#Sam Winchester X reader

[goodhitosblog]

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Safest Place

Sam and Dean & little sister!reader, John Winchester & daughter!reader

Synopsis: John has to tell you (4) about monsters, and you don’t take it well

Warnings: none, it’s short and sweet

“And that’s what me and Sammy and Dean do. And that’s why we move around all the time, and why you can’t go to work with me, and…” John swallowed. “Kiddo that’s why you don’t have a mom. Demons took her.”

Dean couldn’t watch. He didn’t even want to listen. He’d wanted to keep you from the truth for so much longer, but you were so much more nosy than Sam had been. You went through John’s journal and asked about all the monster pictures you saw in it, you asked John countless questions about the guns and the newspaper clippings and…and everything. But it was more than that—you were also clingy. Clingy to the point where you’d sneak out and try to follow either John or your brothers when they went out to hunt monsters. After a close call with a vampire where you snuck into the Impala then almost got yourself killed, John decided that enough was enough. You wouldn’t last long in this life unless you had a healthy fear of the supernatural. So that’s what John had to give you.

“What if demons take you?” Your quiet whimper finally had Dean looking up. You were shaking, blinking up at your dad as if waiting for him to say that it was all a joke and monsters weren’t real.

“The demons aren’t gonna take me,” John promised. “That’s why we hunt. So they can’t take anybody else.”

You didn’t respond, so John reached down and picked you up, laying you down on his bed and tucking you in.

“Get some sleep, kiddo.”

…

John fell asleep quickly, but Dean could hear you tossing and turning even as he struggled to settle down himself. He was always the last to fall asleep, and having to share a bed with Sam since there was no pullout couch wasn’t helping.

Because of his insomnia, Dean was the first to hear your feet padding on the motel carpet as you slipped off John’s bed and tiptoed your way over to Dean’s.

“De?” Dean could tell you were crying from just the one syllable. “De, I need help.”

Dean rolled over to see you standing at the edge of his bed, your arms stretched out for him. Dean pulled you up onto the bed without comment, and once his arms were around you you refused to let him go.

“I don’t want the demons to get me, De,” you sniffled.

“Hey—“ Dean tightened his arms around you. “—I’m not gonna let any demons get you, ok?”

“Hey, what’s going on?” Sam whispered, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“Demons are scary, Sammy,” you whimpered.

“Oh honey…” Sam disentangled you from Dean’s arms and cradled you in his lap.

“How do I fight demons?” You rubbed at your eyes.

“Hey, you don’t have to worry about that,” Dean said. “I don’t ever want you thinking about it. Me and Sammy and Dad are gonna get those demons, ok? Nobody’s ever gonna hurt you.”

“Yeah, and you wanna know what the safest place is?” Sam asked. You nodded firmly. “It’s right about…” Sam laid back down, and Dean followed his lead. “Here.” Sam positioned you in between himself and Dean, tucking you under the covers and keeping one arm over you. You latched onto his arm, your tiny hands wrapping around his fingers.

“Nobody can hurt you here,” Dean promised. “Me and Sammy and Dad won’t let them.”

You reached your hand out for Dean, and he responded by putting his arm over Sam’s, so you had both of your brother’s arms protecting you.

You were asleep in minutes.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Kiss

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean Winchester kisses you Word count: 861 A/N: I am debating on making this a series, covering different "Firsts" with Dean.. Any interest in that? Let me know!

The first time Dean Winchester kisses you, it happens in the least romantic place imaginable—an old gas station parking lot on the outskirts of nowhere. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow over the cracked asphalt and the Impala parked nearby, her paint gleaming like polished obsidian. The faint smell of gasoline mingles with the crisp scent of impending rain, a storm brewing in the distance.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about Dean ever feels planned, really. He’s a mess of contradictions—cocky and self-assured one minute, guarded and vulnerable the next. You’ve been riding shotgun with him for weeks now, chasing down leads, salt-and-burning restless spirits, and fighting things most people wouldn’t dare to believe existed. Somewhere along the way, you became more than just hunting partners. You don’t know what to call it yet, but there’s a connection between you, an unspoken pull that you’ve both been too stubborn—or scared—to acknowledge.

Until now.

It starts with an argument. Of course it does. Dean has this way of pushing your buttons, and tonight he’s doing it with the precision of a master.

“You can’t just run in there without a plan!” you snap, your arms crossed over your chest.

“And what was your plan, huh?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “To stand around and wait until the ghost decides to play nice? That’s not how this works.”

“It’s called strategy, Dean. Maybe you should try it sometime instead of going full kamikaze every damn hunt!”

He scoffs, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You think too much. Sometimes you just gotta act.”

“And you think too little!” you retort, your eyes narrowing. “One of these days, your impulsiveness is going to get you killed.”

