i’m softstatic ✶ xv ✶ she/her click here for rules request main masterlist Angel masterlist
this is my little corner of tumblr, where i obsess over supernatural, the boys, and stories that refuse to leave my head. you’ll mostly find fanfiction, headcanons, and the occasional emotional spiral over fictional characters.
if you somehow found your way here, i’m really glad you did. take a look around and stay for a while.
currently…
rewatching supernatural (again)
working on another fic instead of sleeping
listening to a playlist that’s just sad enough to inspire bad decisions (feel free to leave song suggestions in the comments or inbox)
trying to convince myself dean and sam winchester deserved a happier ending
about me-
when i’m not here, i’m usually reading, painting, playing bass, or daydreaming about my next story.
i love found family, sibling relationships, hurt/comfort, slow burns, quiet moments that say everything, and endings that leave you staring at the ceiling for a while.
most of my writing happens late at night with rain outside, headphones on, and coffee that’s gone cold because i forgot it existed.
my favorite characters are dean, sam, cas, jack, bobby, charlie, and ellen. (yes… all of them.)
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currently writing
✶ fanfiction
✶ headcanons
✶ established relationships
✶ protective dean
✶ protective sam
✶ sibling dynamics
✶ fluff (until it accidentally becomes angst)
✶ hurt/comfort
✶ emotional damage
reader advisory-
expect excessive winchester brainrot, found family, emotional hurt/comfort, sad playlists, and way too many feelings.
this blog is a safe space.
please leave hate, gossip, and unnecessary drama at the door.
requests, conversations, recommendations, and mutual screaming over fictional characters are always welcome.
you are my absolute favorite spn writer, I love your writing so much <33
could i please request a drabble for dean where reader can't stand seeing him stressed and tense, because of a rough mission, and offers him a massage? it can be fluffy or suggestive, whichever you like better
📨 okay hey fun fact you are actually the sweetest ever, thank you so much for your kind words! i am honored to be your favorite spn writer :’) most of the time it’s hard to make myself believe that people like what i write so. thank you for washing away some insecurities of mine… 🫠 anyway hopefully i did your request justice cause this is SUCH A GREAT SCENARIO <3
. . . 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐓𝐄. ♫ ⋆.˚
THE HUNT WENT TERRIBLE, TO SAY THE LEAST. you all were on edge—stressed out beyond belief—especially dean, per usual. always the one to take the blame, to put the most weight on his shoulders, all for the sake of lightening the load for someone else. it’s almost annoying, his false sense of self-righteousness, the need to place all the pressure on himself, since he has so much already—but mostly, you just want him to stop beating himself up.
tonight, however, the monster you all hunted did the beatings for dean before he himself got the chance. there were bruises and cuts littering his entire face, and you knew that the marks would look worse tomorrow as you glanced at dean’s side profile again.
you were sitting in the passenger seat—sam calling the backseat to “lay down”, but you knew it was because he knew dean was a ticking time bomb. the impala was in a stifling silence the entire way back to the bunker, and you could feel the tension radiating off of dean. it broke your heart—because you knew how much he was beating himself up more than the thing you rid the world of tonight ever could.
you don’t lay eyes on dean until about 4 hours after you get back. of course, you tried to build up the courage to say something to him, to try and make him feel better when you originally first got back to the bunker—but chickened out before you ever could. as much as you hated to see dean like this, a part of you was expecting that he’d take his stress out on you.
he’s sitting at the table in the kitchen, looking broody, as he does on nights like this. you weren’t expecting him to be sitting there, but really, where else would he be when a hunt went like it did today? it was a late hour, despite you being awake. you hadn’t really slept, per se—it was more like your brain couldn’t shut off all the way. like your body couldn’t rest, not when dean was close by and suffering in silence.
