You're sat around the pool at the Cody house, perched on your boyfriend's lap excitedly chatting with your friends Deran and Craig.
There's are so many 'dudes' and 'bros' being thrown around in the conversation the three of you could be easily mistaken for a caricature of some west-coast surfer dudes.
You turn to Andrew without thinking, "Wait, bro, did I tell you—"
Immediately, his face falls. His dark eyes fill with something close enough to hurt to makes your chest tighten. You cringe internally, realising your mistake.
"I'm not your bro" he grumbles, his grip on your hip tightening almost like he's trying to remind you of his role of boyfriend. The last thing he wanted was to be lumped into the same category as his idiot brothers by you.
The expression on his face is almost pouty and you have to try your best not to let slip how amused you are at your boyfriend's offence over the tiniest slight.
"Oh shit!" Craig hollers from the other sun lounger and you shoot him a dirty look.
"I'm sorry, honey." You emphasise the last word, pointedly but he just frowns so you try again. "Handsome, my man, sweetheart, king?" He scrunches his face in disgust at the last one and you giggle.
"Andrew" You finally coo, having known that was what he wanted all along. He only grunts in response, but he looks relieved, his annoyance clearly placated. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth and his brothers groan dramatically in protest.
"My Andrew," you announce, giving him another, longer smooch just to spite your dumb friends.
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a/n: this is so dumb but I have been struck down by writers block
Hiii!! I just came here to say I love your Sam headcanons 😭💕 they’re so chefs kiss and I was wondering if you could write some cuddling/physical touch headcanons for Sammy please?? Thank you for your service queen 🫰
hiya babes! You are too sweet oh my goodness I’m blushing 🥰thank you for all the love! Lmk what you think of these xo
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Cuddling with Sam Winchester
✦ At the start of your relationship, he's hesitant to initiate contact, usually waiting for you to make the first move. Once he knows it's alright, he is always seeking your touch. His hand finds yours under every table like a magnet, massaging small circles over your knuckles with his thumb. The seat beside you is claimed by him before anyone else could even consider stealing his space. He presses his knee to yours—warm and solid, a silent reminder you of his presence.
✦ Forehead kisses!!! Because of the height difference between you it’s just so tempting for him to press kisses to the top of your head. He steals smooches literally all the time, whether it's a quick peck before he goes to leave the room or an ambush of affection as you sit curled up on the couch together. His kisses turn softer and more lingering just before a hunt, not quite as final as a goodbye but he still savours the touch as if it's the last time he will be close to you.
✦ Sam loves lying on top of you, resting his head on your stomach or positioning himself so his cheek is squashed against yours, breathing the same air. Yeah, the concept of personal space is totally thrown out when he gets into bed with you. He goes crazy when you use his bicep as a pillow. It's one of his favourite way to sleep as he gets to hold you nice and close. He takes his job of human pillow very seriously, not moving an inch all night, even when his arm goes numb under your weight.
✦ He’s definitely the type to play with your hair, twisting the ends between his fingers absentmindedly whilst doing something else, smoothing his hands over your locks as you lay in bed together and even braiding it after a shower if you let him.
✦ He comes up behind you as stand at the kitchen counter, encircling your waist with his strong arms, resting his head on your shoulder nuzzling into your neck breathing you in. Any kind of intimate, domestic touches mean the world to him so he enjoys them whenever he can. Especially when you sit side by side, reading quietly as he runs his palm up and down your side, memorising the feel of your body.
✦ If he hasn't seen you in ages a few hours, you get crushed in a bear hug as he murmurs about how much he missed you. The kiss he pulls you into is searing, deep and full of adoration. When he pulls away he promises he's not letting you out of his sight (or arms) ever again.
“I won't feel blue, like I always do, 'cause somewhere in the crowd... there's you”
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✦pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader︎
✦summary: Dean has been secretly head over heels for months. Despite both of your aversions to feelings, you can't deny anymore that there's something there.
✦tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, love confessions, light angst, nightmares, happy ending︎
✦wc: 2.6k︎
✦a/n: ︎super trouper is my fav ABBA song and I'm a dean girly at heart so he gets this one! (also I'm aware I used an em dash or two that's not ai, jsut me. Swear down a machine couldn't produce this bullshit)
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To say Dean had a crush on you would be an understatement. You'd been hunting with the Winchesters on and off for about a year and in that time the big bad hunter had managed to fall head over heels for you.
Dean can't help but be calmed by your presence. You seemed to make light of every predicament you managed to get yourselves into. The world could be ending (as it often seemed to do in Dean's life) and you'd still have a quip and a smile for him.
You had crashed into their lives like a firework. Barrelling into them mid-hunt and introducing yourself enthusiastically with an outstretched hand like you weren't bleeding and coated in monster goo.
Dean was smitten. He was instantly captivated by your energy, the light you exuded, how you shared your smiles generously, beaming at every tiny thing, bright and toothy. It was so unlike anyhting he knew.
Since then, anticipation hums in his chest whenever you call to announce you'll be joining their next case. He knows you like to wander from place to place, finding hunts where you can, free of any roots holding you back. But if you're gone too long for his liking, he grabs the phone and dials your number to eagerly offer his and Sam's help. Much to his delight, you usually accept, even though you both know you can handle yourself. Part of him hopes it's because you enjoy his company as much as he does yours.
Whenever you fall into step with him, he relaxes slightly, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. The weight of the world he insists on carrying is briefly forgotten and for a minute he's just a man basking in the attention of the woman he is in love with.
He pointed it out once, how you always seem to end up side by side and you just shrugged it off with a joke about how your legs are too short to keep up with Sam's pace. It was a safe answer. But the smile you gave him after made his knees weak and his heart flood with unwanted hope.
He had pulled away from you for a while after you departed, giving you the cold shoulder by ignoring your calls.
He was ashamed to let himself get so scared by the kicking up of his pulse but he knew all too well that kind of hope was bad. It was dangerous for the both of you if he let himself care too much. You'd get hurt, or worse, and he'd suffer your loss forever.
He regretted his silence instantly. His guts twisted with guilt as your calls became less and less frequent. Arms length from you felt like a million miles away so it was as if he had ripped his own heart out as he watched your car get smaller on the horizon without doing anything to stop you from going. He felt frozen in your absence. Days dragged by until he hadn't seen you in over 3 months.
Dean perks up instantly at the sight of you trotting down the street of the middle-of-nowhere, midwest town, clad in your FBI suit, same as his own. He thinks you look much prettier than he does, obviously.
"What's she doing here? Shit. You think she knows we're here?" Dean panicks, his breath catching in his throat. "oh fuck, she's coming over"
He rolls his shoulders and runs a hand through his hair, trying his best not to make the effect you have on him too obvious after not seeing you for months.
"Calm down, 'kay. I might have called her" Sam confessed casually, rolling his eyes at the other man's dramatics.
"Might have! What the hell, dude?"
"What? I was tired of your moping" Sam shrugged. Dean opened his mouth to spit back a snarky remark at his brother but bit his tongue as you approached them, plastering his face with the biggest smile he could muster.
"Hope you don't mind me crashin' your hunt but I can't let you boys have all the fun, can I?"
"Don't mind one bit, sweetheart" Dean attempts to convey all the love he has for you in his tone, terrified you now hate him for shutting down or, worse, think he hates you.