The words hang in the air, sharper than you intended, and for a moment, Dean just stares at you. His jaw tightens, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“Fine,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you’ve got it all figured out, why the hell do you even need me?”

It’s not the first time you’ve fought, but there’s something different about this one. The air between you feels charged, like the storm rolling in above. You don’t answer right away, and Dean takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the gravel.

“Why, huh?” he presses, his tone softer but no less intense. “Why do you keep sticking around if I’m such a screw-up?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the storm clouds overhead. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Because it’s not that simple. Because you don’t stick around in spite of his flaws—you stick around because of them. Because Dean Winchester, for all his faults, is the kind of person who will throw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to save someone else. Because he’s loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, and has a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the world, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

“Dean…” you start, but his name barely makes it past your lips before he moves.

It’s not hesitant or tentative—it’s sudden, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally snapped. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused but somehow gentle, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed. It’s not perfect—Dean’s lips are a little chapped, and the angle is slightly awkward at first—but it’s real. There’s an urgency to it, a raw, unfiltered emotion that leaves you breathless. His hands are warm against your skin, grounding you even as the world seems to tilt on its axis.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your hands are fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer as if the space between you is unbearable. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss with a low, almost involuntary sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like the dam you’ve both been holding back has finally burst, and there’s no going back now.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. The storm is closer now, the first drops of rain starting to fall, but neither of you seems to notice.

“Wow,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean chuckles, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, uh… sorry about that. I probably should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your fingers still gripping his jacket. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, there’s no wall, no mask, no bravado. Just Dean.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Took you long enough.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and the tension between you finally seems to ease. The rain starts to pick up, but neither of you moves. For once, the hunt can wait. For once, the only thing that matters is this moment—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect all at once.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[sammyluvr]

✶ . ၄၃ . laundry machines — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, poor editing, inexperienced!reader(dating-wise) so sort of shy!reader too, mentions of madison & resulting guilt, implied later seasons sam, kissing, 1.7K words. requested !

summary : you're new to being in a relationship, but sam finds it endearing and is happy to take things slow.

some days are smooth and seamless and like an actual dream come true. others are clumsy, awkward, and make you shy away from being perceived at all. it’s just that this is all quite new to you, and you’re very unsure how to navigate being in a relationship, especially with someone so handsome and lovely. no one’s told you what’s allowed and what isn’t, how you should be acting, what an appropriate response is to the sweet things he does to you.

this all makes you easily flustered, often embarrassed, and yes, you’ll admit it, a bit shy at times. he’s just so tall and steady and you know he’s done this all before, even if the last time he was in a long term relationship was nearly a decade ago. and you’re not even that far from him in regards to age, but you’re somehow so much more lost than he is. it’s nice, because he’s more than willing to take the lead on things, to guide you through it. but sometimes that reminds you of your inexperience, and it sort of makes you wish that you could be a bit better for sam. it almost makes you feel like you’re forcing him to do all the work.

alternatively, sam’s own narrative regarding your inexperience is one of deep fondness, and even a bit of relief. he himself can be awkward and shy, even now and after all he’s been through, but with you, he gets to be the one who’s sure on his feet and smooth and a little easy. secretly, he’s still remembering and figuring out how to do this all. but the little things come to him comfortably enough that, to you, he seems entirely confident and effortless.

“sam?” you call to him from your bedroom. he’s sitting in the living room of your little apartment, content with a cup of tea you’ve made for him. “is it alright if i wash your jacket with my things, too?” 

“of course,” he calls back, his voice at its normal level of sweet and kind. you don’t see the huge, endeared grin on his face. he’s not sure why it wouldn’t be alright to wash his jacket with your things. it’s certainly the most logical thing to do, and it’s not as if he’d mind one bit. actually, he likes the idea of his clothes with yours, spinning around and getting tangled together in the washing machine. it’s domestic, soft, and intimate in a simple way. maybe that’s why you asked, he wonders; intimacy makes you a bit timid at times. 

with that, his jacket is placed inside your laundry basket. it’s dirty from a hunt. sam wanted to stop by your apartment first thing when it was over by mid morning and he wasn’t too far away. he thinks he flustered you, though, because he forgot to text beforehand. but, you also looked very happy to see him, so he’s sure it’s okay. you had melted right into his kiss, though your hands remained chastely resting on his elbows as he sweetly cupped your face. 

now, you’re walking out of the bedroom with your laundry, met with a fond look from sam on the couch. 

“i’ll be right back. i just need to get this done by tonight,” you explain as you head to the door to head down to the washing machine in the building’s basement.

“i’ll come with you,” sam says, standing, still wearing his pretty smile. he imagines he’ll have to leave in a few hours, and he’d like to spend every moment until then with you if you’ll let him.

