#sam Winchester x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunnwila · 3 days ago

Text

dimples

high school best friend! sam winchester x f! hunter! reader

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summary: sam winchester transferred to your high school in your junior year. he lasted all of five months there but in that time, you grew close enough for sleepovers. you reunite on the hunt years later... closer to his brother than he likes honestly. it's shocking that you can hunt for all of two minutes before he sees you take down a vamp.

warnings: some very mild angst, some fluff. jealous sammy and dimpled sammy. nerdy sammy. LOTS of back story i got carried away, sorry. some shit head big brother dean too. brief j*hn winchester mentions... idiots in love!

i love sam's dimples, what can i say.

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The first time you met Sam you were freshly seventeen in your junior year of high school. Sam was just a year below you, despite being seventeen himself (he was forced to stay back a year because of moving around so much. This severely irked him).

No one had the nerve to go up to the new kid, he was lanky and had a mean resting face that dared people to mess with him. You didn't have it either honestly, but luckily for you, you didn't need to because Sam had beat you to it.

"Is that Frankenstein?" he asked, pointing to the book in your hand. His locker was a couple across from yours, but the hallway was nearly empty. He shut his with a click before striding over to you with his head tilted in curiosity. You looked down to the book you had taken out, it was the assigned reading for your Honors Lit class, and you gripped it at the realization that he was talking to you.

"Uh. Yes," you stumbled over your words which made him quirk a half smile, his dimple peeking out at you. Suddenly the giant kid with a size too small shirt and shaggy brown hair seemed completely harmless. You smiled back and from that moment on you'd been inseparable.

Dean had teased Sam endlessly about his "girlfriend" when he would pick him up from school and see you lingering by his side on the stairs.

"Girl and friend, Dean. She's my friend who happens to also be a girl," he would correct annoyed as he slid into the passenger seat, inconspicuously looking back out the window at you.

"Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night," he retorted with a chuckle and a glint in his eye.

Sam and you would pour over books, endlessly dissecting plot structure and sharing character analysis. He would geek out about whatever he was learning in history while you carefully listened and drew little cartoons of him while he babbled.

(His face would light up when he saw these drawings of himself, or sometimes it would be a panel of cartoon-him and cartoon-you doing something silly. Every time, he'd insist you sign them before carefully putting it in-between the pages in his book).

He'd purposely annoy you with arguments like who the best classic author was (he said Salinger, you said Steinbeck) and why Dally in the Outsiders was the best Greaser (you were quite fond of Ponyboy).

Sometimes you'd read in silence together, the white noise and the sound of his breathing enveloped you and you'd sometimes (a lot of times) get distracted peeking over your page to study his face and the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated.

Practically attached at the hip, you two would walk down the halls together, laughing about whatever stupid thing you could think of to get a peek at his dimples.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't harboring the teensiest crush on him.

What wasn't to love? His smile was the cutest. He was a full head taller than you, and then some. He loved to read all of the same books you did, and he was ever the gentleman, kind and reassuring. And he was funny! Most of the time you were in stitches when he would crack the rare joke (apart from his little sarcastic comments).

The only problem was that you didn't know a thing about him. All you knew was that he moved around a lot and had a brother. There was never a mention of his mother or father. The one time he had mentioned John was brief, and it was that he was kind of a hard ass because he was a Marine. The subject was quickly dropped in favor of Napolean and Napoleonic code, something he started reading about when he got bored in Pre-Calc the week prior.

You'd never gone to his house, but he would often come to yours, first to study, then to watch movies, then for dinner. Eventually he was spending weekends at your house. Your mother thought the two of you were dating. You had to shush her anytime she thought to bring it up with a sly smile at dinner. Sam wasn't stupid, he knew, but politely continued to eat with a faint blush on his cheeks, pretending he hadn't heard.

It irked you that you two could share so much of your time with each other, but you still knew so little about him. He knew everything there was to know about you. You'd only learned the little things, his favorite color (orange, the burnt siena kind), his favorite book (The Catcher in the Rye), how he liked his eggs in the morning (over medium, not too runny, but enough that he could dip his toast in it), and his favorite band (Alice in Chains). You took what you could get, and you never let it show, but it disappointed you that he didn't trust you to tell you. You were so vulnerable with him, did he think that you wouldn't understand?

One Friday he didn't come to school. You texted him a quick where r u??? before going into your shared chemistry class. You didn't hear from him the whole day and didn't see him again until that Tuesday. Worried sick, you pushed him for answers, especially for the black eye he was sporting. He dodged your questions and gave halfhearted attempts to change the subject until eventually he shut you out. He moved out of town a day later with no explanation. He had sent a goodbye text, but that was the last you heard from him.

For the next few years, you thought about Sam. All you'd had left of him was his Radiohead CD and an arbitrary green t shirt. You'd texted and texted but got no response.

When you'd graduated top of your class, you wished he was there. When you'd had no prom date, you wished he was there. When you were applying to schools you wished he was there.

When your mom got killed by a rugaru in your second semester of your freshman year of college, you'd wished he was there.

And like any hunter worth their salt, you dropped everything and began hunting the thing that killed her.

For a while you were chasing your own tail in circles. You came across other small hunters, but it wasn't until you'd met Bobby that you were finally able to track the thing down. All those years of your mom insisting on kick boxing and Jiu Jitsu classes were starting to make sense.

She'd been a retired hunter and a close friend of Bobby's. He told you that your father had been killed by a shifter a month before you were born, leaving your mother in ruins. Instead of aiming for revenge, she swore it off to keep you safe.

Fat load of good that did you.

Rugaru dead, you found yourself spending a lot of time with Bobby. You didn't go back to school, but you did start carrying your own weight around the scrapyard and helping with the hunter information hub.

That's how you met John Winchester. And evidently Dean.

When you first met them, you couldn't believe it. Were these the infamous Marine father and annoying brother Sam hardly spoke about back then? You couldn't believe it. You obviously hadn't known before that Sam's family were hunters, but things began shifting into place in your mind when you put two and two together.

He'd clam up when the subject of college was brought up, all the weekends he'd spend at your house, avoiding questions from your mother about where his family was and if he'd told them he was staying over. All the ominous talk about not wanting to go into the family business. Your heart swelled at the thought of seeing him again, only to deflate when Bobby had to explain that Sam wasn't in the life anymore. It was then you realized that all the time Sam spent with you, was to escape.

Pieces of you were glad Sam got out. His reluctance to mention his dad then made sense. But what stood out in your mind most often was his fiery blush when you told him that with the way he talked himself out of trouble all the time, he'd make a decent lawyer

Even three years later, you still thought about him. You missed him.

So you got to know the parts of Sam he hadn't shown you before.

Dean took to you almost immediately. He remembered you from that beat-down-town years ago and enjoyed annoying you just as much as his brother once had. When you got on your feet again and started hunting, you'd tagged along with John and Dean, eager to get out. When John got sick of lugging you around, calling you dead weight (not without a sneer and a scoff of disbelief from you) he sent you and Dean to small-fry jobs.

A month or two in, Dean and you found a rhythm. Find the monster of the week, do your homework, scramble to kill the thing, celebrate with a few beers and a night at a dive.

You hardly brought up Sam. It was a touchy subject. From the tidbits you'd gathered on drunk sappy nights with Dean, Sam had left without looking back. He'd run off to college and was determined to leave this life and his brother behind. Dean hadn't spoken to him in years. You weren't sure if you should tell him that it didn't sound like Sam to leave with no contact, but then again, he had done the same thing to you. You'd only been friends for five short months; you had no idea who he could've grown up to be.