You grin warmly at Sam before sparing the elder brother a cautious, tight-lipped smile. It was too awkward, too formal. He was suppposed to be your friend. Someone you were comfortable with. His heart ached at the thought he had pushed you out of his life completely.
His eyes track you as you saunter up to the county cops with all the confidence in the world.
"Agents Bonham and Plant" you introduce gesture to Sam and Dean "and I'm agent Page" the cop spares a glance at your badges and nods you through.
Dean can't help but crack a small smile, "Led zeppelin, huh? A woman after my own heart"
"What can I say, Winchester? Guess your old man music is getting to me," you call over your shoulder as you head towards the crime scene. He lets out a relieved breath, glad to be bantering with you once again.
Sam elbows his brother with a knowing look, clearly in his role of cupid. Dean shot him the dirtiest look possible before jogging ahead to catch up with you.
"Hey, why do you get to be Page anyway?”
"Because I'm awesome, obviously" you smirk, tilting your head up so he could see the glint in your eyes. You duck under the crime scene tape whilst Dean's heart flips ridiculously behind his ribs, the glimpse of your familiar, carefree expression having rendered him a little breathless.
︎Dean feels lighter with you around. He knows it's stupid and probably kind of toxic to let you have such an influence on his feelings. you seemed to see right through him, chipping away at the charming idiot act until only the real him was left. That scared him more than he'd like to admit. In truth, he didn't think the real him was someone who deserved your time at all.
He trails after you around the nodding along to all your speculations about what could've caused the deaths of the inhabitants in the house.
After an ungodly long day of interviewing witnesses and following leads to dead ends, you head to the motel, fast food bags in hand, kicking your boots off in the doorway.
You all settle into the room, stuffing your faces with the greasy burgers. You stretch out on the small couch, marking your territory, insisting the minuscule furniture isn't suited to men of their height. That they'd be totally folded in half like pretzels (your words, not theirs). Dean lies down on the lumpy motel bed closest to you, chiming in to the conversation between you and Sam every now and then.
The chatter carries on quietly until your words slur and slow then finally cease as the three of you give into sleep.
Nightmares haunt Dean more frequently than they used to and when they do come, they tend to linger all night and into the next day. Tonight, he dreams of you, again, his fear of losing you seeping into his subconscious in a blur of pain. He's clutching your broken body close to his
chest and he knows it's his fault. You die angry, hating him, blaming him, yelling his name.
He stirs awake to the sound of his name still being called. For one awful moment, he thinks that maybe his nightmares came true. That he's lost you forever.
"Dean. DEAN!" your words snap him out of his sleep and into the present. He opens his eyes fully, just about able to make out your features in the darkness, the only light in the room provided by the lurid neon motels sign streaming through the window.
"Hey, hey you're okay," you run a hand over his bicep, comforting him.
The sight of you loosens the knot in his chest. Your face looks so soft in the low light. He thinks it's the most angelic face hes ever seen in his life and he would know. He's met enough of the feathered bastards and not a single one of them could compare to you.
He tries to talk but his breath comes out in ugly, ragged gasps. His arms reach for you instinctively, seeking your touch. You wrap your arms around his shoulders without hesitation, holding him tightly and whispering comforting words into his hair.
You stay in his bed all night, the steady rise and fall of your chest calming him. He guards the sound of each breath you take as precious reassurance that you were alive and safe. When your hand finds his under the covers, his mind eases even further. The screams fade into the background and the blood washes away as sleep takes him over.
Dean has never known peace. He's never been allowed real rest. Softness and comfort were equal to weakness in his mind. But with your arms around him he feels a kind of safety he hasn't had in a long, long time. He couldn't exactly recall what home felt like but he's sure this was pretty close.
You don't make it weird the next day. You simply hand him a coffee as you crack lighthearted jokes and Dean plays along, grateful you're not acknowledging the fact that you watched him breaking down in your arms a few hours before.
Dean can't stop casting glances at you, curled up in the motel chair, your hair messily tied out of your face, your nose scrunched in concentration as you pour over the lore he's been pretending to look at all morning. Sam clears his throat loudly. His very subtle way of telling his brother to cut it out. Dean ignores him, obviously.
However, his gawking is soon interrupted when you lift your head, eyes instantly meeting his. He feels his cheeks flush at being caught pining after you. He can practically feel Sam's stupidly smug expression from across the room.
"Think I found something," you hold up the newspaper in your hands, unreactive to your friend's apparent staring problem. "Looks like the spirit we're dealing was murdered in the house 50 years ago. Cops liked the husband for it.”
Turns out you were right about the case. It's a routine salt and burn once you locate her bones in the backyard and get thrown around by the ghost. At one point, she throws one of your shovels right at Dean. You panic and grab him, dragging him out of harm's way and towards you. You clear your throat awkwardly when his chest collides with yours, leaving you face to face.
It's past two in the morning by the time the remains are set aflame and the grave refilled, closing the case. You pat the last shovelful of dirt down.
"This house…" You declare in a mock southern accent, "…is clean," you nod your head in triumph, pretending to dust your hands off.
"Yeah you're a real Lorraine Warren," Dean teases.
"So, what are you gonna do now?" Sam asks.
"Well, uh I hadn't really thought that far ahead," you hum in thought. "Y'kow I've never been to Vegas, maybe I'll head there." Your voice trails of slightly, sounding unconvinced of your plan.
Dean jumps at the chance to keep you with him a little longer.
"Hey, why don't you stick around a while? Ya never know when me and Sammy will need you to rescue us again"
"AH-HA! So you admit I totally saved your ass back there!" You point at him, a victorious look plastered on your face.
"Yeah, sweetheart you really did," the unexpected tenderness in his tone causes you to falter. You got the feeling you weren't talking about the hunt anymore. Sam senses the shift of the moment and slinks away to the car, leaving you and Dean alone. "So, what do y'say?"
"I'm not sure, Dean. Y'know I kinda go where the wind takes me" you reply, an attempt at levity when you sensed things starting to get serious. You and Dean really did have a lot in common when it came to shying away from your feelings. Anything too real or too heavy was to be avoided at all costs. Staying too long would just mean more opportunities to get hurt.
Maybe neither of you would ever face the truth, instead, choosing to just bottle up your feelings forever. As long as you were a part of his messed up life, things couldn't be that bad, right? Your friendship would be enough.
But, god, it would kill him to keep this secret. He couldn't live with knowing he never told you how he felt because he was too goddamn scared. He stood motionless, deep in thought, weighing up the consequences in his head, considering the possibilities in his heart.
You turn on your heel, ready to head back to the car and Dean panics. His hand shoots out, fingers closing gently around your wrist, just enough to capture your attention.
"Just think about it, please. I mean- look, what I'm trying to say is I want you to stay, sweetheart"
You step towards him, a conflicted expression painting your features. Your faces are only a couple inches apart, close enough to touch if someone would just work up the nerve to lean forward.
So he did.
For what felt like the first time in his life, Dean takes a chance and presses his lips to yours, an action that could only be fuelled by hope and very possibly delusion.
