#sam has hazel eyes

[not-those-kids]

naughty dog was a coward for not making sam’s eyes brown

[krikeymate]

Hi again:) I love me some werewolves so this is for Fangs for the support, each iteration of it! But I’m curious if you have decided what color eyes the girls would have. I know in some werewolf lore different eye color can mean different things. Anyway, love your stuff and you!

I love getting to make these very specific details, thank you for asking!! Click on the colours for the hex codes. These aren't fixed, just sort of what I'm imagining.

Wolf Tara gets amber eyes. Vampire her is garnet. Wolf Sam has gold eyes. Tara's eyes are darker whereas Sam's are more vibrant.

Red eyes for pack leaders - we'll say Alphas even though I know that's not a thing, it's just fun. There is a pack ritual where the wolf accepts their position as Alpha and their eyes change colour through the ceremony.

Most wolves have amber/yellow/brown eyes, although some have blue or green, it pretty much carries over from their human forms. Those with grey eyes will always have blue as a wolf.

I love the idea in Teen Wolf that wolves who have harmed innocents get blue eyes, but as people do have blue eyes and I'm having it carry over, I'm going with a silver for that.

[billie-the-sleepyhead]

Been meaning to draw a photo of my dragonborn’s entire family for a while. In order to include their father however Sam is 10 years old or so.

(Feel free to ignore the doodling all around the lineart, it’s not the clean copy yet.)

From left to right we have: Sam “The Shadow” Septim, Dovahkin, lost the use of their left eye at that time. Was very close to their siblings at that age.

Their mother, a quiet woman but a good mother and thief.

Abigail Septim, Sam’s elder by 6 years and already rather high ranking in the thieves guild.

Their father, a nord born in Cyrodil. He was a good thief. Unfortunately left the entire family behind when Sam was 12, ran to hammerfell to try and get a fresh start.

Geralt Septim(placeholder name). A student of the college of winterhold since he was 12 years old, the family had taken a special trip to see him for this picture.

[lex-the-flex]

Nightly Misery

Logan Howlett x reader

Summary: In the wake of another major nightmare, Logan is always grateful to have you by his side.

Word Count: 578

Warning(s): SLIGHT ANGST, MEGA FLUFF, mentions of PTSD, established relationship, brief descriptions of injuries, the reader being a sweetheart, and Logan being protective.

A/N: Welp, my hyper fixation for Hugh Jackman has come back. …As did my love for Wolverine. Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

Rustling in the softness of your shared bed, Logan’s warmth poured over every square inch over the quaint space. Shifting endlessly underneath the thin bedding, a thick layer of sweat covers his skin and the sheets that surround him. The faint sound of crickets beyond the windows do their best to provide some sense of comfort, but it seems that nothing’s working. Not even the faint beams of moonlight could calm the man’s restlessness.

“Logan, Logan…” You speak quietly.

Gently rubbing Logan’s shoulders, he continues to heavily toss and turn in his sleep. Beads of sweat trickle down his temples just as his mumbling grows louder.

“No… NO!” He shouts.

Suddenly, Logan’s body jolts awake, and he sits up. Yelling from his dream, he gasps for air before ultimately gaining his bearings.

He’s here, in the large comfortable master bedroom that he calls home. Logan’s chest rises and falls and his breathing returns to normal as his hazel eyes scan the dark room. Finding that everything is in its proper place, his light orbs find yours opposite him.

“Baby?” He whispers in the dark.

Silently reaching for you, the sight of his bone claws cause a gasp to leave his chapped lips. Retracting the claws, his brief moment of pain subsides, and a minuscule ring of tears begin to form in his eyes.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay, you just had a bad dream, Logan.” You say before traveling to the bathroom.

Retuning moments later, you join Logan’s side, and wipe the sweat from his face with a damp washcloth. Exhaling at the cool cloth, Logan wraps his arms around your waist.

“That’s nice.” He chuckles.

“I thought it might help. You’ve been doing this too much.” You reply with a smile.

“Can’t help it, bub. The wars, I- I can’t. They still…” Logan tries to explain, but fails silent.

“Hey, it’s alright. Don’t let them control you. You’ve done so well lately, don’t let this be the end of all the progress you’ve made.” You say, running your fingers through Logan’s thick dark hair.

Calming stroking his scruff, Logan’s eyelids grow heavy from your soothing touch. However, your therapeutic abilities only work for a short while before his eyes make contact with a series of three small scars on the base of your forearm.

“Jesus Christ. Y/N, I…” Logan begins, but you cut him off.

“I’m fine, babe. It’s just a scratch. I promise, you didn’t mean it.” You explain, stroking his cheeks.

Pulling you into him, Logan lays down with you in his arms. Letting go of a sigh of relief, you can feel Logan’s muscles start to relax beneath your fingertips. Turning to face you, Logan cradles you in his muscular arms, pulling you closer to his broad chest. Placing a soft kiss to your forehead, Logan's fingers lightly grip the hem of your sleep shirt, fearful of hurting you over again.

Facing you, his eyes grow weary whilst he touches the tip of your nose with his own. Tangling your hair in his fingers, he inhales deeply, longing for the taste of your scent on his tongue.

"I know I don't say this often, but I'm so grateful to have you in my life, Y/N. Not just here, in Canada, in our own private life. But you make me realize the true importance that life isn't always so bad." He vows through whispers with a rare, yet happy smile taking over his lips.

tagging ~

@dreamliners

@miss1sarcasmo

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

[mxltifxnd0m]

in the side of my neck ⧨ s. winchester

summary: you help sam out when he accidentally wakes you up in the middle of the night

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

word count: 1K

warnings: slight sub/dom dynamics, subby! sam, handjob m! receiving, praise, smut, reader is a little mean (not really), no use of y/n, kinda edited

a/n: MINORS DNI! 18 + ONLY

did i do this instead of my homework? ...yes. but it was supposed to be a quick little blurb but alas it has hit 1k words loll but i wrote this bc i could not stop thinking about sub!sam since saturday :) title is a lyric from red wine supernova by chappell roan

anyways enjoy! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me loll!

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

The sound of clothes rustling and something rutting against you was what pulled you from your dreamscape. You could feel Sam’s warm breath against your neck as he let small whimpers escape his parted lips. 

His hard cock was covered by his boxers, but you could feel it perfectly against the crack of your ass. You knew Sam was still asleep. You could feel his even breaths as he rutted against you. You figured it was still late in the morning; the motel room still shrouded in darkness as you blinked away the sleep from your eyes. You were facing the not-so-empty bed near the door. Dean’s back was facing you as he slept soundly, tiny snores escaping him. You were surprised that he had come back to the room at all; he was still out at the bar by the time you and Sam fell asleep. 

Sam started to grind against you more insistently, his whimpers becoming more frequent as they were muffled against your neck. You twisted in Sam’s grip to face him. Your sudden movement made Sam stir. His hazel eyes blinked open, breaking through the haze of sleep and glazed over with lust.

“Good dream?” You whispered to him, a teasing smile on your face as you took in the familiar pleading look on Sam’s face. 

Even in the dark room, you could tell that Sam was blushing as he tried to shy away from you. You moved your hand to the back of Sam’s head and pulled on some of the strands to pull him away from your neck. A soft moan escaped his mouth, making the corners of your lips twitch. 

“Don’t be shy, handsome.” Your hand left his hair to trail down his bare chest, down his happy trail leading down to the waistband of his boxers, before tugging on the waistband teasingly. “Do you want me to take care of it?” 

“Please.” Sam whispered, his tone filled with want. You smirked before planting your lips on his as the hand that was tugging at his waistband slipped past, and your hand grabbed Sam’s cock. 

A choked moan escaped Sam as you began to stroke him slowly, using the precum that was dribbling from the tip as a lubricant.

Sam broke away from the kiss with a gasp as your grip on him got tighter, and the pace got faster as you twisted your wrist every time you squeezed his tip. He shoved his face into your slightly sweaty neck to muffle the small groans and whines leaving his pink lips. 

“Wish I could hear all the pretty noises you make. But we don’t want to wake up Dean now do we?” You whispered in his ear before nipping at his earlobe. A louder whine came from Sam in response to your words. You couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at his reaction as you continued your steady strokes on Sam’s cock.

God, you wished you could see it right now, the tip flushed red and leaking a steady stream of precum. You really wanted to put Sam on his back and trail your lips over his chest and thighs, teasing him until you took him in his mouth whole, your nose nestled in the thatch of hair at the base of his cock, relishing in the moans and whimpers escaped Sam’s pretty mouth. 

But for now, you’ll have to take the choked whimpers and low groans coming from Sam as he begins to thrust up into your grip. You could tell he was close and desperate to come, feeling his cock twitching in your hand. 

“Gonna cum Sammy?” 

He nodded into your neck. “Wanna cum so bad. Please.” Sam whimpered your name as he distracted himself by suckling at the soft skin on your neck.