John brought him up when he needed to point out how much better Sam was at research then you were, or really anything you did-- Sam was better. The pride in his voice mixed with the disappointed look in his eye encouraged you to keep your mouth shut. Usually, you'd just sit there and fume, you hadn't known the man long enough to spit something back, sufficing with muttered fuck you-s under your breath. You hadn't wanted to upset Dean, you knew how highly he thought of his father and had decided it wasn't worth it.

Fire would rise in your chest when you saw the pained look on Dean's face anytime his dad talked about Sam. In the months you'd gotten to know him, you became fiercely protective (something that made Dean wildly conflicted, he was the big brother/mama bear... having someone else dote on him was foreign, but strangely not unwelcome).

Usually, when John started on a tangent, you just removed yourself and lugged Dean with you. He kept the shouting up as you two stalked off to the Impala, or the Motel, or wherever he wasn't. It was around those times where he would send you two off on your own.

That's how you'd found yourselves in the Impala on the way back from a hunt in Raleigh. It took a week and a half to find a haunted doll hiding in someone's attic, but you'd managed to salt and burn it without much damage. Two years of hunting with Dean put you at a comfortable ease during a hunt and the two of you pretty much knew the ins and outs of each other, both as hunters and as friends.

On the way out of North Carolina, Dean decided to call John, to check in and see how his hunt in California was going. Fourteen missed calls later, Dean was worried. Bobby hadn't heard from him, and John wasn't necessarily a friendly hunter, so none of Bobby's hunter friends had seen or heard anything either.

The car was silent while he figured out what to do in his head. His resolve never faltered, his gaze trained on the road ahead.

"I think I should get Sam," he said.

"What?" The idea of seeing Sam for the first time in over five years almost made your heart stop. But you didn't want to be selfish. it wasn't fair to bring him back because of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Our dad's missing, Sam deserves to know," he had replied, knuckles tightening on the wheel.

"Dean, are you sure we should even bring him back in?" As much as you missed Sam, you respected him more.

"Our Dad is missing," he said with a tone of finality that shut you up. You'd have plenty of time to argue with him later, it wasn't worth it right now.

"I'll drop you off at Bobby's," he added.

"What?" you repeated, starting the fight you'd planned for later. There was no way you were sitting this out, you'd told him as much, but he wouldn't have anything of it. This was something he felt he didn't need to drag you into. You didn't even like his dad anyways, he had said. Which was true but hearing him say it felt like a slap in the face, as if you weren't allowed to want to help Dean, someone who had become family.

The car ride was silent after your argument. You'd gotten out of the Impala without a word, lingering to see if he might say something. When nothing followed, you stood there like an idiot for another second before a simple "Goodluck" fell from your mouth and you shut the passenger door on him. You'd turned and trudged into the ranch ahead, too stubborn to actually give a proper goodbye.

For days you wanted to cry. You hadn't heard anything from him, Bobby mentioned he had called when he got Sam, but nothing else. When you got over yourself, you realized that in Dean's stupid protective head he probably thought he was looking after you. Whatever he thought had made his dad disappear, he didn't want you to get hurt. That's what Bobby had said. You tried to not let it sting whenever you thought about him thinking you weren't capable or a good enough hunter.

A week passed when you heard about Jess. Still nothing from Dean or Sam. You hadn't known he was in a relationship, neither did Dean, by the way he spoke about him--at least, he had never mentioned anything. A twinge of regret pierced through your heart, and embarrassingly enough, disappointment. That stupid high school crush never really went away. But you'd only sort of gotten to know him, briefly, you had no claim on him.

You didn't call Dean to check on them. You didn't want to press, you were sure Sam didn't need that right now.

Another week passed with nothing from them, and you quickly got sick of sitting around all day and decided to go back out and hunt. Overthinking your relationship with the both of them wasn't doing you any good. Bobby was worried for you, but you'd amassed quite the skill since your mother died, your fighting skills far passed anything Dean could muster, and your aim was getting better as time went on.

You took a car from the yard--something you'd been tinkering with for the time you'd spent there--and packed a bag. Then the gear. And after a nice roast dinner you'd made for Bobby and yourself, you hit the road, following a lead on a djinn down in Tennesse.

And just like that, you had spent a year hunting on your own. Not necessarily with the same efficiency that you achieved when you were hunting with Dean, but you handled your own well enough. Hunts took a little longer, but then again, you were finally on your own, no crutch to fall back on. It was relieving as much as it was lonely. You missed sharing breakfast or lunch or dinner with Dean at a diner, laughing when he stuffed his face.

And the money thing was kinda hard. Dean handled the fake credit cards. You'd learned how to hustle pool and so instead of committing credit card fraud, you used good old-fashioned misogyny to win a couple hundred bucks from loser guys at bars.

It was one of these nights that you found yourself at the edge of a pool table, hustling a group of guys that had a little more to drink then they probably should've.

Five of them crowded around the other side of the table, four cheering on the fifth who was currently aiming for a striped ball in the corner pocket. You'd beat two of them already, but somehow the others couldn't believe that you, a woman, could not beat them. Let alone have the smarts to hustle them out of their money. It must be beginner's luck they chortled amongst each other.

The laughing stopped when you beat the fourth guy. And like clockwork, the fifth stood up to play. You had to roll your eyes. Did they even consider the fact that you were hustling them? You couldn't tell if they were more upset that they were losing their money or that it was a woman they were losing to.

Either way, pride got in their way. Another win, and you had over half a grand in your hand. You had to laugh.

"Good game, hon. You almost had me!" you shook your head in amusement.

"You bitch," the fifth man snarled. Two other men saddled up behind him, giving menacing stares.

They weren't so amused, apparently.

"Freaky, huh? I mean, are you sure you guys weren't going easy on me?" you couldn't help yourself as you pocketed the cash. You hoped the kitchen was still open, maybe you could get some mozzarella sticks to celebrate your win.

"You think you're funny?" One guy said.

"Oh no! A little girl like me? Funny? Can't be," you grinned. A small audience was forming as people began to take notice of the hostility radiating off of the men. You knew when to quit it, so you smiled extra sweet at them, an evil glint in your eye, before bending down to pick up your bag from the ground.

It was at this precise moment that a few things happened at once. First, the fifth guy (the ringleader if you will) stepped forward, no doubt, with the intent to scare you. You had anticipated this and popped up, ready to play dirty and kick his knees in, when another man from the audience stepped in with a deep "Hey!" You got a brief flash of leather, and, unable to stop what had already been put in motion, side swiped the fuck out of the man stepping up to your defense.

"Shit!" he cursed as he went down. Shocked and apologetic, you turned to help him up, barely catching a glimpse of your victim, when a heavy hand came crashing down on your shoulder and pulled you away roughly. Assuming it was one of the other pissed off guys, you turned and swung in the general direction of what you assumed to be your attacker's head.

A familiar "oof" came when you made contact with a cheekbone. Immediately your brows furrowed, your hand slackened and your heart dropped. It couldn't be.

Your mouth was too slow on the uptake and Dean beat you to it. Hauling himself up from the floor where you'd swiped him down and called your name in disbelief. Your eyes widened when you realized.

Your head whipped around to see Sam standing behind you holding his cheek, bewildered.

"Holy shit!" you looked between Dean and Sam, the angry men stood forgotten on the sidelines of the whole ordeal, unsure of what to do. You paid no mind as you looked back to Sam again, not convinced this wasn't a dream.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked as he pulled you in for a hug. You embraced him and shoved your face in his leather jacket.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you quipped, slapping his shoulder.

"Getting attacked by you, even though I was about to defend your ass!"

"My ass doesn't need any defending, thank you," you smiled.

"Right. You had it handled," he rolled his eyes. You slapped his shoulder again.

"Yeah, I did. I'm a way better fighter than you," you shrugged.

"You are not."

"Bobby thinks so."

"What?" That got him. Before you could unleash your witty reply, Sam cleared his throat behind you, turning both yours and Dean's attention to him. He wouldn't look at you at first, just made big expectant eyes at Dean.