You freeze in surprise, struggling to process the fact that he was kissing you. That Dean — your friend— was kissing you. Your brain struggles to catch up, racing with disbelief. Were you dreaming? Was he possessed? You decide the trickster had to be involved, somehow, because the Dean you knew would never actually make a move. Would he?
Dean jerks away abruptly, mortified by your lack of a reaction.
"God, m'sorry. I must be crazy, huh? Thinkin' that you would- that we-” he scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. He wished you would just do something. Slap him, pull him closer, laugh in his face — anything.
"Y-you're not crazy, Dean" You look him in the eye when you say it, with such sincerity that he believes it for a second. You had a way of doing that — making opinion sound like gospel truth.
Dean sighs in relief that he hadn't completely destroyed your friendship but his breath hitches again when you kiss him. You lean into him, hands coming up to bracket his face. He melts into the kiss, partially glad that he didn't just embarass himself for nothing but mostly out of euphoria at your reciprocation of his feelings. His arms coming around your waist to hold you tightly as your mouths move toghether in perfect, sweet harmony.
Eventually, you pull apart for air, forheads pressed together, desperate to maintain some form of contact.
"God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do that, baby." You smile a little sheepishly at his confession. "So, you plannin' on sticking around now?"
You smile softly bringing a hand up to cup his cheek, smoothing your palm over the scraped skin. He leans into the touch his eyes fluttering shut.
"hmmm," you furrow your brow in mock deliberation, "I'll have to check my calender but I think I can make it work" You joke, smiling at him so softly and he believes you with everything he has. He didn't have a choice. Out of all the people in his life who had left him, he prayed you would be the first to stay.
"Promise, baby?"
"Promise."
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✦a/n: I've just started using ellipsus for my writing and I'm literally in love its so fricking good
✦ tags: fem!reader, fluff, chatty reader, established relationship, headcanons, drabble
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✦ Pope has always been a naturally quiet man so when he finds you: the bubbliest and most open girl ever, the dynamic just works. He doesn’t mind the way you fill the silences with your ramblings about your outfit or that stupid thing Deran did the other day or the cutest pair of shoes you saw in a store window. He always listens intently, though his responses mostly consist of soft "yeahs" and noises of agreement. Normally he gets sick of people who can’t shut up. Most people like that tend to incessantly spout bullshit at him . But you’re not most people - you’re his girl so every single syllable that comes out of your glossy lips is sacred to him. he loves that your so unhesitatingly chatty with him as he’s so used to people being guarded or too scared to talk to him so it makes him feel special getting to hear all your inner thoughts.
✦ Okay, sometimes your openness is a little inconvenient for him. Like when you get into random conversations with strangers on the street and he just stands there awkwardly behind you like your dog waiting for permission to leave. He always waits patiently though, proud of the fact that a girl so universally loved and sought out chose to be with him of all people.
✦ Your chattiness also means you get on great with his brothers, especially Craig (which Pope is totally not jealous about). At parties, he is practically forced to wrangle you away from Craig, surrounded by a large group as you finish telling the anecdote you’ve been animatedly narrating with your hands. He scoops you up and brings you outside to sit with him slightly away from the crowd so just the two of you can talk. You can’t blame him for being selfish with his girl, though, he’s far more deserving of your attention than those other people, especially his idiot brother.
✦ Andrew always takes everything you say really seriously, often not understanding your sarcasm or exaggerations, which is especially an issue as you don't always think twice before you spew dramatics.
"I'm literally gonna kill your brother" you blurted out once after Deran had raided your fridge and eaten the subway you were saving for lunch. A crease formed on Andrew’s brow instantly and you could feel his dark eyes boring into your skull from across the couch, already planning his revenge on his younger brother.
You spent the next hour trying to convince him not to march over to Smurf's place and beat the shit out of his brother over a sandwich.
✦ Pope indulges your every want, even the small stupid stuff you only mentioned in passing. You’re about the new lip gloss line at sephora, not even 12 hours later, you walk into your kitchen to find five shades of the product sitting on your counter, placed there casually, not expecting a thank you.
✦ Sometimes he genuinely just doesn't know how to get you to stop talking. Don't get me wrong, he loves hearing you talk but you’ve been going on about a trashy reality show for over an hour and he’s been trying to figure out a way to get you to come to bed without shutting down your excitement over celebrity gossip.
Eventually he gives up and resorts to clamping one hand over your mouth or pressing his lips to yours to shut you up, not quite knowing how to ask for what he wants. You gladly oblige with a kiss, Andrew being the only person for whom you would cut your stream of consciousness short.
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✦a/n: i’ve had the busiest week (so fun tho I saw mcr 😍) so I haven’t had time to write much ☹️ here’s a short one whilst I work on my other stuff xoxo
“Don't go wasting your emotion, lay all your love on me"
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✦pairing: Sam winchester x fem!reader︎
✦summary: Sam can't help but be desperately crave all your attention. All your time. All your love.︎
✦tags: jealous Sam Winchester, established relationship, smut, 18+!!!, mdni, riding, fluff, pet names: baby, honey & sweetheart, no use of y/n
✦wc: 1.6k ︎
✦a/n: ︎yay first part of my 100 followers special done! I'm trying to get them written and posted as fast as possible but I've been kinda busy this week so it will take a little longer than expected xoxo
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︎Sam wasn’t a possessive man. He didn't get riled up over small things like the wandering eyes of strangers.
But when it came to you, he was so pathetically in love he could barely think straight sometimes. In many ways, you had changed him for the better but at the same time he noticed how terribly desperate he had become for any scrap of your attention you would throw his way. The worst part was the blood-boiling jealousy that would overtake him at a moment’s notice. At this point, he practically envies the ground you walk on.
It's not that he didn't trust you. It was other people he was weary of. Of course he knew the extent of your loyalty but it didn't stop his love-addled mind from categorising every man within a hundred feet of you as a potential threat.
The waiter at the diner who smiled at you just a little too wide whilst taking your order? Sam was frowning at him over the rim of his glass for the rest of the meal. The witness on a case who was more interested in looking down your shirt than providing information? Sam immediately angled his body between you, shielding you from the man’s sleazy advances. Even the friendly old man who bid you a good morning got a suspicious glace as Sam placed a needlessly protective arm around your shoulder, warning.
Safe to say Sam didn’t want to share you one bit.
So when he emerges from the bathroom of the local dive and sees you sat at the bar with some guy way too close to you, the red haze descends. Okay, the man was at what would be generally considered an acceptable distance, sat on his own stool and everything...but still far too close to his girl for Sam's liking.
You're smiling politely at something the man is saying but you’re staring off into the distance and there’s a glassy look in your eyes that tells Sam you’d rather not be in the conversation.
Sam's shoulders are already squared as he approaches, standing at his full height. He holds eye contact with the man as he snakes his arm around your waist, staking his claim on you. You're unable to suppress your smile when you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he mutters into your hair. You simply hum in response, assuring him that you’re fine.
The mood shifts instantly and the guy backs off with a mumbled apology, too nervous to make eye contact with the much taller man whose girlfriend he was just hitting on.
Sam watches the man scramble out the door with a glare but if he was being honest, he couldn't even blame the guy for his interest in you. Adoration was the only appropriate word for what Sam felt towards you. You were on his mind every moment of the day and if he didn't have your love, he'd be just like all the other undeserving men who wanted you: trailing after you, craving even a moment of your consideration.