dean doesn’t look at you when you walk in—because he knows what yours and sam’s strides sound like. he doesn’t greet you, either—in fact, he almost looks shameful about the fact that you’ve now seen him, despite him quirking a corner of his mouth at you in recognition. you almost chicken out again and leave when he looks back down again, but something stops you.
the bottle and glass in front of him aren’t in use. the bottle’s still sealed, and the glass is still clean. and dean’s just staring at the glass, eyes glazed over. like he’s not really there. you’d like to bring him back, just for a little while. just until the sun comes up, maybe. so instead of going for your midnight snack like you originally planned, you find yourself going over to dean.
you know he’s in deep, when it takes him a second to even recognize the fact you’re closer to him now. his hand lets go of the glass he was fidgeting with, instead looking up at you next to him. he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you—not yet, at least.
you take in his features, now that you’re up close—and at least he had the sense to patch and clean himself up a little before staring at a bottle of whiskey for an eternity. you place a hand on his shoulder, and he flinches. just a little. you tilt your head, concerned—but don’t comment on it. you just leave your hand there, testing.
dean, finally, leans into your arm—just enough for you to know that he’s not hating this. your thumb brushes on his shoulder once before you step just a little closer. it seems the less space that remains between you and dean the more you can feel the tension inside him. he’s still looking at you, but he’s not all the way there.
your hand slides down his shoulder, over his arm, until it reaches his own hand. you take it in yours, tug at him gently. dean hesitates, no doubt weighing his options. and yet, he stands up, leaves the unopened whiskey on the table, and lets you lead the way.
you don’t take him to his own room, which shocks dean—but not enough to actually say something about it. he’s tired, he realizes—more tired than he has been in a while. and not all of it is something that can be fixed with a good night’s rest.
both of you stop at the foot of your bed, hands still intertwined. you looked at him again, stepping closer. dean felt his heart jump when you did—and not because he didn’t want you close. quite the opposite, really. he swallows hard when you start taking off his flannel for him.
“don’chya gotta buy me dinner first, or somethin’…?” dean inquires, but it’s barely above a murmur and half-assed. the question almost dies in his throat—and you don’t entertain his habitual attempt at lightening this moment.
“lay down,” you murmur as you nod to your bed, not answering—and if dean was a little less tired and a lot less starved for your attention than he was now, he’d never would laid down—but he was, so he laid face down on your bed, immediately met with the scent of you filling his lungs.
dean’s not sure what he was expecting—but when you get onto your bed after him and start touching his shoulders and back, he realizes.
you’re trying to coax the tenseness out of him. trying to make him less stressed out. a strange feeling blooms in his chest upon this development. he wonders why he’s almost uncomfortable with the fact that you want to comfort him. he doesn’t want to think about it too hard—because he’ll spiral like he’s been doing all night.
maybe it’s because he’s spent his entire life not having any comfort, or maybe the fact that he’s so used to being the one giving out comfort, he doesn’t know what it feels like to receive it—but whatever it is, dean forces the looming thought to be shoved into a box for tonight.
your hands act as if they’re touching something holy. but it’s just him, who’s receiving your attention. your fingers work at the tightness of his shoulders, and it doesn’t hurt like he thought it would. it feels… strangely good. it takes him a second, but he stops holding his breath in, lets out a soft sigh. you take it as a win.
dean is tense, obviously. almost unbelievably so. his shoulders, neck and back seem permanently wound up as you work at them with your hands. you weren’t sure if dean was comfortable having his undershirt off, so you just left it on—but your fingertips sneak just a little under the collar of his t-shirt, grazing his bare skin. dean lets out another sigh, adjusts his head deeper into the pillow.
he feels tired again now that he’s in a bed. if he was more awake, he’d be more jokey, more easygoing, cracking a joke about you trying to get in his pants. but not tonight. tonight, dean’s tired. so unbelievably tired. he’s slowly seeming to melt under your touch, despite his mind’s initial protests.