"What?" he said, clueless. Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to you with a soft smile on his face.

"Hi," he said, all sheepish.

"Hi!" You beamed and immediately pulled him in for a hug. He was at least three inches taller than the last time you'd hugged him. He smelled the same, though. Just the feeling of his heart beating against your cheek pulled you back to seventeen, pining after him and laughing in the echoing hallways.

"What are you-"

"Why are y-" you both cut each other off with an awkward chuckle as you pulled away.

"Sorry, you go," you smiled.

"No, no. You first," he gestured with his hand, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, dimples peeking out in amazement.

"Uh, before you two start, can we sit? I need a beer," Dean chimed in with a grimace. You rolled your eyes, Sam mirroring your expression before turning to the nearest booth.

When you guys settled, Sam across from you and Dean on your right, you ask your question again, "Why are you guys here?"

"Hunt, duh," Dean replied, taking a sip from his beer. You saw Sam's eyes widen in annoyance in Dean's direction.

"Oh. Right. Sammy, she's a hunter now," he explained. Your head spun back to face Sam.

"Wait, you didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know?" he replied, half joking, half butthurt at being left out.

"Well, I assumed your brother told you," you shrugged, looking to your right and fixing Dean with a look.

"Sorry, but he would've gotten all worried and distracted. You know how he is," he busied himself with a ring on his finger, avoiding eye contact.

"You're an idiot," you said before turning back to Sam with a smile.

"So you're a hunter..." he trailed off.

"Yeah, have been for about... four and a half years now?" you sighed.

"Wow. And that's how you know my brother," he said, eyeing Dean.

"Yeah. Went hunting with him and John a few times. Then with Dean for like, what? Six months?" you turned to ask.

"Eight," he replied.

"Eight months I guess," you said turning back to Sam. He had an unreadable look on his face. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it looked like jealousy, but that couldn't be. He'd tensed up when you brought up John too, and by the clear lack of him around, you understood that they still hadn't found him. You didn't push the subject.

Sam's hands rested on the table in front of you, his fingers woven together and fidgeting. He didn't say anything for a while, just looked at you like you could disappear any moment. He seemed like he wanted to say something but refrained. Maybe for Dean's sake, maybe for his own. You wished he'd just say it.

After a moment he smiled, "Man, I can't believe it's you. I thought for sure you'd be a professor or something," he shook his head.

"A professor? Why?"

"Well, I was gonna say doctor, but you hated chemistry so much back then..." he trailed off. You laughed.

"Yeah, you're right," you wanted to reach out and touch his hand just to feel him. You still didn't believe he was right there in front of you, after all the years of wishing you could see him, hear his voice.

Dean spoke up then, "We're here about some disappearances."

"Me too. It's a vamp nest," you said without turning your head. You couldn't stop staring at Sam. He was looking down at his hands, so you drank him in without freaking him out. His hair had gotten longer; he kept his bangs though. The urge to trace the moles on his face made your fingers twitch and you had to squeeze them to remind yourself of where you were. Of who you were to him. His girlfriend had only died just last year.

"You're quick," Dean replied, "when'd you get here?"

"Mmmm, last Friday?"

"Huh," Sam chimed in, studying your face. Though he tried to mask his surprise at your efficiency in finding the monster in a short few days, his mouth gave it away, twitching in disbelief.

"Right, well, y'know where it is?" Dean sipped the last of his beer and motioned for another.

"Oh yeah, couple buildings down from here, was gonna head over after I gambled for my lunch money for tomorrow," you grinned. Sam laughed at this.

"Alright lemme finish this and let's go," Dean motioned.

"Are you hijacking my hunt?"

"You don't want help?" he tutted.

"Yeah, yeah," you swatted him away as he poked your arm. Sam watched this interaction closely, his jaw clenched. You only caught a glimpse of it before he steeled himself and his face went back to neutral.

Dean finished his beer in two big gulps and you and Sam followed him out and to your car.

"You fixed this thing up?" Dean gestured to your mustang.

"Mhmm, this is Cherry," you puffed up your chest in pride as the boys looked onto your cherry red muscle car.

"Creative," Sam quipped with a teasing smile. He peeked into the car, eager to see what you had in there. He wanted to take in as much about your new life as possible. He felt like he missed so much.

You popped your trunk, grabbing a machete and a book from your duffle.

"Hey, you still like this book?" you called out to Sam whose head was almost fully in your passenger side window. He shot himself up so fast, you were surprised he didn't hit his head. Sheepishly, he walked around to you where you held out your beaten copy of Frankenstein that the two of you had gushed over all those years ago. A laugh bubbled out of him, and you warmed at the sound.

"You still have this?" he reached out to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"Well, yeah. It's in your hand, isn't it?"

"Still a smartass then," he shook his head with a fond smile.

"Says you," you nudged his shoulder. Dean had wandered off to the Impala to grab their gear, so it was just the two of you alone. "You can have it," you said pushing the book closer to his chest. More fluttering in your stomach at the contact with his warm hands.

"No," he tried to argue but you shushed him.

"Seriously. I've read it so many times, I can recite whole pages, word for word." He laughed again at this, and you beamed.

"Fine. But I'm giving it back when I'm done."

"Sure, you are."

"I missed you," he said after a moment of silence. You looked up at him.

"I missed you too."

"I wanted to call so many times," he said.

"That's okay," you looked down and kicked at a pebble with the toe of your boot.

Both of you weren't sure what to say next. The Impala started with a roar in the distance, filling the silence between you two.

"I'm sorry about Jessica," you whispered. You didn't want to bring her up. You didn't know how Sam was doing; you hadn't ever talked about anything so vulnerable regarding his life with him before, but you needed him to know.

Before he could reply, Dean rolled up, window down and head sticking out his driver's side window.

"Alright, let's dust these fuckers, you comin'?"

"Right, yeah" you said, swinging the machete in your hand. Sam cleared his throat, eyeing your swinging before rounding the car and entering the passenger side. You sidled up to the trunk, tossing the weapon in with the others and swung around to the back, sat comfortably behind the brothers.

"How long you been huntin' again? Last I heard from Bobby you were hangin' around there," Dean asked as he sped off.

"Eh, year or so? I go back to Bobby's every coupla months though," you cracked your knuckles in the silence. Sam's head turned ever so slightly in your direction, you wouldn't have caught the motion if you weren't staring. He didn't say anything for the whole ride, but Dean did a whole lot of talking for the both of them, asking how you've been, commenting on the new machete, but never bringing up John.

When you got there, Dean assigned roles. You took the back entrance; he and Sam would take the front. You had a mean swing, and weren't worried, but Sam's eyebrows furrowed when Dean announced that you would be alone. He looked about to speak up, but you interrupted before he could say anything.

"I'm good. There's only like three of them in there, last I checked. I could do this alone if I wanted," you couldn't help the boast. Dean laughed and clapped his brother on the back.

"She ain't a little girl anymore," he strutted off (because yes Dean Winchester struts). Sam followed but not without a look of reluctance to you, "Be careful," he urged.

"I always am," you smiled before jogging to the back. You peered through the windows but saw nothing but shadows. It was pitch black out and there were no lights on inside. The back door opened without any force and you made your way inside, eyes scanning what looked to be the kitchen. You heard muffled footsteps to your right, but turned to see it was just Sam.

"Anything?"

"No, there's gotta be a basement," you replied. The two of you began searching for a door until you heard a grunt come from the room next to yours. There were a few more and what sounded like a punch landing. You and Sam ran to aid Dean in whatever he was dealing with when another vamp descended on you. You swung your machete around and nailed it in the arm. It hissed and swung its other arm at you, grabbing your shoulder.

