english is not my first langaue but I do my best :p
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Supernatural -
first impressions | p! sam and dean x reader
sparks of the apocalypse | sam x reader
dating sam winchester | aesthetic
lone wolf | sam x reader
bait for a broken heart | sam x reader
where peace resides | sam x reader
beneath the bitter | sam x reader
where the forest knows | sam x reader
writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months
summery - you are sunshine incarnate, and sam cant seem to stand it. but when you have to pose as a couple, how much longer can the truth remain hidden?
word count - 3.4K
cws - fem!reader, typical spn hunting and violence, fluff and angst (kinda?), really funny jokes
a/n - look at me posting again, this one took a while, but i quite like how it turned out. as always I apologise for any mistakes, english isn't my first language. BUT I hope you like it either way and again any feedback is appreciated ! as are rebloggs and comments. happy reading !
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Bobby’s house had become the home you never had. As a hunter, you were always on the move, but every now and then, you’d hit a rare period of rest and calm, and you typically found yourself spending it in the same cluttered house.
It also happened to be where you met the Winchester brothers, who were frequent guests there.
For a hunter, you were surprisingly optimistic. You kept a positive vibe about you, it was necessary to cope with the evil you saw on a near-daily basis. Think a little too long about the bad, and you’re spiraling for days.
Some hunters, like Bobby and the eldest Winchester, Dean, found it charming. Sweet. Amusing, even.
Sam, on the other hand, found it… irritating. He couldn’t fathom how you managed to stay so cheerful and upbeat while the end of the world steadily approached.
Not that his mood ever stopped you from being your usual self, or making jokes at his expense.
To you? If the apocalypse was coming, you might as well go down singing and dancing. You weren’t going to spend whatever time you had left depressed.
You’d soon started helping the three men on hunts more regularly, and today was no exception.
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“Romantic Vanishings?” you read aloud from the headline of a newspaper article. “Couldn’t think of a better title? This makes it sound like a bad fiction book.”
“Yeah, well, bad writing or not, the disappearances are real,” Bobby muttered, barely looking up from the book he was engrossed in. “Three couples gone missing in the last month. Same inn. Same ‘perfect couple’ types. Same dead-end reports.”
Dean was lounging across from you, nursing a beer and looking way too smug for someone doing zero research.
“Yeah, and get this,” he added. “The place only allows in couples. Like, PDA, sickeningly in-love couples.”
You sat up, eyes gleaming. “So what, you and Cas finally confessed your love? Planning on checking in for the weekend?”
“Ha ha. Very funny,” Dean deadpanned, tossing a paperclip at you. “Me and Bobby are gonna keep digging through lore while you and Sam cozy up for a couple’s getaway.”
You blinked. Slowly turning toward Bobby.
“I’m sorry, did you just say you’re sending me on a romantic retreat with Sam ‘No Fun’ Winchester?”
“I’m sending you to do your job,” Bobby grunted, barely looking up. “Whether it comes with rose petals and a king-sized bed is your business.”
Sam finally spoke, low, clearly annoyed, but trying to stay civil.
“This is unnecessary.” He was slouched on a small stool in the corner of the room. You’d almost forgotten he was there, and it made you jump slightly. “There has to be another way in.”
“There isn’t.” Dean clinked his beer bottle on the table. “Unless you want Bobby to play your fake husband?”
You imagined that for a second and broke into laughter. “Oh my god- can you imagine?”
Sam sighed. Audibly.
You grinned, loving how annoyed he already looked. “Come on, Winchester. I promise I won’t make you wear matching outfits. What’s the worst that could happen?”
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The inn was a large white building covered in vines and blossoms, with a hand-painted sign that read:
“Cherry Blossom Retreat – Love Blooms Here”
You stared up at it for a long moment, then turned to Sam in the driver’s seat.
“You look like you’re about to bolt or break out in hives. Maybe both,” you giggled.
“I’m fine,” Sam muttered, jaw clenched. He was fooling no one.
You smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “Aw. Look at us. Already fighting like an old married couple.”
“Can we just get this over with?” He grabbed his duffel and your bags too, marching up the steps like he could outrun the entire situation.
Dean had been in charge of booking the room and swore everything was in order. Two beds, no nonsense. Of course, Dean also swore ketchup was a vegetable, so maybe you should’ve known better.
The receptionist was exactly what you expected: soft cardigan, pearl earrings, warm smile.
“Ohhh! The Winchesters!” she beamed. “I was told you two were just the sweetest newlyweds!”
Sam froze.
But you didn’t miss a beat, looping your arm through his and leaning into his side.
“That’s us,” you said with your brightest smile. “Just married and madly in love.”
Sam exhaled like he was preparing for execution.
“Well, I’ve got the Honeymoon Suite for you,” she chirped, flipping open her book. “Top floor. Best view. Extra privacy. You’ll love it.”
Your smile faltered slightly. Damn you, Dean.
You grabbed the key with a tight grin and practically dragged Sam to the elevator before he could explode, or run for the door.
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The door creaked open.
Rose petals were scattered across the floor, and atop the biggest bed you’d ever seen.
You let out a low whistle. “Okay, wow. Dean really went all out.”
Sam dropped the bags with a bit more force than necessary, silently fuming as he took in the room.
“You okay, babe?” you asked sweetly, poking the word just to watch him twitch.
He turned to you, deadpan. “You think this is funny?”
“I think it’s hilarious.”
Still stone-faced, Sam started sweeping all the petals off the bed so you could review the case files. There was no desk, just the ridiculously oversized mattress.
You sat cross-legged, skimming the reports while Sam perched beside you, arms folded, back stiff like the red silk sheets might bite.
“Three couples,” you read. “All checked in. All gone within forty-eight hours. No signs of struggle. No EMF. No blood. Just, poof. Gone.”
“Doesn’t fit anything typical,” Sam murmured. “Only common thread is this place. And they all went on that ‘Moonlight Hike’ before they vanished.”
“Maybe some kind of creature or spirit that feeds on love?” you offered, stumped. Then added with a grin, “Or maybe they all just got too into the honeymoon vibes and got lost.”
Sam didn’t budge.
You nudged him. “Come on. That was funny.”
“We’re here to work.”
“Doesn’t mean we can’t laugh a little. Part of the job is pretending you like me, so you could at least try.”
He looked at you. Quiet. Something in his eyes softened.
“I do like you,” he said quietly.
You paused. That shut you up…for about three seconds.
Grinning, you flopped back dramatically onto the mattress. “You are such a bad liar, Sam Winchester. But mark my words, by the end of this hunt, you’ll be madly in love with me.”
Sam didn’t respond. Just buried his face in the lore book.
You didn’t see the small smile he was trying to hide.
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You headed to reception for directions to the trail. The woman there gave them enthusiastically, like she was rooting for your “relationship.”
The path was lit by old lanterns and moonlight, gravel crunching beneath your boots, air cool and crisp.
You linked your arm through Sam’s again. “To keep up appearances,” you told him.
Totally not because he radiated warmth. Or because the staff’s eyes on you made your skin crawl.
Nope. Definitely not that.
“This place has me feeling like I’m in some romance-horror flick,” you muttered. “The creepy smiling doesn’t help.”
Sam grunted, focused on the woods. Always ready for an ambush.
“Relax,” you chuckled. “You’re making us look suspicious. Couples in love don’t walk around like they’re being hunted by the FBI.”
“I’m trying to stay alive.”
“Well, try living a little while you’re at it,” you teased, nudging his hip with yours. He didn’t react, but you swore you saw his jaw twitch like he wanted to smile.
The further along the trail you went, the more that eerie sensation crept up your spine.
You paused mid-step. “You feel that?”
Sam tensed beside you. “Feel what?”
“Like… something’s watching.”
You both scanned the trees. Still. Silent. Nothing.
But the feeling lingered.
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You headed back early, deciding it’d be better to try again tomorrow, and more armed.
You took the first shower, trying to rinse off that unease. When you stepped out, you caught Sam’s voice from the other room, on the phone.
You hadn’t meant to overhear. But you also didn’t exactly not listen. I mean it wasn’t your fault Sam decided to put Dean on speaker.
“You sure it’s not the usual monster?” Dean’s voice was faint but recognizable.
“Yeah. I’m sure. If it were a vamp or something, it would’ve attacked. It felt different… Maybe something that feeds off emotions. Or love.”
“Hmm. I’ll keep digging. Sooo…”
“So?”
“How’s it going with Miss Sunshine?”
“Dean-”
“I’m just saying- if I’d known a weekend with her would get you this worked up…”
“I’m not-”
“C’mon, Sammy. She’s like human sunshine. You can deny it all you want- you like her.”
“I don’t-” Sam’s reply came a little too fast.
“Sure. I bet sharing a bed with her is pure torture.”
The voices went muffled as you backed up, heart hammering.