Much to his relief, however, Sam did have you. Somehow he had earned your friendship and trust, then your love. He made sure to never take that for granted. He worked hard to be a man who deserved you. You were his salvation and he was devout as a pilgrim in his worship of you.
He belonged entirely to you and deep down he knew he owned your heart in turn but his heart still panged with jealousy at every person who was graced by your smile. Luckily for him he was the person who was blessed with most of your smiles. And he was always there, waiting on you, ready to catch each expression and store it away in his heart, like a treasure. He hoarded each precious, shiny emotion of yours like a crow. not just the smiles - your frowns too, each quiver of your lip, every quirk of your brow. They were all catalogued and carefully kept in the back of his mind where he could return to them when he missed you.
He wished he could take on all of your emotions, relieve you of all the bad things so you never had to hurt again. Not exactly a realistic desire given your lifestyle but, hey, a guy can still dream.
And Sam did dream. He would lie in bed next to you long after you had given in to sleep, imagining a small house filled with couple kids and a dog, his domestic fantasy safely guarded by a white-picket fence. In truth, it didnt really matter to him if you lived in the suburbs or not. All he needed was you. He’d bend over backwards to give you the life you deserved. Hell, he’d move to Antarctica if that’s what would make you happy.
He throws a few bills on the counter to pay for your drinks before guiding you out of the bar with a hand splayed on your lower back. You turn to look at him, noting the obvious irritation in his eyes and the way his irises appear almost greener than usual in the low light of the street lamps.
By the time you get back to the motel, Sam is restless. He crosses his arms then uncrosses them, unsure of exactly what to do with his hands. His eyes dart around your face, searching. Maybe for some sign of doubt, you think. You know that he tends to get in his head sometimes about your relationship. Whether he really deserved you or if you were wasting your devotion on him, despite your constant declarations of love.
"Tell me you're mine" he pleads abruptly. The request catches you off guard but you don't mind reminding him that your heart belongs to him, that he's worthy of your affection. You close the distance between you, standing on your tiptoes so you're face to face with him.
"I'm. all. yours. Sammy" you reassure, punctuating each word with a kiss to the cute pout plastered on his mouth. He smiles against your lips at the nickname, letting out a small, contented hum, your words seemingly soothing his mind.
Sam doesn't even react when Dean walks out the bathroom, past the tender scene, muttering "pussywhipped" loud enough to hear accompanied by exaggerated gagging sounds as he shuts the front door behind him.
He's far too focused on the soft curve of your smile to care about his brother's teasing. After all, Dean's departure means he can have you all to himself.
Before the door has even clicked shut, Sam’s lips are on yours once again, hot and insistent. His hands are everywhere, skating up your sides and tangling in your hair before coming to rest on your hips.
Clothes are shed in record time, tossed carelessly across the motel room in all directions until you are both stripped down to your underwear.
Sam’s eyes light up when he notices the matching set you’ve got on. It’s the one he bought you for your last birthday. The lacy fabric another reminder of his claim on you. He feels a twinge of guilt at how toxic that sounds but it’s hard not to feel a little possessive over you.
He takes a seat on the bed and pulls you towards him slowly, guiding you so you’re straddling him before diving in to kiss you again.
His kisses are open-mouthed and deep but unhurried, sweet, like he’s trying to memorise the slope of your mouth.
He grips your body to his as close as humanly possible with two strong arms wrapped around your back and you mirror the gesture, your hands splayed over his shoulder blades.
Tentatively, he slots a hand between your bodies, pressing his palm to your clothed pussy. He breaks the kiss briefly, pulling back just enough to see you. His eyes are questioning, seeking permission.
You nod quickly and he takes your silent acceptance, slipping his fingers below the waistband of your panties. You gasp at the contact and the soft sound goes straight to his dick. He rubs small circles on your clit until you're shaking and breathless.
You lift yourself a little to give him enough room to hook two fingers into your underwear and pull them off your legs. He yanks his own boxers down enough to free his cock, already leaking with pre from anticipation. He pushes you down onto his length carefully, giving you a minute to get used to the stretch.
His his large hands come up to bracket your face, gently holding you so your foreheads are pressed together as you start to ride him.
You take him in deep, languid strokes, lifting off almost all the way then grinding down until he’s buried to the hilt. His hands wander down your body to rest of your hips, helping your movements.
His soft moans spur you on and you pick up pace until you’re bouncing on his cock. The room is quiet except for the slick sound of skin against skin and your laboured breathing.
The familiar coil build in your abdomen fast and you can tell Sam's about to tip over the edge just as fast as you. He’s panting now and his pelvis bucks up to meet yours in shorter, more desperate thrusts.
"mmmph just like that, baby, dont stop" Sam whispers, his voice low in your ear, "so good for me, honey." his praises are enough to send you tumbling over the edge with a cry. You keep riding through your orgasm and he follows soon after, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he spills into you.
"I'm yours, Sam. All yours, always," you babble in a reiteration of your words from earlier. A grin splits across his face and he pulls you in for a soft, almost chaste kiss.
"I'm all yours, too, honey," he beams, finally satisfied with the fact that he has your undivided attention and every scrap of your love.
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✦ a/n: ehhh this took me ages to write for some reason and it’s not even that long 😭
pairing: pope cody x bambi!reader ( no use of y/n )
summary: pope wishes he was your favorite cody brother.
content warnings: fem!reader, mention of how pope gets mistreated by everyone else in his life, mention of drugs + alcohol, they share a bed, too many mentions of smurf, they're kind of loneliest guy in the world x loneliest girl in the world
a/n: hai my lovelies! this is me introducing bambi reader to you!!!! the link leads to a pinterest board, which i'm still working on, but i hope you like her as much as i do. gif credits to @wesandresons !! <3
wc: 4.4k
No one was exactly sure why you were friends with Craig. Not even Craig, but he liked you. And though he tried his best to get you into his bed, it never worked. And god, he tried. Annoyingly so. Your resolve never wavered, standing with not being interested in Craig whatsoever.
At every party he threw, you were the girl hiding in the living room or in the kitchen. Anywhere where strange, drunk and high, people couldn't talk to you. It was almost impossible to find you, yet you also seemed to never go home, instead deciding to remain at the loud party surrounded by people you didn't like.
It was strange for Pope to watch you, know that you feel the same things he did, but do nothing.
You had every right to disappear, leave this haunted house, go back to your own.
Instead, he'd find you in the living room, remote in hand. You'd usually shoot him a sweet, knowing smile, aware that he was feeling just as uneasy as you did. Not fond of any loud noise, or drunk people. And he wished he had the courage to ask you if you wanted to leave the house with him, if you wanted to just drive around, sit at the beach and watch the waves.
But he'd always turn on his heels and go back outside and hate himself for it.
If he asked you to sit with him, you probably wouldn't even bother him, wouldn't try and force him to drink alcohol or get high like everyone else. You probably wouldn't even talk to him, knowing he liked his silence. He always regretted not asking you the moment the smell of beer hit his nose, and the moment water splashed onto his clothes, while people laughed around him. It made him feel lonely and different.