“there’s no need, i’ll only be gone a minute,” you say, only because you don’t want to make him get up and walk down, then back up all those stairs.

his long legs take him to the door in less than a few seconds anyway. “i want to,” he says simply, and you feel silly that it sends your heart pumping extra hard.

“if you insist,” you smile, taking it in stride. sam notices and resists the urge to just sweep you up in his arms and kiss you for a long while. he hasn’t kissed you again since he arrived, but he doesn’t think you’d have as much ease dealing with that without being greatly flustered. he’d probably like to see that, but he’s not a cruel man. you’d argue that he’s the gentlest of them all. he follows you down the stairs because you refuse to let him carry the laundry basket. he’s already silently promising he’ll carry it upstairs once it’s all washed and dried. he’ll help you fold it too, if you’ll let him. he’s not sure if you’ll be alright with him catching a glimpse or two at your underwear. 

that makes him think about the time he was about twenty three and madison not-so-subtly showed off her panties to him while folding her laundry on the first day they’d met. she’s a sad memory. a guilty one, too. but he has you in front of him, softly chattering about what you did this morning, and he lets her be a nice memory for today. you give him plenty of nice memories, and he thinks about how he likes the way the two of you take things slow.

you don’t seem to think about the fact that sam can see what you’re putting in the washing machine, and he finds it cute, for no particular reason. he finds it cute when you’re nervous about something you needn’t be or when you aren’t about something he predicted you might. maybe he just finds everything about you cute.

he leans against the drying machine and watches happily as you put the washer to the right settings and start the cycle. 

“so,” you say, turning your head to look at him, “do you have–” you’re cut off by the loud rush of water in the machine as it begins soaking your clothes—and his jacket—and you shake your head because you momentarily forgot just how loud it is. it’s the loudest washing machine you’ve ever used, you told him once. he himself is almost startled by it; you really weren’t kidding. he gives a little laugh and you can’t help but laugh a bit too. neither of you have to say anything to agree to go back upstairs.

he holds the basement door open for you and one of his big hands that you’re secretly so fond of hovers by the small of your back as you pass him and start up the stairs. only you think it’s a secret. he can tell how much you like to hold hands and fiddle with his fingers. you stare sometimes, too, but he’d never tell you that for fear of rendering you too flustered to function properly for the rest of the night.

“you were saying?” he says, encouraging you to continue now that he can actually hear you.

you can’t tell if it’s a blessing or not that he’s asked you to keep going while walking up the stairs. you sort of wanted to be watching his face when you asked, but you’re also thinking you might be grateful that you won’t in case it helps you feel less nervous. he’s just so handsome and sincere and lovely that it makes you nervous. you don’t know how to be casual around him. everything just feels so special and new and nerve-wracking.

“i was just wondering if you had another case lined up for tomorrow,” you tell him, hoping that you’re succeeding in sounding laid-back like you wish you could be. once again, he thinks it’s sweet you don’t always know how to act around him. “or, you know, anything like that,” you add on. you don’t want to ask without knowing if he has somewhere to be in the morning.

sam feels a spark of hope and a little bit of youthful giddiness that he hadn’t felt in a long, long time before you. “i don’t,” he says simply, “i don’t have anything tomorrow.”

you chew lightly on the inside of your cheek, considering your options. there’s still another flight and a half of stairs until you get to your floor and you’re thinking, despite how nervous it makes you, you really would like to be facing him as you ask. it’d be obvious and awkward if you wait until you’re back in your apartment, right? but it’s silly to ask in a stairwell, you think.

then you realize you're probably overthinking it. maybe neither of those things are true. maybe it doesn’t matter at all how you ask, so long as you do it. you know he’ll say yes, you know he’ll like the idea of it, and you’re pretty sure he’ll like the fact that you’re the one to bring it up first. and you’re pretty confident that you love him and that he really, truly cares about you too. that gives you a burst of confidence.

you turn around, right on the steps with your hands fidgeting with the hem of your shirt and a little, likely nervous looking smile on your lips. “do you want to sleep over tonight?” you ask, somehow able to make yourself sound more sure of things than you feel.

his lips curl into a happy, almost proud smile. it’s very obvious how much he adores you. all you have to do is look at him and see the way his adoration pools in his eyes and his dimples and shows in the lightness of his eyebrows and the showing of his front teeth. his hands that you love so much drift up to hold your waist, moving slowly so you can anticipate it. the touch still makes you draw in a steadying breath.

“i would love to. are you sure that’s alright with you?” he says. he’s trying to sound casual too, but it comes out more reverent than anything else. 

your smile isn’t so nervous now. “mhmm,” you hum. “i’m sure.” this time, you really are sure. though, you still have to grip his shoulders for support when he kisses you, right in the stairway like he’d probably kiss you anywhere.

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ open arms !

