:Supernatural Imagines:

Sam x Reader ~1 *Smut Warning*

(Not mine, enjoy! ~~)

Life in the Men of Letters bunker was… suffocating, to be generous. To be frank, it was the equivalent of running yourself over forty-five times with a monster truck, or at least it felt that way after being cooped up behind numerous feet of concrete and sigils, the outside world too far away to scrape to with a spoon, if you were to hit that mental low. The lack of natural light had drained your skin of most of it’s healthful glow, leaving you easily mistaken for a plague victim, the great labyrinth closing in on you more and more each day, the rooms constricting with every breath you took. You swore the walls moved closer by an inch every day, slowly but surely crushing the life from your lungs. If it weren’t for your boyfriend Sam (and his heroic attentiveness), you’d have surely lost your mind in the hunter’s grotto. Hunting had once been a lonesome business for you, your outlook altering almost immediately when who but the famed Winchester brothers swooped in to save your sorry ass from a particularly stubborn long-dead serial killer gone ghost. A hand shake, an introduction and three flirtatious months later, you were holed up in a concrete cell warded against every evil imaginable with the two of them, happily obliging (at the time) to sealing the Sun goodbye, anything to earn more time with the target of your affections. That, my friends, is the definition of dedication. And how could you bring yourself to leave your saviors? Especially when one of them kissed you goodnight before retreating into his bedroom, which was conveniently located just beyond a thin wall (which, again, if you were to hit that mental low… you’d easily have a bedroom-to-bedroom tunnel). For the first time since the death of your family, you felt you belonged somewhere in this torn-up universe. You had unintentionally created another family for yourself, and a family was family… no matter the accommodations.

Now, it’d been difficult in the Men Of Letters bunker for other, more personal reasons. It wasn’t just the lack of summer’s breeze or rain on your face, the liberty to go to the grocery store without endangering the location of your new home. There was a deeper irritation branching from these seemingly minor inconveniences; for example, you couldn’t really go out with Sam on an official date, a milestone that always seemed just beyond your reach, fingers falling mere centimeters short of victory. You settled for private meals in either your or his bedroom, the both of you sitting cross-legged atop the comforter, plates balanced in your criss-crossed laps, your conversation and giggles hushed every few minutes by a clearly disgusted Dean, who usually assumed you were in the midst of a far more compromising situation and didnot want a soundtrack. Truth be told… you’d never gone that far, at least not with Sam. Sam was… well, he was different. More caring, genuine. You held the value of your relationship with him above any other you had ever had. You didn’t want to, or feel obliged to, rush into a more physical relationship with him, but lately, you really, really wanted to. You had no idea how to bring it up; it wasn’t exactly dinner table type conversation, and you’d rather bib yourself like those damn Leviathan than try to seduce Sam with his brother present. Hey, Dean, would you mind cranking the volume? Your brother and I are off to have sex. That… now thatwas the essence of a nightmare.

You were relieved when, during one of your faux dinner dates, Sam removed his plate from it’s knee-top perch, setting the ceramic aside to recline beside you, propping himself up on his elbow, his eyes dancing with simple, unadulterated adoration. You turned, mirroring his actions as his free hand ghosted over your cheekbone and to your chin, gingerly tilting your face to his, his lips brushing against yours with a patient sort of affection. This minuscule gesture managed to ignite a flame in the pit of your stomach as if the man had fumbled a match over an oil slick, your nerves roiling like a stormy sea deep within your abdomen. Sensing your desire (or perhaps feeling the waves of heat cascading from your cheeks), his lips met yours more fully, deepening his kiss, passion transmitted by mouth. Startling shocks of electricity shot down your spine as if your bones were coiled copper wire, excitement sparkling in your every vein. With a touch, he had transfigured you from human to exposed telephone wire flashing about in the streets, every aspect of your being humming with anticipation. His tongue darted to your lips, waiting for you to part them before stroking your tongue with his, your kisses making sweet suction sounds when you broke away from each other only to rejoin at the mouth. His hand drifted to tangle in your hair, securing your body to his, his hips moving ever so slowly to meet yours. He fluidly rolled atop you, hovering over you (as a man his size would crush you to death, no doubt) his lips soft and slick on yours. Suddenly, his hand was on your mouth, your eyes snapping open to view his flushed cheeks, smooth skin tainted by rosy blush. His eyes were not on you, but the door, where the heavy footsteps of his brother erupted just beyond the wooden frame. Your breath was coming short, the danger of your situation making you feel like a schoolgirl again, praying you wouldn’t be caught by the principle as you hid half-naked with a boy in the janitor’s closet. When Dean had passed, assuming Sam was alone in his room, the younger Winchester removed his palm from your mouth, biting down on his bottom lip to muffle his laughter, his eyes dancing in the weak light of your bedside lamp as his body shook with yours. You, too, struggled to stifle your laughter, the thought of Dean barging in to find his brother nestled between your legs striking enough fear into your rapidly beating heart to keep you quiet. To an extent.