You gave him a moment to wrap up his call, and regain your composure, then exited the bathroom loudly.
“What’d they say?” you asked casually.
Sam blinked like he’d just remembered you existed. “About what?”
“The case,” you said, breezing past his flustered state.
“Oh-uh. No solid lead yet. They’re checking into the emotion thing.”
You nodded, pretending you hadn’t just become the subject of that entire call.
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You sat on the edge of the bed as Sam walked out of the bathroom.
“Should’ve made Dean swear on the two-bed promise,” you offered lightly.
“I did,” Sam replied, deadpan.
“Should’ve made him pinky swear, then.”
You both looked at the one available bed.
“…So,” you said, turning back to him. “Which side do you want?”
He blinked at you, like you’d asked him to solve an equation.
“It’s not like we’ve got options here, buddy.”
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said quietly.
You rolled your eyes, pulling back the covers. “What? You think I’m gonna combust if our elbows touch?”
Pause. Sam didn’t say anything. So you did.
“…I mean, maybe you will. But I’ll be fine.”
Sam let out something between a sigh and a laugh and finally moved toward the bed, sitting stiffly on his side.
You turned off the light.
Silence.
“I don’t sleep-talk or anything,” Sam mumbled.
You grinned into the dark. “Cool. I do.” you teased before turning over to go to sleep.
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You awoke feeling warm, strangely warm for it being February. And there was this pressure across your waist, not the monster-standing-over-you kind. It was heavy and hot.
Then the realization hit you like a brick, instantly shaking away the last of your sleepiness.
Sam's arm was draped over you like a weighted blanket. He must’ve migrated to your side during the night, and now, you were very aware of the soft, steady breaths right behind you.
Shifting under his weight, you tried to slip free, but the motion only caused his arm to tighten around your waist.
You sighed. No getting out of this without waking him. So, screw it.
“Sam.”
Nothing. Just those quiet breaths.
“Sam,” you repeated, louder this time.
There was a sluggish shift, followed by a groggy voice:
“…Huh?”
Then, like lightning, the weight vanished. Sam bolted upright the second he realized he’d been cuddling you like a koala.
“Shit- sorry, I didn’t-” You could practically hear the panic setting in.
You cut him off with a smirk, doing your best to lighten the tension. “Wow, Winchester. And here I thought it was going to take more work to get you to fall for me.” You shot him a wink.
He just blinked at you, then dragged a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe what had happened.
“Relax, it’s fine,” you giggled. His face softened slightly, but you, being you, couldn’t help but throw more fuel on the fire. “But Dean is never gonna let you live this down.”
“You aren’t going to tell him about this?” he asked, mildly panicked again.
“Mmhh… depends on how grumpy you plan on being today.” You beamed, getting up and heading for the bathroom.
All you heard before shutting the door was a muffled groan.
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You spent the rest of the day planning your return to the forest trail. You packed a small bag filled with carryable weapons and concealed a few hidden daggers on your person.
Better safe than sorry. Especially since you still had no idea what you were up against.
You took a deep breath before heading back into the eerie woods. It was quiet. Too quiet. Within seconds, that uneasy feeling crept up your spine.
You glanced at Sam beside you. He looked just as tense.
“If you get scared, you can hold my hand,” you joked, trying to soothe your nerves. Humor was your number one coping mechanism.
“For someone who sees what they see and constantly puts their life on the line, you’re awfully cheerful,” Sam said, ignoring the tease.
“Maybe you’re not cheerful enough,” you replied with a shrug.
Sam raised an eyebrow. You continued, “The way I see it, we’re all heading headfirst into our dooms. I’m not gonna spend my last moments miserable.”
He didn’t say anything, just hummed in understanding.
Farther down the trail, the unease worsened. You stopped at the marked scenic overlook. Moonlight spilled across the treetops, casting a soft glow over your features, something Sam didn’t miss.
Still no creature in sight. But something was watching. You could feel it. Sam could too; his hand drifted to the gun hidden in his belt.
“Maybe it’s shy,” you murmured, trying to steady your nerves.
“Or waiting.”
“Or maybe…” you said, sending him a mock-serious look, “it’s got commitment issues.”
The silence grew deafening, stretched tighter and tighter- until Sam’s phone rang, making both of you jump.
Dean.
Sam answered. You could hear Dean talking fast, but your focus was elsewhere, your pounding heart and the shadows surrounding you.
“…You sure?” Sam asked, flicking his eyes toward you, unreadable.
You caught bits of Dean’s muffled voice:
“…her husband pretended to love her… vanished one day… haunts the trail where they honeymooned… ganked herself… targets couples…. lying… hiding things…”
“Alright, got it.” Click.
Sam's voice turned low and tight. “They think it’s some kind of cursed spirit. Targets couples.”
You blinked. “No, really? And here I thought the three missing couples were just a coincidence-”
Sam waved you off. “Couples hiding something. Secrets. Lies. Pretending everything’s perfect when it’s not. It can sense it.”
A beat of silence passed between you.
“Oh,” you said finally, forcing a weak smile. “So… good thing we’re not a real couple, then. Right?”
Sam didn’t answer. He could barely look at you.
Before you could press it, a dark cloud of smoke emerged from the forest.
Right on fucking cue. You swore your life could be a poorly written fanfic at times.
Before you could react, a vine shot from the darkness, coiling around your legs and yanking you off your feet. You screamed, clawing at the ground as you were dragged into the forest. Sam shouted your name- but it grew distant fast.
You tried kicking, grabbing anything you could. It was no use.
Then you came to a sudden stop. But before you could react you were sent into your own void of darkness with a blunt hit to the head.
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Sam was panicking. One moment you were beside him, the next, gone. Dragged away into the trees by god-knows-what.
He didn’t hesitate. He ran. Branches clawed at his arms and legs, but he pushed through. The forest almost felt like it was resisting him, trying to stop him from reaching you.
But he didn’t stop. Wouldn’t.
When he found you, his heart froze.
You were unconscious, strung up against a tree by thick vines, your limbs wrapped tight. In front of you stood a creature, vaguely womanlike, made from twisted roots and splintered bark, with hollow eyes.
“Let her go!” Sam shouted, pistol raised.
The creature turned. Her eyes locked onto him.
“Liar,” she hissed, and with a flick of her hand, Sam went flying backwards. His gun landing somewhere out of reach.
He got to his feet, gasping, and lunged with his silver blade. The creature was fast. Her claws slashed across his ribs. He staggered back, bleeding, but swung again. This time she shrieked.
She didn’t like silver. Noted.
Sam kept fighting, bloodied and breathless, but she was stronger. Faster. He was losing. A final strike knocked him to his knees. Vines erupted from the earth, wrapping around him and locking him in place.
She loomed over him. “Tell the truth,” she whispered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam choked out.
“Liar.”
She turned toward you. Another vine slithered up your body, wrapping tight around your neck.
Panic jolted through Sam like lightning.
“OKAY! JUST- STOP!” He gasped.
“I tried not to like her. I tried not to get attached-”
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The crushing pressure around your throat jolted you awake. You couldn’t move. Everything hurt. Your vision blurry.
Then, a voice.
Sam.
“Everyone I love, I always lose. I couldn’t lose her. She’s everything. She’s like a breath of air. The sun after the rain. She’s too good for this world. Too good for me.”
Your breath caught, and not just from the suffocating.
You forced your eyes open, trying to focus your sight. You saw Sam, bloodied, trapped. The twisted creature looming above him.
Adrenaline surged. You weren’t going down like this.
Your hand clawed toward the small blade in your boot. You fought. Gripped the handle. And sliced.
Vines dropped around you. You hit the ground, hard, but didn’t stop. You sprinted toward the creature and plunged the silver blade between her shoulder blades.
She shrieked, a horrible, wind-through-broken-glass sound, then crumbled into ash and leaves.
Sam collapsed to the ground, released. You rushed to him.
“You okay? Are you badly hurt?” you rasped, your throat sore and raw.
“Not bad,” he said quietly. A moment of thick silence passed. “How much did you hear?” he asked after a long pause.
You looked away, cutting him off. “Let’s get out of here. God knows where we are- and I, for one, want to get as far away from this creepy place as possible.”
You slipped an arm around his waist, supporting him as you made your way back to the inn.
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You dodged the inn staff as best you could and got Sam back to the room, helping him onto the plush chair in the corner. You grabbed your med kit and started patching him up in silence.
Sam watched you intently. Like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words to string together.
The unbearable tension hung heavy. Finally, you broke it.
“All of it.”
Sam blinked. “What?”
“‘Breath of air,’ ‘losing everyone,’ ‘too good for you.’ I heard it all.”
He fell silent. You kept working on his wounds, your voice soft.
“Did you mean it? Or were you just saying what it wanted to hear?”
He hesitated.
“I meant it.”