Still, he couldn't figure out why you were always at their house. Smurf wasn't good company, obviously, though she tolerated you just barely. Mostly because you kept to yourself. She knew you wouldn't blab to anyone about the Cody's jobs or that you never intended on going against her.
You were just there.
And no one complained, because you were like a fresh breath of air. You smiled and within two minutes you'd have J smiling too. You stayed around a lot, but never for too many days. If you went over, you were there for a long time, but the moment you disappeared, you were gone.
There seemed to be no specific reason for it. You seemed to be just overly concerned that you were being too much and bothering people. He knew you were a lonely girl, but he was also aware that your fear of being too much overpowered your grave sense of loneliness that you were never able to hide.
It was a bad habit of yours, always apologizing, even for existing seemingly. Craig had shot you numerous perplexed looks, never having heard this many sorry come from one person ever. But Pope knew he liked it, enjoying the fact that someone saw him as important enough to feel bad for him, that he was worthy enough to receive the sweetest girl's ever apologies.
Pope on the other hand, hated it. He hated the word sorry, and he especially hated it coming from you.
Whenever you apologized, whether it was accidentally brushing his arm while you were in the kitchen, or speaking, what you thought was, for too long, Pope would shut you down. And he'd always do it in a cold tone, knowing that was the most effective way to stop you completely from ever uttering that word around him again.
He knew his voice would startle you, not expecting Pope who was always kind to you, to speak to you that way.
His plan worked, and you started biting your lip hard the moment the word slipped out. You'd look up panicked, and that would usually be enough for him. He'd shot you a dry look, bored even. And you'd shake your head and mumble, 'I take that back.' and he'd drop the look immediately, resorting to his normal soft look that he always wore around you.
The word didn't completely disappear from your vocabulary, but now you uttered it almost never when he was around, and it made Pope feel less worried about being in your presence.
Everyone adored you and sometimes he hated it. It worried him that everyone felt the same adoration he did for you, that somehow you'd never pay attention to him. Given his brothers were much better at being affectionate, it made him feel like he was behind. Like it was a competition to be your favorite brother, and he was last, not even having started the run, because he didn't know how to. That the moment Craig brought you into the house and introduced you, a starter pistol went off, and everyone started running.
It didn't stop him from seeking you out all the time. Whenever the question 'Where's Pope? popped up, the answer was the same. With you. Always with you.
Mostly, because you followed him around. When he'd reject your offers to sit with you on the couch at parties, you'd get up and follow him.
There the two of you would stand somewhere and observe the party together, both with the same repulsed expression. For him, it was the dirt and the carelessness, for you it was the loudness of it all.
When you caught Pope in front of a dark TV, staring at himself in the reflection, you'd tap his shoulder softly. Just two taps, never wanting to overwhelm him. "My car's making weird sounds," you'd say softly, and he'd get up and help you.
Sometimes you'd tell him something was broken in your home, and he'd drive to your place without a word. You'd always try to drag out his stay, offering him cookies (because you were absolutely terrible at cooking) or offering sodas.
Sometimes, he'd catch you looking around the room nervously, looking for new problems he could fix. So he'd grumble out a "Sink sounded weird earlier," and you'd smile so wide, it was like the sun came out from behind the clouds.
Things like this made him doubt everything.
Maybe you didn't dislike him as much as he thought, maybe he did have the potential to be your favorite brother.
But then he'd watch you light up when Deran would tell you he finally figured out how to make your favorite mocktail. (Obviously, you never had to pay a cent. If not for Deran shaking his head as you handed him money, then it was Pope who paid for everything you ate and drank.)
Even Craig offered to teach you how to surf. The shy expression you always wore around Pope would disappear and your smile would be so radiant Pope wouldn't be able to look away, never having gotten the privilege to see such an open expression from you.
Things like these made Pope doubt everything, consider that maybe the shy expression was just your uncomfortable one, that when you needed help at home, it was simply because you needed help and nothing else.
He knew Deran and Craig were absolutely terrible at fixing things, and he feared that, just like everyone else, you too viewed him as a tool, something to use and throw away. That he was just waiting for the throw-away part, and that it was coming sooner or later.
But he couldn't help but have all his worries vanish into thin air, whenever you decided to grace him with your big thankful eyes and an even wider, dazzling smile.
The first time he felt like too much for you, so much he wanted to run away, was when you joined him in the garage.
You softly knocked against the doorway. "Andrew?" you always said his name so sweetly, it made him want to record it and listen to it like a lullaby until he fell asleep, which didn't happen much these days.
He looked up at you. "You're awake." He furrowed his eyebrows in concern. It was pitch dark outside, and he figured you were asleep in the living room.
You shook your head. "Couldn't sleep." you smiled softly, your eyes telling him to please drop it. He did, turning his head back to what he was working on.
You stepped closer, and he could smell the perfume that he loved so much. Before he knew it, you were towering over him, lightly brushing up against his shoulder. "What are you working on?" you titled your head, staring down at whatever it was you were looking at.
"Part of the car. Stopped working last night," he replied in a low voice, not raising his head, even though he really really wanted to see your pretty face.
You glanced around, spotted what you needed and sat down. You pulled the chair closer to him, setting your elbows on the table in the process. "Mind if I watch you?"
Pope glanced at you, and his eyes darted all over your face, trying to gauge what exactly the point here was. You seemed sincere, so he hummed.
You laid your cheek in your palm and watched him. Your big eyes stared at his hands with so much interest, they started to tremble a bit.
The silence between you was filled with the sound of an owl and the ticking of a broken clock somewhere in the garage.
Five minutes must've passed by now and Pope had never understood until now how silence could be nice even with someone else in it. It wasn't like he couldn't feel your presence. No. He knew you were here, but he enjoyed it. More than enjoy, he craved it. He wanted to stay in this little room forever, hearing nothing but your soft breaths and the sound of you tapping your foot restlessly on the floor.
He didn't hate the silence like when he did with Smurf, who sat with him in silence at breakfast and watched him eat.
No, he loved the feeling of your soft eyes watching him work, knowing he was good at what he did, and that you were admiring him.
"You're not tired?" you asked after a while, careful not to be too loud, not wanting to disturb his work.
"No." When Pope looked up, he met your eyes immediately, like you'd been watching his face rather than his eyes, and your lips lifted into a flustered smile.
Embarrassed, like you'd been caught. He wasn't sure what it was, but he almost felt the need to gloat about it. Sweetest girl he knew was caught staring at him.
Stupid.
He looked away again, almost in shame, because how dare he think that you were admiring him. You were sleepy and he was awake. That's it. Had Craig been out here, you probably would've joined him too. He was nothing special.
"S'nice watching you," You brushed a hand over your face, rubbing your eyes tired.
Pope looked up, because surely he'd misheard, but you shot him a sweet smile, soft hair falling over your shoulders as you rubbed your eyes, hard, again.
People couldn't even stand to utter his name, and you were telling him that he was nice to watch. Like his presence was worth acknowledging. Like it was something good, like his presence wasn't to be feared, like he didn't hear the rumors in town about how people feared the thought of him.
Horrible, awful Pope who hit and hurt people, who made a mess of people and things, of everything.
A kind girl like you liked to watch him in the middle of the night doing things that his brothers called weird, made them shake their heads as they looked away in disappointment and shame, wishing they'd had a normal brother, one more like them.
