#SupernaturalFANDOM

[deancaslvr]

supernatural is really insane when you think about it a little too long

the show actively turned from “demons are a big deal” to ah it’s a pretty shitty weekend with everyone gone let’s go thanos snap literal god with lucifers child who was born because lucifer possessed the president of the United States then banged his secretary.

also the spawn of Satan got turned into a tiny dog by a 300+ year old witch to sneak into a vet and steal anti-venom to solve a case of a demi-god who was eating gay people while doing that case dean had the ARCHANGEL Michael trapped in a shitty bar inside his noggin.

[burntsecrets]

Sweet Chaos

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader Word Count: 1784 Summary: While staying in a cozy inn during a case, Sam surprises you with a gingerbread house kit he picked up at the local store. Warnings: Fluff, playful banter, NSFW, explicit sexual content, consensual intimacy A/N: This is for @moosekateer13 I'm your secret Santa for @spnfanficpond's Secret Santa 2024. I'm using the prompt for the @fluff-cember challenge, day 6: gingerbread house. I hope you like it!

The sound of the wind whistling outside the inn’s window pairs perfectly with the crackling of the small fireplace across the room. The case has been quiet so far—too quiet—but for tonight, you’ve managed to carve out a rare moment of peace. You’re curled up on the couch, flipping idly through an old book you picked up at the local thrift store when the sound of Sam clearing his throat pulls your attention. He stands in the doorway, his tall frame slightly hunched to accommodate the low ceiling. In his hands, he holds a brightly colored box, his dimples deepening as he grins at you.

“What’s that?” you ask, sitting up and tucking the blanket around your legs. Sam steps closer, holding up the box—a gingerbread house kit. It’s kitschy, with cartoon snowmen and candy canes decorating the front, but something about the gesture warms your chest. “Seriously? You bought that?”

Sam chuckles, setting the box on the coffee table in front of you. “I figured we could use a break. And hey, it’s festive.” You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Alright, Winchester. Let’s do this.”

The table is soon transformed into a sugary battleground. The kit includes walls, a roof, frosting in a plastic bag, and an assortment of candies that look slightly questionable but smell undeniably sweet. Sam carefully arranges everything with the precision of someone who has built a thousand IKEA bookshelves while you eye the frosting like a hawk–already scheming. “Okay, we start with the base,” Sam says, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pipes a line of frosting along the edge of the cookie walls. His big hands are surprisingly steady, and you can’t help but admire his focus.

“That’s cute,” you tease, picking up your own piping bag. “But my side is going to blow yours out of the water.”

“Oh, we’re making this a competition now?” Sam raises an eyebrow, his grin growing. “I thought this was supposed to be a team effort.”

“Teamwork is overrated,” you reply, nudging his elbow just enough to make his line of frosting wobble.

“Hey!” he protests, laughing. “You’re going to regret that.”

It starts innocently enough. You’re both diligently working on your respective sides of the gingerbread house, each stealing glances at the other’s progress. Sam’s side is neat, with perfectly aligned gumdrops and a roof that could be in a magazine. Yours… well, it has personality. “Why do you have all the gumdrops?” you ask, narrowing your eyes as Sam sneaks yet another piece of candy onto his side.

“Because I got here first,” he says, popping one into his mouth for good measure.

“That’s cheating,” you declare, grabbing the frosting bag and aiming it at him. Without thinking, you swipe a dollop of frosting across the bridge of his nose. The look of pure shock on his face makes you burst out laughing.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that,” Sam warns, his voice low and teasing. Before you can react, he dips his finger into the frosting and smears it across your cheek. You gasp, feigning outrage as you grab a handful of flour from the nearby bowl and toss it at him. It’s chaos after that—frosting, flour, and candy flying in every direction. Sam’s laugh is loud and carefree, the kind of sound you don’t hear often enough from him, and it fills the small room like sunlight.

By the time the battle subsides, the table is a disaster. Flour dusts the air, and bits of candy stick to your fingers. The gingerbread house stands in the center, a wobbly, candy-laden masterpiece that looks like it barely survived a storm. You’re both out of breath, sitting side by side on the couch and surveying the mess. “Well,” you say, brushing a streak of frosting from your arm. “It’s not winning any awards, but it’s ours.”

Sam leans forward, inspecting the lopsided roof with a critical eye. “It’s got character,” he agrees, his voice soft. You glance at him, your heart skipping a beat, when you notice the frosting still smeared on his nose. Without thinking, you reach out and wipe it away with your thumb. His green eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the room feels impossibly quiet.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Before you can respond, he leans in, closing the space between you. His lips are warm and soft against yours, the kiss slow and sweet, like the moment itself. When he pulls back, his hand lingers on your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray bit of flour.

The air between you shifts, charged with something deeper, something you’ve both been skirting around for weeks. His eyes darken, flicking down to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he admits, his voice husky.

Your breath hitches, and before you can think, you’re tugging him closer, kissing him with a fervor that surprises even you. His hands find your waist, pulling you onto his lap as the kiss deepens, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans softly against your mouth, the sound making your pulse race.

Sam’s hands slide under your sweater, his touch warm against your skin as he trails his fingers up your back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips moving to your neck, kissing and nibbling along your jawline until you’re squirming in his lap.

You tug at his flannel shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to reveal the toned muscles underneath. He’s breathtaking, all broad shoulders and lean strength, and the way he’s looking at you makes your knees weak. “Sam,” you whisper, your voice barely audible as he shifts, laying you down on the couch and settling between your thighs.

He pauses, his hand cupping your cheek as he searches your eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice gentle despite the tension in his body.

“Yes,” you breathe, pulling him down for another kiss.