You froze. The answer wasn’t a surprise, you knew the truth, deep down. But hearing it out loud hit different. You nodded slowly, finishing up, turning to put the med kit away.
Barely a second later you felt his hand wrap around your wrist.
He gently pulled you to face him where he now stood. His hand came up under your chin, tilting your head so you had no choice but to meet his hazel eyes.
Searching. Searching for any sign of rejection. Searching for a sign that you felt the same.
When your gaze flicked to his lips, he had his answer.
His hand slid behind your neck, he leaned down and he kissed you.
And for the first time in longer than you could remember, the world stod still.
All his fear, of losing you, of never being enough. Gone. He wasn’t going to waste any more time. Not after this. Come hell, high water, or the goddamn apocalypse.
You were his. And he, yours.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered softly with a grin, “Told you I’d have you madly in love with me.”
Sam let out a soft, breathless laugh, kissing you again. This time with more passion, more hunger.
His own way of saying just how madly in love with you he was.
summery - you and Sam cant stand each other, but what happens when you're forced onto a hunt together, and things take a bad turn
word count - 2.1K
cws - fem!reader, angst and arguing, slight sexim mentions, mentions of violence and injury, lmk if i missed anything
a/n - heyyy, been a while, life got wild and then I had exams, but hoping to be more active now!! As always I apologise for any mistakes, english isn't my first language. BUT I hope you like it either way and again any feedback is appreciated ! as are rebloggs and comments. happy reading !
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Knowing Bobby Singer meant hearing about all kinds of hunters. You’d swear Bobby knew more people than the President.
Working with Bobby, though, meant meeting them.
You’d met hunters of all kinds—introverted, no-nonsense types who just got the job done, crazy fanatics, and the boring-as-hell ones. But the most common? The cocky, overconfident kind.
Which is exactly where your distaste for the youngest Winchester brother first began.
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You’d just wrapped up a particularly demanding hunt and headed to Bobby’s to get a bit of downtime. While you were there, Bobby asked for your help researching one of their cases.
“Sounds like a Rugaru to me. Timeline and hunger escalation fit the pattern,” you said casually.
Sam, without missing a beat, went full book-mode. “I mean… that’s a decent guess, I suppose. But Rugarus don’t usually show restraint this long, and the suspect doesn’t have any hereditary signs suggesting so.”
Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the healing bruises from your last hunt. Or maybe it was just being sick of male hunters underestimating you. But something about Sam’s reply rubbed you the wrong way.
“A decent guess? Bobby asked me to help because you boys clearly can’t figure this one out yourselves. And how do you even know it’s definitely the husband?” you scoffed.
Sam looked up, clearly taken aback by your bluntness. He hadn’t meant to come across condescending, but by then it didn’t matter. You were too stubborn to let it go.
Annoyed, you glanced at Bobby, who cringed at the scene unfolding. You stood, announced you were leaving, and made a final snide remark about not sitting by while some guy questioned your intelligence, then promptly left the room, not giving Sam a second to explain or protest.
You hadn’t meant to start an argument. But backing down was never really your thing.
Not after years of male hunters brushing you off just for being a woman.
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Several months passed since that first meeting with the Winchesters. Your relationship with Sam? Still rocky. You were both too damn stubborn.
Every interaction came with snide remarks and bickering. Bobby just rolled his eyes. Dean, on the other hand, was thoroughly entertained.
‘’Y’know, for two people who don’t like each other, you sure bicker like an old married couple.’’
Both of you ignored him.
You didn’t know what it was about Sam Winchester, but he got under your skin. He drove you absolutely crazy.
What made it worse was overhearing him talking to Dean after one of your arguments.
“She just won’t let it go. Acts like I’m the bad guy because I questioned her once. I mean seriously, she’s dramatic. Ridiculous.”
After that, you didn’t bother with the petty banter. You went cold towards him. It threw Sam off, but you weren’t about to explain yourself to someone who saw you as a joke.
Which brings you to your most recent hunt.
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“I still think it’s a bad idea,” you muttered, arms crossed in Bobby’s study.
You’d been tracking a demon that left a trail of bodies behind it. When Bobby called saying he had a lead, you jumped in your car and floored it to Sioux Falls.
Dean looked up from where he was cleaning his gun.
“What, you mean going after a couple rogue demons in the middle of nowhere, or doing it with my brother?”
“Both,” you snapped. “Mostly the second one. Not exactly a fan of spending time with Mr. College Know-It-All.”
Bobby snorted into his coffee. “You’ll be fine. It’s your case—you know the details. Sam tracked the lead. Makes sense you two wrap it up. You’re both great hunters.”
You knew Bobby added that last comment to try and flatter you, hoping you would give up arguing. Which you did, but not because of his comment, but because you knew it wouldnt matter if you kept up your argument or not.
Right on cue Sam entered the room, shrugging on his jacket, his eyes flicking breifly to yours before looking away just as fast.
Tension? Still sky-high. Great.
Dean smirked. ‘’You two play nice, yeah? Hate to miss the show’’
“You’re not coming?” you asked, whipping your head around so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.
Dean gestured to his ankle, thickly bandaged.
“Can’t exactly chase demons while hobbling like an old man.”
“And before you ask,” Bobby added, a bit too quickly, “Rufus needs me on phone duty. So I’m out too.”
“So just me and him?” you asked through gritted teeth, glancing at Sam, who very pointedly avoided your gaze.
“Whatever,” you finally muttered, grabbing your bag and heading to the door.
Dean called after you, “Good luck. Don’t kill each other.”
“No promises,” you shot back, shoving past Sam on your way out.
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You were already irritated before the hunt even started.
Sam walked like he owned the damn woods. Long strides. Barely glancing back. You’d been bickering since you got out of the car.
“You know,” you sighed, ducking under a branch, “this would go faster if you didn’t assume I was two steps behind on everything.”
“I’m not assuming anything,” Sam muttered without turning around.
“Right. Except for the part where you keep ‘explaining’ things I already know. I’ve been on this case longer than you, sweetheart.”
“That’s not-” He stopped, turned. “I’m just trying to make sure we don’t miss anything. I’m not here to babysit.”
“Good. Because I’m not here to be babied.”
For a beat, it was just the rustle of the wind through the trees and the steady thud of your heart pounding in you ears, although you werent sure if it was from anger at the man ahead of you or adreline from the hunt, or both.
Sam’s jaw flexed, and he huffed out an impatient breath. ‘’Fine. You take the lead then’’
You shoved past him, heart tight, throat tigher. You knew how to do your job You didnt need him questioning your every step.
But as the silence stretched between you, you felt it, not peace nor quiet, but a strage pull. One you always felt around him.
The way he always lingered a little too close. The way his voice sharpened only when he spoke to you. The way your name sounded different on his tongue, like it carried weight.
You hated it.
More than that, you hated that you didn’t.
You hated that you couldn’t get him out of your head. Much like right now.
So when the demons charged you, your guard was down.
You were quick on your feet but what you thought would be one or two demons, was actually over half a dozen of them.
It felt like you had been fighting the demons for an eternity. You’d finally managed to get down to the final few.
But as skilled and fast as you were, this demon was faster. You had blocked one from getting to Sam, unknowlingly open yourself up for an attack.
The pain was sharp and immediate.
You gasped. Sam’s head whipped toward you.
One second he was in front of you, finishing off the last demon. The next, he was by your side.
“I’m fine,” you muttered, trying to push him off.
Sam ignored you. He grabbed your arm, threw it over his shoulder, and started walking you back to the car.
“I don’t need your help,” you hissed.
“Too bad,” he shot back.
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The second you reached the car, Sam sat you down on a bench nearby and went to grab the crappy first aid kit.
“Let me see,” he said, kneeling.
“I’m fine,” you snapped.
“You’re bleeding.”
“I can handle it.”
“You can barely keep your eyes open.”
You swatted weakly at him. “Don’t need-”
“Later, you can go back to arguing with me. Right now, let me stop you from bleeding out over pure stubbornness.”
His tone was sharp. What caught you off guard wasn’t the words- it was the worry in his voice. The panic.
Reluctantly, you let him work. Mostly because you were losing your energy to fight back fast.
“Shouldn’t have come with just you,” you muttered as he cleaned the wound.
Sam didn’t reply.
“I told Bobby it wasn’t working alone. But of course, you had to doubt me. Again.”
Sam clenched his jaw. “I didn’t doubt you.”
You scoffed, then winced. Sam’s hand steadied you.
You scoffed, then winced. Sam’s hand steadied you.
After a pause, he sighed. “Okay. I didn’t mean to. I thought I was right. I wasn’t.”
Your voice came slower now, breath thin. “I heard what you said to Dean. Dramatic. Ridiculous.”
Sam winced.
“I didn’t-” He shook his head.