he feels an overwhelming urge to cry, all of a sudden. over the fact that you’re touching him solely to try and make him feel better, over the fact that you’re doing it for the only purpose of comforting him. the urge almost suffocates dean—but he chokes it down, lets his eyes shut instead.
dean doesn’t moan—but some sort of rumble leaves him when you knead at a specific tender spot on his back. you debate making a comment on it, then decide not to, focusing on your thumbs now working down dean’s spine.
you risk a peek at dean after you hear his breathing slow and even out—after whispering his name, he doesn’t stir, even a little. he fell asleep, knowing only your touch and scent, instead of pain and his own thoughts turning on him. he can’t recall the last time he felt so safe. so loved. it seemed like a good way to fall asleep, surrounded by softness and you.
so for once, dean let himself have this slice of warmth.
Summary: Back at the Bunker, fresh off a job with some on-and-off hunting contacts of yours, Sam has some choice words about the men who were supposed to be watching your back.
Content/Warnings: established relationship, argument as foreplay, possessive behavior, protective Sam, stubborn Reader, penetrative sex, regular foreplay, other men being gross, no use of y/n, makeup sex 6.6k words
A/N: Now Playing — Void by The Neighbourhood
((all of the lyrics to this song work so I couldn't just pick one. listen to it if ya like :))
New chapter of Penumbra up sooooooon 😝😘
“You never fucking listen to me—!”
“—Oh I listen plenty, Samuel!” You snap back over your shoulder, marching down the hall away from him.
“It’s Sam! You know I don’t like it when you call me that— you’re just doing it to get a rise outta me! Hey!” His big warm hand wraps around your upper arm and yanks you to a halt.
Years ago, when you first met, he would’ve never even thought to grab you. It’s not like him to use his physical advantages to overpower you, even in a small manner like this. However it’s been years of friendship and trust built up and now in the last few months passionate intimacy so he doesn’t question his entitlement to your focus. He does know it’s gonna make you mad, though.
Your fiery eyes flicker to his as your feet come to an abrupt halt. Staring up into his face with defiance, not a hint of contrition in your expression, you meet his gaze as an equal, even though you’re significantly smaller than him. His nostrils flare and you can’t help the faint tingle that seeing him get worked up always causes in you.
“I’m not asking for the moon, alright?” He says.
“No,” You forcefully shake his hand off of you, “but you are acting like a control-freak!”
“Are you really going to look me in the face and say that hunt went as expected?” Sam raises his voice now, “You could’ve gotten seriously hurt!”
“Well I didn’t!”
“Yeah? And when’s that ever been a good excuse?”
Your mouth snaps shut like a fish. Taking a calm but firm tone you say, “It’s not always like that with them. This was just a bad hunt. They followed their intuitions and they saved the boy. I just got a little scuffed up, that’s all.”
“A little scuffed up—!?” Sam cuts himself off and turns to wipe a hand down his face, in absolute shock at your ambivalence.
The light shifts across his features, revealing a slight sheen of sweat. You wet your dry mouth and set your expression. It’s not fair for him to be so hot while he’s mad.
“A little scuffed up is an understatement.” He grits out through his teeth, “You acted recklessly—”
“—Oh so now I’m the one at fault, huh?”
“Partially!”
“Well what did I do?!”
“You—” He heaves a breath, chest rising and falling. Trying to even out his voice he says, “—you ran unarmed at a vamp.”
“I wasn’t unarmed. I was going to use the deadman’s blood syringe I had in my coat!” You stand firm, “And yeah, instead Chase tackled the huge vamp—”
“—Also taking you down with it!”
“It was an accident!”
“How many ‘accidents’ of theirs are you gonna apologize for?!”
“It doesn’t matter! I didn’t die and the move I pulled off with the machete was sick as hell!”
“Is that your problem, huh? You need to show off to get more attention?” It’s a shallow dig at your character but it works wonders nonetheless.
“Get attention?!” You demand incredulously, “From Chase and Lewis? What the hell?”