↳ sam winchester x reader

it wasn’t that you didn’t feel things - you did. you just had years of practice keeping everything under control. life as a hunter didn’t exactly leave much room for emotional outbursts. when monsters were tearing through towns and lives were on the line, feelings had to take a back seat. the job came first, always.

sam had noticed it about you from the moment you joined him and dean. you were quiet, methodical, and calm in a way that bordered on eerie. even when you got hurt - a gash on your arm, a dislocated shoulder, or a nasty bruise - your reaction was always the same: a small wince followed by a flat, almost dismissive ouch before you patched yourself up and moved on. it wasn’t that you were unfriendly, just… hard to read. sam wasn’t used to people who didn’t wear their emotions on their sleeve, especially after spending his whole life with dean.

but that didn’t stop him from caring about you. in fact, it made him care more. he wanted to understand you, to know what went on behind your exterior. he could tell there was more to you, even if you didn’t let it show.

this week, though, sam could see the cracks starting to form. it had been a string of bad hunts, one after another, with barely enough time to breathe in between. you’d been thrown into a wall during the first one, narrowly avoiding a worse injury. then there was the nest of vamps that almost got the drop on you before sam stepped in. the worst, though, had been the spirit - a vengeful one that got under your skin in ways none of the others had. it had dragged up something personal, something you hadn’t shared with anyone. sam didn’t know what it was, but he’d seen the haunted look in your eyes when it taunted you, and it hadn’t gone away since.

“you okay?” sam asked for what felt like the tenth time that week. he was standing in the doorway to your room in the bunker, watching as you packed up your gear for the next hunt.

“i’m fine,” you said, your tone as flat as ever.

sam frowned. he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet lately. more than usual, i mean.”

you paused for a fraction of a second before zipping your duffel shut. “i said i’m fine, sam.”

he didn’t push, but he didn’t leave, either. “all right,” he said finally, his voice soft. “but if you ever want to talk… you know i’m here, right?”

you didn’t answer, just slung your bag over your shoulder and walked past him.

it all came to a head three days later. the hunt had gone sideways, as they so often did. the werewolf you’d been tracking turned out to have a partner, and things had gotten messy. dean had taken a nasty hit to the ribs, and you’d ended up pinned under the second werewolf before sam managed to kill it. by the time you made it back to the bunker, everyone was bruised, battered, and dead on their feet.

sam was the first to notice something was wrong. while dean grumbled his way to the kitchen for a beer, you stood frozen in the middle of the war room, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. sam’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his voice gentle.

“hey. you okay?”

that was all it took. the question, so simple and so sincere, broke something inside you. your shoulders sagged, and before you could stop them, tears started streaming down your face. you turned away, trying to hide it, but sam was already there, his hand resting lightly on your arm.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “what’s wrong?”

“i’m fine,” you said automatically, but the words cracked and faltered as more tears fell. you shook your head, biting your lip to try and keep yourself together, but it was no use.

sam didn’t say anything, just guided you to the couch and sat you down. he crouched in front of you, his hands resting gently on your knees as he looked up at you, his hazel eyes warm and steady.

“it’s okay,” he said quietly. “whatever it is, it’s okay. you don’t have to hold it all in.”

that was when it all came spilling out. the frustration, the exhaustion, the guilt - everything you’d been bottling up for weeks, maybe months. you told him about how the hunts were starting to weigh on you, how you felt like you were always one step away from failing, from losing someone you cared about. you told him about the spirit and the things it had said, how it had dredged up memories you’d spent years trying to bury.

sam listened to it all without interrupting, his expression soft and understanding. when you finally ran out of words, he reached up and gently wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.

“you’ve been carrying all of that by yourself?” he asked, his voice filled with quiet disbelief.

you shrugged, looking down at your hands. “it’s my job. it’s what we do.”

“you don’t have to do it alone,” sam said firmly. “you’ve got me. you’ve got dean. we’re a team, y/n. you don’t have to keep everything bottled up.”

his words hit you harder than you expected, and fresh tears welled up in your eyes. before you could stop yourself, you reached out, gripping the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. sam didn’t hesitate. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight, comforting hug. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, and he murmured soothing words into your hair.

“you’re not alone, sweetheart,” he said again, his voice steady and reassuring. “i’ve got you.”

for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe it. you let yourself sink into sam’s embrace, his warmth and strength a balm to your frayed nerves. his hands moved in slow, comforting patterns across your back, and you felt the tension in your body start to ease, bit by bit.

“thanks, sam,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

“anytime,” he replied, holding you a little tighter. “i mean it, y/n. anytime you need me, i’ll be here.”

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe that, too.