You interrupted him“Maybe I jumped on you a little fast. But you have no idea what it’s like. Being a woman in this line of work. Constantly underestimated. Treated like crap.”
“I didn’t mean it,” he said softly. “It was stupid. I was pissed. It’s not an excuse.”
You gave a weak laugh, that was all you could muster, you were losing energy pretty quick.
“Hey,” he said sharply, voice tight. “Stay awake. You don’t get to check out now, we just started getting somewhere. I gotta prove I’m not a total jackass, right?”
Your lips twitched. “...Big challenge.”
He smiled. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here, I can do better when we get back to Bobby’s.”
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The ride back was quiet. Well, apart from the steady hum of the engine and the constant banging in your head.
Sam would glance over every few seconds, jaw tight, kuckled whitneing on the steering wheel.
He hated it, seeing you like this.
You drove him mad, but this, this had his mind racing with fear.
You sat slouched in the passenger seat, eyes half lidded, but still refusing to close and fall to darkness.
“I told you to stay awake,” he murmured.
“I am awake,” you rasped. “Just… resting my eyes.”
“That’s not how that works.”
You shifted uncomfortably, “You’re bossy.”
“And you’re impossible.”
Another silence passed. You shifted again in the seat, hissing at the sharp pain shooting up your back. Sams hand, almost instinctivly, shot to your shoudler, steading you.
You noticed. The hand that lingered on your shoulder. The fact that despite everything, he ran to your side.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
“For what?”
“For helping. Even though you hate me.”
Sam hesitated. “I never hated you. And I’ll always help you. No matter how stubborn you are about it.”
You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. The way you leaned into his touch said enough.
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The Impala’s headlights cut through the late-night gloom as it rolled into Bobby’s yard, gravel crunching beneath the tires. The porch light was already on, Dean leaning on the wall just outside the door, arms crossed, concern etched plainly across his face. Bobby hovered behind him, looking tired but alert.
Sam had called ahead, letting them know the hunt had gone a little sideways.
He was already out of the car and circling around by the time you forced the door open with a wince. You tried to wave him off, but your knees buckled slightly when you stood.
He was there instantly, hands steadying you, an arm looping gently around your waist.
“I’m fine,” you muttered.
“Mhm,” he replied, not even bothering to humor your argumentative nature.
Bobby was at your side the next second. “You alright, kid?”
“Peachy,” you rasped, grimacing.
“She needs rest,” Sam said, eyes locked on you. “And a real med kit.”
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Inside, the house was warm, comforting in its own worn, cluttered way. Sam guided you to the couch, lowering you carefully as Bobby disappeared into the kitchen.
Dean watched as Sam grabbed the kit and knelt beside you, already pulling out bandages and antiseptic.
“You patchin’ her up yourself, Doctor Winchester?” Dean asked lightly. But his eyes flicked between the two of you, reading everything that wasn’t being said.
“She wouldn’t let me take her to a hospital,” Sam replied, not looking up. “Didn’t have much choice.”
“I’m right here, you know,” you mumbled. “Not unconscious yet.”
Dean gave a low chuckle, but his gaze lingered for a beat too long before he moved to help Bobby with supplies.
Sam worked quietly—gentle, but focused. And for the first time since you’d met, you were grateful for his presence.
You didn’t argue.
You didn’t flinch.
You just let him tend to you.
From the kitchen, Bobby and Dean watched in silence.
Bobby muttered, “Took them long enough.”
Dean took a slow sip of his beer and replied, “They still got a little bit of figuring out to do.”
summery - moments of peace you find in eachother
word count - 427
cws - gn!reader, very fluffy, sickening love, lmk if I missed anything
a/n - just a cute short one for now, comments and rebloggs are always appreciated. also feel frre to send requests and thanks for the love on the others. happy reading !
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There are quiet moments of peace between jobs—moments where the world allows you to relax, to just be.
It didn’t matter if you were sitting in a run-down motel room, sprawled in the Impala, or perched on a tree stump in the middle of the forest.
It wasn’t the place that created these moments of calm. It was the company.
---
The warmth, the comfort, the subtle brushes of skin, the secret words left unspoken.
It was in moments like this, when your eyes were heavy from hours of research, that you allowed yourself to close them for just a moment, to ease the burn of exhaustion.
Falling asleep easily wasn’t something that happened often. In your line of work peaceful rest was a rarity, a privellage.
But when he was near, when Sam was next to you, it was different.
You couldn’t explain it, but his presence made you feel safe, relaxed, like everything might actually be okay.
And just as your mind began to drift, you’d wander further and further into the depths of sleep.
Your head tilted slightly, too heavy to hold upright, until it finally came to rest against a broad shoulder.
---
He didn’t dare move.
You looked so peaceful.
He couldn’t bring himself to disturb that.
So he stayed. And as he sat there, he felt warmth spread through him, his lips curling into a small, innocent smile.
He couldn’t explain it, but your presence made him feel secure, grounded. Like everything might actually be okay.
Slowly, his body began to relax, tension melting away muscle by muscle, limb by limb, until his eyes grew too heavy to keep open.
His head tilted, falling softly to rest atop yours.
---
It was moments like this, moments of true peace, that made the grueling jobs worth it.
Moments of pure safety and comfort.
Moments when the two of you lay entwined in each other’s presence.
The world could have stopped spinning, and neither of you would have noticed.
summery - Sam tries to protect you from harm, but you end up hurt either way
word count - 3.5k
cws - fem!reader, kinda fluff and angst (ig), typical supernatural violence and gore, mild language, mentions of injury, unrequited love (not rlly), lmk if i missed anything
a/n - can you tell i'm a Sam girl? this one took hoursss to write, but i quite like how it turned out, comments and rebloggs are always appreciated. also feel frre to send requests and thanks for the love on the others. happy reading !
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Even the best of hunters get hurt.
It’s part of the job description, sure. You know the risks. You take them anyway, so others don’t have to. So you can help those who can’t help themselves.
But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck. That doesn’t mean it’s not terrifying.
Demons are nasty creatures. Shocking, right? They’re violent, cruel, relentless. And today, you got to experience firsthand just how twisted they can be.
You’d only gone for a walk to clear your head when a pair of demons with a vendetta against the Winchesters jumped you. You didn’t even hear them coming, too wrapped up in your thoughts from your argument with Sam. Then, darkness. A swift blow to the back of your head, and you were out cold.
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You’d known Sam and Dean for years now, worked so many hunts with them, spent so much time together. It had started as just another job, but somewhere along the way, you’d grown close. Very close.
Although you seemed to find yourself with one of the brothers consitently dancing around your mind, whether you were together or apart. Sam.
Sam was different. He was sweet, gentle—much more laid-back than his brother. You liked how soft he was, how deeply he cared for people, for you. You and Sam were friends, but there was something about him that pulled you in deeper, something you couldn’t quite name. And, truth be told, you cared for him. More than you should.
But lately? Sam had been distant, his usual warmth replaced with something cold and guarded. It was subtle at first, just a shift. But you felt it. And it hurt more than you cared to admit. It made your stomach twist in knots, leaving you wondering if you’d done something wrong. If he was starting to pull away from you.
And the worst part? He wasn’t saying anything about it. It was like pulling teeth trying to get him to talk. You’d hoped, at least, you were friends—he’d talk to you. But maybe that was just wishful thinking.
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When you woke, your head was spinning. You were slumped against some wooden beam, your arms and legs bound by thick ropes. You could feel the sticky warmth of blood from your scalp.
The room around you was pitch black, save for a sliver of moonlight creeping through a small window. You tried to move, but the ropes were too tight. You always kept a hidden blade or two, but of course, whoever captured you had already found them
Then, the door slammed open. A dark figure stepped inside, barely visible at first. But then the light flicked on.
“Who the hell are you?” you spat.
“Name’s Damian.” He stepped closer, and that’s when you saw it, a distinct featute that you’d grown to know all to well. His eyes were black as coal. He was a demon.
‘’What do you want with me?” You sneered.
“Other than the fact that you’re a nuisance? Nothing,” he said. Then, his lips curled into something ugly. “It’s the Winchesters we want. You’re just bait.”
His words sent a chill down your spine.
"Go to hell," you snapped, and before he could say anything, you spat directly in his face.
He wiped it off, a dark sneer curling on his lips. “Bitch,” he hissed before punching you square in the face.
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“What’s wrong?” you asked, frustration seeping into your voice as you sat across from Sam in the motel room.
He barely looked up from his laptop. “What?”
“You’ve barely said three words to me in two weeks. What’s going on?” You couldn’t keep the edge out of your tone. It was exhausting being ignored.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Sam mumbled dismissively.
“Seriously?” You raised your voice, growing more frustrated by the second. “If I’ve done something, just tell me!”
“I’m just tired, okay? I need space, just… drop it” he snapped.