“You wore those fucking shorts the other day.” Sam grinds out through his teeth.
“Yeah?”
“You know how good you look in those.”
“I know how much you like the way I look in them!” You put your hands on your hips, “And you’re the only person whose attention I care about!”
His eyes flash, the muscles of his jaw jutting out as he clenches his teeth. “I’m not the only one who was looking.”
You narrow your eyes in disbelief. “Are you really so insecure that you think I’d leave you for one of them?”
“No—”
“—For Chase and Lewis?” You gape, “One of those two fucking bozos? I mean they’re hot but—”
“—Shut up.”
Something is different about Sam’s voice then. Whatever it is you said that set him off turns him stoney and rigid. You were being nasty by bringing up insecurity but now you’re starting to wonder if that didn’t just hit home because it was mean— maybe also because it was somewhat right.
“I don’t want to fucking talk about them any more.” His voice is low and dark. “And I don’t want you hunting with them again.”
You scoff in genuine disbelief. “Seriously? Sam, do you really expect me to listen to your ‘marching orders’ like that? How about you try asking a little nicer and we’ll see what—”
You cut yourself off when you seen the muscle on his jaw jutting out again. By the look of it he’s clenching his teeth as hard as he can. He only does that when he’s holding something back. And it’s also unfairly hot.
“Careful there,” You cross your arms, “you’re gonna chip a tooth.”
His jaw relaxes and he takes a moment to roll his eyes. You watch him settle a bit then turn back to you, his eyebrows raised expectantly. This makes you scoff again.
“I’m sorry, are you asking me to promise you that?”
“Yes.” He replies immediately.
Your features narrow in incredulity. “Sam that is absolutely ridiculous!”
“No, it’s not.”
“Sam, in what universe is it reasonable to ask your girlfriend to not interface with certain other people just because you don’t like ‘em? You know how that sounds objectively! You’re too smart not to!”
“Yeah well maybe I can’t be smart about this, alright?! You almost died!” He snaps, “Sorry if I can’t be rational about the woman I love almost getting torn to shreds by a monster because some dipshit idiot can’t stick to a fucking plan! I can’t believe I’m having this argument with you!”
“Well I can’t believe you thought I’d just roll over and do as you say because you love me!” You plant your hands on your hips, “What, because you love me you’re entitled to my agency?! Grow up!”
He inhales sharply through his nose and glances away. You can see on his face that he’s trying to regain any semblance of his calm. It’s not like him to get this worked up about other people, especially hunters whom he usually gives a bit more moral-leeway to than you do.
There’s some real concern underneath this, you know it, something Sam’s holding back for some reason. Whatever it is, it’s worrisome enough to him that it’s coming out in anger, not plain concern. Unfortunately for him, your sympathy only extends to the point before a man starts telling you what to do like you’re a robot capable of being programmed.
“I don’t want you hunting with them again.” He repeats steadily, meeting your gaze again. “And you also know that objectively, they handled this hunt like morons. I don’t know how the two of them are still alive.”
You roll your eyes animatedly and finally shake his hand off of you with force. “I knew them before I knew you. I’ve worked with them on-and-off for years.”
You start walking again and you can hear him following close behind.
“They’re good hunters, they’ve saved my ass a few times, just like you—”
“—Don’t compare me to them!” Sam’s nose wrinkles with repugnance, “Don’t compare what we have to some half-assed alliance you had to make before you actually had competent people around to watch your back!”
That surprises you a bit. You spin on your heel with eyes narrowed, about to challenge that when he keeps going.
“Neither of them— neither of them! —watched your back when you told them to! They both left you open to attack while raiding a vamp’s nest!”
“That’s not—”
“—Where the hell were they, huh? I had to come running across the damn building because when that fucking idiot Chase full-body tackled a vamp on top of you, your scream—” He cuts himself off and it’s almost a little shaky.