ᰔ sam winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[mxltifxnd0m]

white collared ✮ s. winchester

summary: you can't stop staring at sam in his priest getup

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester gn afab! reader

word count: 1.1K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', no mention of pronouns besides a "good girl", cursing, making out, sam in the priest outfit (yes thats a warning), dean being a menace as per usual, implied smut, kinda edited

a/n: got inspired from a edit of priest sam i saw on my feed and i wrote most of this in class and then in the library, so enjoy :p

enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

YOU WERE STARING. Scratch that. You were practically devouring Sam with your eyes as he came out of the motel bathroom, adjusting the clerical collar that was around his neck.

Your eyes followed Sam as he bustled around the motel room, barely registering that Dean had gone into the bathroom to change himself. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Sam, your mouth feeling dry as you swallowed thickly, trying to pull your gaze away from the taller Winchester. 

Christ almighty, how could someone look so good in a priest outfit?

You thought to yourself as Sam sat down at the table near the kitchenette in the room. Your eyes trailed up and down Sam’s broad figure from your spot on the bed. The black slacks were tight around his thighs, and you could only imagine how good his ass looked in those pants. 

The white clerical collar was starch white, contrasting the tanned skin at the hollow of Sam's throat. You bit your bottom lip as you saw Sam’s dexterous fingers pull at the collar, adjusting it before your eyes followed his hand as it fell back onto his thigh. 

A low chuckle coming from the man you were staring at snapped you out of your stupor, and you met Sam’s hazel eyes, filled with amusement. You could recognize the familiar look of desire that lingered in the greens and golds that colored his gaze. 

Sam’s plush lips were pulled into a sly smirk as he shook his head, a piece of his hair falling in his face as he did. “See something you like?” He asked, his tone teasing. 

You felt your cheeks fill with heat at being caught staring at Sam. But you tried playing it off, rolling your eyes as you sat up, making your way to the table he was sitting at, and resting your hip against the edge of it, looking to your left at him. Sam had to tilt his head up a bit to meet your eyes. 

It’s unfair how his height barely changes when he sits down. 

“Maybe I do.” You let your eyes trail over Sam’s body again before meeting his gaze again. 

Sam’s lips twitched before slowly rising in his seat, the chair scraping against the carpeted floor, and he leaned forward, his hands resting on the table as his face got closer to yours. Now, you had to crane your head back to make contact with his eyes. 

“This is doing something for you isn’t it?” He questioned, Sam’s head tilted slightly as the sly smirk turned into a grin. The white of his teeth almost distracted you from the devilish expression on his face as his eyes darkened and his tongue peaked out to wet his bottom lip. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to resist the urge to clench your thighs together at the lust filling his eyes as he stared at you, feeling heat pool in your core. 

“Unfortunately.” You grumbled as you broke the eye contact the two of you were sharing as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

You heard another chuckle escape Sam’s lips. You listened to some shuffling and felt one of his fingers push your jaw to look at him. Sam was standing in front of you as he took your chin in between his index finger and thumb. His lips stretched into a lewd smirk as he leaned closer to you, his cologne filling your senses as you felt his breath fan over your face. 

“Who knew that you have a thing for priests?” 

You uncrossed your arms and scoffed at him before hooking your fingers into the belt loops of his pants, pulling him closer to you. “I have a thing for you in this getup, not the other way around.” You clarified, your lips pulling into a half-smirk. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you. “You sure?” 

“Shut up, you know how gorgeous you are.” You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s honestly unfair how good you look in anything.” 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose. “Mhm, sure.” He rubbed his nose against yours before capturing your lips between his, pulling you into a fiery kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. You let out a low moan as you pulled him closer to you and felt his bulge grind against you. 

Sam always had this hold on you every time he placed his lips on yours. The only thing that was on your mind was always Sam. It was like there was a giant neon sign that flashed his name every time he touched you. 

Suddenly, Sam pulled himself away from you. What you didn’t realize as Sam was making out with you was that Dean had finished changing into his own priest getup and stepped out of the bathroom.

You heard him clear his throat, and you looked over at Dean. Though you would never admit it out loud or to anyone ever, Dean looked as good as Sam did in the white collar (but you had a bias towards your boyfriend because, well, he's your boyfriend).

Dean raised an eyebrow at the two of you. “You two done defiling each other?” 

“Shut up.” Sam shot a scowl at Dean's smirking face.  

“Nope." Dean said, popping the 'p' obnoxiously. "Next time don’t make out in the same room as me.” He came over to the table and smacked his hand onto Sam’s shoulder before brushing past him and left the motel room. 

You let out a small laugh as Sam’s face twisted into his bitch face before sighing. But a smile slowly appeared on his face at the sound of your laugh. 

He turned around to face you again and cupped your cheek. You looked at him with a smile. His smile got wider before he placed a soft kiss against your lips. Sam pulled away, letting his forehead rest against yours. 

“You should probably get another room before we get back.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?” 

The edges of Sam's' lips threatened to curl up before his face became serious.

"Because I have plans for you and I don't want to share this room with Dean."

"Oh?" A smirk grew on your face. "What kind of plans?" You asked coyly.