“Be a good boy and cum for me okay?”  Sam started to thrust harder in your hand, it sticky with his precum. 

The room was mostly silent, barring the shuffling of the sheets from Sam’s hips rutting upwards in your grip and the quiet, repetitive shlick sound as your hand moved up and down on his cock.

Sam came with a whimper and bit you where your neck met your shoulder, and you let out a soft groan at the feeling but you kept stroking him through his orgasm, your hand and the inside of his boxers covered in his cum. You slowly withdrew your hand, and Sam pulled his face away from your neck. You could see the blissful smile on his face before his eyes widened slightly as he saw you clean your hand with your tongue. 

You couldn’t help but smirk at the awed expression on Sam’s face as you lapped up the last of his cum off of your fingers. You leaned forward to give Sam a soft kiss, but it quickly turned filthy as Sam invaded your mouth with his tongue, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as you realized that Sam was tasting the remnants of himself in your mouth. You felt Sam begin to paw at your shirt, and you knew that he wanted to return the favor. 

You broke away from the kiss, Sam chasing your lips before kissing your cheek sloppily and trailing his lips down to your jaw. 

You acted quickly and moved your hand to the short hair at the nape of his neck and pulled him away from your neck. 

“Not now, Sammy.” You whispered harshly at him. 

You could only imagine the pout on his face. “But-”

“You can return the favor later. S’late.” 

“Fine,” Sam grumbled under his breath before he grimaced as he shifted around in bed. He decided to kick off his boxers, and you realized that the cum drying in them wasn’t the most pleasant for him. 

Once they were off and lost somewhere in the sheets, Sam pulled you into his warm embrace before burying his face into your clothed chest. His breathing began to even out as you played with his soft hair. The last thing you noticed was that the room started to become brighter before you had been pulled back underneath the veil of sleep. 

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Somethin’ stupid

Pairings: Sam Winchester X reader

Summary: You get hurt on a hunt and in taking care of you, Sam reveals a hidden talent and maybe even some hidden feelings…

Word count: 2.1k

Tags; Sam and reader have a crush on each other, fluff, no use of y/n, Sam x fem!reader, carheartt!Sam

Requests are open

part two

You never realized just how cold it got in Montana until you were here, wrapped up in Sam’s carheartt with his hands on your waist.

Well, one of his hands was on your waist, the other was digging through the pocket of his jacket for the motel room key.

“Sorry,” Sam chuckled awkwardly as his hand accidentally brushed over the small gap of exposed skin between your jeans and top.

This is definitely not what you had imagined when you envisioned his hands on you.

“It’s fine, really,” you replied with that sweet consideration he adored.

His left hand fumbles uselessly between the two of you- desperately searching for the key. He was embarrassed, beyond embarrassed. You had gotten injured-stabbed in the thigh on a hunt when he should’ve been protecting you. On top of all of that now he now has you out in the cold because he can’t find a damn key.

He eventually manages to get the key between his fingers but much to his dismay he couldn’t quite manage to pull it from the pocket due to the precarious position the two of you were in: Your left arm swung around his shoulder, his right hand on your waist and his other wedged between the two of you.

Sam was far too kind to let you slip from his grasp, no matter how many times you told him you were fine. So, you take matters into your own hands. “Here, lemme just-“

You shift your weight to your injured leg, giving him just the right amount of room to fish the key out.

His smile of triumph quickly falters once he hears your hiss of pain. He instinctively tightens his grip, reeling you back into him and closing the gap between your bodies; Sending your heart beat racing.

There’s a stillness for the moment. You staring into his eyes and he into yours. Sam couldn’t help but notice how beautiful you looked in this moment. Your normally neat, pulled back hair now wild and lovely with the cool night wind whipping through it. Your cheeks and nose were this beautiful shade of pink from the cold and all he wanted to do was reach out and cup your divine face in his hands.

“Sam,” you say, your voice just above a whisper. You never realized just how much green was in those pretty hazel eyes.

He tries to speak but not a thought -well, not a thought aside from professing his love(which he thought to be a terrible idea)- comes to mind.

Instead he blinks, searching your face for something- anything. Even a slight muscle twitch that would let him in on what you were thinking.

“The door.”

“Right,” he nods, clearing his throat and breaking the moment. He felt so stupid.

As the key turns in the lock you mentally curse yourself. Why the hell did you say that? That was the worst thing you could’ve possibly said.

He helps you limp your way into the motel room, the whole time not daring to look at you. And you do the same.

“Come on, there ya go, atta girl.” Sam grunted, gently setting you down on the bed.

Aside from your royal fuck up a minute ago, maybe this whole thing (getting stabbed included) wasn’t too bad. After all, you did get to hear sam say “atta girl” and if you were being honest, you liked it.

While Sam went to go dig out the med kit from his duffle bag you found yourself zoned out staring at his muscular frame. His hair, god it was perfect. Whose hair looks that good after spending the better half of the night in an abandoned building? It was practically witchcraft.

“Last time we let Dean pick the motel,” Sam chuckled.

“Hm?” You questioned, Sam’s voice snapping you from your train of thought.

“The whole uh, “Wild West” theme,” He smiles, gesturing to a cowboy hat hung just past his head.

“Right,” you chuckle dryly. “Definitely not letting him pick again.” You hadn’t really noticed the room; you were a bit preoccupied.

“I mean seriously,” Sam said, sitting next to you. “Where’d they get all this stuff? Cowboy furnishings?”

You giggle at Sam’s joke and lay your leg in his lap. Wine colored blood had pooled at the epicenter of the make-shift bandage (the torn sleeve of Deans FBI suit.)

The room was just large enough to comfortably accommodate two queen sized beds, separated by a thin wooden divider. On the far end of the room there was a pull-out couch with a cowboy hat pattern dancing across the leather; that same pattern reflected on the small sofa chair across from the head of your bed.

“Wild West express?” You reply while looking around the room- not wanting to lay eyes on that nasty wound. Sam chuckled and you somehow find yourself right back where you started- staring straight at him. God, he was a sight for sore eyes. His smile was enchanting.

The room had this homely atmosphere, whether that was due to Sam’s presence or the warm lighting was a mystery to you. The lights seemed to perfectly reflect on his face, illuminating those stunning hazel eyes and giving his skin a warm honey glow.

While Sam worked on disinfecting your wound he replayed the scene over and over again in his head. You were right there, mere feet from him and yet you still got hurt. Sure you’ve been banged up worse, not to mention the other bruises all three of you sustained on this hunt alone. But this time, this time was different. You’d need stitches, the stab was a few inches deep and wide with jagged edges. He cringes as he threads the needle. This was his fault.

His eyes snap to your face after the first nonevent of the needle through your skin. Your jaw was clenched tight, eyes large and pointed toward the ceiling, attempting to breathe through the pain. Guilt fills him at the very sight.

“Should’ve drank.” You grunt out, your hand balling into a fist as your eyes squeeze as tight as a camera shutter. Your head falls forward, your wind-whipped hair forming a curtain over the sides of your face. Even in pain, somehow, Sam thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen all wrapped up in a brown carheartt.

“Almost done.” He says gently, tying a knot and cutting the thread.

You let out a hefty breath, throwing your head back against the bed frame and sinking into the mattress with relief.

Sam’s hand slips to the underside of your knee, gently raising it. “God-“ he breaths, the new angle allowing him a better veiw of just how bad it was. “If I was there I could’ve-“ he sighs. “I’m sorry.”

You tilt your head in a dog-like manner of confusion. “What? Sam, this isn’t your fault.”

The pain had mostly subsided, fading to a feeling of dull pressure - more uncomfortable than anything really.

“Regardless. You got hurt on my watch.”

“Sam, c’mon. Don’t be so hard on yourself,” you frowned. He was too sweet for his own good.

The both of you knew this was a losing battle. You had this conversation a dozen times over during the car ride alone.

Sam goes back to silently wrapping your thigh in gauze while you decide to let your eyes wander around the room. Eventually you land on a wooden guitar propped up against the sofa chair right across from you.

You gasp and before Sam knows it you’re on your feet foot, the roll of gauze dangling from your thigh.

“What are you-“ he calls your name in an exasperated manner. “I wasn’t-“

You spin on your heels and reveal yourself to be holding a guitar with a beaming smile on your face.

“Oh no- oh no no no no.” Sam shakes his head.

“Pleaseeeee,” you beg, giving him the most puppy-dog eyed look you can muster.

“That’s not going to work on me,” he grins. “Now c’mon, sit.” He pats the space next to him and reaches out to take your hand. “Gotta finish patchin’ you up.”

You fold your arms over your chest with smugness he knew all too well. “That’s not gonna work on me,” you replied, looking from him to the guitar.

“Dude, I haven’t played since like, college.” His hand falls limply to his lap with a sigh. “Now c’mere before you make me regret ever getting drunk around you.” Sam attempts to make his voice sound serious but fails to hide the smile on his face and the amusement in his voice.