He must've stayed quiet for too long, because you froze. "Sorry, did—did I say something wrong?" nervously, you toyed with your heart necklace.
"No—No you didn't." Pope shook his head quickly, eyes darting back down to his car part. His fingers twitched nervously. "You should try to sleep." And he could sense he'd said the wrong thing, because your eyes widened for a second, and worry overtook your face.
"Oh—right, yeah you're right." Stumbling over your words nervously, you stood up, and Pope regretted it.
He hadn't meant this. He was just trying to tell you that he appreciated your kindness, but surely he wasn't that interesting. "I meant— it's not healthy to stay awake," he managed out, eyes darting back up to your face and back down. "It's not good for you." he managed out nervously.
You looked down at him, and you stood there for a bit, before sitting back down slowly, understanding he didn't want you to go. "Yeah— I know." You toyed with a bolt on the table, rolling it in between fingers before you looked back at Pope who was still watching you. "Craig keeps yelling in his room about his video game, and Smurfs still awake by the Pool." You dropped the bolt. "It's distracting."
"You can sleep in my room," Pope said, and given your reaction, it wasn't exactly something you expected him to say. But it made sense to him. "You can't hear Craig in there."
You stared at him, your eyes wide, making them bigger than they already were. "You want me to sleep in your room?"
Pope wasn't sure what was so confusing. It wasn't like his room was bad. Sure, it was a bit empty, but he took care of it, it was clean. He pushed the car part away, getting up from his chair. "I'll get you new bed sheets," and then he just walked out of the garage. You stood in the empty garage, mouth open, before you scrambled to follow him.
To your luck, Smurf was fast asleep, bottles of alcohol next to her, and you hurried to follow Pope. Inside, he led you to his room, grabbing clean bed sheets out of one of the closets in the hallway, before walking into his room.
You stood in the doorway watching Pope fix the bed for you. Were you dreaming? Was Pope actually fixing his bed for you?
You looked down and pinched your skin. "Ouch." you muttered to yourself. Not a dream, officially and definitely not a dream.
Pope turned his head to you. "You need pajamas?" he asked, but you shook your head.
You never took, unless you were outright suffering and Pope's eyes slowly darted down to the goosebumps across your skin, which were visible even with just two night lights on.
You were wearing a simple white lace tank top and California nights weren't exactly known for their heat. Even Smurf outside, was sleeping with at least two blankets. He turned, opened a drawer and grabbed a hoodie. When he handed it to you, you didn't take it.
"Is that yours?"
Pope nodded, almost worried. "I—You can have one of Deran's if you want."
"Nope, I—I'd like yours." you managed, grabbing the hoodie and letting it swallow you whole. It was warm, and it smelled nice, so very nice. You couldn't help the way your head just lowered a tiny bit, letting yourself smell how nice Pope's scent was.
Pope had already looked away the sight too much, and was now awkwardly staring down at the bed, fingers twitching nervously at his sides. "Okay, have— have a good night."
In all of your years of living, you'd never been this bold before. You weren't even sure what overcame you. Your hand reached out, and you grabbed Pope's bicep lightly before he walked past you.
You felt him freeze up, eyes locked onto your hand around his bicep, and you had to resist the urge to squeeze, to test how really hard and warm his bicep was. "Will—" you bit your lip, already regretting starting the sentence. "Don't you wanna sleep?"
"I have to work." His eyes flickered back down to your soft hands around his bicep.
You had pink polish on with brown polka dots. It was sweet. He'd seen you paint them once, you'd even helped Lena with hers. Lena had been so happy, and hadn't stopped talking about you the entire afternoon after you'd gone home. He had been glad to know that someone else felt about you the way he did.
You dropped your hand, disappointment flickering across your face. Pope's eyes darted around your face, noting how close you were but also how you were still trying to find your words. He waited.
"I'd like you to stay," you phrased it so sweetly, the way you always did, but for the first time you told him what you wanted. There was no if it's okay with you, you don't have to, no it's okay.
No, you straight up wanted something from him and God would he be stupid if he said no to you.
His eyes darted back to the bed and his eyes stayed there for a while, thinking. "I have to turn off the lights in the garage."
"I'll wait here!" You looked like you were about to start bouncing up and down from excitement.
Pope watched you for a second before turning and walking down the hallway, wondering what on earth led him to commit to this.
Meanwhile, you were in disbelief, palm to your mouth, as you muttered. "Oh my god. Oh my god." Oh my god, you were going to die. You glanced at the bed, deciding to get in now, before you were stuck in the awkward moment of having to argue with him about what side to take.
You pushed back Popes clean blue covers, slowly settling down in bed, and god was it was warm and soft. And it smelled nice.
You pulled the hoodie sleeves down over your wrists, nervously squeezing your eyes shut. You couldn't believe he'd agreed to this.
Pope walked back slowly, boots thudding on the floor until he stood in the doorway looking at the top of your head. Not to seem like a creep, he didn't linger, quickly stepping in. He could feel your pretty eyes watching him as he grabbed a set of fresh boxers, shirt and a towel.
"Gonna take a shower, won't take long," he said, barely looking at you. The sight was too much for him to handle.
"Okay," you said softly, eyes following him until he was in his bathroom.
You passed the time by opening every drawer of his, checking out what he had in there. Barely anything. You sighed, Pope wasn't much of a talker, so you'd hoped you'd find out more about him in his room.
He wasn't joking when he said he wouldn't take long, because just as you were checking out his bottom drawer, he showed up. You shut the drawer with the loudest bang! possible before scrambling back into a horizontal position, embarrassed.
Pope's eyes darted down to the drawer before lifting to your embarrassed expression. He was more endeared by anything. Any other person and he would've gotten suspicious, but you were toying with his sheets nervously, avoiding his eyes, and he knew you'd just been curious.
He'd caught you walking around the house, staring at every picture more than once. He was more than aware of your curious nature.
He brushed a hand through his curls as he walked to his side of the bed, and you lifted the sheets for him.
You somehow managed to still surprise him with your small sweet gestures. He'd lived his whole life in Oceanside, and with his reputation, people had stopped granting him kindness, even as simple as receiving a thank you.
He felt so endlessly grateful that one person on this earth was able to be kind to him, that maybe he wasn't as evil as he thought, that there was a chance for him. That if someone like you looked at someone like him and thought he was worth it, worth spending your time and sweetness on, he might actually have a chance in life.
He slipped under the sheets, and you dropped them, making the warmth hit him all at once. He liked to sleep on his side looking at the wall, but it felt almost insane to miss out on seeing your pretty face all night, so he stayed on his back, view narrowing to the ceiling.
You, on the other hand, turned to your side, palm under your cheek. "Your bed's soft." You whispered, and he turned his head to you, eyes darting away shyly when he noticed your intense stare. He figured his bed was nice enough, almost relieved it was up to your standards. He'd been worried in the shower that you'd make some excuse, and he'd come out, looking like a wet puppy, to an empty bed.
"What?" he asked after he felt you stare for a little more.
"Your curls are nice," you whispered. "Always wanted to tell you that, but was too scared."
"Of me?" It just slipped out of Pope's mouth. He didn't want to know the answer to that question.
"What? No." Confusion was written all over your face, your lips curling into a frown. "I'm just— it's a weird thing to say. That's all."