Sam’s lips trail fire down your neck as his hands caress your sides, the warmth of his touch chasing away every thought but him. He shifts his weight, pressing his body against yours, and the heat of him sears through your clothes. Your hands slide over the planes of his shoulders, gripping him as his mouth moves lower, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone.

The soft glow of the fire bathes the room in flickering light, casting shadows across Sam’s face as he pulls back to look at you. His hair falls slightly into his eyes, his lips swollen, and his chest heaving. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I don’t think I can take my time with you.”

Your fingers skim over his jaw, your thumb tracing the edge of his lips. “Who says I want you to?” you tease, your voice breathy. The words light a spark in him, and he leans down, claiming your lips with renewed intensity.

In one fluid motion, he sits back, lifting you into his arms as though you weigh nothing. You let out a soft laugh of surprise, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bed. He lays you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours as he settles over you. The tension between you hums like a live wire, the weight of his body grounding you in the moment.

His hands are sure as they slide beneath your sweater, pushing it up and over your head. You shiver as the cool air brushes your skin, but Sam’s touch is quick to warm you. He leans down, his lips brushing across your shoulder, then lower, kissing along the curve of your breast. Your back arches as his hands explore, every touch sending sparks skittering down your spine.

You tug at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He obliges, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Your hands roam over his chest, marveling at the heat and strength of him, the way his muscles flex beneath your touch. Sam groans softly as your fingers trace the lines of his abdomen, his hips pressing against yours in response.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again. His kiss is fierce, all-consuming, and you lose yourself in the sensation of him. His hands trail down your sides, hooking into the waistband of your pants and tugging them down. You help him, shimmying out of them as he follows with his own, leaving you both bare and vulnerable in the firelight.

Sam pauses, his gaze raking over you as though committing every detail to memory. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, his voice reverent. His words make your heart flutter, but there’s no time to dwell on them as he leans down, his lips brushing over your ear. “Let me show you.”

What follows is a blur of sensation—his lips and hands exploring every inch of you, the way he whispers your name like a prayer, the way his body moves with yours in perfect rhythm. The fire crackles in the hearth, the snow falls softly outside, and the world narrows to the heat between you, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

Time seems to stand still as you reach the peak together, his name spilling from your lips as he groans yours into your neck. He holds you close, his body trembling slightly as the moment washes over you both. The room is silent except for the sound of your breathing, the fire casting a warm glow over the two of you.

Sam rolls onto his side, pulling you into his arms. His hand brushes your hair back from your face, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I think we make a damn good team,” he murmurs, his voice low and content.

You smile, resting your head against his chest. “Only when you don’t steal all the gumdrops,” you reply, your tone teasing but affectionate.

He chuckles, his laugh rumbling against your cheek. “Fair enough. Next time, I’ll share.” His arms tighten around you, and you let yourself relax into his embrace, the warmth of him and the fire lulling you into a blissful haze.

The snow continues to fall outside, blanketing the world in quiet, but inside the inn, the earlier chaos has given way to something softer, deeper, and undeniably real. For now, the case and the danger can wait. Tonight, it’s just you and Sam, and that’s more than enough.

[magnolverafics]

Chapters: 4/4 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural) Additional Tags: Protective Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Loves Castiel, Castiel Loves Dean Winchester, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Author Is Sleep Deprived, author doesn't proof read Series: Part 1 of deancas Summary:

Cas is still getting used to being human, and one night a bad storm hits Kansas.

[violetpurpleviolet]

Supernatural , Season 7, Episode 11

Adventures in Babysitting

One more episode, then i’ll study for my exam.

Also the people watching as it aired , are you okay? You thought both Cass and Bobby were gone for good?

What was that with the disappearing beer?

HEYY THATS RUBY FROM Once Upon A Time

Dean just lost Bobby , It’s a really bad time for these monsters to capture Sam.

I like this kid , Krissy , Shes fun. And Dean telling her she could go to college. Super cute.

[fullpenguincupcake]

The Enemy Within: A Supernatural fanfic +18

The fluorescent light buzzed above Ethan Kane’s head, casting a sickly yellow glow over the motel room’s faded floral wallpaper. He stood by the window, tugging absently at the collar of his worn leather jacket. Outside, the Nebraska town was dead quiet, save for the occasional rumble of a distant truck on the highway. The room smelled like stale cigarette smoke and despair, fitting for a place where people came to disappear.

Ethan’s fingers traced the edge of the photograph on the cracked wooden desk. A family of three, smiling under a streetlight. The wife’s face had been ripped off, her husband gutted, and their child—a little girl no older than six—disappeared without a trace. The crime scene photos were worse, but he didn’t need to see them again. The blood patterns, the ritual marks carved into the walls, they all told him the same story. Something inhuman had been here. Something ancient and powerful.

He folded the photo and tucked it into his pocket, his jaw tightening as he turned away from the window. His boots crunched against broken glass on the floor—leftover evidence from the last guests who hadn’t made it out alive. Ethan wasn’t afraid of dying, not anymore. But he hated this part of the job: the waiting, the tension that coiled in his chest like barbed wire.

The door creaked open behind him, and he spun instinctively, hand reaching for the gun holstered at his side. His trigger finger twitched when he saw the figure standing there, silhouetted by the dim hallway light. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an aura that made the air feel heavy, like the sky before a storm.

“Don’t shoot,” the man said, his voice low and smooth, like velvet scraping over steel. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Ethan didn’t lower his weapon. “You don’t look like housekeeping.”

The man stepped into the room, and Ethan’s breath hitched. Piercing blue eyes locked onto his, unnervingly calm. There was something about them, something otherworldly that made Ethan’s skin prickle. The guy looked human enough—dark hair, sharp jawline, a black trench coat that probably cost more than Ethan’s entire wardrobe—but there was no mistaking the faint shimmer around him, like heat waves rising off pavement.