“Oh please,” you said through laughter at his expression. He looked adorable trying to be serious. “Just one song.”

Your laughter, it was contagious. Being around you was like the best high. “No.”He laughs, and he doesn’t even know why. “Okay, okay, how bout this?” He adjusts his position a little, trying to shove down the laughter. “You let me finish bandaging you up and I’ll play one, and I mean one, song?”

“Orrrrr, you play a song and I’ll let you bandage me up.”

“You can’t be serious. y’know you run the risk of infection the longer you don’t let me wrap it?”

“Then you better get to playing guitar-boy”

You smile and simply hold out the guitar to him.

Slowly, a scheming grin spreads on his lips, his large hand grabs the guitar and your wrist in one fail swoop. He attempts to get you seated back on the bed again but you’re too quick.

“Ha! Not gonna get me that easy!”

You giggle as you slip from his grasp. He watches as you run off do this weird limp-hopping thing off into the bathroom, the unfinished gauze swinging from your leg like a pendulum.

If he really wanted, he could easily stop you but he was more interested in seeing where this would go.

A few years ago, while Dean was off flirting with the bartender, you and Sam were in the back of the bar like a couple of wall flowers.

That’s the night you started to look at him differently, to feel things for him differently. That’s the night you started to like him; and it only grew from there. Admittedly, you both had a bit too much to drink. You told each other things nobody else knew. During the conversation he talked about his college days; how he smoked weed a few times (you couldn’t stop laughing at this) and played guitar like a proper hippie. (This also, much to his dismay, made you erupt into drunken laughter).

“You alright in there?” Sam calls from the room.

“Y-yeah! I’m good.” You shout back. You quickly tie off the end of the bandage and waltz back into the room only to discover Sam in the sofa chair, guitar in his lap.

You press your hand to your chest and make a show of having an aghast expression. “Is that what I think it is? Sam Winchester! Strumming the guitar?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m just tuning it is all.”

“Uh huh,” you reply, packing up the first aid kit.

Sam’s fingers work the strings of the guitar, playing around with a few notes here and there, tuning, plucking strings. But at the playing of a few specific chords, your ears perk up in recognition.

You immediately race limp-jog? Over to the bed and perch yourself upon the edge. Sam smiles at your eager face.

“I figured one of us outta hold up our end of the deal.”

You just smile and shake your head.

And there you were. Staring into Sam’s eyes, doing a mixture of humming and singing along while he played your favorite song on guitar.

“…hmm hm hm… we pop into a quiet place and have a drink or two…”

He would hum and sing along with you, a slight hesitation every time the main part of the chorus would appear.

“…But then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin’ stupid like-“

As if the lyric held far too much weight to sing.

“I love you…”

Eventually, you began to drift off. Sinatra always put you to sleep. He knew that. Sam’s eyes don’t leave you for a moment. You were reveire incarnate. Half asleep, head on a pillow and lazily humming along.

“…But then I go and spoil it all by saying somethin’ stupid like…”

Your chest slowly rose and fell with every soft slumbering breath. Warm lighting over your skin. Tranquil and mesmerizing as a sunset.

The lyrics come out a statement more than anything else. A truthful, unsung whisper.

“I love you.”

[samwise1548]

There is a scale regarding Tmagp characters, that goes from very unhinged about the horrors, to literally couldn’t care less. But I didn’t know how to title it so instead you just get this lineup :)

Added Teddy and Celia over here

[ID: A drawing of The Magnus Protocol characters standing in a line, with captions underneath each person.

The first is Colin Becker, with the caption "known saboteur of FR3-D1 [Freddy]". Colin is a white, ginger haired man wearing a dark green shirt over a black shirt and light brown pants. He's holding one hand against a corkboard of papers and post-it notes. His expression is full of rage.

The next is Gwendolyn Bouchard, captioned "suspicious from association, Gwen Bouchard". She is a white woman with long hazel hair with small braids in it. She's wearing a red vest over a brown shirt, a purple knee length skirt and tights. There is a thought bubble next to her with a picture of a red Among Us character and the word "sus" underneath it. Gwen's face is scrunched up in speculation as she glares angrily at someone far away.

The third person is Samama Khalid, and his caption reads "Sam 'casual cyber-sleuth' Khalid". Sam is a tall, skinny, brown man with curly brown hair. He's wearing a long, dark brown corduroy shirt over a grey shirt, and maroon pants. He's walking while looking at two papers in his hands quizzically.

The next person is Alice Dyre. Her caption says "Alice Dyre; Motto: keep calm and ignore the horrors". Alice is a short fat trans woman with albinism. Her hair is buzzed. She's wearing round glasses, a brown shirt with white color and sleeves, embroidered with red flowers. Her light brown pants have a patch on each knee that match the shape of her diamond star earrings. She has her arms crossed and is watching Sam from the corner of her eyes, nervously.

The last fully visible person is Lena Kelly, with the caption "Evil! Evil!! Evil!! -erm, I mean, Lena Kelly". Lena is a light skinned old woman with blond hair put into a tail with a claw clip. She's wearing a grey business suit over a light grey shirt. She is looking directly at the viewer with a neutral expression.

To the right of Lena is a black arm waving goodbye, cut off by the edge. The caption under it reads "also, Mr. noping out of here before things get ugly, Teddy Vaughn.

\End ID]

Closeups under cut

[taylormarieee]

Confessions and Affairs Sam Winchester

Summary: Sam has had a crush on you since he met you in that diner, now that your hunting with them he can't keep his feelings a secret anymore...

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Fem!hunter!reader

Word Count: 482

Warnings: Shameless making out, skinny dipping, suggestive 18+, fingering, jacking off, handjob, fluff, cuteness all together!

A/N: I hope y'all enjoy and this is for my pretty wife @dollyfl1rt, I hope you like it mama<33

Sam Winchester, the one who's had the biggest crush on you the moment he laid his pretty blue-green with gold/brown hazel orbs on you.

Sam Winchester, the lovestruck man that followed you around like a lost puppy for weeks after finding out you were a hunter as well.

Sam Winchester, the lovestruck man who always had your back and always tried to make sure you were safe on any mission they ever went on.

Sam Winchester, the man who whimpered when he first saw you in a bikini to go to the beach together. He wanted to have a fun night out and that was the first thing he thought of.

Sam Winchester, the man whose eyes widened when you suggested that the both of you should remove your clothes and skinny dip in the ocean.

Sam Winchester, the man who enjoyed that idea and did with you. He was glad it was night time so no one else got to see your body in the moonlight except for him.

Sam Winchester, who blushed when you swam closer to him, your hand lightly grazing his hardening cock as he tried to keep his cool and not give it away but it was too late... you noticed.

Sam Winchester, who said "It's ok, you don't need to help me out. I'm fine." when you offered to relive his painfully hard boner.

Sam Winchester, who panicked when you insisted and began rubbing your hand up and down his cock. Your eyes staring intently at his pleasure filled face.

Sam Winchester, who shamelessly made out with you when he felt his orgasm approaching. Who shamelessly made out with you while his fingers were knuckle deep inside you as he swallowed the sounds of pleasure you were revealing.

Sam Winchester, the lovestruck man who blissfully came in your hand as the ocean washed his salty semen away, with red hot cheeks he smiled awkwardly at the ocean floor.

Sam Winchester, who fell in love with you the moment you both got back to the motel you were staying at. The lovestruck man who confessed his feelings to you instantly and celebrated when you felt the same.

Sam Winchester, the horrible liar when Dean questioned what happened and why his cheeks were so red and why he was so nervous.

Sam Winchester, the man that got clowned by his brother for the rest of the week about how he not only skinny dipped but did it with the hottest woman ever and got a handjob from her.

Sam Winchester, who is proud to call you his hot hunter girlfriend as you both hunt together and have sex in almost every motel you stay in, leaving Dean to endure the sounds of skin slapping and a lot of moaning that's happening.

Sam Winchester, the lovestruck boy who fell for the hot girl he met at the diner.

Taglist: @dollyfl1rt @itzdarling

[sammybeann]

So there's been a lil interest in me continuing this lil guy, so I've decided to make it a whole ass fic. So enjoy the filler chapter for now, as I have COVID and have lost my will to live. I promise it'll get more delicious, though, and we'll dial creep!Dean up to 100.

So what if Sam gets injured on a hunt, tossed around like a ragdoll by an angry vengeful spirit and smacks his pretty little head hard against a concrete wall?

Dean ends up finishing the spirit out, but Sammy is out fucking cold so he has little choice but to take him to the hospital. 

Finally, Sam wakes up and Dean's relief is immediate and immense, and that was until Sam made eye contact, glossy, confused hazel eyes meeting Dean's before asking "who the hell are you? Where am I?!"

The doctor comes in before Dean can answer, shooing the older Winchester out of the room so he can assess Sam's condition. 