Sam let out a soft laugh before pulling back and cupping your face with his warm hand, his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek softly.

"The kind of plans that require you to be on your knees repenting and confessing all the naughty thoughts that your mind conjured up about me ever since I came out of the bathroom."

The heat in your core grew brighter as you clenched your thighs together at the low rumble of Sam’s voice. 

“You understand?” You nodded dumbly at his words, and Sam pecked your lips. 

“Good girl.” Sam sent you another smirk before letting his hand fall from your face and exiting the room. 

You swallowed thickly as you stood frozen in your spot. “Well, fuck me.” You breathed out before leaving the room and getting another, just like Sam asked. 

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

[wendichester]

⋆✴︎˚ ⭐️ ｡⋆ christmas decorations,

summary. the only thing missing is the star on top of the tree.

pairing. sam winchester + reader

wordcount. 468.

The tree stands tall in the corner of the bunker’s war room, the fresh scent of pine cutting through the faint metallic tang of old books and stone. It’s beautiful already—twinkling lights, glittering ornaments, and strings of popcorn and cranberries painstakingly crafted by you and Sam earlier. But it’s missing one final touch: the star.

You hold the golden star in your hands, admiring how it catches the glow of the lights. Sam is nearby, fussing over a crooked strand of tinsel, his brows knit in concentration. Even in this simple, quiet moment, he’s absurdly handsome.

“Okay, I think it’s time for the star,” you announce, holding it up triumphantly.

Sam turns, his lips quirking into a soft smile. “Need a hand?”

You glance at the tree, then at your own height—or lack thereof—and sigh dramatically. “I think I might need a lift, actually.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. “Alright, come here.”

You expect him to just grab the star and put it up himself, but instead, he surprises you. His hands gently circle your waist, and in one smooth motion, he lifts you off the ground as if you weigh nothing.

“Sam!” you gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing his broad shoulders for balance.

“Relax,” he says, his voice warm and steady. “I’ve got you.”

With your heart pounding—not entirely from the height—you stretch your arms, carefully placing the star on the highest branch. It wobbles for a moment before settling perfectly.

“There,” you say, grinning down at him. “How’s it look?”

Sam tilts his head, his hazel eyes scanning the tree before meeting yours. “Perfect.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s not looking at the tree anymore. His hands are still firm around your waist, holding you steady. The warmth of his touch seeps through your sweater, and the soft glow of the Christmas lights reflects in his eyes, making the moment feel almost magical.

“You can put me down now,” you whisper, though you’re not entirely sure you mean it.

He doesn’t move right away, his smile turning a little more playful. “You sure? I could just carry you around like this all night.”

You laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. “Sam Winchester, you put me down, or I swear I’m putting tinsel in your hair.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, setting you back on the ground with exaggerated care. But his hands linger on your waist for just a second longer than necessary, his thumbs brushing gently against the fabric of your sweater.

As your feet touch the floor, you find yourself closer to him than before, the soft glow of the tree casting shadows across his face. For a moment, neither of you moves, the quiet hum of holiday warmth wrapping around you both.

“Thanks for the assist,” you murmur, your voice softer now.

“Anytime,”

taglist ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ֶָ֢ @deans-daydream

[cuntiel]

Me in the Men of Letters kitchen, when I see we’re having Mac and cheese and god awful marshmallow fluff for the eight time this week

[atenea585]

We're almost at 200 followers. Any ideas on how to celebrate?🥳

[starfilmz]

fandoms ༒ ── outerbanks. supernatural. gilmore girls.

outerbanks

thoroughfare - jj maybank / smau series

famous!rafe - rafe cameron / smau series

supernatural

show me where it hurts - sam winchester / one shot

rich!reader - sam winchester / imagine

college friend!reader - sam winchester / imagine

gilmore girls

there she goes - dean forrester / one shot

[randommultifandomrants]

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

My Favorite Thing

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: Your comfort item gets lost on a hunt, and the boys try to help you

“Stop the car!”

Dean slammed on the breaks, turning the Impala to the side of the road before whipping around in his seat to see what was wrong.

“What happened? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find Willow!” You exclaimed. “We have to go back to the motel!”

“Jeez, kid.” Dean let out a huge sigh of relief. “I thought you were dying or something. Don’t scare me like that!”

“We have to go back, it’s an emergency!”

“Kid, your little toy thing is not an emergency,” Dean said.

“Are you sure you didn’t just leave it in your other bag?” Sam asked.

“Yes I’m sure, I always put it right here, and it’s gone!”

“It can’t be at the motel,” Dean argued. “I remember you had it right before we went after that vamp. You must’ve lost it on the hunt.”

“Well then we have to go find it. Please, Dean,” you begged.

Dean sighed, swinging the Impala into a u-turn. “Let’s see if we can find it.”