“Name’s Cass,” the stranger said, tilting his head slightly. “Cassiel.”

Ethan’s grip on the gun tightened. “An angel? In Nebraska? What the hell are you doing here?”

Cass raised a brow, unimpressed. “Same thing you are, apparently. Hunting.”

��Not yours to hunt,” Ethan shot back, anger flaring hot in his chest. “Humans bleed just fine on their own without celestial meddling.”

Cass’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though his eyes stayed cold. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about hunters.”

Ethan bristled, taking a step forward. “You got a lot of nerve walking into my investigation like you belong here.”

“Your investigation?” Cass echoed, crossing his arms. “You think you’re the only one who cares about what’s happening in this town? This isn’t some half-assed demon summoning. Someone’s killing humans to reclaim power. And if you’d bothered to look past your own ego, you’d realize you’re way out of your league.”

Ethan’s cheeks burned, but he didn’t back down. “And you think you can do better? Angels haven’t exactly been angels lately.”

Cass’s expression darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, the room seemed to grow colder, the air crackling with tension. Then, just as suddenly, the tension broke. Cass sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. You want to play this game? Let’s play. But don’t come crying to me when your stubbornness gets you killed.”

Before Ethan could respond, a deafening roar shook the building. The walls trembled, and the lights flickered violently before going out altogether. Ethan barely had time to register the sound before the window beside him shattered, glass flying everywhere. He ducked, shielding his face with his arm, and cursed loudly.

When he looked up, Cass was gone.

Shit.

Ethan scrambled to his feet, pulling his gun from its holster. The motel room felt smaller now, claustrophobic, with the darkness pressing in from all sides. He reached for his flashlight, but before he could switch it on, a shadow moved in the corner of his vision.

“Looking for me?” Cass’s voice cut through the silence, closer than expected.

Ethan whirled around, flashlight beam landing squarely on Cass’s chest. The angel didn’t flinch, his blue eyes glinting in the harsh light. Ethan opened his mouth to tell him to watch his goddamn back, but the words never left his throat.

A guttural growl ripped through the air, and the ground shook beneath them. Ethan stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the desk. When he looked up, his heart sank.

The rogue angel loomed in the doorway, its massive frame blocking out what little moonlight filtered through the windows. Its skin was pale and cracked, glowing faintly with a sickly green hue. Blood dripped from its fingertips, splattering against the floor with a wet thud. Sharp teeth gleamed in a wide, predatory grin.

“Found you,” it snarled, its voice dripping with malice.

Ethan raised his gun, firing without thinking. The bullet hit the creature square in the chest, but instead of hitting flesh, it ricocheted off, embedding itself in the wall behind it. The rogue angel laughed, a sound so unnatural it sent shivers down Ethan’s spine.

“Is that all you’ve got?” it taunted, stepping closer.

Ethan’s mind raced, trying to think of a plan. He glanced at Cass, who stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the creature. The faint shimmer around him had grown brighter, his presence filling the room like a living flame.

“Cass!” Ethan barked, desperate for any kind of help. “Do something!”

Cass didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head, studying the rogue angel with an eerie calm. “You’re bleeding grace,” he said softly, almost conversationally. “It’s killing you.”

The rogue angel’s grin faltered, its glowing eyes narrowing. “Shut up.”

“No,” Cass replied evenly. “You’re burning out. Even if you kill us both, you won’t survive much longer.”

Ethan didn’t understand what was happening, but he could see the effect Cass’s words were having on the creature. The rogue angel took another step forward, its movements jerky and erratic.

“Stay out of this,” it growled, its voice cracking.

“Make me,” Cass said, his tone as smooth as ever.

For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen. Then, with a deafening roar, the rogue angel lunged.

Ethan reacted on instinct, diving out of the way as the creature barreled past him. He hit the ground hard, pain shooting up his side, but he ignored it, scrambling to his feet. He grabbed his knife from its sheath, ready to fight, but Cass was already moving.

The fallen angel stepped forward, his trench coat billowing around him as if caught in an invisible wind. His hands glowed faintly, runes appearing on his skin like tattoos coming to life. The rogue angel hesitated, its glowing eyes flickering between Cass and Ethan.

“Choose,” Cass said, his voice commanding. “Fight me, or run.”

The rogue angel snarled, its body trembling with rage. It chose poorly.

Ethan’s breath hitched as the rogue angel lunged at Cass, its massive frame cutting through the dim motel room like a shadow come to life. The air crackled with tension, the faint hum of celestial energy filling the space between them. Ethan tightened his grip on his knife, his eyes darting between the two beings locked in a deadly dance.

“Cass!” he shouted, but the fallen angel didn’t turn. His focus was razor-sharp, his movements fluid despite the creature’s erratic attacks. Runes glowed brighter on his skin, their light casting eerie patterns across the cracked walls.

The rogue angel snarled, its jaws snapping inches from Cass’s face. Ethan’s heart pounded, a mix of fear and something else he couldn’t name—something hot and primal that curled low in his gut. He hated this feeling, hated how helpless it made him feel, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him.

Cass sidestepped the creature’s strike, his trench coat swirling around him like a storm. His hand shot out, fingers brushing against the rogue angel’s arm, and with a sharp crack, the creature stumbled back, howling in pain. Its glowing eyes flicked toward Ethan for a brief moment, and for an instant, he felt naked under that gaze, as if the monster could see every secret he’d ever tried to bury.

“Stay back, Ethan!” Cass commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. “This isn’t your fight!”