In the mess of fighting, you caught a brief glance at Sam fighting his own vamp, it getting dangerously close to his neck at points.

You ripped from the vamp's grasp and kicked it down, knocking the wind out of it before swinging your machete around and slicing its head clean off. When you turned to see how the boys were doing, you were met with less success than yourself. Dean had gotten his weapon wrestled from him and thrown to the side.

You charged up to the vamp attacking him from behind and swung, but he moved at the last second and you cut through the air, nearly missing Dean's nose. His eyes widened before turning his attention back to the vampire, turning its attention on you, pissed.

Dean grabbed for his machete on the ground and charged, nicking its shoulder. You turned back to Sam who was far too preoccupied with watching your back that he was losing his battle. His arm was bleeding as he tried to fight off with his other good arm. As you made your way to help, the vamp kicked him across the floor, Sam slammed his head on the cabinets in the fall, and you winced. You turned back to Dean, who had his vamp cornered and was talking smack (because he always has to use that smart mouth). Seeing he was perfectly fine; you turned your attention back to your vampire.

Pissed, you took one swing to the unassuming man and his head thudded to the ground, rolling as you rushed over to Sam.

"Jesus," you said as you helped him up. He groaned. "Why the hell were you watching me?" you remarked, annoyed.

"I wasn't!" he defended, propped up against the cabinets behind him. Footsteps echoed behind you.

"Sammy what the hell!" Dean said behind you.

"He didn't bite you, did he?" you asked, brows furrowed and eyes scanning his body. You looked closer at the wound on his arm, and he hissed.

"No."

"No need to be pissy about it, c'mere," you hoisted yourself up and held out a hand for him to take. He grabbed it and used the leverage to pull himself up as well, not meeting your eyes.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," you scolded.

"Yeah, well I didn't," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"I dunno why you were so worried about me. I told you; I was fine. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I gathered that," he replied with a huff as he walked through the back door.

"That was it right?" you turned to Dean who had been silent for the time being.

"Yeah, those assholes came from the basement. I checked after I wasted the other vamp."

"Wasted?" you teased.

"Shut up," he rolled his eyes with a smile. You turned your attention ahead of you again and saw that Sam was much further ahead than before, so you jogged to keep up with him.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he grumbled.

"You have a huge gash on your arm, and you hit your head like a motherfucker," you deadpanned. Normally, this would crack at least a small smile from Sam, but he said nothing keeping his eyes trained ahead.

"Listen, I don't understand why you're upset with me," you tried again.

"I'm not upset with you," he reluctantly responded after a moment.

"Then what's up?" More silence. You saw him chewing on his cheek, contemplating what to say next. "C'mon, you're my best friend," you nudged his bad arm, and he winced. "Shit, sorry."

He turned to you with a look in his eye, scanning over your face before speaking, "I wasn't expecting you to be so close with Dean."

You almost laughed, but for Sam's sake you reeled it in. A smile creeps up on you, and you watch his face for a second before replying, "Are you jealous, Winchester?"

He shook his head in disbelief and a small laugh fell from his lips. You smiled, "I missed that laugh." Your cheeks flushed at the moment of vulnerability, and you hesitated to meet his gaze. He dipped his head, so you had no choice but to look up at the puppy dog look he was giving you as the two of you walked right up to the side of the Impala.

You both stopped, saying nothing. You weren't sure what to say. Sam didn't have anything to be jealous of. Dean was your family, sure, but Sam was this big, never ending, sense of warmth. You held on to that stupid crush for years. How could you explain that to him?

You looked at him and studied his face. His lips were pursed slightly and his eyes darted back and forth over your face. You wished so badly to reach out and touch him but refrained, reminding yourself for the umpteenth time that it wasn't your place. Sam still said nothing.

Dean finally reached the two of you, clearing his throat with raised eyebrows. Some sight the two of you must've been, Sam bloody and beaten, and you sheepish and wide eyed, turning from each other to look at Dean.

"Don't you two look cute," he remarked with a smirk, making Sam choke in surprise, his neck stiff with embarrassment. Your cheeks went red, and you squinted at Dean as if you could inflict physical pain through a look. He looked smug as he glanced between the two of you and the both of you took a step away from each other at the implication.

"I need a cigarette," you both said at the same time. Then, "You smoke?"

𖤐

not really proofread... sorry !

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g8taloadofdisguy · 1 day ago

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who is this chopped temu version of my mans

#supernatural #spnfandom #spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #jared padalecki #jensen ackles #sammy #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader

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wendichester · 2 days ago

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⊹ ࣪ ˖ bait²,

summary. sam lost his soul and you finally had enough.

pairing. soulless!sam winchester x reader genre. angsty

wordcount. 708

notes / warnings. trauma aftermath, PTSD-ish vibes, guilt, references to past injuries.

ᯓ★ read part 1

You don’t expect him to knock.

But he does. Two soft raps, like he’s afraid the sound might break you.

You open the door because you’re tired of running from ghosts. And because, even now, he’s still wearing the same face.

Sam stands there like a shadow. His eyes are red-rimmed, his shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for a hit. You’ve never seen him this small. Not even when he died. Not even when he came back wrong.

“Hey,” he says.

You don’t answer.

He looks down, sucks in a breath like it hurts. “Can I come in?”

You hesitate, then step back. Not because you want him here—but because you need answers. And closure. And maybe some kind of justice, even if it’s just watching him squirm.

He walks in like the floor might disappear beneath him. You stay by the window, arms crossed, pretending it doesn’t shake you to see him again.

Pretending you’re not waiting for him to say something.

It doesn’t take long.

“I remember everything.”

You nod once, slow. “Good.”

“I shouldn’t have—” His voice cracks. He tries again. “I shouldn’t have done what I did to you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

He looks at you, and it’s different now. His eyes aren’t cold anymore. They’re alive. Haunted. Full of too much. Like he’s drowning in it.

“I didn’t feel anything back then,” he says, stepping closer. “I thought I understood what that meant. I didn’t.”

“Yeah?” you bite out. “What does it mean now?”

His throat works, jaw clenched like he’s holding back a scream. “It means I hurt you and didn’t care. And now I can’t stop caring.”

You flinch.

“Do you know what it’s like?” he asks, voice rising. “To look at your own memories and want to claw your own skin off? To watch yourself leave someone bleeding, knowing you loved them once—and did nothing?”

“Yeah, Sam,” you say. “I do. Because I lived it.”

He nods, eyes shining, but the tears don’t fall. Not yet.

“I used you,” he says. “I used you like you were a tool. You almost died because I couldn’t feel. Because I made a call like I was a—like I was a computer running a fucking simulation.”

You stare at him. “You’re not saying anything I don’t already know.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m saying it because I need to hear it.”

Silence swells between you, heavy and raw.

He looks away. “I don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“Good,” you say, and it lands like a slap.

He flinches. Deserves it.

You swallow hard. “You left me in that clearing to die, Sam. You didn’t even hesitate. You said I was the best option. Like I was a pawn.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did. You meant every word. You just didn’t care then.”

He nods again. Looks like he’s barely holding it together.

And for a second, you almost want to close the space between you. Reach out. Touch him. But your fingers remember the blood. Your ribs remember the ache. Your heart remembers too much.

“I can’t just forget what you did,” you whisper. “I don’t know if I should.”

He takes a shaky breath. “I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You study him. He looks older. Not just tired—wrecked. Like he’s been clawing through every bad memory trying to erase what he can’t change.

“I loved you,” you say. The words come out cracked, fragile.

His eyes finally spill over. Quiet, trembling tears that streak down his face like penance.

“I still do,” he chokes. “God, I still do. But I don’t know how to deserve you again.”

You close your eyes.

That’s the worst part.

Because some traitorous part of you still loves him too. And it hates you for it.