You blinked, taken aback by the sharpness in his voice. But then, your stubbornness kicked in, and you couldn’t let it go.
“Yeah, you look real tired, especially when you’re joking around with Dean. Fine. You want space? Fine I’ll give you space,” you shot back, grabbing your coat and storming out without giving him a chance to respond.
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It had been almost an hour since your walk, and as much as you didn’t want Sam and Dean walking into a trap, part of you wondered if they even realized you were gone, or worse, if they cared.
Your body was bruised and battered, blood oozing from the cuts and scrapes. The demons hadn’t cared that you weren’t their real target; you were just a hunter they could use to hurt the Winchesters
The door swung open again, and a second demon stepped in, motioning for Damian to follow. He looked back at you with a venomous smile.
“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” Damian said before leaving.
Now was your chance. Your mind raced as you scanned the room for anything sharp—anything you could use to cut the ropes. Then, you spotted a shard of glass within reach.
You worked quickly, sawing at the thick ropes, every motion desperate and frantic, praying it was sharp enough to work. Your eyes flickered constantly to the door, watching for any sign of the demon coming back. Whatever had pulled him away seemed to be keeping him busy, but you knew that wouldn’t last long. Then, you felt it, the ropes finally giving way with a satisfying snap. Without hesitation, you left the frayed remnants of the bindings on your wrists and went straight for your ankles, cutting through those with the same urgency. You couldn’t afford to waste another second.
As you cut through the final rope, your mind raced. Getting past the door wasn’t an option. You had no idea how many demons were on the other side, and rushing in blind would be a death wish.
Then, your eyes landed on the window. If you could just get it open, maybe, just maybe, you could slip through. You pushed yourself to your feet, wincing at the pain, but adrenaline kept you steady.
You hobbled over to the window, praying it wasn’t locked, and gave it a tentative push. The creak of the frame made your heart race, but it slid open with just enough space to fit. With a surge of determination, you pushed yourself up, forcing your body through the narrow gap. The sharp edges of the frame scraped against your skin, but you barely registered the pain.
A moment later, you hit the ground hard. You didn’t have time to savor the freedom. They’d notice you were gone soon enough. So after a second of your feet hitting the ground, you took off running as fast as your body would allow. You had no idea where you were going but you’d figure that out after, because anywhere was better than right here.
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Sam was furious with himself. He should’ve stopped you. He knew it. But if he had, it would have forced him to face the truth; something he wasn’t ready to admit, not even to himself.
But now that didn’t matter. Because you were missing, and he couldn’t shake the guilt. He should’ve stopped you.
His mind drifted back to when you two first met. He remembered thinking you were the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He’d never said anything, of course—he couldn’t. Being around you had always been intoxicating. He couldn’t get enough of you, of your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited. Everything about you made his heart race.
But the more he was around you, the harder it got to push down the feelings that were growing inside him. He tried to ignore it, tried to bury it, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk losing you, not like that. Sam had never had it easy with love—everyone he’d ever cared about always seemed to get hurt. He couldn’t do that to you. In his eyes, you were too good, too pure for someone like him. He was afraid his darkness would taint you.
So he distanced himself. He thought it would make things easier, but it didn’t. It hurt more than he could ever have imagined. When you’d argued in the motel room, when you’d walked out, it took everything in him not to run after you, not to wrap you up in his arms and never let go. But he couldn’t. He acted cold. Uncaring.
And when he saw the hurt in your eyes, when he saw you trying to mask your pain under anger and frustration, it shattered him. He’d tried to protect you, to keep you safe. But in the end, he only ended up hurting you more.
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You kept running, your body aching with every step. Blood dripped from your wounds, the pain relentless, but you knew one thing—if you stopped now, the demons would catch you. You didn’t have a choice. So you pushed on, drawing from every last bit of strength, every ounce of adrenaline left in your system. The trees started to thin out, and you saw the break in the forest, the familiar silhouette of the road ahead.
You stumbled out from the trees. The only sound to be heard was your ragged breathing, and the only light was the dim glow from distant streetlamps. You had no idea where you were, but there was no time to think about it. And that’s when you saw it, the headlights of a car, bright and blinding in the dark.
You froze, not sure if you could get out of the way in time. The car skidded to a halt just a few feet from you, the tires screeching in the silence of the night. Before you could even react, the doors swung open, and footsteps rushed toward you.
You barely had time to process what was happening before you heard a familiar voice call out your name.
“Sam…”
Your voice was barely a whisper, rough and strained from the screams you’d held back in that hellhole. His name escaped your lips in a breathless murmur, but you couldn’t stop the world from spinning. You were fading fast.
“Hey, hey, what happened to you?” Sam’s voice was a mix of panic and disbelief, his hands steadying you as your knees buckled. He was there. He was really there. But it didn’t matter. The exhaustion, the pain, the adrenaline, it all crashed down at once.
Before you could answer him, the world around you went black, and you slipped into unconsciousness, the last thing you felt was Sam’s arms catching you, holding you close as everything slipped away.
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Sam's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing with guilt and fear. He couldn’t believe he had let you walk out of that room. Every part of him screamed that he should have stopped you, that he should’ve said something. Now, here you were, unconscious in his arms, and all he could do was curse himself for his letting you go.
Thirty minutes had passed since you left, and the slowly increasing worry had turned into full-blown panic. Just as Sam was about to run out the door to find you, the motel door creaked open. His breath caught in his throat, but the moment he turned around, his hope shattered. It wasn’t you.
“Sammy? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Dean’s voice cut through his thoughts, full of concern. Sam didn’t even look up. He couldn’t. Not when the weight of everything was crashing down on him.
Dean’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene. He noticed the absence of you right away. His concern deepened. Sam could barely make sense of the words spilling from his mouth, his thoughts too scattered, his heart too heavy. He tried to explain what had happened, the argument, the way you had left, but his words were a jumble. All he could focus on was the sickening feeling in his gut. Something was wrong. He knew it.
The brothers didn’t waste any time. They searched the motel, asking the front desk clerk if anyone had seen you. But the answer was always the same: no. With no other choice, they hopped in the Impala and started driving, stopping at every place still open, hoping for a clue, hoping someone had seen you. But nothing. No one had seen you. The knot in Sam’s stomach tightened with each passing minute.
Just when he thought he might lose his mind, he saw movement in the distance. Someone running into the road, a dark figure weaving between the streetlights. His heart stuttered when he realized who it was, even from this far away. You.
But as he rushed to get closer, dread gripped him. You weren’t just running aimlessly, you were running from something. You were covered in blood, your clothes torn and stained, bruises blooming across your skin. The ropes that had bound you were still hanging from your wrists and ankles, making Sam feel sick to his stomach from the sight.
“Hey! Hey!” Sam called out, his voice breaking with desperation. You didn’t seem to hear him, your movements uncoordinated, like you were lost in a daze. Sam’s chest tightened. "What happened to you?”
He took a step toward you, his voice shaking as he gently reached out for you. But before you could even answer, your body went limp, your legs giving way beneath you. Sam’s heart skipped a beat as he rushed forward, catching your unconscious form before it could hit the ground. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, holding you tight, but inside, his panic was overwhelming.
"God," he muttered, his voice rough with emotion. "I’m so sorry”
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When you regained consciousness, you were back in the motel room, lying on a somewhat comfortable mattress. You tried to move, but a sharp pain in your abdomen made you hiss.
“Hey, hey, careful. Careful,” a soft voice came from beside you—Sam’s voice.
A wave of relief washed over you as you felt his familiar hands helping you sit up against the headboard. The simple act of his touch, grounding and steadying you, settled the panic that had been brewing in your chest.
As your senses fully returned, you noticed that the ropes that had bound you were no longer around your limbs. You also observed that someone, presumably Sam, had attempted to patch you up. His hands were still gentle on you: one holding a cold compress to your forehead, the other resting on your back from when he helped you sit.
The warmth of his touch made your stomach flutter.
“How are you feeling?” Sam asked, his voice still thick with concern.
“Sore, but alive,” you said with a weak chuckle, trying to lighten the mood that seemed to hang heavily in the room. But even that small movement made you hiss in pain, and you could see the worry flicker across Sam’s face.
Sam’s expression was unreadable, his eyes distant as if he were trying to process everything. You didn’t know what he was thinking or what he might say, but you definitely didn’t expect the apology that came next.
“I’m so, so sorry,” Sam blurted, his voice tinged with guilt. “I should never have let you leave like that. I was being a dick, and now you’re hurt because of me.”
His words struck deep, breaking your heart. You reached for his hand, trying to calm him. “Sam, this wasn’t your fault. It was demons... you didn’t do this.”
But he shook his head, the guilt swallowing him whole. “It is my fault. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t let you leave. If I hadn’t been a jerk... If I hadn’t pushed you away. I was only trying to protect you.”