Minutes felt like hours before the doctor emerged from the room, his brows furrowed as he explained to Dean that it appeared Sam was suffering from a pretty bad case of amnesia, only remembering certain events in his life, but had no recollection of people, unable to name off any family members or friends. And though his physical injuries would heal and he'd be okay, he wasn't sure Sam would ever recover his memories. 

When Dean re-emerged into Sam's room, he was met once again with an apprehensive look from the baby brother who once looked up at him with stars in his eyes instead of caution. 

After some prying, Dean had come to learn Sam knew his own name, remembered Stanford but nobody there, and mentioned memories of creatures and monsters, but still had no idea who the rough looking man in a dirty leather jacket with blood from Sam's head wound still on his hands was. 

"So, who are you, anyway?" He asked for the second time. 

Before he could really think about it, fight with the devil and angel on his shoulder on whether or not he should betray Sam's trust like this, cross a line he'd never be able to come back from, the words already left his mouth. 

"I'm your husband," he told Sam, who's eyebrows shot up comically high. "I...uh... we've been together since we were teenagers. Got married last year, the whole nine. We...we don't wear rings 'cause those monsters you talked about - they're real. We kill 'em."

Sam went white as a ghost. It wasn't as if this man was unattractive, and sure, he had been curious about the other sex growing up but he never thought he'd actually settle down with a whole ass man. There was also the news of the supernatural, sending a shock to his already overwhelmed system. 

"I...I don't...monsters, really? How the fuck am I supposed to kill monsters?! How am I married?! Oh, God. What am I supposed to do?!" An exasperated Sam exclaimed, big, watery doe eyes staring up at Dean, looking at him like he was his lifeline now, like Dean was his God that could fill in all the gaps for him. 

Guilt bubbled up inside Dean's chest, ugly and festering, but damn if that look from Sam didn't make it all worth it. He had his baby brother on a hook now, dependent and reliant on the only person he had. 

Dean bent down and ran a hand through Sam's mop of hair, leaning in to press a firm kiss against his forehead. 

"Hey, s'okay, baby. I'm here. I'll take care of you," he mumbled against Sam's clammy skin. "I got you."

Yeah, there was no was Dean wasn't going to hell for this, especially when Sam reached out to grab Dean's wrist, pulling his hand down to rest his cheek against Dean's callused palm. 

"Okay," Sam whispered brokenly. "I trust you."

[xoxoladyaz]

Feeling some Steddie angst hours in this house 🚨🚨🚨

After they kill Vecna, things go back to normal. Well, as normal as they can be. Whatever brief moment of insanity Steve and Nance had ends about as suddenly as it began, and she can’t really meet his eyes once her hand is back in Jonathan’s.

(It’s a blessing when she leaves for Columbia, Jonathan’s beat-up car following right behind her.)

The least normal thing is probably Eddie Munson, or at least whatever Steve’s relationship is with him now. It’s - there’s just something different there, some strange warmth that he feels when he looks at Eddie. And sometimes Steve catches Eddie just looking at him and - well, it gives him that same warm feeling, and maybe that means something? Something that maybe seemed scary before but is nowhere near as scary as Eddie almost bleeding out in Steve’s arms.

He’s in the midst of talking himself up, of figuring out just what he’s going to say to Eddie, when the Munsons announce they’re heading out of town and then leave the next day. Steve’s almost paralyzed with anxiety, but he’s gotta say something, right?

Except Eddie cuts him off at the knees with a weak smile, tells him not to be a stranger, to visit him in the city with his kids and a Winnebago once he’s finally gotten that suburban dream, and then he’s gone.

And Steve doesn’t hear from him again.

To be fair, no one really hears from Eddie; just Dustin, who will chime in that they’ve chatted every once in a while, that Eddie went to LA for a bit and then Seattle and finally settled in Chicago; that he seems to be really happy, but never gives any information beyond that.

And Steve? He packs up his life and follows Robin to college, and when he accompanies her to their first gay bar and sees two metal heads kissing, something inside him snaps and the pair of them end up drunkenly crying in their tiny apartment’s bathroom. But it gets better after that, and two years after their move to Indy, Steve meets Sam.

Sam, who’s got the lightest blonde hair he’s ever seen, cut into a shaggy mullet that perfectly offsets his shiny hazel eyes. He’s got a bright smile and a pierced eyebrow and too many earrings to count and his laugh is loud and joyous and for whatever reason, he likes Steve as much as Steve likes him.

Robin, of course, is ecstatic and takes all the credit for introducing them, which is technically true seeing as she was the one to spill her drink all over Sam before Steve came to the rescue. (Although she then almost ruined everything by throwing up on both of their shoes, so, Steve only lets her gloat so much.)

Three years after that finds Steve and Robin gainfully employer, as teachers of all things, and Vickie finally succeeds in convincing Robin to move in with her, and, well, it only makes sense that Steve and Sam get their own place too because, well, Steve loves him. Loves his ripped jeans and his skateboard and the fact that he’s cheery no matter the time of day, that he wants to have a family probably even more than Steve does and didn’t blink when Steve said he wanted six kids, he only laughed and said “why stop there?” And it may not be exactly what Steve was thinking in that Winnebago all those years ago, but that’s okay, because what he has with Sam? Is way better.

Once Steve and Sam get settled, Sam insists that they have a housewarming party (because Sam makes good money at his tattooing gig, and Steve’s inheritance is nothing to sneeze at, and they’re actually able to get a house, which feels insane but also just right) and invite all of Steve’s kids, who he’s met a few times but never all at once, and Steve is so whipped he says “yes” without a second thought.

(Which he really should have had because Henderson was also living in Chicago now.)

So when Henderson wanders in with Eddie as his plus one, and Sam is nowhere in sight, Steve only gives himself a moment to freak out before walking over to greet Eddie.

“Steeevveeeee Harrington,” Eddie purrs with a toothy grin. “Good to see you man. And good to see you finally getting started on that dream of yours,” he says, slapping Steve on the shoulder. “With Sam, I hear. You two crazy kids getting started on those six kids yet?”

“Uh, not - “

“Not quite yet,” Sam cuts in from behind Steve, wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and tucking Steve’s head under his chin. “I still want a few more years of this guy all to myself. You must be Eddie,” Sam grins, sticking out his hand. “Good to meet you man. I’ve heard all about you.”

Eddie just stares at Sam. Stares and stares until Dustin kicks him in the shin. “Right. Sam. Sam. Good to meet you, man,” Eddie says, but he looks pale and vaguely sick and if Steve didn’t know from the few times Dustin had slipped up in the past, he’d think Eddie was homophobic (and he knew that wasn’t the case.)

Sam grins. “Well, good to have you here. Steve, babe, Robin wants you in the kitchen, something about the salsa - “

“Oh my God,” Steve groans, and then all thoughts of Eddie are forgotten in his rush to make sure Robin doesn’t actually poison everyone, and then he gets busy greeting people and saying hi and it’s not until well after midnight, when the remaining guests are smoking up with Argyle and Steve is taking out the trash that he remembers Eddie. Or, more accurately, that he bumps into him.

“So. Sam,” Eddie says, smoking a cigarette by the garage, gazing off into the distance. “He’s a good dude. Got shit taste in music, though.”

Steve slams the trash can lid shut a little harder than he needs to. “Dude,” he sighs, and Eddie must hear his exhaustion because he doesn’t say anything else for a while.

“Did you know?”

“About what?”

“About you? Back in ‘86?”

Steve just nods tiredly. “Yeah, man. I did.”

Eddie hums nervously. “And was there someone - “

“Eddie, man, you know there was. You know.”

“Yeah,” Eddie’s laugh sounds broken. “Yeah, I did. Fuck. Fuck.”

And Steve doesn’t know what to say, because what is there to say? He loved Eddie; hell, part of him still loves Eddie. But Eddie ran at the first inkling of there being something between them, and Sam didn’t. He’s never run, not even when Steve gave him so many reasons to. And Steve could tell Eddie that he’s wondered, so many times he’s wondered, what they could have been. If they could be anything.

But Eddie wasn’t there to hold out his hand, and Sam was. Sam is, and that makes all the difference.

Steve claps his hand on Eddie’s shoulder, just like Eddie did when he arrived, and then he heads into his house.

(This time, he’s the one to leave Eddie behind.)

[hobiespick]

Sam Winchester x reader headcanons part 2

<33

a/n : fuck it we ball sammy headcanons part 2, I made a shit ton of them (yeehaw i made another moodboard) hope you guys like my shitty thoughts (i am acting so nonchalant but i am actually shaking i'm so goddamn nervous) , thank you sm for all the likes and feedback ! Enjoy!

Summary : Headcanons I wrote for Sam x reader (can be read as gn!reader), very few are abt Dean, mention of Sam's childhood, Sam being head over heels for u, Sam being flirty, the reader is mentioned to be shorter/smaller than Sam.

