Sam Winchester Imagines

RAGE

"(Y/n)," he calls out after you.
"Leave me alone!" you yell back to him, not stopping.

This is the final straw. You don't enjoy having to wait for him to come back from his hunting trips all of the time. You always miss him, you always worry about him, you're always alone; just for him to come back in a crappy mood.
It's not your fault that he's a stupid hunter. But it is your fault that you love the fool. No matter how much that you can try to fight it, he's the only one. But you can't stop your mind from playing tricks on you when he's out for months at a time. You always have a few insecurities, you always tend to feel like all of this paranormal stuff is just made up, that it's just an excuse to lookget away with having another chick on the side.

"(Y/n)!" He yells loudly this time.
"I'm tired of your moods. I'm the female here, Sam! Not you," you yell back, louder than him. By this point, you've stopped walking away, and now you're walking straight back to your bedroom, where he is probably raging with anger, just like always. The only thing different now is that you actually reacted, rather than just letting him blow off steam.
Once you reach your room, you see that Sam is sitting on the bed, nearly tearing out his hair. "(Y/n), don't talk to me like that," he says grimly. "Why the hell not?" you spit the words out like venom.
"Because," he mutters, tears whelming up in his eyes. "Oh! I see.... You can treat me like crap after one of you awful hunts, but I just have to sit back and take it? You know what? Fxck that!" You gripe as he seems to be getting upset more and more with each word that you say.
"I have a rough time," he stammers, actually trying to keep his cool for once. "And I don't?" you scoff. "Shut up!" he yells. Now his anger is revealing itself. This is what you hate the most about each time that he comes back after a hunt. Its not the bloodstained clothes and the nearly infected wounds, no; it's his anger, his hatred.

"Or what?" you smirk.
"This," he stands up.

You flinch, thinking that he's going to hit you or throw something at you, but he doesn't. He walks over to you hurriedly, engoulphing you in his arms, pulling you tight against him. He roughly presses his dry lips to yours, you kissing him back, clearly not expecting this reaction.
"Sam," you say against his lips, not able to pull away. And even if you could pull away, you wouldn't. You've just missed him so much.
He just kisses you rougher, pushing you up against the bedroom wall. His tongue parts your lips, and you meet it with your own. He pulls up at your shirt, but when it doesn't come off as easy as he wants it to, he just simply rips it off.
Your bare chest is showing, because you forgot to wear a bra today, thankfully. The excitement makes him rip off his shirt next, a few buttons falling to the wooden floor.
You go to take off your pants, but he crashes up against you, kissing hungrily at your kneck, and unbottoning them for you. Once they're unbuttoned and unzipped, you slide them down as he peels of his own jeans, quicker than you've ever thought possible. You kick your jeans to the side, as he does the same with his own.
You slide down your panties, and he nearly rips off his boxers. You step out of you panties, making your way toward him. He kicks off his boxers, then he just stands there with a blank expression.
"Sam?" you ask as you inch closer to him. "(Y/n), no. I'm mad at you," he says firmly.
"What," your voice involuntarily cracks. He smirks, "maybe if you ask nicely."
You shake your head, knowing what game he's playing, and you're not going to let him win.
You jump up suddenly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, your legs around his waist.
He traces his hands down to your lower back, pulling you closer. You kiss him firmly, him kissing you back, roughly, passionately.
He carries you forward, laying you on the bed. "I'm still mad, you know," he says, standing in front of you. You lay back, facing the ceiling, smiling.
"Don't ignore me," he inches closer to you. He roughly spreads your legs apart, still standing over you.
"You can't ignore me," he says loudly, letting his right hand snake its way up your left thigh. You lean further back into the blankets, fighting off a laugh.
You feels his hand reach your crotch, and you smile.
"I told you that you can't ignore me," he says firmly, putting his knees in between your legs.
He raises his hand, letting a finger enter you. So breathe a bit uneven, but are managing to keep your cool.
He then lets three fingers enter you, and you head cranes back, you bending your knees up.
"Want to talk yet?" he asks sweetly. You don't reply, heat beginning rushing up to your face.
"Fine," he props himself up to where he is hovering over top of you. "Have it the hard way," he says ominously. He roughly grabs your arms, pinning them over top of your head.
"Don't make me do this," he murmurs. You still don't reply.
He drops his hips down to meet yours, entering you roughly and quickly. You let out a shreil scream of excitement. "Please don't make me do this," he says softly. You shake your head and act like you're trying to free your arms.
He drops his hips down again, rougher, quicker. It's kind of painful, but just mainly exciting. You let out another scream, and he just goes down again.
As he goes a few more times, he's panting almost as hard as you are.
Then, all of a sudden, you let go, being followed by him.
He lays down next to you, positioning himself and you to where he is spooning you.
"You ready to talk yet?" he whispers into your ear, pulling you closer to him.

"I love you," you murmur.
"I love you too, (y/n)."