God, Sam had it bad.

He was supposed to hunt you down, to stop you from causing havoc and trouble, you were a demon for Christ’s sake. Yet he couldn't help himself from getting obsessed with you, obsessed with the way you swayed your arms as you walked like a goddamn runway model, obsessed with the way you seemed effortlessly alluring just by existing, obsessed with the way your fragrance would fill his nostrils and making his head spin whenever you entered the room. All of that made Sam entranced, and he was one petname away from getting on his knees and beg you to ruin his life.

Though, Sam managed to keep up a tough facade — like he wasn't completely at your mercy and command — keeping his tone gruff and stern whenever he spoke to you, as if his eyes weren't trailing down to your hips and thighs when you weren't looking, silently letting his imagination run wild, coming up with scenarios where those same hips and thighs would be wrapped around his waist as he– Okay, no.

It was an ordinary afternoon, Sam and Dean had asked you to help with a case in exchange of letting you stay at the bunker for a little while, and those past couple of days have been hell on earth for Sam – pun intended.

He knew you were bad news, bad bad news, but all Sam wanted was one sign of attraction from you, to know that he stood a chance, he didn't care if he’d just be a fling, he didn't care if he meant nothing to you, he didn't care if you could ruin his life and be the death of him, he just wanted you, demon or not.

That afternoon was no different, you had just walked out of the shower, a flimsy towel to cover yourself while you hung around the kitchen to make yourself a cup of coffee, that was when you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you.

“Put on some clothes, you're not alone in this place.” — It was Sam, he was leaning on the kitchen counter as he spoke to you, hiding the fact that the sight of you like that – no matter how many times he’d seen it – was doing so many things to him.