Not my fight? Ethan clenched his jaw, resentment simmering in his chest. Like hell it isn’t. He wasn’t some bystander, some fragile human waiting to be saved. He was a hunter, damn it, and if Cass thought he’d just stand there and watch while the bastard almost took his head off…

Before he could think better of it, Ethan surged forward, his boots slamming into the fray. The rogue angel swung wildly, its claws raking the air where Ethan had been a second earlier. He ducked, his body moving on pure instinct, and brought his knife up in a smooth arc. The blade connected with the creature’s side, sinking deep into flesh that sizzled and smoked upon contact.

The rogue angel screamed, a sound that scraped at Ethan’s nerves like rusty nails. He yanked his knife free, ready to strike again, but Cass was already there, his presence commanding and unyielding. The fallen angel’s glowing runes flared brighter, their light almost blinding, and with a single motion, he shoved the rogue angel back, sending it crashing into the far wall.

“I told you to stay back,” Cass said, his tone sharp but not unkind. His blue eyes met Ethan’s, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. The intensity in those eyes was overwhelming, a mixture of anger and something softer that Ethan couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah, well,” Ethan retorted, his voice rough, “looks like I’m making this my fight now.”

Cass’s lips twitched, almost like a smile, but the expression was gone as quickly as it appeared. The rogue angel was stirring, its massive form shifting as it pushed itself off the floor. Its glowing eyes fixed on them, fury burning bright within its hollow sockets.

“Stay close,” Cass murmured, his voice low enough that only Ethan could hear. “And whatever you do, don’t look away.”

Ethan nodded, though the command made his stomach twist. He didn’t like being told what to do, especially by someone who—what? Wasn’t even human? But as he moved to flank the creature, his pulse quickening with each step, he found himself oddly comforted by Cass’s presence. The fallen angel was calm, steady, a counterpoint to Ethan’s own frantic energy. It was strange, how easily they fell into sync, despite their differences.

The rogue angel charged, its roar deafening. Ethan dove to the side, rolling to avoid its massive claws, while Cass stepped forward, his hands glowing with celestial energy. The runes on his skin pulsed, their light growing brighter with each passing second. The creature tried to dodge, but Cass’s movements were precise, calculated, and with a flick of his wrist, he sent the rogue angel stumbling backward once more.

“Now!” Cass barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

Ethan didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, his knife aimed at the creature’s exposed flank. The blade sank deep, and this time, the rogue angel’s scream was tinged with desperation. It lashed out, its claws grazing Ethan’s shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and held on, driving the knife deeper until the creature finally collapsed, its glowing eyes dimming to ash.

For a moment, there was silence. The motel room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound Ethan’s ragged breathing and the distant hum of Cass’s fading runes. He straightened, wincing as pain lanced through his injured shoulder, and glanced over at the fallen angel.

Cass was watching him, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, his movements measured and deliberate. Ethan tensed instinctively, his bodyprotest ing to the proximity, but he didn’t move away. Couldn’t move away. There was something about the way Cass looked at him, something that made it hard to breathe, hard to think.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Cass said finally, his voice soft but laced with warning.

“Yeah?” Ethan challenged, his voice rough. “Why’s that?”

Cass didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against Ethan’s injured shoulder. The touch was fleeting, almost accidental, yet it sent a jolt of awareness through Ethan’s entire body. Heat pooled low in his belly, and for a moment, he forgot how to breathe.

“Because,” Cass murmured, his voice dropping dangerously low, “you could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

Ethan swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?”

Cass’s eyes darkened, the blue seeming to burn brighter in the dim light. Without warning, he closed the distance between them, his body pressing lightly against Ethan’s. The fallen angel’s scent invaded his senses—something clean and otherworldly, mixed with the faintest hint of smoke. It should have been strange, wrong even, but instead, it felt like coming home.

Ethan’s breath hitched as Cass leaned in, his lips brushing against Ethan’s ear. “You’re reckless,” he whispered, his voice a low purr that sent shivers down Ethan’s spine. “But I suppose that’s part of what makes you… fascinating.”

Ethan’s pulse raced, his brain struggling to keep up with the rapidly escalating situation. “Fascinating?” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “That’s one way to put it.”

Cass pulled back slightly, his piercing gaze locking onto Ethan’s. There was something in those eyes—something raw and unfiltered—that made Ethan’s heart pound harder. The tension between them was palpable, a living thing that crackled in the air like electricity.

“Tell me, Ethan,” Cass said, his voice dripping with temptation, “what would you call it?”

[youre-a-miracle-of-the-universe]

Supernatural fandom we need to say something about this

[spn-family-giving]

IN COLLABORATION with @the-spn-verse and @samdeansandwich - PLEASE HELP US CELEBRATE @jensenackles birthday with the #grumpyjensen project! Full details on our website.

gifs by @aborddelimpala

[jaredandgensgf]

Late Night Cuddles

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: Sam Winchester returns from a tough hunt, tired and battered. The reader comforts him with fluffy blankets and a movie night. As the night goes on, they find themselves snuggled on the couch and sharing sweet words until they fall asleep into sweet bliss.

Word count: 1107

Warnings/explicit 18+: NONE, super fluffy fic!

A/N: This is my first official post for my master lists that are posted on my Tumblr. This is an idea that is always cute and fluffy and makes my super tired self happy after a long day at work.

As the quiet and peaceful moments stretched on after the boys had left for a hunt, you found solace in the therapeutic act of cleaning the bunker. Ever since your parents passed away when you were a little girl, cleaning had become your escape, a way to find order and control in the chaotic world of hunting. Hours went by as you meticulously scrubbed every surface, leaving no trace of dust or grime behind. You even took the time to tackle Dean's notoriously messy corner, which included his socks and boxers – a task that admittedly made you cringe.