“What?” you asked, furrowing your brow at his words.
Sam hesitated, like he was weighing whether to go on. His eyes flickered to yours, and in that moment, all his walls came down. He couldn’t hide anymore.
“I thought... if I pushed you away, you’d be safer. Everyone around me gets hurt. I couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt because of me. You mean so much to me, and the idea of losing you, of you being hurt because of me, it’s too much. But I couldn’t protect you... and you still got hurt.” He stammered through the words, his voice trembling, tt was like he was… nervous?
His confession left you stunned. It made your heart flutter, you knew exactly what he was saying. But you needed him to say it.
“What are you trying to say, Sam?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, urging him to go on.
He looked at you, really looked at you. This time, his gaze was soft and vulnerable, like he was laying his heart bare for you to see. He opened his mouth to speak but seemed to lose the words, his breath hitching in his chest.
Then, without a word, he leaned forward, and before you knew it, his lips met yours. The kiss was slow, tender, and gentle, but it carried something deeper, an unspoken desperation, a fierce love that he hadn’t known how to express until now.
For a moment, the world disappeared. It was just the two of you, tangled together in a fragile, perfect moment.
When Sam pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, hisbreath shaky as he whispered, “I love you.”
In that moment, time stood still. Neither of you noticed that Dean had returned from his demon hunt, ensuring that the bastards who’d hurt you would never get the chance to do it again.
As he stood in the doorway, watching the scene before him, he muttered with a grin, “Took you two long enough.”
summery - Bobby calls you when two hunters seem to need a rescue
word count - 2.8k
cws - gn!reader, kinda fluff (ig), typical supernatural hunt violence, mentions of weapons, mild language, mentions of injury, lmk if i missed anything
a/n - the amount of times i've rewritten this fic-, i do hope you like it though, and as always rebloggs and comments are appreciated. happy reading !
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Driving was the calm between the chaos.
For hunters like you, it was the only time life didn’t feel like one giant nightmare. No claws, no teeth, no windows to get thrown through. Just the hum of the engine, the occasional song on the radio, and miles of open road.
Being a solo hunter? Even better. No one to babysit, no one to lose. It was just you and your thoughts. Peaceful.
...Well. Mostly.
Because, let’s face it, solitude had its downsides. You weren’t a robot. Sometimes, you wanted someone to talk to who wasn’t a bartender or Bobby Singer on the other end of the line. But people were a luxury you couldn’t afford—not when you knew what this life would do to them. You’d already learned that lesson the hard way, thank you very much.
But somedays you’d find yourself working with others, and today was one of those days.
“Hey, Bobby, got a case for me?” you asked, cradling the phone against your shoulder while you tightened the strap on your duffel bag.
“Not a case so much as a rescue mission,” Bobby said, and you could practically hear the grimace in his voice.
“Rescue?”
“Couple of knuckleheads went dark in Chicago. I sent ’em a case, and now I can’t get ahold of ’em. Might be nothin’, but…”
“Better safe than sorry,” you finished for him.
“Exactly.” He sighed, and you could hear the faint clink of a whiskey glass on his end.
“Why me? Don’t tell me I’m your only option.”
“You’re the best shot I’ve got, and you know it,” Bobby said gruffly. “Now, are you gonna help or stand there flappin’ your gums?”
You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m on it. Send me the details.”
The drive to Chicago was quiet, a welcome break from the chaos that usually followed you around. It gave you time to think: about Bobby’s call, about the hunters who’d gone dark, and about how you were the one he trusted to find them. You didn’t mind the weight of that responsibility. If they were still alive, you’d get them out. If not… you’d make sure the job was done. Either way, it was your mess to clean up.
Your first stop was the police station, where the missing hunters were last seen.
Flashing your fake FBI badge, you approached the front desk. “Couple of angets were here investigating some strange deaths. I’m their superior. Mind telling me what they found?”
The officer barely looked up. “You’ll want Detective Hayes. Down the hall.”
Hayes didn’t waste time. “They were looking into some deaths. Real messy ones. Claw marks, missing hearts, looks like a wild animal got to them. Weirdest damn thing.”
Missing hearts. Yep. Definitely your kinda thing.
He handed you the case file. You didn’t miss the way he watched you, like he was waiting for you to explain it all away. Instead, you nodded, thanked him, and left. The morgue confirmed what you already knew—this wasn’t some rogue animal. This was werewolves.
The victims were last seen at a seedy little bar on the edge of town. Sounded like your next stop.
The bar smelled like beer and poor life choices. You grabbed a seat at the far end, where you could see the whole room without sticking out too much. Years of hunting had taught you to trust your instincts, and right now, they were screaming something’s off.
Hours passed without incident. You were just about to call it a night when a hooded figure walked in, immediately drawing your attention. He moved with purpose, scanning the crowd before slipping a small envelope to a woman sitting alone, and walked out without a word.
Because that’s definitely not suspicious at all.
The woman opened the envelope, scanned its contents, then locked eyes with you.
You froze and your pulse quickening. Was it obvious you were watching her? Maybe. Did she seem like the type to care? Also maybe.
Just when you thought she might try and approach you or something, she stood and left without a word.
Again definitely not suspicious…
You waited a beat, and against every bit of common sense you had, you followed her out into the night.
You knew fully well that this could be a trap, but you also knew that this might be the only chance you’d get. You tailed her car at a cautious distance until she turned into an alleyway. Parking just past it, you got out and crept closer on foot.
The alley was dark and silent, save for the faint hum of a streetlamp. You kept your distance as she climbed out of her car, a sleek white sedan.
That’s when you saw it. A black ‘67 Chevrolet Impala parked behind her car.
Your heart stopped. No. Fucking. Way.
Everyone in the hunting community knew that car. It belonged to the Winchester brothers and if it was here, so were they.
Heart pounding, you crept closer to what looked to be an old theater near the alley. The door was left slightly ajar. Definitely a trap, but again what choices did you have other than to follow.
Knife in hand, you slipped inside.
The old theater was in disrepair. Dust covered the seats, and the air smelled of mildew. Yet the stage area seemed oddly intact, as though it were still in use. Before you could explore further, a low growl stopped you in your tracks.
Out of the shadows stepped a werewolf, its eyes glowing an unnatural yellow. You barely had time to react as it lunged at you.
“Of course,” you muttered, diving to the side. Your silver knife caught its flank, but the thing was fast. Claws swiped, catching your arm, but you kept moving, twisting the blade into its chest until it dropped.
Before you could catch your breath, a second growl echoed through the room.
“Oh, come on,” you groaned.
The woman from the bar stepped into the dim light, her face twisted, fangs bared.
“I knew you’d be trouble. You just had to poke your nose where it didn’t belong” she snarled, lunging at you.
You fought with everything you had. Her speed and strength outmatched the first werewolf by a mile. Claw marks tore through your jacket, and pain flared in your ribs, but you pressed on, besides you’d been through worse. Finally, a lucky strike drove your blade into her heart with every ounce of frustration you’d built up in the last 24 hours.. She crumpled to the floor, lifeless.
Panting, you staggered to your feet, surveying the room as you did so and spotted a faint light coming from backstage. You followed it and found the Winchesters tied up and unconscious but thankfully alive. Working quickly, you untied Sam, and began your attempts at waking the younger of the two brothers up.
“Come on Sam, wake up!” you whispered-yelled, shaking him furiously. His eyes fluttered open, and he blinked at you in confusion.
“Who—”
“Hunter. Bobby sent me. We can swap stories later.”
Before you could untie Dean, another werewolf burst through the door.
“Son of a—” you curesed under your breath, turning back to Sam “You handle your brother. I’ll handle him.”
The fight was grueling. This werewolf was stronger and faster than the others. It pressed you relentlessly, forcing you to dodge and counter with every ounce of skill you had. At one point, it pinned you, its jaws snapping inches from your face. Desperately, you reached for your knife, plunging it into its side. The creature howled in pain but didn’t relent.
You tried to reach for your blade again, but the creature had beat you to it and thrown it far out of your reach.
Just when you thought you were screwed, a gunshot rang out. The werewolf collapsed right on top of you.
‘’Ugh, seriously’’ you muttered, annoyed, even though someone had just saved your life.
You pushed away the werewolf, revealing Dean Winchester, awake and armed, smirking like he’d just saved the day.
“I had him,” you panted, brushing dust from your jacket.
Dean grinned, holstering his gun. “I think you mean, thank you.”
You rolled your eyes at him but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I didn’t need saving, but appreciate it anyway.”
You sat up, your body aching more now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Your hands were shaking, but you steadied them, trying not to show how badly you hurt.
You glanced over at Sam, who had just come into the room, taking in the full scene in front of him, his gaze flicking from you to the wolves you had ganked before even getting to the boys. "Did you—?"