-He carries around your hairties: around his wrists, the pockets of his brown jacket or his wallet - buys Dean bubblegum air fresheners for baby. - he's a communist so his favourite icecream flavour is berry - he is the one to tell you to please call him Sammy. You've never dared to call him that, you know he doesn't let anybody else call him that besides dean, your last wish is to make him uncomfortable or annoyed. Infantilizing a 6'4 man would be the most emmbarassing way to get dumped. - you would rather fall face first into the ground than actually call him that - so when it's a lazy day and you’re both laying in his bed (u were physically dragged there by the giant) you hear Sam mutter something tiredly in your neck as his koala grip on your waist gets tighter. "What was that?" You ask softly. He has to drag his head up and look at you his hazel eyes seem dark brown due to the lighting in the room and his hair is messy, strands sticking up and down, he looks adorable. "You can call me Sammy" he repeats himself clearly voice lower than usual but geniune as he rubs the back of his knuckles over his eyes. You smile fondly at him, "Ok" you reply using the same soft voice as if you replied with a voice any louder than that you would ruin his sleepy state. He nudges his head back into your neck with a satisfied sigh. You can't help but travel your hand up to his hair to run your fingers through it and kiss his temple. "Night, Sammy" you whisper. He mutters something else in your neck but you know it's 'goodnight', feeling him smile against your skin before falling asleep fast, a result of the level of trust he has in you.

- avril lavigne enjoyer (he is a teenage girl your honor) -  you bother him with psyhological questions to scare him or something but he answers them with the same amount of melancholy for shits and giggles - he is a feminist

- really really likes sarcastic people, playing along with you, just shooting back snarky replies at eachother (he is flirting)

- likes being one of the very few people you trust - he also gets unconciously close to you - you both could be in a large room (inside a haunted house probably) and he would still be right behind you, glued to you like a gum to a shoe - can you imagine not paying attention and walking right into him - me personally I would break my nose, have you seen his chest? holy fuck

- that one time you mouthed off a victims relative for not giving a fuck about his missing son but he got verbally agressive quick and Sam had to swoop in and save your ass, putting himself infront of you shielding you from the vic's relative calming the situation down Imediately. - Dean unfortunately wasn't there, he was checking out some place where the vic might have been before they went missing, it was just you and Sam supporting (interrogating) the family - I am mentioning this because if Dean was in fact there things would escalate fast, you're basically his little sister.

- Dean probably loved indiana Jones as a kid ( dunno if this is canon or not I am on szn 2)

- you and sam were asking eachother questions, getting to know one another to pass the time once on some kind of stake out. - you asked him what was his favorite stuffed animal as a kid - he said he doesn't remember. (*sounds of uncontrolable sobbing coming from me n u*) - he asked you what was yours to change the subject - he would lie if he said that it didn't bother him, not remembering something normal people can easily recall from their childhoods - you replied back with your kid self fav stuffie smilling at the memory but feeling bad for Sam , heart aching at his confession - "i'm sorry you don't remember Sam." you say geniunely, how can someone be robbed of such a normal thing everyone should have? You've never wanted to buy someone a stuffed animal as bad as you do now. I know I am the one talking about "infantilizing a 6'4 man" but please, I can allow to contradict myself just this once. - he asked another question to shrug it off, he usually doesn't want anybody's pity, but yours felt honest, almost like his past hurt you too and he can't help but have the perverted need to tell you all about his fucked childhood, to have you hug him, maybe he was selfish and wanted desperately to be comforted by you. - "What was your favourite book when you were 13?" He skips past the subject quickly with an oddly specific question because he is Sam

- remembers Dean to drink water, Dean does the same with Sam just not verbally. Dean leaves water bottles where Sam can see them and Sam pretends to not notice it smilling to himself everytime he opens them and takes a sip

- gets some kind of sick twisted amusement from seeing you flustered (i'm so sorry I was literally talking about childhood trauma a min ago and now Sam is flirty) - example, you theorize with Sam about the monster you're having trouble identifying, he also can't hear you and you literally started muttering to yourself like a mad scientist, so to kill two birds with one stone he leans in dangerously close, looks you in the eye with a stoic expression and has the audacity to say "Hm? I'm sorry I can't hear you sweetheart." In his low drawl, LAWD HATH MERCY AHSHSBHAGA - he breaks character and smiles when he sees you get pulled out from your pondering haze - "M-might be a vengefull spirit." You repeat yourself, that little stutter and faint crimson on your cheeks shattering your whole 'badass, intimidating hunter' thingy you got going on in a matter of seconds, feeding his ego with a spoon.

- thinks it's cute when you and Dean act like siblings.

- he always knows what you need. "Sammy can you please give me my-" and you’re cut off by the sight of Sam already holding your sweater, the item of clothing looking ridiculously smaller in his hands. and if you jokingly ask him to put it on you too he just might (he is that head over heels for you) - if you ask him how did he know you wanted your sweater he would reply with something along the lines of "I saw it in my visions." sarcastic little shi- - he saw you running your hands up and down your arms before asking him - and since he is boyfriend coded, it's in his instinct to know what to do

- if he was feeling cute he would've enveloped you in a bear hug in order to warm you up.

- if you see him reading please pick up that unread book i know u have on your nightstand and read beside him. It can be your lil cute routine, can you imagine he just drags u to the couch or his bed, holding 2 books one of yours and one of his because it's comfy reading time, oh you're alone doing nothing?  nah BAM QUALITY TIME BIATCH

a/n: kinda lost sleep because of these but it's fine, I also think imma post and write for fun ,still learning the ropes of writting but uh yeah, again hope you guys like these feedback would be very much appreciated! 🫶

[impala-dreamer]

Just Wrong

A Supernatural Story

~John Winchester has a hard life and an even harder time keeping his mind off of young Y/N.~

John Winchester x Fem!Reader, Dean Winchester

1,998 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Age Gap, Masturbation, Longing

A/N: Set pre-series somewhere between Sam going to college and the start of the show. Reader is a little younger than Dean, but still of legal age. 

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He was always watching. He told himself it was out of concern. He was teaching them how to hunt, how to walk away from a fight without too much mess, how to stay the fuck alive. But that wasn’t all it was.

Ever since they’d picked Y/N up after the case in Buckeye, he’d been enamored with her. She was quick witted and clever, eager to learn, even more so to please. She was beautiful, too, in that way he wasn’t supposed to linger over too long anymore. Not at his age. Not at hers. Hell, she was tucked right in between his boys in age, for Christ’s sake. He couldn’t spend his days eyeing the curves of her jeans, his nights dreaming of tossing her in the back of the Impala and having himself a taste of her sweet young body.

It was just wrong.

Besides, Dean seemed to be just as in love. He was all puppy eyes and cocky smirks around Y/N, and she seemed just as interested. They were forever joking around, bumping shoulders, playfully slapping, generally acting like young adults in the first stages of love.

He couldn’t do that to his son, no matter how much he wanted to take her stupid little ponytail in his fist and yank until she cried, until she was whimpering and staring up at him with those pouty lips all hungry and wet.

It was just wrong.

So he watched. Kept a parental eye on her, on them both. He eyed her in the rearview mirror, distracted from the road by her gentle humming and the way the sun bouncing off the chrome struck her face. He stared over books while they trudged through long research sessions, one eye on the text, the other on the tip of the pen that was forever tucked between her delicious lips, taunting him. He counted her smiles, her laughs, her annoyed grunts; every furious shout, each heart-stopping moan. He took snapshots with his mind, tucking little moments away forever.

At night, he would lie awake and watch her sleep, imagining she was in his arms and not sleeping butt-to-butt with his son, a pillow jammed between them like a wall.

There were times when she caught him staring. A few too many times he didn’t turn away fast enough and she found his gaze locked on her, hazel eyes lingering a little too long on the dip between her tits, the curve of her middle, the tip of her tongue. She never shied away, instead, she met his eye with a confidence beyond her years as if she held some secret she was daring him to dig up. That was a grave he’d be happy to excavate.

But no. It was just wrong.

Still, he couldn’t help but dream. Dream of her soft young body melting for his touch. Dream of her sweet voice growing louder as he claimed her virgin cunt.

Somewhere outside of Beaumont, Texas, they holed up in a crappy motel for a few days' rest before heading to the west coast. The room was cramped and old and smelled like bleach.

They ate pizza for dinner and downed a few beers each. Y/N was curled up on one of the beds, Dean at her side as always. John sat across from them, keeping an eye on his treasure and his pirate son.

More than once, he could have sworn she was looking at him. Her ears were with Dean, but her mind, her gaze, was on John. She drank her beer in tiny sips, with the rim of the brown bottle seated perfectly in the middle of her bottom lip. She curled her mouth around the glass and stared at him, teasing perhaps, but probably just oblivious to her charms. She couldn’t be flirting with him. There was no way.

Still, he let that glimmer of a thought grow in the back of his head; let the dream take over. He allowed himself to imagine her lips trailing down his body and wrapping around his cock until he was aching and had to excuse himself.

He left them there and slammed the bathroom door, near to panting. He pressed his palm against the wood and closed his eyes.