Sam, on the other hand, had always been neater and more organized, much like his approach to hunting and life. You couldn't help but adore the earthy and comforting scent of old wood and pines that seemed to linger around him. And recently, he started using a new detergent with a hint of mint, which you found to be positively the best smell you'd ever experienced.

Exhausted but content with your productive cleaning spree, you finally settled down on the couch, flipping through channels as you tried to find something to watch. Sighing, you kicked off your shoes and rested your swollen feet, clad in cozy socks, on the coffee table. After a while, you settled on a cringy soap opera, not really invested in the plot but simply enjoying the background noise and the opportunity to unwind.

Soon enough, the soothing ambiance of the TV show and the comfort of the couch lulled you into an endless abyss of sleep. The dreamy, melodramatic scenes on the screen mixed with your subconscious thoughts, creating a whimsical and surreal dream world.

Hours later, the bunker's door creaked open, and Sam returned from a tiring, cold, and wet hunt. He was covered in dirt and blood, and you could see the exhaustion etched on his face as he walked in, duffle bag in hand. Dean followed closely behind, equally as worn out.

"Y/N! Where are you? I'm home," Sam called out, his voice a mixture of relief and weariness as he made his way towards the library.

Sam walked into the library and spotted you on the couch, looking adorably disheveled with your favorite beige coffee mug filled with brewing hot tea beside you. You were letting out soft, cute snores as you slept peacefully.

A gentle smile graced Sam's lips as he approached, feeling his heart swell with love for you. He carefully observed the way your chest rose and fell with each breath, the warmth of the moment washing over him.

He set his duffle bag down on the table and sat down next to you, not wanting to disturb your rest just yet. He admired your sleeping form, appreciating the peaceful moments when you were away from the dangers and uncertainties of their hunter lives.

"Baby, baby, I'm home," Sam whispered softly, nudging your body with his hand to gently wake you up.

You stirred from your slumber, blinking your eyes groggily as you looked up at him. "Sam... I thought you guys were going to be home tomorrow?" you asked, your voice still filled with sleepiness.

He chuckled, picking up your mug and the soft, knitted blanket that had kept you warm during your nap. "Dean decided to be crazy and drive over the speed limit to get back home," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

As Sam's hand extended to help you up, you pouted playfully, not quite ready to leave the cozy comfort of the couch just yet. He couldn't resist that beautiful expression on your face and the way your hands were already gripping his, silently asking to be carried to bed.

With a laugh, Sam gave in to your request. He carefully picked you up, twirling you around as you squealed with delight. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling safe and loved in his embrace.

He carried you to the bedroom that you both shared, a space that felt like home in this world of constant motion and uncertainty. Sam gently placed you down on the bed and pulled the comforter over you, making sure you were warm and cozy.

Before he could retreat to his side of the bed, you reached out and grabbed his hand, silently asking him to stay with you a little longer. Sam couldn't resist the invitation and climbed under the covers next to you.

You turned on the TV, settling on Friends, a show that held a special nostalgic place in both your hearts. Watching it together felt like revisiting old memories, and it reminded you of the moments when your lives were less complicated and the weight of the world wasn't constantly on your shoulders.

As the familiar theme song played, you watched Sam get undressed into a pair of flannel pants, revealing his muscular chest that always made your heart skip a beat. His warmth and presence were calming, and you couldn't help but marvel at how lucky you were to have him in your life.

You watched him with a mix of affection and desire, feeling your love for him grow with each passing day. As he climbed into bed beside you, you shifted closer, your body instinctively seeking the comfort of his embrace.

Sam grinned as he noticed your gaze lingering on him. "Friends, again?" he chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently.

You giggled, rolling closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body enveloping you. "Yes, again," you replied playfully, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as you leaned in to give him a soft, loving kiss.

His lips were warm and gentle against yours, and for a moment, the world outside the bunker ceased to exist. It was just the two of you, lost in each other's affection and adoration.

When the kiss finally ended, Sam pulled back slightly to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with love and tenderness. "I love you so much, Y/N," he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

Your heart swelled at his words, feeling the depth of his emotions for you. "And I love you, Sam. More than you'll ever know," you replied, your voice soft and sincere.

Sam's smile grew wider, and he leaned in to give you one more soft, powerful kiss before settling down beside you. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close as you both found comfort in each other's embrace.

With the soft glow of the TV casting a warm ambiance in the room, you and Sam snuggled together, your fingers intertwined, and your head resting against his chest. As you watched episode after episode of Friends, the banter and laughter on the screen mirrored the comfortable relationship you both shared.

"You know, Y/N, I still can't believe how lucky I am to have you," Sam whispered, breaking the comfortable silence between you.

You lifted your head slightly to meet his gaze, a soft smile playing on your lips. "And I feel the same way, Sam. You've brought so much light and love into my life. I don't know what I'd do without you," you replied, your voice filled with sincerity.

Sam's eyes held a mixture of adoration and appreciation as he leaned in to place a tender kiss on your forehead. "We've been through so much together, and no matter what comes our way, I promise to always be by your side," he vowed.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you snuggled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his love enveloping you. "I believe you, Sam. And I promise the same to you," you murmured, feeling a deep sense of trust and connection between you.

As the night progressed, you both continued to watch Friends, but your attention began to drift, and your eyelids felt heavy. The exhaustion from the day's events and the soothing comfort of being in Sam's arms lulled you back into a drowsy state.

Sam noticed how your eyes started to close in small increments, and he chuckled softly. "Looks like someone's ready to drift off to dreamland," he teased playfully.

You let out a contented sigh, feeling completely at ease in Sam's embrace. "Maybe just a little bit. But I don't want to miss this moment with you," you admitted, looking up at him with a sleepy grin.