You nodded, your muscles protesting as you stood. The reality of your injuries hit you all at once—scrapes, bruises, and a deep ache in your ribs. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle, but the exhaustion was creeping in. You’d deal with it later, when you had the space to breathe.
"Yeah, well, Bobby sent me to save your asses," you joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Would’ve been pretty embarrassing if I’d gotten myself ganked in the process.”
Sam didn’t laugh. His gaze was fixed on you, scanning your face, the bloodied scratches on your arm. He was looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
"You’re hurt," Sam murmured, his voice softer than you expected.
“I’m fine,” you replied quickly, brushing him off with a wave. “Just a few scratches. Nothing I can’t handle.”
But Sam didn’t look convinced. His jaw clenched, and he took a step toward you. “You sure about that?”
You laughed, a little too sharply. "Mhm. Besides, you should be worried about yourself. Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
You were used to being the tough one, the one who didn’t show weakness. But there was something about the way Sam was looking at you, his eyes filled with concern, that made it harder to pretend you were unaffected. It was sweet, but you weren't ready to let him in on just how much it affected you.
He didn’t answer, just kept looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart fluttered, but you shook it off. “Seriously. I’m fine,” you said gently. “We should get out of here. Let Bobby know you two are alright.”
He didn’t answer, just kept looking at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Your heart fluttered, but you shook it off. “Seriously. I’m fine,” you said gently. “We should get out of here. Let Bobby know you two are alright.”
“Wait! I didn’t get your name,” he called out.
You smirked, turning to face him. “That’s because I didn’t give it.”
Sam frowned, but there was a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess I’ll just have to track you down next time.”
“Good luck with that,” you teased, climbing into your car.
As you drove away, the open road stretched ahead of you, peaceful as ever. But this time, you couldn’t shake the thought of a certain tall, hazel-eyed hunter. Maybe working alone wasn’t as perfect as you’d always believed. And as much as you hated to admit it, the idea of a little chaos... didn’t seem so bad.
The hum of the engine mixed with the music on the radio filled the car as you drove into the night, your mind still running a few steps behind, tangled in thoughts of Sam, of Dean, and what came next.
You couldn't help but wonder—was this the last time you'd cross paths with the Winchesters? Somehow, you doubted it.
Warnings: Angst, Slight comfort, no use of y/n, gn!reader x Dean Winchester, no dialogue.
A/N: Inspired by The night we met - Lord Huron. I am planning on writing for other characters soon !! Small drabble, slightly a different style as i thought this called for it. Always any feedback and requests are welcome !! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated <3
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Dean lifts his beer slowly, taking a sip, but the act feels mechanical, as if he’s drinking to numb a pain that won’t fade. The bitter taste is all too familiar, it lingers unwelcome. It sticks as if refusing to be forgotten, much like his own thoughts.
Dean eyes drifted over to the window. Outside, the world is bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, the stars twinkling through the night. it's tranquil, serene, a striking contrast to the emotional chaos going on in his heart.
"When the night was full of terrors
And your eyes were filled with tears"
Dean and yours relationship had deteriorated long before either one had noticed, until the cracks were too wide. Days and nights that was once filled endless laughter and conversation, quiet intimate moments meant for your eyes and ears only, domestic bliss even in lives as chaotic as their own; turned into petty arguments, bitter words that cut too deep.
The arguments that seemed to have no real end. The way you had slowly grown apart, the constant weight of unsaid words building walls between you. The promises you had once made — to never go to bed angry, to always fight for each other — now felt like distant memories.
"I had all and then most of you
Some and now none of you"
Dean hadn’t meant for things to fall apart. He could remember when everything between you had felt like a fragile, perfect dance. When you laughed at the same jokes, shared secrets under the cover of night, and dreamed of futures that seemed so clear. The touch of your hand, the way your eyes would meet across crowded rooms, those moments had once made the world outside feel irrelevant. But now, nothing felt more distant.
You both understand this pain, the raw heartbreak that comes with a relationship, that was maybe destined to fail from the beginning and go down in a fiery blaze. Of being so hurt by someone that you wish you had never met, that you could go back in time and choose an entirely different path. The weight of the situation hangs in the air accompanied by the distant and regretful longing, neither willing to break the silence that keeps them together. Afraid of the consequences.
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do
Haunted by the ghost of you
Oh, take me back to the night we met"
summery - you decide to go visit Bobby but are suprised by a certain stranger
word count - 1.7K
cws - fem!reader, pure fluff, mentions of violence (if you squint) lmk if i missed anything
a/n - hope you enjoy this, sammy my beloved. I apologise for any mistakes, english isn't my first language. BUT I hope you like it either way and again any feedback is appreciated ! as are rebloggs and comments. happy reading !
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Being a hunter sucked sometimes. Scratch that, it sucked most of the time. You were always on the road, bouncing between crappy motels with peeling wallpaper and water pressure so bad you wondered why you even bothered showering. It wasn’t glamorous. But after a long day of getting tossed into walls and dodging claws or teeth, you’d sleep on the hood of your car if it came to that.
Still, there were moments. Rare ones. Like now. When you’d get a break long enough to drive to the only place that ever really felt like home. Bobby’s house.
Bobby Singer was, to put it mildly, a godsend.
Bobby had a reputation among hunters as the go-to guy. Need lore? Call Bobby. Fake supervisor for a cover story? Bobby’s your man. Need someone to vent to? Bobby would listen, grumbling all the while. Over the years, you’d grown close to him. He’d known your parents before you, and when they were busy chasing monsters, he’d looked after you. Bobby was more than just a friend, he was family. You always thought he’d have made a damn good dad. Though in many ways, he already was one.
After a particularly grueling hunt, you decided to head to Bobby’s, you needed more than a beer and a chat. Ever since the apocalypse started, it felt like every supernatural creature had lost its mind. Things were kicking into high gear, leading to longer nights and more close calls in a week than in your entire career. Oddly enough, you thrived under the pressure. Sure, the extra cuts and bruises were annoying, but it was the apocalypse, it was never going to be margaritas on a beach.
As you pulled into Bobby’s driveway, a sense of comfort and relief washed over you. The place always felt safe and welcoming, though you weren’t sure if that was because of the house itself or the man who lived there.
A black Chevrolet Impala sat parked outside, a car you didn’t recognize. Wonder who that belongs to, you thought, but you didn’t dwell on it. All you wanted was to kick your feet up and crack open a cold one.
Knocking on the door, you expected Bobby’s usual grumpy greeting, but today the door creaked open to reveal… definitely not Bobby.
Stood in the doorway was a younger man. The first thing you noticed about him was how tall he was, towering over your smaller frame. His soft hazel eyes caught your attention next, followed by his sharp but delicate features and the semi-long hair brushing just below his jaw. There was no denying it, he was handsome. For a moment, you stood frozen, your words caught in your throat. “Uh, hi. Who are you?” he asked, blinking down at you like he was just as surprised to see you as you were to see him.
You cleared your throat, trying not to stare. “Hey. Is Bobby home?” Not answering his question. ome would call it paranoia, you called it precaution but as good-looking as this stranger was, you weren’t about to share your name with someone you didn’t know.
He tilted his head, clearly debating whether or not to let you in. Before he could answer, Bobby’s familiar grumble echoed from somewhere inside.
“What’s takin’ so long? Who’s at the—oh.” Bobby wheeled into view, his grumpy expression softening when he saw you. “Well, I’ll be damned. Kid, get in here.”
You smiled, stepping inside to hug him. “Miss me?”
“Not really,” Bobby deadpanned, but you caught the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
“I would’ve called ahead,” you said with a smirk, “but since I never do, I figured why start now?”
Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “Smartass.’’
Behind him, the tall guy was still standing there, looking amused. And at somepoint during your greating with Bobby, a second guy had appeared. He was shorter than the other, he also had green eyes and a cocky smirk. Great, you thought. Who are these guys?
“Who’s this?” the newcomer asked.
“This,” Bobby said, gesturing to you, “is one of the best damn hunters I know. And a lot more sensible than you two idjits, I’ll tell ya that much. Sam, shut the door before we all catch pneumonia.”
Sam.
You’d heard that name tossed around a lot lately, along with his brother’s. Hunters and monsters alike seemed to have plenty to say about the Winchester brothers, especially Sam, none of it good. But standing here now, looking at Sam, he didn’t seem dangerous or evil, just tired. Hurt, even. But as your eyes caught his, there was something else there aswell, something you couldn’t quite place.
Bobby’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “Sit down, kid. Beer’s in the fridge. You look like you’ve been through hell.”
“Feels like it, too,” you muttered, plopping down on the couch.
Over beers in Bobby’s living room, the four of you swapped stories. Dean was charismatic, cracking jokes as he recounted close calls from past hunts. Sam, though quieter, was kind and insightful. You caught yourself glancing at him more often than you intended, and each time, you found his eyes already on you.