She was there on her knees at his feet, batting her painted lashes up at him, begging silently for his cock. She whimpered and opened her mouth, a bit of drool spilling down her chin.

John sucked in a heavy breath and beat his fist against the door.

“You OK, Dad?”

Dean’s voice broke through his imagination and John cleared his throat.

“Yeah. All good.” He shook his head and scrubbed his hands down his face, turning away.

“We’re gonna go grab more beer. OK?”

John exhaled hard and turned on the sink faucet. “Yeah. Good. Just leave me alone.”

He splashed water on his face and stared into the mirror. He was fucking old. How’d he get so old? He tugged at his cheeks, tried to smooth out the lines around his eyes. He squinted at himself, trying to find the young man he used to be.

Would she ever look at him the way she looked at Dean? All innocent smiles and awkward giggles. Or was he too old for that crap? Were the days of women giggling in his direction a thing of the past?

Well, fuck them. He didn’t need to chase young things anyway. He got what he needed when he needed it.

And still-

Y/N with that beer… with her mouth so plump and juicy like a plum…

His cock strained against his jeans again and he huffed. Fuck it.

John stepped into the tub and settled down on the cold porcelain as he unbuttoned his pants. He pushed his head back against the edge and yanked his jeans down just enough to free his dick. He was throbbing already and the cool air was a bit of a jolting shock.

He hissed and wrapped his hand around the base, closed his eyes and saw her face.

Would she call him Daddy? Dare he ask her to? Would she let him strip her slowly, take his time unwrapping her like a gift until every inch was exposed and shivering under his touch? Would she moan his name as he sunk his cock into her, scream when she came? Would they wake the dead together?

“John?”

The door creaked open and he froze, eyes snapping open and heart skipping. He sat up and tried to cover himself, but she was already peeking inside, her tiny hand curled around the door.

Her eyes went wide when she saw him. Her jaw dropped and lips curled. “Oh! I’m… sorry. I just- I heard something, wanted to check on you.”

John cleared his throat but his mouth was bone dry. “I’m fine.” He shifted in the tub, tried to look normal even though his skin was burning and his balls were aching. “Thought you and Dean were going out to-”

Y/N shook her head gently. Her eyes were falling from his face downwards, following the line of his arm. “No. He went by himself. I wanted to… stay here with you.” Stepping fully into the bathroom, she shut the door behind her and threw the lock. Coyly, she pressed her back to the door and bowed her head, chewed her lip nervously.

He swallowed hard. “You did?”

She smiled. “Yeah. Is that- OK?”

Blood pounded in his ears. “Y-yeah. That’s fine.”

Y/N pushed away from the door and locked her arms behind her back. She took a step closer and peered into the tub. “You sure?” She licked her lips slowly. “I don’t want to disturb you.”

He should kick her out. Shouldn’t let her stay.

“Not disturbing me… Not at all.”

Another step and she was at the edge of the tub. Eyes lidded with a sultry gaze, she started at his face and swept down over his entire body and then back up, settling on his cock. She tongued her cheek and let out a slow breath.

“It’s just that… I heard you call my name before and…” Gently, she sank to her knees on the cold tile and placed her hands on the rim of the tub. “Well, I thought if you needed some help…” Eyes on his face, she let her right hand slide from porcelain to denim and she curled her fingers into his thigh. “I could… be of service.” She moved a little higher, going slow lest he protest.

His jaw hung open, his brain sizzled. He should tell her to get lost, throw some kind of fit and make her leave, but fuck, her hand was so light yet pressed so heavy on his leg. His head was swimming, heart racing.

“You should go,” he whispered, barely any conviction behind it.

A little higher, her thumb brushed against the top of his sack.

He shuddered, stomach tensing hard.

“Are you sure?” she asked, pushing his hand away to take the base of his cock in the tight ring of her fist.

John hissed and grabbed her wrist, locking his long fingers all the way around. She startled, but held his gaze, daring him to tell her to go.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, suddenly older than her years, seemingly far from the innocent little doll in his fantasies. Better, sexier. “I want to.”

His grip loosened and she snagged her lip between her teeth, clearly hot and excited herself.

She stroked him slowly, keeping her eyes locked on his. Her touch was like silk, her movements expert. John held his breath when she picked up the pace, groaned when she sat higher up on her knees to reach him better.

She was rolling against nothing as she worked his cock and John snuck a hand over the ledge, plucked at her tits through her shirt. She whined beautifully and tipped her head back; throat long and exposed, begging to be bitten.

“So wrong,” he moaned, reaching up to grab a fistful of her hair. She whimpered just like he imagined and her eyes rolled back to pure white.

“Not wrong,” she said with a grin. “You and me could never be wrong…” She swirled her palm over his leaking tip. “Never.”

“God, I want you so bad.” He grit his teeth, jerked his hips up into her hand.

Y/N paused for a moment and then pulled away. She stood up and John watched in shock as she tugged the jeans from her hips. Her panties were thin and damp and she tossed them aside as well.

“Want you too, John…”  Lifting her right leg, she set her heel on the tub and spread her pussy for him. “Want you to fuck me, John. Please… Please… Please… Please…”

Jaw clenched tight, he grunted loudly as he came, spilling into his own hand. Y/N vanished in a cloud of imagination and he sighed, relaxing in the empty tub.

“Fucking hell…”

Dean’s fist pounded on the door and John jumped.

“We’re back!”

John huffed and pushed himself up from the tub. “Thought I told you to leave me alone, damnit!”

There was no response, he was sure he heard Y/N laugh through the door. The bedsprings squeaked, the television snapped on.

John washed his hands and tucked himself away. Eyes back in the mirror, he shook his head.

“Keep dreaming, asshole,” he growled, hating himself for wanting her.

There was no way she would ever act like that, no way she’d ever want him the way he wanted her.

And yet, he was almost certain she gave him a teasing smile when he stepped back into the room. Sure she was eyeing him a little more than usual as they sat and watched t.v.; positive she was licking that bottle into her mouth just for him.

But fuck, it was just wrong…

[transchesters]

meg notices something strange when she’s inside of sam.

sam, who is 6’4” and 220 pounds of muscle, who towers over everyone he meets. sam, who on the inside, is a battered and broken little girl. meg would know. she’s been a battered and broken little girl herself.

so maybe she feels a little sympathy. maybe, as she stares into hazel eyes at this massive body in the mirror, she wishes that sam would just give in to all of this. her demonic blood, her cursed existence. at least if she was a demon, she could choose her body! she could look like meg knows she wants to.

yes, there’s sympathy, but meg is a demon. so sympathy comes with a darkness, twisted and vile. she lets sam be present in her mind as she gazes at her, through her, into the mirror. she makes sam watch as she slowly unbuttons her flannel, revealing her toned chest, her defined abdomen.

“if you were like me, sammy, you could choose any body you wanted,” meg murmurs, her voice lowered since she’s speaking from sam. “you could even take the one i used when we met. that little blonde piece. i know you thought she was pretty. i could take this body, and you could take that one, and we could find your rightful place on the throne of hell.”

she grins as sam constricts and fights against her. “besides. i think queen of hell has a much nicer ring to it than king. the demons wouldn’t question you. they’d call you whatever you wanted. she, your majesty, your highness. wouldn’t that be nicer than what you get now?”

when sam thinks of dean, meg sees what she sees. her brother, in all his glory, and what he would look like if sam said yes. “oh, sammy… you think he would ever accept you?” meg laughs, a throaty sound. she’s not used to sounding so masculine, but she doesn’t hate it at all. “i mean, the demon blood is one thing. it happened when you were a baby, and he still blames you! how do you think he’ll react if you tell him you’re a girl? he’s not exactly an award-winning feminist.”

meg tuts softly, shaking her head. sam’s hair is shaggy and ruffles as meg moves. “he’ll just think you’re an even bigger freak. hell, he’d probably blame me! i mean, you’ve got a girl demon inside of you. that must leave a mark, right?”

—

when all is said and done, when meg is exorcized from his body, sam can’t help but wonder if she was right. here he is, back to thinking of himself as a man. as a younger brother and a son. as a hunter, cursed to live this life. this life where he can’t, by any means, be a girl. he knows what dean would say.

meg was right. sam keeps his thoughts to himself. he doesn’t have time to contemplate his gender. he’s suffered with this secret since he was sixteen, old enough to stare at his female classmates and wish for his body to be like theirs. he decides that he’ll suffer for the rest of his life. he was born a man, and he would die a man. his secret died with jessica, with brady, with all of his stanford friends he had come out to. they were the last, and only, ones to call him “she”.

sam will take it to the grave. he doesn’t need to give dean another reason to call him a freak.

