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burntsecrets · 1 month ago

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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

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jaredandgensgf · 1 year ago

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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.

#supernaturalfandom castiel kingofhell spn deanwinchester spnfans destiel jaredpadalecki spnfandom winchesterbrothers #supernaturalfandom #supernatural #spncreatorsdaily

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