…

Two hours later, and still no luck.

“Kiddo, we’ve gotta get going,” Dean spoke up reluctantly. “There’s a case in the next state over and we really should try to get there before dark—“

“We can’t just give up!” You cried.

“We looked everywhere honey,” Sam cut in. “There’s nothing else we can do. Maybe we can find you another—“

“No, no you can’t just find another one!” You yelled. “You don’t get it, you don’t even care!” You were racing away from the boys before either of them had a chance to respond.

“What was that?” Dean demanded.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “But she was headed toward the Impala. Let’s go.”

…

“Hey sweetheart.” Dean’s greeting did nothing to pull you out from the way you’d cocooned yourself in the Impala’s backseat.

Sam eased the door open and slid in next to you, patting your knee that was curled up against your chest.

“N/N, talk to us. You ok?”

“Dad gave it to me.” Your voice came out in a high-pitched whimper. “And I lost it.”

“Oh kid…” Dean climbed into the front of the Impala, reaching over the back of the seat and tilting your chin up. “Dad would understand, ok? It’s ok.”

“No it’s not!” You sniffled. “You have the Impala, and Sam has dad’s journal…I don’t have anything of his. I wanted to at least keep something he gave me.”

Dean suddenly slipped out of the Impala, but you didn’t have time to notice it because Sam spoke up.

“Honey, it’s not about the stuff he left behind. He taught you so much that you’re gonna carry with you, and you don’t need a toy to remember that.”

“I…I guess,” you sniffled. “But I wanted it.”

“Commere…” Sam pulled you into his arms, planting a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m sorry we couldn’t find it. I know that meant a lot to you.”

“Here it is—“ Dean’s voice caught your attention as he returned, holding a bundle that he’d retrieved from the trunk. “I think dad would want you to have this.” Dean pressed the fabric into your hands, and you held it up to reveal John Winchester’s favorite jacket.

“It’s never gonna fit,” you argued dubiously.

“Who cares?” Dean shrugged. “I heard jackets six sizes too big are the trend now.”

You giggled through your tears as you slipped your arms through the massive sleeves. The sleeves hung down several inches past your fingers, but you didn’t seem to mind as you hugged the fabric around you.

“Thanks, Dean,” you said.

Dean grinned.

“Any time, kid.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Hug

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean hugs you. A/N: I am going to keep it going! Please let me know if you have any suggestions for "Firsts"! Word Count: 1,143

The dusty Kansas sunset painted the world in streaks of orange and purple as you stood outside the small, dilapidated diner in Lebanon. You’d been on the road for weeks, chasing a string of supernatural leads that didn’t pan out, and your frustration had finally caught up with you. The Winchester brothers were somewhere inside, sharing a rare moment of peace over greasy burgers and fries. You’d been tagging along with them for a few months now, after a chance encounter during a hunt in South Dakota.

At first, you weren’t sure how long the partnership would last. Dean, ever the protective big brother, had been wary of letting a stranger join their team. You were no stranger to the life, though—you had your scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it. Still, earning Dean’s trust felt like climbing an impossibly high mountain. He was guarded, sharp-tongued, and carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, a fact you’d come to realize more deeply as time went on.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like you—he just didn’t trust easily. You’d seen glimpses of his softer side: the way he’d check on Sam when he thought no one was looking, the gruff jokes he used to break tension, and the rare moments when his walls came down just enough to reveal the man beneath the hunter. But a hug? That seemed as unlikely as a demon voluntarily taking a salt bath.

You leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, staring out at the quiet stretch of road. Your mind wandered to the hunt you’d botched last week—a werewolf case in Nebraska. It should’ve been straightforward, but a moment of hesitation on your part had nearly cost Sam his life. Dean hadn’t said much about it afterward, but you could feel the tension radiating from him. You’d been carrying the guilt ever since, and tonight it felt heavier than ever.

The door to the diner creaked open, and Dean stepped out. His leather jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he had that familiar look of suspicion and curiosity on his face.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or what?” he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak. Dean wasn’t the kind of guy you could fool with small talk or half-hearted excuses. He saw through people like glass.

He approached slowly, his boots crunching on the gravel. “You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, leaning against the car next to you. “Quieter than usual, I mean. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, debating whether to brush it off or let him in. Finally, you sighed. “Just... thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” he quipped, though his tone lacked its usual edge. When you didn’t laugh, he frowned. “Come on, out with it. What’s eating you?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the genuine concern in his eyes. It wasn’t often that Dean let himself be openly vulnerable, even in the smallest ways. “It’s that hunt in Nebraska,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I screwed up, Dean. If you hadn’t been there, Sam might’ve—”

“Stop,” he interrupted, his tone firm but not harsh. “Sam’s fine. You’re fine. That’s what matters.”