You open your eyes. Look at him. Really look.

And you say, “I don’t know if you can.”

He nods, accepting it. No protest. No begging. Just that hollowed-out pain that sits in his chest like a confession.

“I’ll go,” he says.

And you let him.

Because you don’t owe him anything.

Not now.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

But after the door clicks shut, you lean your head against the wall and cry.

Because it still hurts.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester angst #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester fic #supernatural #spn #.docx

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stargazedwinchester · 4 days ago

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ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `tarot cards and crystal balls, sam winchester ༘♡

summary: you visit a 'natural born' psychic reader. is what she saying the truth? word count: 1,011 pairing: sam winchester x reader

⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧

You and Sam made a brief pit stop at some out-of-the-way town, initially stopping for a quick bite to eat. That’s when you both noticed a tent, covered in fairy lights and wind chimes tinkling against each other in the mid-America heat.

There’s a hand-painted sign perched on a bench outside of the tent, reading “Clairvoyant Readings - Natural-Born Teller” in a cursive gold script. Your eyes dart to Sam.

“C’mon, Sammy,” you beg. He rolls his eyes playfully. You tug at his sleeve, making him chuckle. “Alright, don’t say I never take you anywhere nice.” He teases, and the pair of you make your way over to the tent.

He lifts the entrance open for you, allowing you to walk inside. A woman, maybe in her early forties, curly black hair and a lovely patterned gown greets you as she shuffles her cards.

The room smells faintly of incense and sage. Candlelight flickers and casts shadows on the crystals lined up on a table behind her, casting beautiful reflections.

“Welcome! Come on in,” she chirps, getting up from her chair and waltzing over to you.

Her smile widens as her gaze goes from you—to Sam. “Oooh,” she says, her eyes sparkling. “I love it when couples visit me.”

“Oh—we’re not—” You stop her, Sam chuckling awkwardly behind you. You turn your head and notice him scratching the back of his head, a shy smirk appearing.

She laughs gently, like she’s heard it many times before. “I see.” She says with a wink, guiding you toward the table. “But hearts don’t lie, even when mouths do.”

You shoot Sam another quick look, and suddenly he finds a spot on the wall very interesting.

She flicks through her cards before laying them face down beside her. She opens up her hand to take yours, before tracing her finger across the lines on your palm. Her brows furrow slightly, sitting in complete silence.

She shifts, and you look at her for something—anything. She sighs lightly. “There’s a deep connection here. A longing for something.”

Your lips part, but no words come out. You realise she isn’t looking at you—her eyes are distant. “There’s someone close to you,” her eyes look up, “very close. Strong and level headed. Burdened by the things he doesn’t say.” Her eyes flick back to yours. She smiles warmly, reaching for her cards.

She shuffles them, cards flicking against each other but somehow staying together.

One falls out.

Sam’s jaw is tight, his brows drawn just slightly, like he’s bracing for something. His eyes meet the psychic’s for a second and then lowers his gaze.

You can feel your pulse in your ears.

She hums quietly to herself, as if she can’t already feel the tension fill the tent.

“Three of Swords. Past wounds and slash or lingering sorrow. Someone has unspoken feelings.”

You eye Sam, who’s watching intently. He doesn’t want you to see how intrigued he actually is, because in his eyes, all this is is made up.

She shuffles again. Another card slips away from the others.

“Two of Swords.” She hums, pointing to the design on the front of the card.

“Major indecision and inner conflict. Someone is too afraid to speak their mind. To tell you something they’ve been dying to say.”

She shuffles once more, and this card makes your heart skip a beat.

The Lovers.

The psychic laughs almost accidentally, like she knows something you don’t. She slides the card over to you, and you glare at it like it’s supposed to be blatantly obvious.

“I think you know what this one means.” She glances at you, her eyes wide and knowing. She doesn’t even shift toward Sam, because she knows. You look over at him, and he’s unreadable. He’s too still. Too quiet.

You sit in a comfortable silence for a moment before she collects the cards and moves them to the table behind her. “That’s all I have for today.”

You shift out of the chair, paying her promptly before leaving the tent. Sam steps out behind you a second later, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

You walk in silence for a few moments, your lips parting as if you’re needing to say something, but the words are stuck in your throat. Sam clears his.

“So… are we just going to pretend that didn’t happen?”

He exhales. “I was kinda hoping you would.”

You glance up at him, and he avoids eye contact.

“She was right, wasn’t she?”

You stop in your tracks, causing him to turn around. He stands before you, back hunched and rocking on the balls of his feet. “Maybe.”

You scrunch your eyebrows, squinting slightly in the sunlight.

“Sammy…”

“Yeah.” He says, no hesitation. “She was.”

The world goes quiet for a beat, just the wind and the chatter of the people beside you. He looks over at you, his voice now low and sincere. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to screw anything up. I thought nothing would come of it.”

Your chest feels tight, but in a good way.

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?”

He laughs. Full smile and all. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”

The pair of you don’t move. He glances at the ground. “Y’know, I didn’t think you’d see me like that.”

“You should’ve just told me.” You say, and Sam stares at you. He gives a small nod, like he’s filing this moment away carefully, as if it matters. And it does.

He takes his hand out of his pocket, and your fingers brush lightly with his. He looks down, then up at you again, softer this time.

“C’mon, we better get back before Dean starts calling Bobby for backup.”

You laugh, hoping that the conversation flows back to ten seconds ago. But it doesn’t.

The gravel crunches under your boots; the heat sticking to your skin and the space between you feels different now. It’s unspoken but not uncomfortable, but full of questions neither of you are ready to ask.

Not yet, but maybe someday.

#supernatural #spn #supernatural imagines #spn imagines #sam winchester #supernatural imagine #sam winchester imagines #spn imagine #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam x you #sam x y/n #spn x you #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester cute

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sudsnribbons · 24 hours ago

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For what it's worth | S.W

Sam Winchester x F!Reader

MDNI

Wordcount: 1,749

Warnings: SMUTT, Established relationship, First I love you, Whiny Sam, Happy trail mention (@laceandlipstick you slut), unprotected pinv (wrap it before you tap it), Oral (m receiving), Pet names, Size kink (Sam is huge and he knows it), fingering, infamous greyhound shirt mention, use of Y/n, softdom!sam, cum eating?, cowgirl, creampie, I think that's it idk

A/N: This is for my bsf, love of my life @laceandlipstick. Furthermore I hope you enjoy!

Being a cashier for a rundown gas station your deadbeat father left you, didn't come with many perks. If any honestly.

Same fluorescent lights boring onto your skin, day after day.

That was until you heard the familiar 'ding' of the door. Perched behind the counter, you read over the same lines in your outdated magazine. "$50 on two." The gruff man, in the worn leather jacket, laid down a credit card. "Right..Mr.Hector Fromian." You looked up at the man, not convinced he was who he claimed to be. "Listen sweetheart just run the damn card." Rolling your eyes at his words you go to swipe the card when you hear the bell ding again. A rushed figure navigated through the store, before laying down a water bottle and a pack of gum. "This too please." The taller man muttered out, smiling down at you seeming to be in a rush.

A quick transaction left you confused as the pair filled up the classic car at the pump, and sped out so fast they left tire marks on your parking lot.

---

That interaction was nearly 8 months ago. Somehow, in a whirlwind of events, it ended in a warrant for not just the two boys, but somehow you had gotten roped in too.

Despite your original meet-cute, you and Sam had been going steady for 5 months now. Being on and off the road you never really had the time to breathe, let alone have any personal time to yourself.

Which is why your ears perked up at the mention of dean heading out to the bar for the night. Your eyes immediately shot Sam a look, as if to say 'Your ass better be staying back'. Luckily he caught the hint.