Sam's expression softened, and he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "You're adorable when you're half-asleep, you know that?" he said affectionately.

You playfully nudged him, a yawn escaping your lips. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," you replied with a hint of sleepiness in your voice.

He shook his head, a loving smile on his lips. "I mean it. You're always adorable to me, whether you're wide awake or half-asleep," he said earnestly.

Feeling a surge of warmth in your heart, you leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "You're pretty adorable yourself, Mr. Winchester," you whispered, your words barely audible.

Sam's arms tightened around you, and he kissed you back with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. "You're everything to me, Y/N. I can't imagine my life without you," he confessed, his voice filled with emotion.

Your eyes met his, and in that moment, you felt an unspoken bond that transcended words. You didn't need grand declarations or elaborate gestures; the love and connection between you were evident in the simplest of moments.

As the night grew deeper, the TV show continued to play softly in the background, but you both eventually succumbed to the exhaustion, drifting off into a peaceful slumber wrapped in each other's arms.

In your dreams, you relieved cherished memories and imagined a future together. Sam was by your side in every scenario, his unwavering love and support a constant in the ever-changing landscapes of your mind.

The sun began to rise, casting a gentle glow across the room as the morning light streamed through the curtains. You stirred from your slumber, feeling the weight of Sam's arm draped over you. It was a feeling of comfort and security that you never wanted to let go of.

Sam started to wake up, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours. "Morning," he said, his voice husky from sleep but filled with warmth.

"Morning," you replied, your heart fluttering at the sight of him, the early morning rays illuminating his features.

He leaned in to kiss you softly, a sweet and gentle expression of affection. "I'm glad you're here with me," he murmured against your lips.

"Me too, Sam. Always," you replied, your voice filled with certainty and love.

With a shared smile, you both settled back into the warmth of each other's embrace, knowing that whatever the future held, you had each other to face it with. As the world outside the bunker continued to spin with its challenges and uncertainties, the love between you and Sam remained a constant, an anchor in the storm.

And so, in the bunker, surrounded by the echoes of countless hunts and the weight of their shared destiny, you found love, solace, and a place to call home in each other's arms. Together, you would face whatever came your way, knowing that with love as your compass, you would always find your way back to each other.

As the day began, the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just you and Sam in your little haven of love and understanding. And in that moment, nothing else mattered but the bond between two souls who found solace, strength, and joy in each other.

And so, the Winchester saga continued, filled with hunts and challenges, but also with moments of tenderness and love that made it all worthwhile. For you and Sam, the road ahead was uncertain, but you faced it with courage and love, knowing that together, you could conquer anything that came your way.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, the bunker remained a sanctuary of love, and in each other's arms, you both knew that you had found your own piece of paradise amidst the chaos of the world.

[malikoutee]

Tribute to @jaredpadalecki and @jensenackles as Sam and Dean Winchester from Supernatural

I’m pretty new to doing fanart, so I hope you guys will like it

Carry on 💚 ____________________ Toute utilisation ou reproduction est formellement interdite. Any use or reproduction is strictly forbidden.

[belaqueamaspn]

⭐️ About me: Account made to talk about Supernatural and post my poems.

🇧🇷 Native language: Portuguese!

🎱 As you may know, I love Supernatural, I will love talking about it! ;)

#Supernatural #Supernaturalfandom #Aboutmyself #Meapresentando #Poemas #Brasil

⭐️ Sobre mim: Conta feita para falar sobre Supernatural e postar meus poemas.

🇧🇷 Língua nativa: Português!

🎱 As you may know, I love Supernatural, I will love talking about it! ;)

[burntsecrets]

Dodging Cupid's Arrows

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2630

Prompt: Cupid's Got A Shotgun by Carrie Underwoods

Summary: An encounter with Cupid forces you to face your feelings for the Winchester Brothers.

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, unresolved romantic tension, fear of emotional vulnerability, self-doubt, internal conflict, unrequited love, intense emotional introspection, defensive behavior, discussion of emotional scars, mentions of past relationship trauma, slow burn, protective behavior, Cupid intervention, romantic frustration.

The bar’s dim, sputtering light casts a weak glow overhead, barely illuminating the worn wooden tables and the scuffed floor beneath your boots. Shadows cling to the walls like old memories, and you sink deeper into your chair, swirling the last of your whiskey in the glass before taking a slow sip. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat, spreading a fleeting warmth through your chest, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging in your head. It never does.

It’s the same pattern every time, isn’t it? Men with honeyed words slip into your life, leaving behind promises as thin as smoke, promises they never intend to fulfill. Before you know it, you're left standing in the wreckage of something that wasn’t even real, just a mirage of what could have been. All those "almosts" stack up like bricks, weighing heavy on your heart, and even though you’ve never had a real relationship, it feels like you've been left shattered more times than you can count.

The scars are there, even if no one else can see them. They linger in every moment a guy brushes you off, in the hollow smile you force when you know it's not real. You feel the sting in every glance that sizes you up like you’re a prize to be won rather than a person to know. So you’ve built your walls, layering them high and thick until nothing, no one, can break through. Not even him.

Or them.

Sam and Dean Winchester—they didn’t just walk into your life. No, they crashed into it, two forces of nature that bulldozed right through your carefully constructed defenses, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in a way you swore you’d never be again. At first, you tried to play it cool, act like they were just hunters, comrades in arms. But the months blurred together, and now you can’t even tell how long it’s been. And that scares you because losing track means losing control and losing control means letting them in.

And letting them in? That’s not an option.

Even now, you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their presence lingering in the air like a storm cloud ready to break. Sam’s by the pool table, his lean, tall frame moving with practiced ease as he lines up shot after shot. There’s a calm to him, but it’s the kind that keeps you on edge, like he could switch in an instant and suddenly be dangerous. Then there’s Dean, perched at the bar with a half-empty beer in hand, his eyes flicking between the room and you, constantly scanning for threats, always watching. 