Pope stared at you. Not scared of him. You weren't scared of him. ’S'not weird." He held your stare for a while until his nervousness overtook his entire body, leading him to glance away again, eyes focusing back on the white canvas above him.
"Thanks for dinner tonight."
Smurf hadn't been up for it for some reason and Deran or Craig didn't care, so Pope had made food just for you. You hadn't even told asked, and maybe that's why he made it, because he knew you never would.
He turned his head, happy you were giving him an excuse to look at you. "D'you like it?"
"Loved it." you smiled softly. "You could be a professional cook."
Pope's mouth almost lifted into a smile at that, but then you scooted closer, and he froze up. His arm, which had been resting on the side of the bed, almost touching your stomach now. You were so close, he could see how pretty your eyes were up close.
They had always been his favorite part about you. When Craig had first introduced you, Pope knew his brother had warned you about him, told you he was crazy and weird. His brothers did that with everyone they brought to the house, and their friends would always eye him weirdly, and he'd never be given the chance to show them that he was capable of kindness. That he could be as normal as they wanted him to be.
But you, you, had smiled, lifted your hand in a wave and looked at him in a way that no one had looked at him in years. Soft, kind, and open-minded.
He stared at you, and you stared back, and then you slowly lifted your hand.
"Can I—?" you whispered softly, and he was startled by the fact that you asked, so he nodded.
People never asked before they touched him. The only touches he received were involuntary ones from Smurf, or punches from his brothers and strangers. Never ones from sweet girls that asked before they settled their hand softly at his temple, toying with one of his curls.
The bottom half of your hand touched his cheekbones, and you brushed over his hair, thumb catching in a curl. He watched you, eyes big, before finally turning to his side, deciding that he'd make it easier for you.
He saw the smile you suppressed, absolutely delighted that he was so open to you touching him.
He took a second to absorb and analyze the expression. His hazel eyes darting all over your face, looking for any lie, that this was just a game to you. That maybe you'll look at him in the morning with pity in your eyes. But your eyes were glowing, and even with his insecurities choking him when he was with you, he could tell that no lie was in your eyes.
"They're wet," he provided you with the most unnecessary information, already wanting to smack himself for pointing out such an obvious thing.
You just hummed, too distracted to be touching his hair to focus on his awkwardness. You looped a curl around a finger, thumb brushing right above his eyebrow.
Your eyebrows were furrowed like you were studying his hair, but he knew you weren't as relaxed as you seemed. Your breath was going quicker, he could feel it against his face. He could smell your perfume, something floral and vanilla and felt the need to press his face into your hair and just stay there.
Your eyes traveled back to his face, and you observed him, before your hands went back down to his bicep. "You can relax," you whispered. "I won't do anything you don't want me to."
Pope stared at you, hazel eyes wide, never once leaving your face. "You have to sleep too."
"I will." Your hand already back in his curls. He let the feeling of your warm hands overtake every other feeling. Every sense of fear, insecurity and worry.
As much as he knew you wanted him to, he couldn't sleep. Whether it was because of his nightmares or because of you being here, he wasn't sure. His eyes continued to track your face, and it didn't take you long before you let your hand drift from his hair to his cheek, brushing your thumb lightly over his cheekbone one first and last time, before dropping it back in between you.
Your eyelashes fluttered lightly like a good night to him before you closed your eyes. Pope let himself watch you, let himself feel the phantom feeling of your hands. Your perfume continued to linger, and he wished his room would absorb it forever, that every time he walked in, he'd smell your perfume. He knew his bed would smell like you for at least the next couple of days now, and he hoped so desperately that the next time you came over to the house, you'd sleep in his bed.
Maybe next time he'd be the courageous one and ask you to stay.
I can't believe that 100 real human beings enjoy this blog enough to follow it. Truly, I'm extremely grateful for every interaction I get on my posts <3 I was already planning on doing some ABBA inspired spn stuff so I thought i'd use this series to celebrate hitting the 100 followers mark!
If I had to pick a favourite image of all time, this would be it. It's so fucking dumb I think about it everyday. Everything abt it is so funny to me: the username, the super stretched image. also why the hell he smiling like that?
andrew’s sitting on the toilet seat lid, breathing harshly through his nose as you kneel in between his legs. gazing up at him and swiping the blood off of his cheek with a lil cotton swab, your little pink first aid kit clacking against the floor. you silently work, one hand resting on his knee while the other works on his face gently. his breath keeps getting heavier, the black toe of his vans tapping quicker & quicker against the linoleum.
he’s antsy & anxious, chest heaving more & more like he was actively facing an internal battle. putting both hands on his knees, you look up at him with loving eyes, “you okay honey?” gritting his teeth, a nasty pout on his face, he loses his resolve. andrew drags you up by your arms, never quite knowing how to balance his own strength with his intense need for you. hisbig hands clenched over your biceps as he hauls you into his lap.
chest to chest, he squeezes you to him. your legs dangle over his thighs as you straddle him, his breath slowly evening out now that he has you close to him. you bring your hand to card through his hair, cradling his injured cheek in your palm as you kiss at his nose and eyelids.
slowly his leg stops bouncing and he starts chasing your kisses back. you peck his chin & then his move to his cheekbone and he’s kissing your chin & cheekbone. a gorgeous game of tag, as he squeezes your waist tight to keep you from going away from him :(((
Summary: Sam misses you, luckily your stuffie is there to keep him company.
An: this is so cute omg. If my future husband isn’t like this I DONT WANT HIM! Based off of this request because I forgot to put it in the right way and I’m too lazy to re-do it. Fk it we ball.
Drabble - Sam Masterlist
Sam sat on his normally shared bed alone. You were away for a few days, handling family letters that you swore he didn't need to be involved in, which meant his usually shared bed was empty; aside from himself, and the very old, but well taken care of giraffe named Kori that you've had since childhood.
He was initially surprised that you even left him, you took Kori everywhere. Anytime you knew you would be sleeping away from home, Kori was with out a doubt tagging along.
Usually, you'd be here. In Sam's arms, and in-between the two of you would be the stuffed animal that Sam too, has come to love overtime.
But instead he was left with just Kori, who had an almost mocking smile on his face. "I'm not really about to do this am I?" Sam mutters to himself.
He sighs begrudgingly, grabbing the Stuffie and bringing it to his chest. The smell of you engulfed his nose and something inside Sam had finally allowed him to relax.
He walked around like that all day, Kori clutched to his chest, just like you when you're in need of comfort.
He sat in the library, absentmindedly flipping through old lore books when Dean walked in. He didn't notice at first. In fact, he and Sam had an entire conversation without Dean noticing.
That was until Dean glanced at Sam after the conversation ended, and laying right there in the middle of his chest was kori.
Deans eyes narrowed in on the sight, brain trying to comprehend the image in front of him. His grown man of a brother… reading a book about demons and hell… with his girlfriends childhood Stuffie on his chest.
"Sam" Dean says. His brother hums in response, as if anything about this was normal.
"Sam." Dean says firmer, more is insistent. Sam looks up from his book, confused and irritated "what?" He snaps
Deans eyes squint, looking from Sam's face, to the stuffie smiling mockingly at him, and back.
reader finding out that pope got your name tattooed on him….