Dean left, taking baby with him. "Shit." you looked around the rundown motel room trying to find your bag. "What is it?" Sam asked, you shook your head and sat down on the edge of the bed. "I forgot to get my bag out of the car before he left." You ran your hands over your face.

All you wanted was to take a hot shower, but having no clean clothes kinda defeated the purpose.

"Well sweetheart, I do have clothes you can wear." He reassured you. You nodded, watching him dig through his duffle bag. Pulling out a pair of boxers and a purple t-shirt, adorned with a greyhound. "That one's my favorite." He smiled warmly down at you as you stood up, "I know." he handed you the clothes, and a towel from the table beside his bag.

One steaming-hot enough to scorch your skin shower, you pulled the boxers over your bare legs. Comical almost, how they fit around you. Sliding the t-shirt over your head, pulling the wet strands of hair that had gotten trapped beneath the fabric. Looking into the mirror, the shirt fits you like a dress. Hem sitting on your mid-thigh.

Opening the bathroom door, steam filling the small motel room. Looking over to Sam, with his face buried in that damn journal.

Crawling up on the bed beside him, rubbing your hand along his arm, "Sam, we talked about this." You reached over onto his lap, taking the journal and closing it. "Dean is having a night off, you sure as hell deserve it more than he does." You leaned over him, setting the book down on his bedside table. He started to protest, that was until he finally took in your form.

He looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Funny enough, this time it was just you.

You.

In his clothes.

"I know I look ridiculous." You rolled your eyes at him, "Not everyone is giant." You teased.

You watched as the corners of his mouth turned to a grin. "I just didn't realize I was this big." He pulled at the sleeve of your shirt. The way it pooled around your arms and waist.

When he wore this shirt he looked like sin.

Fabric stretching over his biceps like he was going to bust out of it.

And God. One stretch and you could see that line trailing right down to-

You were snapped out of your thoughts, quick to bite back.

"Sam you are quite literally 6 '5.", You continued "I'm like 5' 4 on a good day."

That made him laugh.

"M'sorry I just can't take you seriously when you're drowning in my clothes." He laughed, and you just sat there looking up at him clearly unimpressed.

"Oh fuck off Winchester." You rolled your eyes, clearly joking. Pulling up the covers over your bare legs, Sam followed suit. Untucking the comforter from his side of the bed and pulling it over him.

"Night princess." He muttered, throwing an arm around your waist. "Mhm g'night Sam." You replied, quick to doze off.

---

The shitty a/c was soon to cut off. Leaving your Sam's clothes stuck to your skin. With a groan you shrugged off the blanket and tried to wiggle out of Sam's grasp. "Where ya goin'?" He mumbles, voice raspy with sleep. "'S too hot." You whined out, overstimulated by the feeling of the clothes on your body. The cotton wrapped around your torso like a snare.

You drug your hands down your face, overwhelmed. Sam took notice of this, sitting up beside you, “Take something off sweetheart it might cool you down.” he tugged at his boxers on your thighs. “Sam I can’t. I don't have anything under this.” He shrugged and continued, “‘S just me.” His big brown eyes locked onto yours as his fingers dipped under the elastic of the waistband, “You want me to take these off for you?” he asked and you were quick to nod. “C’mon pretty girl, use your words.” He pulled gently at the fabric, “Yes Sam please..” He grinned, pleased with your response.

Pulling the fabric to your knees, then finally past your ankles and onto the motel carpet. You hissed at the cold air on your exposed skin. He was quick to soothe you, Cupping your core. “You’re soaking wet, did you know that?” he asked, testing the waters by running his fingers along your slit. “Sam-”, was all you could manage to get out. Dipping the tip of his middle finger inside, he curled it up, watching your face closely for a reaction. Your face scrunched up in pleasure and you whined. “Just one finger and you’re already falling apart hm?” He asked, and you nodded. “Yes I–need more.” He tsked in a mocking tone, “So greedy.”. But nevertheless gave in, adding his ring finger to the mix. Curling upwards inside you, he brushed against that spongy-spot. Your back arched at the new sensation, breathlessly mouthing pleas for more. Sam watched as your body contorted in pleasure, accelerating his pace, “I’m right here angel..”. His words filled your ears, and the band that twisted finally went taut and snapped. “Fuck–Sam.” you whined as your body convulsed under him, thighs shaking at the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Sam brought his fingers to his mouth. Taking his middle and ring finger, he pushed them past his lips and onto his tongue. Rolling his eyes at the taste, he wiped his spit off them and onto his pajama pants. “You did so good for me y’know that?” He reached down to cup your face, running his thumb across your cheekbone.

Dipping a little lower, he brushed his thumb against your pout. Pushing past your lips, you opened your mouth, taking his thumb inside. You swirl your tongue around the digit, savoring the taste. His eyes lit up at your action. “You wanna help me now sweetheart?” He asked warmly. You were quick to nod, “I wanna make you feel good too.” He smiled at your words, and guided you to the floor. Knees sunk into the outdated carpet, Sam perched at the edge of the mattress.��

You found yourself between his legs, tugging at the plaid pants around his hips. He grinned at your desperation, always wanting to help. Sam raised his hips, allowing you to slide them down with his boxers. His cock sprung against his stomach and he raised his shirt, up and over his happy trail, then finally in his teeth. The cotton was pinched between his teeth like he was a dog. Your eyelashes fluttered as you took him in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. Just as you did moments before. His head threw back as he grimaced against the fabric between his teeth. You smiled, eyes wide and boring up at him.

Sinking your lips lower and lower down his shaft, until the tip hits the back of your throat. Your nose brushed against the hair on his lower stomach. He groaned at the sensation as you started to bob your head around him, hollowing your cheeks to fit more inside. Breathlessly he buckled over, “Baby there's no way I can last with you doing all that.”. You pulled off him with a pop, satisfied with the mess you made of him. His hair was stuck to his forehead with a thin sheen of sweat, and his chest was heaving with the restraint he tried to keep.

He rubbed the side of your face, and you rose off your knees to press your lips against his. Still slotted between his legs, you pushed him back against the mattress. You kissed down his neck and he whimpered, his cheeks flushed. “Please Y/n I need you.” His hands wrapped around your waist and you sunk down onto him. “Oh fuck–” He whined at the feeling of you around him, soft and wet engulfing him whole. Your hips rocked back and forth, watching him come undone underneath you, while you chased your high at the same time. Your hand pressed firm against his chest to stabilize yourself as you grinding further down onto him. Unanimous moans and whimpers refracted off the thin motel walls. Sam’s hips sputtered up into you, “I can’t-” he whined. “Inside Sam please.” Your words like answered prayers, as his hips thrusted up one last time and finally halted inside you. Collapsing against his chest, you pressed your cheek into him. As he tried to catch his breath he whispered into your ear, “I love you.”. Raising up to face him, you looked into his eyes searching for anything. All you found was warmth radiating off him, in more ways than one. “I love you too.”

#fanfic #sudsnribbons '25 #tumblr fyp #spn #x reader #supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #jared padalecki #jared padelecki x reader #supernatural x reader #smut #fem reader #female reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x you #sam winchester fic #sam winchester fanfiction

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samsblades · 14 hours ago

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✶ spring, honey, forest, etc. — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, sappy!reader, fluff, just tooth rotting fluff and a happy sam, unedited, 1K words. for liane's 500 followers event ! inspired by this moodboard <333 @chevroletdean congrats !!

summary : you can't help but compare sam to sweet and beautiful things like spring, honey, and forests.

"sam?" his name leaves your lips like a spring breeze, soft and warm and most definitely in love.