[lght-roastcoffee]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ Never ⋆ ˚｡⋆

prompt: "I'm not leaving you."┆Tuna-Tober ⊹ Day 4

pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

wordcount: 1.1K

warnings: mentions of blood, spn-level violence, established relationship

author's note: First, I imagined season 4 Sam after it's revealed he's been drinking demon blood for this. Second, this is a day late. Unfortunately, I got a little sick yesterday and every time I sat down to work on this, I got a little dizzy. But it's out now! I'll just finish the challenge a day later than I had planned, but I am still planning on doing all 10 prompts I've set for myself.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ 𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢-𝘵𝘰𝘣𝘦𝘳 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘴 ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

Sam’s screams penetrate the walls of Bobby’s house, setting everyone on edge. Tears gather in my eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time since Dean closed the bunker door behind him. He and Bobby sit up stairs, deciding on their next move while I sit in the basement on a worn out dining chair. 

After everything that happened with Castiel and Jimmy Novak, no one expected a darker secret to linger. But when I turned from the demon who had vomited its black smoke from its vessel to see Sam-my Sam-with blood smeared across his mouth, everything around me vanished. The look in his eyes after everything calmed down and Sam met my eyes was haunting. The anger residing in his hazel eyes was a stark difference to the gentleness I usually saw, and it scared me.

Dean snuck away as Sam and I cleaned up the mess and the bodies, making sure all evidence had been scrubbed clean from the scene. The silence between us is unusual. Usually, we’d laugh and joke, despite the morbid circumstances. But after the look in his eyes, I don’t know what to think anymore. 

I knew that after Dean’s death, things weren’t quite the same. Sam took off, leaving me at Bobby’s, and never answered my calls. I knew he was still hunting, and doing a great job, from what I heard. So I stayed with Bobby as I helped him around the junkyard and assisted with some hunts now and then. So when Dean came stumbling across the threshold, very much alive, all I could think about was Sam and if he did something to bring him back. 

Dean and Bobby went off to find him while I stayed back, not quite ready to face him after he up and left. And after Dean confronted the angel who raised him from Hell and we learned of the impending apocalypse, I could tell Sam wasn’t the same man anymore. But who would be, after his brother, the person who raised him, died gruesomely right in front of him?

So I kept myself occupied, helping Bobby in his research on the seals and trying not to get too close to Sam. But he wormed his way back in, apologizing for leaving like he did and for holding back the truth of his escapades during that time. He promised he wouldn’t use his abilities anymore and that was that. 

Sam started trying to get back in my good graces. He started by arriving with coffee any time he saw me, then I’d notice new books stacked on the nightstand of my room in Bobby’s house, until he started inviting me out on more and more hunts with Dean, and I’d join. It all came to a head after a close call with a werewolf we were tracking and I laid in his arms, bleeding out and confessing, before Cas showed up and healed me, thanks to Dean’s prayers. We were good again, but I could tell that something was still eating at him. Well, I guess I know why now. 

“You okay, kid?”

I look up, feeling the tears falling freely against my cheeks as Dean stops in front of me. He sets a glass of water next to me on a rickety table. 

“Is this really necessary?” I managed to say. “Does he really need to be locked up like some- some animal?”

Over the course of the days we’ve kept Sam locked up, my anger has slowly been gathering. Whether it’s directed towards me, for not doing more to help the man screaming and pleading for help, or towards Dean and Bobby who were so prepared with trapping Sam and leading me away before I could ruin anything. But they’ve kept them in there, listening to his unnatural torture and continuing on like it’s nothing, no food or water because there’s a high chance he’ll get out is we open the door. This “detox” is destroying Sam and it seems I’m the only one who can see it. 

Dean sighs, pats me on the shoulder, and makes his way back upstairs. I sit there, the sounds of Sam’s cries lulling me into a restless sleep after not doing so for days. I only wake to the sound of rushed and heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. I see Bobby, then Dean, their faces a mix of worry and horror as they rush to the bunker door. That’s when I recognize the deafening silence. 

I rush over with them, Dean throwing the heavy iron door open and I see Sam on the ground seizing. I rush to his side, going to kneel down to keep him stable. Before I could do so, however, his body rose into the air and started slamming against the iron walls. I realize I’m screaming as Dean and Bobby push past me to get to Sam and restrain him to the cot. After everything settled down, Dean tried to drag me out of the room, but after landing a hard punch to his face and a knee to his groin, they gave me some space. Dean sat outside the door, listening for any trouble after getting some ice. 

I sat at Sam’s side, combing my fingers through his hair and humming softly. After a while, he groans, trying to reach up with his hand, but the handcuffs stop him. I sigh, tears forming once again at the torture the man I love is going through. He tries again and jerks awake frantically scanning his surroundings.

“Hey, Hey!” I push against his chest, hoping to calm him down even just a little bit.

“Y/N?” Sam relaxes slightly, confusion swimming across his features. “What happened?”

“You gave us a scare,” I answer, reaching up to smooth his bangs out of his face. “You started flying across the room. Bobby and Dean saw no choice but to restrain you.”

He lays his head back, eyes squeezing shut. “I’m sorry.”

I shake my head before cupping his face, hazel eyes opening to stare back at me in anguish, giving him a slight smile in return. “Hey, I- I understand, Sam. Just don’t do that again, okay?” 

“I- I don’t know if I can stop myself.” Tears form at his lash line, threatening to spill over. “I don’t know if I can stop myself from being the monster everyone thinks I am.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I say softly. “Just like we always do, right?”

The look he gives me, all watery and intense, makes me realize he’s terrified of my reaction. 

“You won’t leave me?” He whispers, voice shaking. I lean over him, face hovering over him. 

“I’m not leaving you,” I whisper. “Not ever.”

I press a soft kiss to his lips, tasting the salt from our joined tears. I pull away before resting my forehead against his.

“Never.”

[ad-writes]

Picture You - Sam Winchester x Reader 1250 words

Summary: Song fic based off of Picture you by Chappell Roan.

Warnings: Mentions of injury, and broken/sprained bones, and smut if you squint.

A/N: This song has been stuck in my head for the past 4+ days so I wrote this at like 1am, it's not proofread well so hopefully it doesn't suck. Enjoy! <3

Draw the blinds

Light every candle

Slip off my pretty dress down my chest

While I think of you

  You stared intently at Sam from the backseat. Tracing what you could see of his silhouette with your eyes over and over. You watched as Sam’s eyes flicked to meet yours in the rear view mirror before quickly shifting your gaze to look out the window. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to be in Sam's arms. Let’s be honest, in every moment you wanted nothing more than to be in Sam’s arms. You couldn’t stop thinking about him. He was always on your mind during hunts, while doing research, or even when you were alone in your room trying desperately to fall asleep. But you couldn’t sleep, because you needed Sam. You needed his warmth, his comfort.

Every night

Both lips on the mirror

It's ritualistic, counting lipstick

Stains where you should be

  You laid on your bed imagining what it would be like to be with Sam. To have him hold you close. Feel his warm hands on your body. His soft lips touching yours. They ways he would comfort you and hold you in times of pain or despair. And the ways you would reciprocate. To run your hands through his hair, and feel it in between your fingers. To lay your head on his chest and feel his heartbeat and the way his chest rises and falls with his breath. To feel his chest rumble as he whispers sweet nothings in your ears while you fall asleep.

Oh

I need you around

I'm getting close now

Do you picture me like I picture you? (Oh)

Am I in the frame from your point of view? (Oh)

Do you feel the same? I'm too scared to say (oh)

Half of the things I do

When I picture you

  You gave up trying to sleep and went to the kitchen for water. You turned from the sink to face what you thought was an empty room only to find Sam staring at you from the couch. “Why are you still awake?” He questioned. You gasped, startled by him. “I couldn’t sleep.” You responded. Sam patted the seat next to him on the couch. Sitting down next to him you couldn’t help leaning towards his warmth. “Are you cold?” He asked, not looking away from his movie. “Uh, yeah a little” You answered. Sam wrapped his arm around you pulling you close to him. Your heart beat faster as you remembered every time you imagined this happening. You wondered if this is what you hoped it was, that Sam shared your feelings, or if it was just him making a kind platonic gesture. You leaned into Sam’s touch resting your head on his shoulder. Sam’s thumb ran soft circles into your arm as your eyes drifted shut.

So, tell me now (tell me now)

All your perversions (oh, oh)

Am I doing research (am I?) in a mini skirt

At the library in your hometown?

  You woke up in your bed with the blankets pulled over you. You got out of bed and headed towards the kitchen. After pouring a cup of coffee you wandered to the library looking for Sam. As expected he was sitting at one of the tables with several books and his laptop around him. “Hey Sammy” You greeted. Sitting down across from him, grabbing a book. “Whatcha reading?” You asked. “Just looking at a possible case in Oklahoma.” He responded, quickly resuming his research. You opened your book and started to read but your eyes kept finding their way back to Sam’s face. Admiring the creases on his brow and the way he tensed his jaw as he focused. You got lost in Sam’s hazel eyes. Noticing all the different hues in his iris’. Your gaze drifted to his lips wanting to feel them on yours. Wishing he would throw everything off the table and just have you right there.