His chest rises and falls noticeably with his next deep breath. The worry is seeping through and he can see it softening you. He doesn’t want your sympathy, though, he wants to be angry. He wants to get some kind of rise out of you that he hasn’t gotten yet.
“And they were both drunk.”
“No they weren’t.” You scoff, immediately back to defensiveness and no sympathy.
“Yes, sweetheart, they were. Their breath reeked.” He takes a firmer tone, “I’m really baffled by this being an argument! I thought we’d both come away from that hunt with the same feeling, but instead I had to sit through a whole night out with those two fucking idiots drinking and listening to you all reminisce when I know for a fact that those two stopped caring about you the moment you showed up with a boyfriend!”
Your jaw drops and your brows shoot up to your hairline. “Presumptuous, much?!”
He shifts a little in place, clearly uncomfortable, “You know I’m right.”
“No, what I know is that you are fucking paranoid.”
“You might think they’re just idiots— and you’re definitely right —but the two of them thought they had a chance with you, at least at one time, and the second they knew you weren’t going to sleep with them, they stopped caring about keeping you safe. Because the whole time, all they wanted was you to be alive and not scuffed up too bad, so then maybe you might have the energy to put out for them after the job’s done.”
You’re stunned for a moment, staring agape at your boyfriend. “That’s disgusting, Sam! Why would you say something like that?!”
“You know they want you, I refuse to believe you don’t.”
“I don’t know why it matters!” You cry, “I love you! It’s not like they’re ever gonna get anything from me!”
“Well, you should try telling them that. I don’t think they’ll believe you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“It means that they’re the kind of guys who play nice just to get what they want!”
“You barely know them!”
“So do you!”
“I don’t need to know their whole life’s story and their fucking social security number to hunt with them, Samuel!”
“Stop it!” He menaces while you keep going.
“You always act like such a know-it-all about everything! Why do you think you can assess their character better than me, huh?”
“Because I know how men work! Especially those kind of men.”
Your eyes narrow a little. “Oh, and I don’t know?”
He shrugs forcefully, “I can’t tell at this point! You’re acting so oblivious I don’t know what you do or don’t understand! All I’m asking is that the next time they say ‘we’re hunting nearby and need some backup’ you say that you’re busy!”
You stare at him for a long moment in taut silence. His chest rises and falls with his intense breathing but he tries to maintain an emotionless expression. You know him too well at this point for that face to be believable.
Your voice grows dark like tinted glass. “I know how to handle men, Sam.”
His next breath in is a little shaky. You take note. Was your statement meant to be a hint at your shared sex life? No. Will you happily take his physical response to it as proof that he seems to be having the same reaction to this fight as you are? Absolutely.
“I heard them.” He says softly. “Talking. About you. About… us.”
Your brows furrow and you shift your stance, now more curious than combative. “What d’you mean?”
He swallows, the bobbing movement of his throat catching your eye for a split second. You immediately look back up to his face but he saw you look, you know it.
“What did they say?” There’s a new wariness to your voice.
Sam runs his tongue across his lower row of teeth, trying to settle himself. “Chase… said that Lewis should’ve… ‘taken his chance when he could in Atlantic City’. When you were ‘drunk and heartbroken’ because… then you might’ve… ‘just finally put out already.’”
Your skin crawls at those words and the tone Sam imitates. It’s not the grossest thing anyone’s ever said about you, but it’s by no means flattering. You were heartbroken three years ago while drunk in a casino with Chase and Lewis (their idea). Lewis had been attentive all night, caring for you in the kind of gruff, noncommittal way hunters can sometimes be. You were indeed considering kissing Lewis at one point but when you noticed that he was treating you nicer than usual, you thought: this must be what it feels like to be the ‘civilian’. For some reason that thought was repellent so you didn’t act on any drunk impulses and went to bed alone that night.
