sam winchester x fem!reader
description: your tattoo artist friend suggests doing a 'random' henna tattoo on your lower back out of boredom. when you return to the motel, your semi-permanent tramp stamp practically turns sams brain into mush.
reader has ‘sammy’ on her lower back aaa ::>_<::
warnings: no nsfw, but slightly suggestive, fluff.
spn masterlist
You and the boys were on a hunt in your hometown, so you figured you’d give your childhood friend a visit. Sam and Dean were oblivious to the fact that she knew you were a hunter. The poor girl had been caught up in one too many of your half assed lies and near death experiences when creatures had decided to hunt you back; so naturally, the secret had to get out somehow.
Her tattoo studio was tucked between a shuttered record shop and pawn store on the edge of town, its windows fogged by condensation. It was dim, but cozy in its own way. The walls were a patchwork of old band posters, ink designs pinned like sketches in your hunter journal, and a few faded Polaroids of past clients who’d braved bolder choices.
You were curled up on a faded leather couch in the front room, a chipped mug of hot chocolate cooling in your hand.
She was finishing a walk-in tattoo, leaving you to your thoughts, until your phone buzzed quietly on your thigh.
Just checking in. You doing okay?
You smiled and gave him a call, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Sam echoed on the other end, his voice soft and familiar.
There was a quiet rustle. Paper maybe, or an old book, then a sigh. “Just wanted to make sure you got there alright.”
“I did. She’s finishing up a piece. I’m just chilling here waiting,” You reply.
"It was snowing a little last time I checked. You keeping warm?" He asked.
“Yeah. Hot chocolate’s questionable, but it’s hot.” you chuckled softly.
He huffed a short laugh, and you could picture him, probably hunched over an old lore book, elbows on the table, sleeves rolled up.
“That’s good.” A pause. You could hear Dean faintly in the background, and the distant creak of motel floorboards. “I miss you.”
That pulled at something quiet inside you, making you smile, “I’ll be back soon.”
“Alright,” he murmured. “Call me if you need anything.”
You ended the call just as your friend stepped back into the room, tugging off a pair of gloves. She eyed your expression with a grin.
“Sammy? That your guy again?”
You nodded. “Just checking in.”
She grinned, amused, “He’s the moose, right?”
You lifted a brow, “Moose?”
She smirked. “Tall, broad shoulders, hair like he lives in a forest?”
You paused, “Huh, I suppose he does look like a moose.”
She plopped down in the armchair across from you. “Yeah, I've see him and his brother around town. He seems good for you.”
You exhaled slowly, “He is. He’s smart and sweet. Sometimes it’s like he’s thinking five steps ahead but never makes you feel behind.”
“Bagged yourself a fellow nerd.”
“Yeah,” You sigh dreamily, “A cute nerd.”
She chuckled before leaning back, tapping her chin, “You bored?”
You shrugged, “A little. Why?”
“Wanna let me give you a henna tattoo?”
You hesitated, then gave a faint smile. “Ah, why not?”
You nod, "Yeah. I mean I trust your artistic instinct."
She perked up at that, "Let's do one on your lower back! Like a cute little tramp stamp?"
“Go ahead," You shrug. "Something small though.”
You shifted to lie down on your stomach, pulling your blouse up just enough to give her space to work. The cool touch of henna paste startled you at first, but the process was slow and relaxing, the way she always was when she had a brush in hand.
She didn’t tell you what she was painting. Just chatted with you idly and occasionally adjusted your shirt. When it finally dried and she wiped off the excess, she handed you a mirror and let you see it.
A delicate bunny and moose, outlined with just enough detail to make them whimsical, sat in the small of your back. Above them, written in careful script: Sammy.
“You know what? This is the most wholesome tramp stamp I’ve ever seen.” You laughed quietly. “Why the rabbit?”
She grinned. “Hm, I guess you remind me of one. And like I said, that Sammy of yours is obviously a moose.”
You glanced back in the mirror, the figures sweet and strangely personal. “It’s adorable, thank you.”
By the time you two finished catching up it was getting late.
As you gathered your things, your friend caught a peak of the tattoo and snickered,
“Something funny?” You sassed, slipping on your boots and looking back to her smug expression.
“Sammy's gonna love it,” She whispered as she pulled you into a hug.
“Shut up,” You grumble, though you hugged her tighter anyway.
By the time you returned to the motel, the sky had dulled into twilight, the clouds washed in violet and gray. The scent of motel soap clung faintly in the air, and you could hear the bathroom fan running. Dean was probably washing up, taking advantage of the steam showers the receptionist was raving out. Sam was sat at the table, a book open in front of him, lamp light catching the edges of his hair.
He looked up as you came in. That quiet smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“Hey. Have fun?” He asked, voice soft, eyes already on you like you’d been gone longer than just a few hours.
You nodded, toeing off your boots. “Yeah. She just wanted to catch up for a bit.”
“Mm.” His eyes lingered on you, then dipped back to the book, fingers absently turning a page. “Can you grab that old journal from the top shelf? The leather one with the green spine.”
