink, “i thought you didn’t wanna celebrate it?” 

you smirk, moving to place chaste kisses along his jaw and down the veins of his neck, eliciting a sultry laugh from him that makes you never want to stop, “i think i can allow this.”

“think or know?” he teases, savoring the pleasure building in his body, fueling a fire only you know how to control, how to burn hotter. 

sam’s hands grip your waist at the sensation of your mouth trailing across his skin. with your nose buried in the crook between his shoulder, you smell the fresh soap, old lore books, and something spicy like aftershave as it fills your brain like fog. he rests his cheek on the crown of your head, reveling in your lips for another moment before he’s gently laying you down in the backseat, your legs spreading like muscle memory as he nestles between them. 

his fingers slowly hike the white sundress you’re wearing up your legs, making sure to just barely graze your thighs. wetness starts to pool in your center as he recaptures your mouth on his, heavy breaths and gasping moans as his hands trail higher up your body beginning to fill the impala. 

“will dean be mad?” you mumble against him, eyes closed in bliss as he palms one of your breasts, “—that we’re doing it in his baby?”

sam laughs mischievously, knowing damn right what the answer is but at this point, you’re both too far gone to stop, and the bulge pressed against your inner thigh, just missing where it needs to be, confirms that for you.

“he won’t mind,” he says, sighing as you start to fumble with the buttons on his shirt, revealing his taut abs and broad chest, adorned with the anti possession tattoo that has your mouth watering. 

“oh, he won’t, will he?” you help him shrug the rest of his shirt off while he un-patiently starts to tug your panties down, “pretty, right?” 

“so pretty,” he smiles, but tosses them to the side like they’re nothing but a useless barrier between him and the paradise between your legs that’s his, catching them on the steering wheel,“and no, he won’t mind.” 

before you can protest again, he’s delving into your pussy, slick and warm with your primal need for him. his tongue moves in agonizing circles up and down your folds, making you writhe and grip his soft locks in your hands to keep you grounded to earth. 

but when he sucks your clit past his lips, you’re sure you see heaven. 

“sam!” you shriek, bucking your hips into his face as his chin dampens. you feel his smirk against you, he can taste the way you fall apart, but the pressure doesn’t let up.

“mmm, taste’s so good,” he mumbles drunkenly, fingers pressing imprints into your thighs as he holds them down beside his head. 

you throw your head back against the back window, trying to ignore the little voice in your head yelling, “you’re in a motel parking lot and anyone can see you if they just—” but the white hot pleasure that explodes from your body as he flicks his tongue right there removes any thoughts other than your need to have him inside you, to give you something to clench around as you jolt and ache. 

his name falls from you like a prayer, one he answers faster than god as his pants are off and boxers pulled down before you can even open your eyes. 

you manage to get a glimpse of him as he pumps himself a few times, the length you’ve taken oh so many times now a gift that seems too perfect for such a meaningless birthday. but when he pushes into you, hot, sweaty, skin against yours, it’s hard to see how you can’t celebrate the day after this. 

“god, yes,” you moan into his ear when he leans down, chest against yours to be as low under the window as possible. 

his eyes clench shut in pleasure, “fuck, you f-feel so good,” he sputters, because all he can focus on is the way you’re squeezing him.

sam moves like he was made to fit in you, hitting that spot inside you everytime that has you see stars. even now, as he struggles against the urge to drive into you so hard your legs will need days to recover, he’s gentle, soft, as he stretches and kisses and worships. 

the impala shakes and rocks underneath you, and you’re sure if it wasn’t 9:00pm on a tuesday, you’d probably be caught by now; windows fogging and the occasional pop up of sam’s hair through the glass when he lifts up to watch himself disappear in you because he just can’t help it. he throbs at the sight and you feel it deep in your core, pressing your climax faster.

“‘mmm, best b-birthday ever—” you mumble, your words harshly cut with a whiny moan when sam’s idle fingers come to toy with your clit, “jesus christ!”

“not quite,” he gasps a laugh, “oh, fuck,” 

your vision blanks. the coil snaps. pussy squeezes so tight sam can barely move. 

and the impala seats? soaked. 

sam follows close behind, hips stuttering, soft lips parted all the way as your name slips off his tongue, dripping with the taste of you. you swallow his moan, his whine, as he fills you, still pumping through both your highs. 

your pussy leaks his warmth. you catch him staring. 