Crossing your arms stubbornly you respond, “Well, he’s not wrong. I was drunk and heartbroken and I did almost kiss Lewis—”
You’ve barely finished your sentence when he raises his voice over yours.
“—What?!” He gapes, “And hold on, wait a second! Wasn’t the Atlantic City hunt you went on the one where you got that big scar on your ribs?! That was them not taking care of you back then, either!”
Goddamn it he’s so fucking hot.
You shouldn’t be thinking about that. Is it strange for you to be horny over how well Sam knows your body? When you first got together you were stunned by how much he wanted to look at you. After the first time you had sex you went to put clothes back on and he softly asked you to stay.
“I’ll be right back.” You giggled at him, a little bemused.
He gave you this gooey look of pleading. “But then you’ll be all covered up. And I don’t want that just yet.”
“What do you want then?”
He tugged you close under the sheets, getting as close to you as possible for a moment. “I wanna look at you laying in our bed.”
And who were you to deny him when he asked so sweetly?
During those first few weeks of lovemaking there would always be about 20 minutes afterward where Sam would just hold you and caress your skin, all of this wonder in his gaze. When he found a new mark, or cut, or scar he’d ask you about it. What he just said now proves without a doubt that he was actually listening when you answered.
“Lewis actually did like me. He asked me out the next time we saw each other, alright?” You say, “I’m not thrilled by the language Chase used either but you know better than me how guys talk to each other about vulnerable stuff like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like, evasively! Like you’re making it kinda into a joke so you can pretend it’s not meaningful or whatever, I don’t know!”
He’s kind of pouting now. “I don’t know how telling me that one of them used to have a thing for you is supposed to make me more okay with you hunting with them again.”
“Oh, come off it, Sam!” You cry, “Just because not everyone who hunts is as good as you or Dean doesn’t mean they aren’t worth helping!”
Muttering your name like it’s a curse he says, “What does it take for you to give up on someone unworthy, huh?”
“For fuck’s—!” You raise and drop your hands, “—I’ve never really given it much thought!”
“Well maybe you should!”
“Maybe you should stop riding my ass!”
“I just don’t think you should help them anymore, that’s all I’m saying!”
“Well I guess I’ll take that opinion into consideration.”
He grits your name out through his teeth, “I don’t wanna keep going around in circles with you like this!”
“Then stop talking!”
The both of you go dead silent. You could swear the Bunker is so quiet now that even this deep into the place you’d be able to clearly hear something fall off a shelf in the library. Somewhat to your surprise, Sam actually doesn’t keep talking. You two stand at a stalemate for a long moment.
His breathing gets more intense the longer you just study him in silence. His chest rises and falls dramatically again and you finally break. Without a word you lean up, grab his cheek and yank him down for a kiss. A noise of surprise and almost dissent escapes his throat but his hands immediately drag you closer— it’s all just muscle memory at this point, reflexes triggered by your proximity that he cannot control.
“Don’t think you can— mm! —make me forget—!” He mumbles in protest against your lips.
“—Fuckin’ watch me, Lawboy.” You grumble back, shoving him into the tiled wall.
All of your plush warmth comes flush with him. Between you both and through his jeans you feel his cock already reacting to your proximity. Fuck you’ve missed this. It’s only been five days while you were assisting the guys since you’ve gotten your fix of Sam’s body and carnal affection but it’s long enough that you’re craving his closeness badly. Your hands fumble with the buttons on his flannel.
He grabs your waist with both deliciously large hands, pulling back enough to speak but not enough to push you away. “You don’t just get to shut me up with your—”
You cut him off again with a searing kiss, hand fisting into the hair on the nape of his neck. He groans against you, both hands moving to palm your butt.
“So— mm— goddamn impatient!” He fumbles with the doorknob closest to him before he crowds you into the room.