"yeah, honey?"

sweet like honey, thick like honey, golden like honey. his lips don't really taste like honey, but sometimes you think that they do. there's honey in his eyes too, when the sun hits them right. and from this close, you can see all the details. that honey gold, sunflower yellow, woody hazel, and greens that can’t decide whether they're mossy or blue-ish like the sea. right now, as your own eyes soak his up in a morning so blissful that it's almost ridiculous, you decide for them. mossy green it is.

you honestly just said his name because you like the way it feels when it rolls over your tongue and slips out between barely parted lips. but now you actually have something to say to him, voice hushed to match the quiet of the early morning.

"your eyes are like springtime," you tell him, lips curled up into a smile that makes him grin back without even noticing. then you hum and shake your head, cotton pillow case rubbing against your cheek, "mm… wait, no. no, they're like a forest. like trees and moss and pretty rocks."

his eyebrows raise but his smile stays bright. "pretty rocks?" he parrots, trying to tease but only sounding like he could properly swoon.

"yeah. or crystals, i guess. green crystals. sunny yellow ones too," you amend. then you ramble on. "but i like when your eyes look more brown, too. or blue. or anything at all, cuz they're yours and that means i'll always love them." he looks like he has no idea at all what to say to that. your voice quiets, "am i being too sappy?"

"no," he murmurs, his response immediate and sure. "no, i just… just have never had anyone that talks to me the way you do. but i love you. love the way you talk, too."

"good," you settle easily, wondering if your eyes resemble honey in any way just for how sweetly they look at him.

"i love your eyes too," he says, almost surprising you when you think silence is falling back over you like another silky sheet atop the first.

"yeah?" you ask, voice whispery and alight with a sweet hope that's a little silly because there's no need for it. of course he loves your eyes. he loves your all.

"of course," he affirms, "they're so pretty. and… and i feel better when i see them. safer."

and then it feels like nothing bad could ever happen, or at least like nothing in the world would ever dare interrupt something so tender. safer. if something as simple as the sight of your eyes makes him feel safer, you're sure that you've achieved the best thing in life that you ever could. you've done your job, made it to where you want to be, just knowing that. it's like he's telling you that no one could claim that you don't love him without being a complete liar.

it's like he's saying 'i know you love me. i don't doubt it, not anymore. your eyes are my safe place. your love is my safe place.' and that's all you could ever ask for.

"that makes me really happy," you tell him.

"you make me really happy," he says, no need to search for the right words to say. he knows that one without having to think for a moment. and you're blessed to know it too. there's evidence in the curve of his lips and glimpse of his teeth and pretty wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. even in those swirling irises, brighter with the gift of joy that you've given him. you see yourself in them, reflected in those deep pupils and shining just as bright.

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driedrosesandcherry · 3 days ago

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♡⃞ 𓄧 Y2KJUNKIE!READER ༝༚༝༚ featuring Sam Winchester

( reader is aa╱soulaan coded )

au created by saint ‹𝟹

Y2KJUNKIE!READER’S DETAILS ໃ ̫𓈒. ̥ has naturally tight coily curls ⟢ her lips are always glossy and, more often not, glittery too ⟢ described as tan ⟢ gold jewelry is a yes ⟢ most outfits consist of pink, fur, animal print, and/or denim ⟢ always has a french tip medi pedi ⟢ collects magazines, cds, and dvds (she has an entire collection back home!) ⟢ body glaze ⟢ has been called Barbie ⟢ anklet charms ⟢ stretch marks ⟢ she doesn’t know about him being a hunter or any supernatural creatures actually existing aside from ghosts (and Sam plans to keep it that way).

HOW WOULD SHE BE DESCRIBED? ໃ ̫𓈒. ̥ glitzy, fabulous, spoiled princess (courtesy of Dean—he means it negatively, she doesn’t care and doesn’t bother taking it that way), very pink, vixen.

cw ⌖ none! blurb, fem!reader, tooth rotting fluff, s1-s5 sam in mind when creating this, sam’s obsessed, mild language.

𑁥𑄺　˖ﾟ　wanna enjoy my other sam related content? you can also request for more!

Sam Winchester ventured to a costal town alongside his brother. He headed down to the beach first thing, and she was at the bar, leaning against it, sipping away on a strawberry swirl piña colada while humming along and tapping her right foot in her mesh slippers to a song playing lowly from the bar’s portable speaker. Her hips swayed lightly in her low rise capris and she adjusted her tote bag to rest on her shoulder that was slung low on her arm a moment before.

She was alone, so Sam hesitated before he thought Dean was going over to her and practically shoved him out of the way before journeying over to her. Dean just made a face and was readying himself to curse at the younger Winchester until both of his eyebrows rose once Sam approaching her was in his line of sight and then realization flickered in his green eyes. He smirked softly before going to the opposite side of the bar to order a drink like he wanted to in the first place. Who is he to cock block when he thinks Sam doesn’t get any action to begin with? He doesn’t think Sam has a shot with you, but he’ll be a good big brother and swallow that insult on down.

Sam politely cleared his throat as his towering stature came to step beside her, and he adjusted his pale yellow polo tee right before her eyes fixed on him. His heart only thudded harder against his ribcage like it wanted to comically leap out and land in the palm of her pretty hand. “Hi, I’m Sam,” he spoke up as his gaze flickered between hers, just as she gave him a once over. She greeted him promptly and told him her name with a soft smile, and lightly shook his hand when he offered it. Her voice sent a shiver down the bow of his spine with it’s a velvet caress wrapped around every single word especially when she breathed his name. He was at the mercy of her already.

He'd never been this affected by a woman before. Not since Jessica anyway. It was unsettling in a good way for him. She wasn’t using any magic, had no ulterior motives. Just gorgeous. Maybe it’s also how her skin shimmers and how she smells a little too good. He can’t stop himself from trying to figure out what it is, and he comes to realize it’s her hair that smells like coconut and her skin smelled of a raw pineapple that isn’t too sweet to where it’s sickening. She noticed because Sam isn’t entirely discreet, she just hopes he doesn’t ask or try to touch her or her hair. Especially her hair.

When she’d figured out that he was only in town for what he called “a work trip,” she was hesitant on continuing to continue speaking to him. She thought he was cute, but didn’t want a summer fling. She wanted the start of something real, something stable. But the way his pupils dilated and the way he stared at her and softly nodded when she spoke about herself, because he wanted to know more, had her mindlessly drawn toward him more. So, she straight up told him it wasn’t going to work if he just wanted to sleep with her.

Sam looked almost offended when she said that and quickly reassured her that wasn’t the case. That they could even be friends first, so they don’t trip over themselves with infatuation. They’d begun dating once the time was right for them both, and he doesn’t miss out on calling or texting her even when he’s about to go on a hunt with Dean. When he doesn’t respond to her in two days tops, she worries. Not that he’s cheating, but that something went wrong. Always. He never gave her a reason to doubt she’s the one for him.

When Sam is in town and he takes her on a date in her car (because Dean doesn’t wanna give up Baby “in case they have a little too much fun”), he insists she strictly picks the music even if she says it’s okay if he picks something. She gets all giddy and doesn’t hesitate to play her playlist. She sings and raps almost every word as she dances in the passenger seat, passing her imaginary rhinestone microphone to Sam, only for him to not know a single word or song. He taps his fingers against her steering wheel when he thinks one of them is catchy though. When they’re just back at her place, she has her back rested against his chest while sitting between his thighs with his arm slung around her chest while they watch Bring It On: All or Nothing on her pink CRT TV. Her pick of course.

The first time she wanted help with getting her braids taken down, Sam didn’t protest, especially when she complained about her arms hurting. He found it easy to do after he’d looked at some videos online on his own time, especially when handed the rat tail comb, and he even helped her wash, detangle, and twist her hair afterward. “Part it into four sections…” “Want me to add a little more oil to your scalp?” “Wait, I gotta redo this one.” “You have to tell me if it hurts, okay?” A lot of that from him during the process. She found it comforting and really cute.