Oh

I need you around

I'm getting close now

Do you picture me like I picture you? (Oh)

Am I in the frame from your point of view? (Oh)

Do you feel the same? I'm too scared to say (oh)

Half of the things I do

When I picture you

  Dean broke a few ribs on the last hunt so you and Sam went without him this time. The hunt was rough and ended with both of you drained and you having a possibly broken wrist. You sat in the passenger seat as Sam drove. You held your wrist to your chest leaning your head against the window gazing at Sam in your peripheral, watching as he drove. Listening to the music and the hum of baby the pain melted away and closed your eyes. As you leaned against the window you could feel Sam’s worried gaze on you. You subconsciously winced shifting in the seat. You felt Sam press a little harder on the gas, eager to get home and make sure you were okay. 

When I picture you

Ah, ah

Ah, ah-ah-ah

Ah, ah

Ah, ah-ah-ah

  Feeling the familiar movement of pulling into the bunkers garage you opened your eyes to see Sam parking the car. “Can you get my bag for me?” You asked Sam “I don’t know if I can carry it.” You chuckled nervously. Sam replied with a nod and a soft smile. Walking inside the bunker you headed to your room with Sam trailing behind. You headed towards the bathroom with towels when Sam stopped you grabbing your un-injured wrist. “Let me know when you’re out I wanna look at your wrist.” Sam stated, gazing into your eyes with a look of nothing but care and concern. You nodded heading into the bathroom. After changing into clean sleep clothes you heard a soft knock on your door. “Come in.” You replied knowing it was Sam. “Hey Y/N, I just wanted to wrap that hand.” Sam said coming to sit on your bed in front of you. You nodded and gave him your injured hand to look at. A shiver went up your spine as Sam’s fingers gently grazed your skin searching for broken bones. You winced when he hit a particularly tender spot. “Sorry.” He apologized. He wrapped your wrist with an ace bandage. You snuggled in under your covers as Sam packed up the first aid kit. “Goodnight” He said, turning to leave.

Do you picture me like I picture you?

Am I in the frame from your point of view?

Do you feel the same? I'm too scared to say

Half of the things I do

When I picture you

 “Wait” You said impulsively. “I- could you stay with me?” “Uh, y-yeah sure.” He answered. You watched as he lifted the covers and felt the bed dip next to you. “Goodnight Sammy.” you mumbled sleepily, rolling over so your back was facing him. Everything was still for a few moments before you felt the bed shift and arms wrap around your waist. You stiffened before relaxing into Sam’s touch, feeling your heart rate quicken. You turned in his arms to face him, one hand on his chest. He leaned down, placing a feather light kiss to your lips before pulling back to make sure you were okay with it. Reading your expression Sam kissed you again this time with more passion before relaxing and pulling you into his chest. “Goodnight Y/N” He whispered.

[supernaturallyedsheeran]

Sanctuary in the Shadows

SYNOPSIS: Your out on a hunt with the boys when hell breaks loose and you're hurt - Sam stays by your side while Dean fights; strengthening the emotions that had fluttered between the two of you for far too long.

WORD COUNT: 1187

PAIRING: Reader x Sam

INCLUDES: Sam x Dean x YOU, kissing, implied sex

CHARACTERS: Dean, Sam x Reader

FANDOM: Supernatural

You never thought you’d find yourself in a cabin deep in the woods, surrounded by the heavy scent of aged pine and the faint hum of machinery that kept the cabin lights on - hidden from the world around it. But fate has a funny way of twisting your paths, and here you were, with Sam and Dean Winchester—heroes and hunters in their own right, grappling with the darkness that threatened to swallow our world whole.

The boys had become your sanctuary; where the weight of each mission eased just a fraction; as you always had them to lean on in times of need.

 For months now, you’d been tracking down a particularly vicious nest of vampires, who seemed to elude you at every turn. It was in those quiet moments, when the adrenaline of the hunt had subsided, that you find yourself noticing things—especially Sam Winchester.

Sam was the quieter of the two brothers, his presence a mix of determination and vulnerability. His hazel eyes held depths you can't quite fathom, and his voice, when he speaks, carries a soothing tone that masked the horrors he'd seen. You’ve always admired his brains, the way he can decipher ancient texts and unravel the most ancient of mysteries with a calm focus that borders on obsession.

But it's not just his intellect that draws you in. There's a kindness in him, a gentle strength that makes you feel safe even in the face of danger. He's saved your life more times than you can count, and each time, his concern is visible, his touch a fleeting reassurance that lingers long after the danger has passed.

Tonight, however, danger struck closer to home. You were preparing for what you hoped would be the final fight with the vampires. Dean was checking his guns, his movements swift and purposeful. Sam was hunched over an ancient book, brow furrowed in concentration; meanwhile you were trying to help Dean wrap up when it happened—a sudden crash, followed by a searing pain in your side.

You stumble back, clutching your abdomen where a piece of debris had pierced through your shirt. Sam was by your side in an instant, his hands gentle yet urgent as he assessed the wound. Dean's voice cuts through the chaos, barking orders to barricade the entrance and arm yourselves.

"We'll take care of this," Sam assures you, his voice a steady anchor in the whirlwind of panic. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he helps you to a makeshift cot, his concern etched into every line of his face.

As he tends to your wound, his fingers brushed over your skin with a tenderness that sent shivers down your spine, you find yourself overwhelmed by emotions you’d previously tried so hard to suppress. The fear of losing him, the gratitude for his unwavering presence, and something else—a longing that you’d buried deep within, afraid to acknowledge.

The hours blur into a haze of pain and exhaustion as you pass in and out of consciousness.

 Sam reclaims his spot by your side after helping Dean barricade the doors; his aura a calming presence amidst the chaos that raged outside the cabin. He cleans and dresses your wound with meticulous care, his hands steady despite the tension that hangs heavy in the air.

"Thank you," you manage to whisper as he finishes bandaging you up, your voice hoarse with pain.

Sam's gaze meets yours, and for a fleeting moment, the world outside falls away, leaving only the two of you in this dimly lit bunker. His expression softens, and you see something flicker in his eyes—a reflection of the emotions swirling within you.

"You don't have to thank me," he replies quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "We look out for each other, right?"

His words pierce deep, echoing the unspoken bond that has grown between you—a bond forged in blood and shared hunts, in moments of vulnerability and quiet understanding.

As the night wears on, the sounds of gunfire and shouts echo through the cabin, a stark reminder of the battle raging just beyond the walls. But in this small corner of the world, amidst the books and the relics of the past, you find solace in Sam.

When dawn breaks, casting a pale light through the cabin’s narrow windows, the battle is over. The vampires are dead, most scared away, their threat extinguished for now. Dean emerges from the fray, battered but triumphant, and offers a weary grin as he claps Sam on the shoulder.

"We did it, Sammy," he says, pride and relief mingling in his voice.

Sam nods, his eyes briefly meeting yours in a silent exchange that speaks volumes. There's a weightlessness in the air, a sense of accomplishment mixed with lingering tension and unspoken words.

* * * * * * * * * * * * 

Later, when the adrenaline has faded and the wounds—both physical and emotional—are tended to, Sam finds you in the quiet corner of the bunker where you’d retreated to, to collect your thoughts. He sits beside you, the closeness of his body, quickening the pace of your heart.

"Hey," he begins softly, his gaze steady and searching. "Are you okay?"

You meet his gaze, feeling a surge of courage as you gather your thoughts. " I think I will be," you admit, your voice wavering slightly.

Sam's expression softens, a flicker of understanding passing between you. "I'm glad," he murmurs, his voice calm.

There's a moment of silence between you, heavy with unspoken words and the weight of shared experiences. Then, without thinking, he reaches out, his hand finding yours. His fingers intertwined with yours, warm and reassuring, and in that simple touch, you find a sense of belonging you never thought possible.

"I... I care about you" he confesses, the words tumbling out in a rush of honesty.

Sam's gaze meets yours, his eyes searching you with an intensity that takes your breath away. "I care about you too," you reply softly.

Sam leans in without hesitation as his lips, soft and warm, press against yours. Without a second thought, you crash into him, parting his lips with yours, allowing his tongue to entangle with yours, as his body, pressed against yours, allows you to feel his heartbeat through your chest, against your own.

Seconds feel like minutes as your head spins, both of you smiling through the kiss, Sam biting your lip playfully. He pulls away.

“What do you say we–” He starts to speak, but he bites his lips and smiles, looking down into your eyes. “Yes” You say without hesitation Sam takes your hand and pulls you gently from the couch, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in for another deep kiss. As he pulls away one last time, his charm melting your heart, he leads you down the hall into his room.

As the hours passed, you return to some semblance of normalcy within the bunker walls; grateful for the path that lead you into Sam’s arms.

For in the shadows of the bunker, amidst the trophies of battles fought and won, you had found your sanctuary—and your heart belongs to Sam Winchester.