“make sure it doesn’t get on the seat!” you worry, starting to sober up. 

you can tell he isn’t all the way back to earth, so he drunkenly smiles, “i think we’re past that point, baby.” 

as you fix the straps of your dress, sam reaches behind the seat for a rag to wipe the leather, probably the cloth dean keeps in the car in case of oil spills or, well, this. 

your legs shake as you step out of the impala, suddenly feeling overexposed and like everyone in the motel was watching somehow. sam’s throws his clothes on, his princess hair barely fixed with puffed lips that match yours. 

you try to catch your breath as the wind whispers against your sticky skin, “think dean’s done decorating the room?” 

sam’s eyebrows furrow for a moment before lifting them in realization, mind blanking, “u-um, how did you—” 

“kinda hard to keep a secret when you both talk so loud,” you nudge his shoulder playfully, unusual butterflies spreading through your stomach as you anticipate the surprise waiting for you inside, “it was a good effort, though.” 

“and that’s why you—” jumped my bones, he wants to say, but he knows you know already, “i’m gonna get you,” he promises, grinning crooked at the way you outplayed them, “your next birthday, the surprise is mine.” 

“sure, sammy,” you wink, fishing the key out of his back pocket before unlocking the door. 

as if on cue, dean, who is by the bedside lamp, flicks it on to expel the darkness and reveal an unevenly hung HAPPY BIRTHDAY sign in holographic letters strung up on the wall above the beds, stuck messily with duct tape. there’s a mixtape on the duvet with birthday girl’s birthday mix written on the top, paired with a dollar store bow dean’s slapped on, and a few books stacked together that you can only assume is sam’s gift. 

the cake on the end table, with messy chocolate icing that’s also all over dean’s fingers, is what sends tears teasing your waterline.  

“surprise!” he shouts, waving his hands in the air. 

sam shakes his hand against his throat, mouthing, ‘she knows’ behind you. 

dean narrows his eyes at his brother, rolling them and throwing his arms up, “really, sam? you couldn’t even keep the surprise?” 

that forces a watery laugh out of you, cheeks flushed and heart warm, “it’s fine, it’s fine, dean, this is—” 

“awesome, right?” he finishes, that shit eating grin right back where it belongs on his scruffy face. 

“yeah,” you agree, instinctively leaning against sam’s chest, “it’s awesome.” 

sam’s hands come tight on your forearms, rubbing gently to soothe the emotions he knows you’re trying to bite back. your lip wobbles between your teeth as dean reaches for the cake. 

“maybe i could get behind none of that gross birthday special pancake crap,” he hands you the cake, which is resting on a flimsy paper plate while he fishes for the lighter in his pocket, “but no candles and cake? sweetheart, that’s just unacceptable.” 

dean reaches to switch the lamp back off, the room consumed in pitch black again, save for the moonlight emitting little light through the dingy curtains. the small, orange flame stemming from his lighter illuminates all three of your faces as he burns the tip of the pink candle, mumbling a ‘there we go’ as he flicks the lighter back off. 

“make a wish,” sam says softly as he stands behind you. 

you shut your eyes, make your wish, and blow. 

dean starts to clap. sam’s touch is grounding. 

“happy birthday, baby,” he murmurs in your ear, just for you. 

when the lights come back on, and dean uses a machete to cut the cake, he notices sam trying to fix the lopsided buttons on his shirt, that was very hastily thrown back on. 

what you didn’t realize he’s also looking at, is the medium sized hickey on sam’s neck.

“soooo,” dean starts, trying not to make his starting obvious, “i thought she was the only one supposed to get presents today.” 

sam’s forehead creases. you look up from the cake you're actively stuffing in your face. 

“what do you—” sam follows dean’s finger to the mirror, where the purple bruise you gifted him rests tenderly on his soft skin, “oh.” 

dean chuckles, shaking his head in contempt, “what kinda distraction did you give her?” 

sam’s too flustered to speak, so you swallow the smooth chocolatey goodness down your throat and answer for him. 

“a big distraction.” 

let’s just say you and sam weren’t allowed near the impala by yourselves for a long time.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ tags ↬ @h8aaz , @sacr1ficialang3l <33