Always watching you.

They’re protective. It should comfort you, but it drives you insane. Because the truth is, no matter how many monsters they face, no matter how many battles they fight, they can’t protect you from what matters most. They can’t protect you from yourself.

You think back to the last hunt, to the ridiculousness of it all—a damn Cupid, of all things. The little winged freak zeroed in on you from the moment you stepped into that abandoned church, those bright, beady eyes tracking you with unnerving precision. He wasn’t cute, not like the Valentine's Day cards would have you believe. No, this thing was more like a demented cherub, armed with arrows dipped in cosmic mischief, and he had you in his crosshairs. You could feel it in the air—the tug, the weight, as though Cupid himself was hell-bent on forcing you to confront feelings you’d buried so deep even you were beginning to forget they existed. Each arrow he loosed sent your heart racing, as if you could sense the emotional mess he was trying to weave. But you dodged them all, every last one, determined not to let some glorified matchmaker unravel everything you’d worked so hard to lock away.

You're not stupid. You know precisely what the little bastard was aiming for. It’s not like you’ve been blind to the way Sam’s gaze lingers on you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, soft and curious, like he’s trying to piece you together. Or the way Dean’s jaw tightens, a flicker of possessiveness in his green eyes, whenever some random guy at a bar edges too close, his whole demeanor shifting to silent warning. You’ve been dodging these unspoken glances for months now, sidestepping their care, their questions, like someone dancing around a minefield. Because you know that once you stop moving, it’ll all explode in your face.

And you’ve had enough explosions in your life.

But there’s only so much running you can do before the inevitable catches up.

“Hey.”

Dean’s gravelly voice slices through the whirlwind of your thoughts, rough but steady, anchoring you as he slides into the seat beside you. His presence is a weight that presses into the air, solid, almost suffocating in its certainty. The chair creaks beneath him, but all you hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, thundering in your chest.

“Are you alright?” He’s asking, but it’s more than that. It’s the question beneath the question, the one you’ve been dodging for longer than you can remember.

Your heart skips a beat—a betraying thud that echoes in the hollowness you’ve tried to keep locked down. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but he makes it impossible to pretend. You glance at him, careful to keep your face neutral, masking the fluttering in your chest with a look you’ve perfected over years of pretending. It’s almost second nature by now—the practiced nonchalance. But with Dean, it’s always been different.

There’s something in the way his green eyes bore into yours, piercing through the walls you’ve built brick by brick, layer by layer. It’s as though he sees right past your armor, straight into that small, fragile part of you that still aches for something real. Something more. But you can’t let him see that. You won’t. So you shove it down, hard, pushing that flicker of vulnerability back into the shadows as you lean casually into your chair. Your body language distant, closed off.

“Yeah,” you shrug, the lie slipping from your lips as easily as breathing. “Just tired. Long day.”

Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just watches you with that familiar intensity, and you know—you know—he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. He’s seen you fight, seen you bleed, seen you crawl out of the wreckage of hunts that should’ve killed you. He’s seen you at your worst, and somehow, he still sticks around. He and Sam both do, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’ve gotten too close, wedged themselves into your life in ways that make it impossible for you to keep pretending.

Pretending that you don’t care.

Pretending that the way Dean looks at you doesn’t unravel something deep inside.

From across the room, you feel Sam’s eyes on you. His quiet gaze tracks the shift in the atmosphere as he casually leans his pool cue against the table and makes his way over, long strides slow but purposeful. His expression is calm and unreadable, but you see the concern in the tightness of his jaw and the subtle way his brow furrows as he joins Dean at your side.

“You’ve been quiet,” Sam says softly, folding his arms across his broad chest. There’s no judgment in his tone, just that frustrating gentleness, the kind that makes you feel seen when you’d rather stay hidden. “Is it… about earlier? With Cupid?”

The mention of Cupid sends a sharp twist through your stomach. You swallow, forcing down the surge of emotions that threatens to rise, burying it beneath layers of practiced indifference. You won’t let some stupid angel with a bow and arrow undo everything you’ve worked so hard to keep locked away. You won’t.

“I’m fine,” you snap, the words slipping out too fast, too harsh. The crack in your voice betrays you. “That was nothing. Just another hunt.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the weight of Sam’s stare, too, both of them pinning you with that all-too-familiar look. The one that says they’re not buying your crap, the one that makes your pulse quicken, and your chest tighten. You hate that look because it leaves you nowhere to hide.

“Bullshit.” Dean’s voice is low, steady, cutting through the silence with calm certainty. He takes a long sip from his beer, but his eyes never leave yours, and it feels like he’s peeling back every layer you’ve carefully put up to protect yourself. “You’ve been dodging that thing like it was the plague, and don’t think we didn’t notice.”

You clench your hands into fists in your lap, frustration bubbling up like a rising tide. “Look,” you say, your voice sharp, defensive. “I don’t need some magical arrow telling me how I’m supposed to feel. I’m fine the way I am.”

Sam shifts beside Dean, his arms still crossed, but you see the way the muscle in his jaw tenses, the way his hazel eyes soften as they search yours. “It’s not about what you’re supposed to feel,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s about what you do feel.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, it’s all too much. The weight of their concern, the intensity of their gaze, the truth that they’re trying to force you to admit—it presses down on you until you can’t breathe. You stand up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as you push it back. The sound is harsh, jarring in the quiet of the bar, but you barely notice.

“I don’t feel anything, okay?” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Not for you, not for him, not for anyone. And I won’t let some winged freak tell me otherwise.”