“But it was my fault,” you insisted, the guilt bubbling to the surface. “I froze up, and—”

“And you’re human,” he said, cutting you off again. “It happens. Trust me, I’ve made more mistakes than I can count. You learn from it and move on.”

You shook your head, unable to meet his gaze. “I just... I don’t want to be a liability. You and Sam, you’ve been doing this your whole lives. I don’t want to be the reason something goes wrong.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Listen, this life? It’s not easy. Hell, it’s damn near impossible sometimes. But you’re part of the team now, and we’ve got your back. You’re not a liability. You’re family.”

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Family. It was something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since you’d lost your parents to a demon when you were a teenager. Not since you’d been hunting alone, keeping people at arm’s length because getting close to anyone felt like a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

Dean must have noticed the look on your face because he shifted uncomfortably, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “Look, I’m not great at this touchy-feely stuff, but... I mean it. You’re family. And family doesn’t bail when things get tough.”

Something in you broke at those words. The tears you’d been holding back for weeks spilled over, and you quickly turned away, embarrassed. “Sorry,” you mumbled, wiping at your eyes. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice gentle now. Before you could protest, he reached out and pulled you into a hug.

It wasn’t one of those quick, awkward pats on the back you’d expect from someone like Dean. It was solid, grounding, and full of unspoken emotion. His arms were strong around you, steadying you as you let yourself cry against his chest. You could feel the warmth of his leather jacket, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the faint scent of motor oil and whiskey that clung to him like a second skin.

For a moment, the world stopped. The weight of your guilt, your fears, your loneliness—it all seemed to fade in the safety of his embrace. Dean didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to. The hug said it all: You’re not alone. You’re not a failure. You’re family.

When you finally pulled away, his hands lingered on your shoulders, grounding you. “Feeling better?” he asked, his voice gruff but kind.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Thanks, Dean.”

He gave you a small smile, the kind that didn’t come around often but lit up his whole face when it did. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Ever.”

That earned a laugh from you, and the tension between you eased. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

Dean patted the hood of the Impala, his way of signaling that the moment was over. “Come on,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Sam’s probably eaten all the fries by now, but maybe we can grab some pie for the road.”

You climbed into the car, feeling lighter than you had in days. As the Impala roared to life and the brothers started bickering over music choices, you found yourself smiling. The road ahead would still be hard, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were facing it alone.

Dean didn’t hug often, but when he did, it mattered. And in that moment, it was exactly what you needed.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[cruel-seduction]

It’s like a full-blown addiction, but instead of drugs or booze, it’s this fictional guy who’s got her wrapped around his finger. She knows it’s fucked up—knows she’s out here daydreaming about someone who’s not even real—but who cares? This guy? He’s everything. He’s charming in the worst ways, flawed in every possible sense, but there’s just something about him that has her hooked. He doesn’t even know she exists, but she’s ready to fight anyone who says a word against him. Seriously, she’ll defend his honor like it’s a fucking life-or-death mission.

He’s a goddamn trainwreck, but he’s her trainwreck. She’ll put up with all his baggage, his emotional scars, his dark sides, because somehow, that brokenness makes him feel more real to her than any real guy could. He’s messed up, but she’ll fix him in her head every single time. Maybe it’s that thrill of knowing he’s dangerous and untouchable that makes him even more irresistible. He might break her heart in a hundred ways, but it’s the kind of heartbreak that makes her feel alive, even if it hurts like hell.

And it’s never gonna happen, right? She knows that. He’s not gonna waltz into her life and sweep her off her feet. But it doesn’t matter. Because she gets to have him on her terms—no messy reality, no awkward first dates, no risking her heart for real. He’s always there when she needs him, in that perfect little bubble of fantasy she’s built for herself. And maybe she’s a little crazy for it, but at least with him, she’s never disappointed. Every time she replays his scenes, reads the fanfics, imagines their future together—it's like a high she can never quite shake. She knows it's all just a mindfuck, but she’s never felt more alive.

[wolvietxt]

ᰔ ONE THOUSAND FOLLOWERS EVENT !

↑ click link above to scroll through event tag.

thank you all so much for 1k! i’ve had this blog for only a few months, so the growth is crazy☹️ hitting this before the new year was also a goal for me :3 thank you so much for all of the kindness and encouragement shown my way and i’m super excited to write more for you guys! as a thank you i thought i’d do another event - probably a bit smaller than the last.

masterlist taglist prompts 💌

characters : logan howlett, bucky barnes, rick grimes, daryl dixon, dean winchester, sam winchester

i’m gonna do this similarly to my other event, send in a character and a prompt (oh also pls mention what prompt list it’s from) as long as you only send one prompt + character per ask, feel free to send as many as you want! doing this on a first come first served basis (w/ exceptions for moots)

[colmiillo]

I'm not just a bitch, I'm a bitch with a backstory