When she gets new outfits, she puts on a little fashion show for Sam like she would for her family when she was younger. Yet she puts on a show reserved just for her boyfriend, and SPOILER ALERT! those outfits are gradually more provocative. Long silk robes with fur, some sheer, while some aren’t. Lacy lingerie—bras, corsets, thongs, you name it. All while Sam claps for her and cues the music for her to step out of her closet with him rating every piece a ten.

She’s asking for him to help her choose a new hairstyle? He’ll help her and ask how much money she needs and if he can sit in on the appointment. When she says he can’t due to the beautician’s policy, he’s understanding…but also sulking. However, when he picks her up hours later, he’s crowding her space like a big puppy, and she can’t help but giggle when he manages to lift her with his hands secure against her curves to make sure she doesn’t fall, just to kiss all over her face. He’s so careful when touching her hair for a moment after she gives him the go ahead to do so. An onslaught of compliments almost instantaneously filter through his lips.

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meiplays · 2 days ago

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𝐒𝐨 𝐚𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery 𝐚𝐧𝐝 @losers-clvb 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚 !𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 (𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬) 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐈'𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧. 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈'𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤! 𝐈 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @losers-clvb !! 𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲'𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 𝐬𝐨𝐨𝐧! 𝐈 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲! ‼️

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐝𝐨! 𝐄𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐦 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞!!

ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛᴏ sᴇᴇ @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery & @losers-clvb ɴᴇᴡ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ sᴏᴏɴ!!

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧────✧

Summary:

After Sam returns from Hell, she can't shake the feeling that something's off—he's colder, emptier, and the sweet man she loved is gone. When she catches him with another woman, her heart breaks for good… until Dean’s comfort turns into something more. But nothing stays hidden for long, especially from a Soulless Sam Winchester whose possessiveness runs deeper than he’ll ever admit. One stormy night, everything comes crashing down—and he’s not letting her go again. Not without a fight.

✡✡✡✡✡✡✡✡✡✡✡

Title: Hollow Hands, Burning Eyes

The old motel room buzzed with the kind of silence that rang in her ears, a hollow, suffocating quiet.

It had started with the small things. The way Sam looked through her instead of at her. The absence of warmth in his touch. The mechanical way he kissed her back the last time they were alone. She had ignored it for weeks. Chalked it up to trauma, exhaustion—anything but the truth creeping behind his eyes.

Sam Winchester had come back from Hell. But he hadn’t come back whole.

And now, YN stood frozen in the doorway of Room 9, her eyes wide, her lungs refusing to cooperate.

Sam was on top of a woman. Shirtless. His back flexed as he moved with slow, practiced rhythm, the woman moaning beneath him like YN didn’t exist.

Her chest caved in.

“Sam?” Her voice cracked like thin ice.

He didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. Just kept going.

She staggered back, the image seared into her brain like a brand. Tears blurred her vision, but she didn’t let them fall until the door slammed behind her.

She didn’t know how long she walked, but when she saw the Impala parked outside Room 3, something in her legs gave out. Dean opened the door before she could knock, and when he saw her—tear-streaked, shaking, broken—he didn’t say a word.

Just opened his arms.

---

Hours passed. She sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in Dean’s flannel shirt, a whiskey glass untouched in her hand.

“He’s not the same,” she whispered. “Something’s wrong with him, Dean.”

Dean sighed, sitting beside her. “I’ve seen it too. The way he moves. The way he doesn’t… feel anything.”

YN looked down, voice trembling. “I thought… I thought the kisses meant something. But maybe they didn’t. Maybe I was just a body to him. Just like her.”

Dean’s jaw tensed. “Don’t say that. You’re not just anything.”

Her eyes flicked to his. He was closer than she realized. The look in his eyes—steady, warm, safe—wasn’t like Sam’s at all. And when she kissed him, it wasn’t planned. It wasn’t even about revenge.

It was about feeling something again.

Dean didn’t pull away. His hands found her waist, grounding her. They kissed slow, almost hesitant, until the world outside melted.

She climbed into his lap, fingers buried in his hair, mouth moving with urgent need. Dean groaned softly, his hands sliding up her back beneath the flannel. Everything about him was solid, steady, present.

“YN,” he whispered into her neck, “you sure?”

She nodded against him, lips finding his again. “Please.”

They didn’t go further than heavy kisses, roaming hands, whispered sighs—but it felt like something sacred had been shared.

Until the door slammed open.

---

Sam stood in the doorway, wild-eyed. His chest heaved, his shirt unbuttoned, hair disheveled like he’d been running.

Dean froze. “Sam—”

But Sam didn’t look at him. His eyes were locked on her. On the way her shirt had slipped off one shoulder. The flush in her cheeks. The way she clung to Dean like he was a life raft.

His lip curled. “Well. Looks like I missed the party.”

YN scrambled off Dean’s lap, pulling the flannel tighter around her. “Sam—”

But he was already moving.

Without another word, he stormed across the room, grabbed her by the wrist, and yanked her toward the door.

“Sam!” Dean barked, standing.

“I’m not gonna hurt her,” Sam growled. “But we’re gonna talk.”

Dean stepped forward. “Let her go—”

“Don’t,” she said quickly, eyes wide. “It’s okay.”

Sam dragged her out of the room and toward the Impala. She struggled for a moment, but his grip was firm—possessive. When he yanked open the back door, she hesitated.

“Get in.”

“Sam—”

He turned, eyes dark. “Now.”

She climbed in. The door slammed behind him, locking them into the still heat of the car.

He didn’t speak at first. Just stared at her, chest rising and falling.

“You think you can crawl on top of my brother and I’d just forget about it?” he said, voice low and dangerous.

“You don’t get to be jealous, Sam,” she snapped. “You were with someone else. You didn’t even care.”

“Didn’t care?” he repeated, laughing darkly. “You have no idea what’s going on in my head.”

“No, I don’t! Because you don’t talk. You don’t feel. You just use people like they’re nothing!”

He lunged forward, pinning her against the seat. His hands were on either side of her head, his breath hot against her face.

“I feel when I’m with you.”

Her breath hitched. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

And then he kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was wildfire—urgent and feral. His fingers tangled in her hair, the other hand gripping her waist as their mouths collided with heated desperation.

She gasped, her back arching against the seat as he leaned into her. Her leg hitched around his waist, pulling him closer, their bodies locked in a rhythm that spoke of all the things they hadn’t said.

His mouth found her jaw, then the hollow of her throat, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “You don’t get it,” he whispered. “You’re not a fling. You were never just a toy. You’re in my blood, YN.”

“Then why did you throw me away?” she whispered back, her fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt to feel the taut muscle beneath.

“Because I’m broken. Because I thought I had to stop feeling or I’d fall apart.” He kissed her harder this time, hands roaming, guiding, trembling. “But I can’t not feel when it’s you.”

Her hands pressed flat to his chest, over his racing heart. She felt it—wild, frantic, alive.

“I’m still here,” she said softly. “But I won’t be forever if you keep pushing me away.”

Something cracked in his expression. He nodded once, a sharp breath leaving him. Then his lips crashed into hers again, hungrier now. He kissed like he was starving for her.

She responded in kind—fingers threading through his hair, hips rising to meet the pressure of his. The air was thick with tension, fogging the windows, drowning out the world.

Fully clothed but more exposed than ever, they clung to each other in the backseat. Every sigh, every stolen breath, every rough drag of mouths and hands built a fire between them that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with need.

“Mine,” he whispered hoarsely, kissing the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her throat.

She cupped his face, pulling his eyes back to hers. “Then act like it.”

And he did.

Every kiss was a vow.

Every touch was a plea.

And in that heated, frantic, breathless tangle, Soulless Sam felt something again—something fierce and possessive and raw.

Her.

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