Pope shows up unexpectedly at your door late at night. You invite him inside but he hovers in the doorway for a minute, hands twitching at his sides like there’s something weighing on his mind. You begin to worry. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen him and his anxious energy is making your mind race with worst case scenarios. What if something had gone wrong in a job? What if he was about to leave and came by just to break your heart?
He remains stationary, making to attempt to explain his sudden appearance (or to break up with you) so, gently, you lead him towards your bedroom with a hand in his arm and he complies, seeming even more docile than he usually is with you. You pray it’s a sign that things are still alright between the two of you.
You begin to help undress him for bed, halfway through removing his shirt when your eye is caught by a mark on his freckled skin.
It takes you a second to process that you’re seeing and when it finally clicks, you have to suppress a gasp. Written in small script across his chest is your name, right above the space where his heart beats.
You graze your fingertips across the clear plastic covering, careful not to put too much pressure on the fresh ink, tracing the loops of each letter that forms your name. You feel your eyes begin to prick with tears of joy at the sudden understanding of the cause of his previous nervousness.
Maybe the gesture would seem creepy or too forward to others, but you knew that it was his own very cody-ish way of showing his affection. Your name branded into his skin was a way for him to prove he was serious - you were it for him. His heart belonged to you and he didn’t want anyone else ever.
He looks down at you nervously, the uncertainty in his eyes so clear it made your heart hurt for him.
“Is it ok?” his voice is quiet, like he’s bracing himself for any sign of rejection or disapproval, or even worse, disgust.
A smile so wide forms on your face it must look goofy. “It’s perfect, Andy, I love it,” you beam at him.
Relief spreads over his features instantly and he pulls you in for a deep kiss, emboldened by your positive reaction. You smiled against his lips a little possessively. You liked the idea of everyone knowing who he belonged to. It was now a permanent claim you held, signed like a marriage certificate. Your Andrew, forever.
sam winchester x reader headcanons pt 2. (read pt 1) ⋆.˚ (read pt 3)
author's note: here's more sam headcanons xo i’m on holiday rn so I haven’t had time to write but I promise i’m gonna post more longer works and can take requests soon x
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✦︎ Love language ⋆.˚ I think a big thing for him is words of affirmation. His family never really verbalised their feelings, especially not affection, so it’s important to him that you know how much he loves you. He’s constantly reminding you of his feelings with compliments and I love yous whispered last thing at night and first thing in the morning before he's even fully awake. He says the words so often that they just roll off his tongue unconsciously, practically punctuating his every sentence.
✦︎ fights + apologies ⋆.˚ yes, sam can get pissy (he's got that younger brother gene) but he’s not usually one to start a big fight. He's always willing to talk things over with you and if you do argue, he makes sure the conflict is solved as soon as humanly possible even if it means admitting he was wrong and begging for forgiveness. He hates when his girl is mad at him and he makes it everyone else's problem (namely dean's) .He’ll give you space if you need it but he hates going to bed angry and will literally wake you up to sort things out.
✦︎love language pt2 ⋆.˚ physical affection is soo important to him. He showers you with lots and lots of kisses as if he’s afraid that each kiss will be the last, like he could lose you at any time. Sam is 100% an affectionate sleeper as well. His favourite thing is when he has you curled up at his side so you're face to face, using his bicep as a pillow. Sometimes he lies right on top of you, and as much as you love him, he’s still crushing all the air out of your lungs. When you push him off he still clings to your back with his face pressed into your hair, inhaling your shampoo.
✦︎pet names ⋆.˚ I think he would call you honey or sweetheart (because I say so). He would get all flushed and shy when you call him my love or handsome and he totally lets you get away with calling him sammy. He actually gets more upset when you call him samuel (which you only employ on rare occasions when you’re really annoyed with him). Something about his full name feels wrong coming out of your mouth. too formal. too cold.
✦︎date night ⋆.˚ he totally prefers a chill night in with you, just talking for hours over takeaway, but he will always entertain you if you want to go out to a nice restaurant (somewhere where the food isn’t smothered in grease like the diners you frequent) or to a bar. If he’s feeling generous, he might even dance with you to a song you picked out on the jukebox (only after a couple drinks though).
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author's note: unfortunately, it's physically impossible to like sam winchester a normal amount you have to go insane and write a million fanfictions about him.
Ughhh I LOVEEE ur Winchester brother stuff. Can u pls write Sam (head cannons maybe? Up to u) with reader who gets so frustrated she cries over the smallest things. She’ll get so mad then all of a sudden cry bc that’s deadass me rn.
sam winchester x sensitive reader
ahh i’m so flattered that you enjoy my stuff ❤️ I love this idea sm I can totally relate, I cry over literally anything 😭. Hope your doing good and that you enjoy xx
tags: sam winchester x reader, fluff, comfort, established relationship, fem!reader
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✦︎ When you’re on a case, interviewing a particularly difficult witness who you just cannot get through to, your irritation grows with nowhere to go, morphing into distress. Sam notices your body tense immediately. He places his hand on your thigh under the table - steady and comforting and shoots you a glance, checking on you. If it’s bad he makes an excuse for you to leave, guiding you out the room with a hand on the small of your back to somewhere quiet where he listens to you vent or offers you a shoulder to cry on.
✦︎ During arguments his demeanour softens immediately when you start to cry halfway through shouting at him. He’ll de-escalate the fight in an instant, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug no matter how mad either of you are. If you don’t want to be touched in that moment, he gives you some space, sitting near enough for you to reach in case you change your mind whilst you talk through the disagreement. He’s always patient when you can’t articulate your feelings or pinpoint the cause of your upset.
✦︎ Sam is super understanding when you get so frustrated over random insignificant stuff whereas some people (dean) would say you were overreacting. Sam always seems to have a miracle solution to every situation that had seemed catastrophic to you beforehand. If you’re unhappy with your food, he’ll just swap plates with you before you can protest. You spill a cup of coffee everywhere? he’s already making you a new one. Once, you wrestled with a jar lid for over fifteen minutes until sam padded into the kitchen. Your eyes were glassy with frustration and you were about to just smash the jar when sam swooped in, unscrewing the lid with one twist. “you loosened it for me, sweetheart” he beamed at you, totally oblivious to how attractive the gesture was.
✦︎ You’re getting ready and your hair just refuses to cooperate and your makeup looks weird and your outfit looked a lot better in your head than it does in real life. Sam clocks your miserable expression in the reflection of the mirror, and he hates seeing you so blue, your lower lip wobbling slightly and tears threatening to spill from your pretty eyes that he loves so much. He’ll hook two fingers under your chin, turning you to face him. He calls you beautiful and silences your negativity with a kiss when you tearfully tell him how awful you look because no one gets to talk bad about his girl, not even you.
✦︎ Sam can’t help but chuckle when you get really worked up over something dean has done. He sits on the lumpy motel bed, watching you pace the room, practically tearing your hair out over the dirty clothes his brother left scattered across the room. He’s not dismissing your annoyance, but it’s nice to have someone that understands his own frustrations with his brother. If an actual argument breaks out, Sam will jump in the middle of the conflict, always your knight in shining armour, defending you, even going so far as moving you with one arm so that you’re shielded by his body so dean can’t see your shoulders starting to shake.