You crossed the room, lifting your arms to reach the shelf. The hem of your shirt rose slightly with the motion.
And that’s when you heard it.
A sharp inhale. The sound of paper crinkling under a suddenly too-tight grip.
You turned, journal in hand. Sam was staring, not in the way he meant to, more like his eyes had found something and were refusing to let go. His mouth parted slightly, brows drawn like he couldn’t quite process what he’d just seen.
“Sam? You alright?” you asked, beginning to worry that he’d seen some sort of vision.
He blinked fast, dragging his eyes up to yours like he was trying to catch up. “What? Yeah—I’m fine,” he said, voice wavering. He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to the book like it could ground him. His leg had started bouncing.
You nodded, still unconvinced, but you didn’t wanna push it. You crossed the room to hand him that book he wanted, before getting ready for bed.
A few minutes later, you lay on his bed, facing him to get some shut eye, it was weird, but sometimes just watching work or do something quietly helped you fall asleep.
“Hey—did you...get a tattoo or somethin’?” he asked after a moment.
You glanced over your shoulder, then remembered, “Oh. Not a real one, it’s just henna,” you shrugged. “We were bored, so she gave me one.”
“Oh,” he nodded, lips pressed together like he didn’t trust them to say more. But his fingers fiddled with the corner of the page, restless.
So it was the tattoo that rattled him...
You felt a little grin tug at your lips, wanting to revel in the attention a little more. So you got up, padded toward him and lifted your sleep shirt just enough to show him the full thing, “Do you like it?”
Sam blinked, mouth opening, but nothing came out for a second.
"Sammy?"
He cleared his throat when you turned back around, eyebrows quirked at his dazed expression.
“Yeah, it’s hot—or cute. If that’s—what you were going for…” He sputtered.
“Thanks,” you bit back a laugh.
"So when are you gonna finish up?" You asked, sitting on his lap to push the brown locks out of his face, grinning at the way his shoulders slumped and his eyes closed, seemingly melting into your hands.
"Mm, I don't know, soon," he murmured, face tilting to give your wrist a little kiss.
"Could've gotten a real tattoo in all the time you've been sitting here," you chuckled.
Sam's head was nearly lolling back, sleep beginning to overtake him as you continued to gently stroke his hair when you leaned into his ear to speak again,
“I was never into tramp stamps but, I don't know, this one’s like my little Sammy stamp,” You whisper.
His eyes shot open.
You could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he tried to process what you just said.
You weren’t sure if it was the nickname, the location of the tattoo, or the casualness in your voice, but something short-circuited in that big beautiful brain of his.
You leaned down, lips almost brushing his.
You pulled back with a soft yawn, blinking sleepily as you got up off his lap.
“I think I’m gonna get some shut-eye.”
"Wha—Seriously?” his eyes narrowed in disbelief.
You stifled another yawn, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning too obviously. “Yeah, it’s late and I’m tired.”
He gave you a flat, betrayed look, the corner of his mouth twitching in spite of himself.
“You—” He scoffed, falling back against the chair back, “You planned that, didn’t you?”
He was met with silence as you settled on the bed with your arms folded under your chin. The hem of your shirt rode up again, but you didn’t bother adjusting it, resting your cheek on your arm with a barely concealed smile and close your eyes. You let him stew in it, content in the knowledge that your little tattoo was doing exactly what your friend hoped.
Sam tried to read. Really, he did. But he kept tapping the same sentence with his pen. He felt his gaze drifting again, never quite landing, but never quite staying away either.
His thoughts were a mess.
Yeah, maybe it would fade, but it was his name. On your lower back. In a spot usually reserved for something…private.
And you looked so damn content. Like it didn’t even occur to you that it might be even the slightest bit suggestive.
…this ones like my little Sammy stamp
He groaned under his breath, before rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the page harder, “Sammy stamp...” he muttered with a huff, "Christ."
A few hours passed and Sam was finally calmed down. Dean had long since emerged and flopped onto the far bed, snoring within minutes. Sam finally shut the lore book, brain too fried to keep going.
Sam turned, and there you were. Curled into his bed, face smushed into the arm tucked under your cheek, the other draped loosely off the edge.
He moved quietly, slipping in behind you. The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled in, his body curving gently against yours. His hand brushed your back lightly, the way that usually helped you stay asleep. Then his fingers dipped to trace the soft shapes adorning the small of your back.
He hadn’t really looked at the design earlier, been too busy short-circuiting over his name. But now, in the moonlight peeking through the curtains, he saw what was etched below his name: a little rabbit, leaning up to a moose.
Sam's fingers gently pressed on the animals. He tilted his head, it sorta reminded him of the two of you.
Then he huffed in amusement as the realization hit him, of course it was you and him.
He tucked his nose into your shoulder and closed his eyes, the steady rhythm of your breathing slowly pulling him under, falling asleep behind you with a little smile on his lips.
don't be shy, lmk what you think ! `(*>﹏<*)′
justice for tramp stamps frl, if i could get a tattoo, i'd get one there. they can be so dainty and cuttte.