The tension in the air thickens, suffocating, hanging between the three of you like a storm cloud ready to break. Dean stands up slowly, his movements deliberate, his face carefully neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something raw, something that cuts deeper than you want to admit. Hurt, maybe. Disappointment. You can’t think about it. You won’t.

“Y’know,” Dean says quietly, taking a step toward you, his voice low and steady, “you keep saying that, but you don’t believe it. Not really.” He’s close now, too close, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves, and it makes your pulse spike. “You’re just scared.”

Your heart slams against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. Fear coils tightly around your chest, but not the fear of them. No, it’s the fear of what they’re asking you to do. To let them in. To trust them. To stop running.

And running is all you know how to do.

“I’m not scared,” you whisper, but the words feel weak and empty, even to you.

Dean’s lips twitch into a small, humorless smile, his eyes softening just a fraction as he watches you. “Yeah, you are,” he says, his voice gentler now but no less intense. “And that’s okay. But maybe it’s time you stopped running from it.”

Sam steps closer, his presence steady and calm, grounding you in a way that you don’t want to admit you need. His voice is soft, full of quiet understanding, but there’s an unshakable strength beneath it. “You don’t have to do this alone, y’know,” he says. “We’re here. We always have been.”

The words sink into you, settling deep into the cracks of your carefully guarded heart, and something inside you shifts. Just a little. It’s terrifying, the idea of trusting them, of letting yourself hope, but there’s also something achingly beautiful about it. About the possibility that maybe, for once, you don’t have to be the one to leave first. That maybe, you don’t have to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.

But still, the fear—the bone-deep, soul-crushing fear of opening up, of letting someone in only to be left behind again—is overwhelming and paralyzing.

“I can’t,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper now, trembling under the weight of the truth you’re too afraid to admit. “I can’t risk it.”

Dean’s hand reaches out slowly, cautiously, like he knows one wrong move could send you running. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers, calloused from years of hunting, gently find yours, and instead of just holding your wrist, he entwines his fingers with yours, locking them together with a quiet but unspoken promise. The touch is soft yet firm, his thumb grazing the back of your hand in slow, soothing strokes, as if he’s trying to reassure you with every heartbeat. The warmth of his skin against yours sends a shiver up your spine, igniting something deep inside you, something you’ve kept buried for so long you almost forgot it was there.

You feel the weight of his presence settle over you like a blanket, heavy with meaning, but there’s nothing suffocating about it. It’s grounding, steady—safe. And yet, that safety terrifies you because it’s the kind you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve. But Dean, he isn’t giving you a choice. Not this time.

His other hand comes up slowly, his movements deliberate and gentle, as if he’s afraid you might bolt at any second. His palm cups your cheek, warm and rough, but his touch is tender, almost reverent. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. The simple motion cracks something inside you, and for a moment, it feels like the walls you’ve built so carefully over the years are crumbling under the weight of his touch.

"Maybe you’re not the only one taking a risk here," Dean murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper. His words hang between you, heavy and raw, filled with all the things he’s never said but has always felt. His eyes search yours, and in them, you see it—the longing, the fear, the desperate hope that you’ll stay, that you’ll finally let them in. That you’ll choose them.

You feel your breath catch in your throat as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, anchoring you to the moment. His thumb continues its slow, tender sweep across your cheek, and the tenderness in his gaze is enough to break your heart. This man, this infuriating, stubborn, protective man, who has fought demons and monsters and everything in between, is standing here with his heart wide open, asking you to stop running. Asking you to be with him and his brother in a way that terrifies you more than any hunt ever could.

For the first time, you feel the weight of what’s at stake—not just for you, but for him, for Sam. This isn’t just about you being afraid of getting hurt. It’s about them too, about the risk they’re taking by loving you, by wanting you to be a part of their lives. And it hits you with such force that you almost can’t breathe. They aren’t asking for your walls to come down—they’re asking to stand beside them. To hold you through the fear, through the pain, through whatever comes next.

You stare up at Dean, his hand still cradling your face like you’re something precious, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder—really wonder—if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one with something to lose.

Because you can feel it now—the risk they’re taking, the way they’re holding their breath, waiting for your answer, waiting for you to finally say yes. And in that moment, you realize that they’ve already decided. They’ve already chosen you.

It’s your turn to choose them.

taglist // @spnfanficpond @spnfans

[conjcosby]

Stardate: 202307.14 ▫ 1 year after Dean's death, Sam is hunting with Eileen Leahy and ends up caught in a monster conspiracy led by the oldest monster ever. 😈 @jaredpadalecki @shoshannah7 @cw_supernatural #jaredpadalecki #samwinchester #shoshannahstern #eileenleahy #samandeileen #supernatural #spn #supernaturalseason16 #spnseason16 #supernaturaluniverse #spnuniverse #supernaturalfan #spnfan #supernaturalfans #spnfans #supernaturalfandom #spnfandom #supernaturalfanart #spnfanart #supernaturalfanfiction #spnfanfiction #supernaturalfamily #spnfamily #fanart #fanfiction #fanartfriday #fanfictionfriday #fanartfridays #fanfictionfridays

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[filmblog89]

The Winchesters is going to be an awesome series. So excited #winchester #supernatural #spn #deanwinchester #jensenackles #spnfamily #samwinchester #jaredpadalecki #castiel #j #mishacollins #dean #spnfandom #supernaturalfamily #destiel #jensen #m #sam #winchesterbrothers #supernaturalfandom #supernaturaledits #ackles #spnedit #winchesters #supernaturalfans #hunting #supernaturaledit #hampshire #crowley https://www.instagram.com/p/CiM-uBaDRiD/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[eekonis]

what they deserved

[j2lovemoose]