When Bobby suggested ordering food, you volunteered to cook instead. It was rare to get the chance to make a proper meal, and you weren’t about to pass it up. Bobby’s kitchen wasn’t exactly stocked, so a quick trip to the store had been necessary, but you didn’t mind so much, you liked cooking, it gave you a sense of calm.
You were halfway through chopping vegetables when you heard a soft voice behind you.
“Need a hand?”
You turned to see Sam hovering in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, a small smile tugging at his lips, looking almost… shy?
“Sure,” you said, handing him a knife and some vegetables.
You worked side by side, exchanging small talk to fill the silence. Normally, you were confident around men, but something about Sam made you nervous, in a good way. A different kind of nervous than the one you’d expect to feel around someone who’d let Lucifer out of his cage. His presence was calming, his smile disarming.
When your hands brushed as he passed you the cutting board, you froze. The touch was light, fleeting, but it sent a jolt through you like static electricity. Your breath hitched as a faint blush crept over your cheeks, but you quickly turned back to the stove, hoping to shake the feeling. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, trying to push it all down. You weren’t usually this affected by anyone, let alone someone you’d just met.
Unbeknownst to you, Sam was just as affected. Behind you, he stood just as still, his heart thudding in his chest, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips.
From the moment he opened the door, he’d felt drawn to you. The way you spoke, the warmth in your laugh—it all felt oddly familiar, like you belonged here.
In the next room, Dean leaned back in his chair, clearly enjoying the show. He nudged Bobby with a grin. Not even trying to hide his amusement.
“You seeing this?” he whispered, nodding toward the kitchen.
Bobby shot him a lookover his glass of whiskey. “They’re like a couple of deer caught in headlights,” he muttered. “Painful.”
Dean chuckled under his breath. “Think we should do something? You know, give ’em a little push?”
“Hell no,” Bobby said, shaking his head. “This is the most entertainment I’ve had in weeks.
Back in the kitchen, you worked in tense silence, trying to ignore the fact that you could feel Sam’s eyes on you. Every time you glanced up, there he was, watching you with an intensity that sent another wave of warmth crawling up your neck.
Normally, being stared at like that would’ve set you on edge, but Sam’s gaze wasn’t threatening. There was something soft about it, it was sweet, and that made it so much worse.
He cleared his throat suddenly, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Uh…anything else you need help with?”
His voice was low, gentle, and it only made your heart trip over itself again. You turned to him, forcing a casual smile despite the fluttering in your chest. “Nope, I think I’ve got it from here. Thanks, though.”
“Right. Yeah. Sure,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.
It was such a small, awkward exchange, but it left you rattled. You found yourself hyperaware of every move he made, the way he leaned against the counter, the way his hair fell in his eyes when he glanced down.
And Sam? He wasn’t faring any better. The sound of your voice, the way your lips curved when you smiled, it was like you’d bewitched him without even trying. Though he wasn’t about to start complaining
In the next room, Bobby and Dean exchanged another knowing look.
“Think they’ll figure it out on their own?” Dean asked.
Bobby took a long sip of his drink before answering. “Doubt it. But watching ’em try sure is entertaining.”
summery - (based on pilot episode) you meet the boys for the first time, and it doesnt exaclty go smoothly
word count - 1.1K
cws - fem!reader, mentions of a gun, very very slight threat , mentions of john winchester (horrorfying ik), lmk if i missed anything
a/n - Hi so this is my first time writing, hope you like it. I apologise if it's not the best, english isn't my first language. BUT I hope you like it either way and any feedback is appreciated !
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“Dean. Something is starting to happen. I think it’s serious. I need to try and figure out what’s going on… [muffled voices]… If you don’t hear from me, call the number I left you. Be very careful, Dean. We’re all in danger.”
After running it through EVP software, neither of them was any closer to figuring out what the hell John Winchester had gotten himself into.
“What about the number he mentioned? Have you called it?” Sam asked, his brow furrowed as he replayed the message in his head.
“Tried it twice. Straight to an automated voicemail both times. Whoever it belongs to doesn’t seem keen on answering,” Dean sighed, frustration creeping into his tone. He had assumed it was a contact of their father’s, someone John trusted, but the silence from the other end only deepened his suspicions. Maybe something had happened to that person, too.
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Working odd jobs was your way of staying afloat between hunts. Running scams and hustling drunks at bars could only get you so far. As much as you hated working in crappy diners, the little bit of honest money made you feel better about yourself—well, slightly better. Hunting wasn’t exactly a glamorous life, but knowing you were helping people survive the creatures that go bump in the night gave you purpose.
You were just wrapping up your final shift at a shitty diner, ready to head out of town, when your phone rang again. Unknown number.
This was the third time today, and you were getting sick of it. The first call, you’d been asleep and missed it. The second time, you couldn’t pick up because you had a customer at the counter. But this time, you were free to finally figure out who was bugging you. You weren’t used to calls like this—you could count on one hand the amount of people that had your number, so to call this weird was a bit of an understatement.
But before you could even answer, the call cut off after just a few seconds. Weird. You almost didn’t bother calling back, but as you started to switch your phone off, it buzzed again.
You didn’t hesitate this time—just hit ‘answer’ and pressed it to your ear.
“Who is this?”
All you heard was some muffled noise on the other end before the call dropped.
It wasn’t exactly paranoia that made you hesitate to call back. More like years of experience dealing with sketchy things that were best left alone. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right, so you stuffed the phone in your pocket and started walking back to your motel. The day had already been stressful enough, but as you made your way down the empty street, a prickling sensation crawled up your spine. You were being followed.
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“Where’d she go?” Dean frowned, looking around. She had been just a few feet ahead of them, and now she was gone.
Sam didn’t even get a chance to reply before Dean’s body slammed into his, knocking him to the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.
“Who are you, and why are you following me?”
The voice above them was calm but carried a dangerous edge. Looking up, the brothers found themselves staring down the barrel of a gun.
“You’ve got about ten seconds to answer,” you warned, your grip steady as you studied the two strangers.
Dean raised his hands in mock surrender, trying to defuse the situation. “Hey, hey, how about we put the gun down and have a nice, calm conversation?”
“You didn’t answer my questions,” you countered, cocking the gun for emphasis. “Who are you, and why are you following me?”
“Okay, okay,” Sam said quickly, his voice trying to calm the situation after his brothers failed attempt. “My name’s Sam, and this is my brother Dean. We’re the ones who called you.”
You narrowed your eyes. That answered part of your question, but it only left you more confused.
“What?” you asked, confused, but not about to lower the gun just yet.
Dean blurted out, “Look, we’re looking for our dad. He told us to call you if we couldn’t reach him. We saw you pick up at the diner, and we got curious.”
“So you followed me like a couple of creeps instead of just talking to me?” you shot back, irritation creeping into your voice.
The brothers exchanged an awkward glance, clearly realizing how bad it sounded, trying to come up with a defense that made them sound less like creepy stalkers.
“Wait, who’s your dad?” you asked, cutting off whatever pathetic excuses that were about to escape their mouths.
“John Winchester,” Dean offered plainly. Glad of the change in question.
The name hit you like a truck. You’d crossed paths with John only a few days ago, working separate cases in the same area. You hadn’t thought much of it when he disappeared; you’d assumed he’d wrapped up his hunt and moved on. Clearly, that wasn’t the case.
“You’re John’s sons?” you asked, though it was more of a rhetorical question. “Well, that makes sense.” You sighed to yourself, eyeing the two.
You lowered your gun and holstered it, extending a hand to each of the boys, helping them to their feet while silently offering an unspoken truce.
Dean accepted your hand, brushing himself off. “You know him?”
“Yeah, I know him,” you replied, the faintest hint of distaste creeping into your tone. Sam caught it, his lips twitching in amusement, though Dean didn’t seem to notice.
“He’s missing,” Dean said, his voice steady but tinged with concern.
John Winchester missing? That didn’t sit right with you. Although a right ass, the guy was tough as nails, one of the best hunters you’d ever met.
“He was hunting something out here and just vanished. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
You thought for a moment before answering. “I saw him a couple of days ago. Last thing he said was that he was heading to Sylvania Bridge to check something out.”
Sam stepped in, his voice hopeful. “Would you help us find him? If he told us to call you, he must’ve thought you could help.”
You hesitated. You weren’t the type to work with others, especially hunters. They were usually more trouble than they were worth. But there was something about these two that made you pause, something that felt like you were meant to help them. Not that you believed in fate or anything…
“Fine,” you said with a sigh. “I’ll help. But don’t make me regret this.”
You know who's truly a million different people? Y/n
Y/n is a doctor, FBI agent, CSI, reporter, vigilante, hero, vilian, singer, actor, the most famous celebrity, a vampire, the most powerful character, assistant, CEO everything you say this mother fucker has done it
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