It’s one of the spare rooms that Dean’s been slowly converting into an armory. You’re clinging onto Sam like a barnacle, nipping and kissing at his throat while your fingers tangle into his hair. Trying to handle all of you makes turning the lights on a bit of a challenge but he manages to smack them on eventually. You press all of your body up against his front again, knowing from both empirical data and the current state of him that he can’t resist your body— you’re too enticing to him, just the way he is to you. His jaw clenches in frustration at his inability to overcome desire and remain mad. His foot kicks the door closed behind him with a bit more force than he might’ve used otherwise, the sound sharp and loud enough to make you flinch a little. You don’t pull away an inch, though, pushing up to kiss him more.
Both of his hands grab the sides of your head, fiercely returning the kiss as he guides you backwards. Your eyes are closed while you stand on your tiptoes and loop your arms around his neck. A low sound, almost like a growl, rumbles up out of him and into your mouth as his strong hands hoist you up by your thighs. You squeal against his lips, knowing that he’s not got a very solid hold on you. Luckily, he’s only going to the table a few feet behind you.
He deposits you onto the metal surface with a dull thunk and shoves things out of the way around you. They clang to the floor raucously and you giggle a little against his lips— he’s never this loud when it comes to sex with you. He only ever wants you and him alone in a bubble of intimacy that no one can disturb. So him being this careless about drawing attention is exciting. His need is intoxicating.
Your hands immediately go back to the buttons of his shirt. Were you kissing a different man, you might’ve just ripped the thing open but you know that isn’t so appealing to Sam. He pulls back from your lips to catch his breath. As you fumble with the bottom ones, he grins a little at your impatient fingers, his palms running up and down your thighs.
“I thought you’d have just yanked the thing open by now.” He pants.
You lean up to kiss him as you get the final two. Pulling away just slightly you smirk up at him through your lashes. “I know you like this shirt. I’m not tryin’ta break the things you care about just because I’m impatient.”
With an emphatic flurry you shove the two ends of the now open shirt aside. One of his big hands lifts off your thigh to cup your cheek tenderly. You look up into his face as he bows closer, an expression of all-consuming adoration on his beautiful face.
“I love you.” He murmurs, forehead bumping into yours so gently.
You bite down on a wicked grin. “I thought you said I couldn’t make you forget about the argument—”
He cuts you off with a deep kiss, the force of it sending you backwards a little. Both of your hands fly back to brace yourself against the table.
“You can’t.” He affirms in a brief break between your mouths. “I still don— want you to see ‘em.”
“See them?” You gape, “What, I can’t have friends that you disapprove of?”
He kisses down your throat, tugging the collar of your shirt aside to keep going along your shoulder. “They’re not your friends.”
“Yes—”
One of his arms slipped around your waist at some point and now he tugs you sharply forwards to press the ridge of his cock into the heat of your core.
“Friends don’t act like that.” He mutters, yanking your shirt over your head, “Friends don’t dislike someone who makes you happy.”
You snort as he unhooks your bra, “Oh, so that’s why you’re really mad? Because they don’t approve of you?”
He grunts in annoyance as he tears the bra off your chest, you doing the work to shrug out of the straps. “I don’t give a shit what they think of me.”
“Is that really true, Spaceman?” You continue taunting him, watching it rile him up further and further.
“Yes!” He reaches behind him to tug his hands free from the flannel sleeves. “They’re two-bit douchebags who treat you like a piece’a meat.”
You help him pull his t-shirt off over his head, biting your lip. “You’re sure you’re not mad at them for how they look at you?”
He gives you a flat, displeased look. “How do they look at me?”
You hook both index fingers into the waistband of his jeans and yank him close. His hands thump heavily down onto the table on either side of you. Your chin tips up so you can run your nose along the line of his jaw. All the sudden your touches are soft and fleeting, teasing him with all the love you have for him.
“Like they wanna obliterate you.” You nip at his earlobe, one hand raking into his hair.
“That’s supposed to be a good thing?”
Your grip tightens to a fist in his locks. “They’re jealous of you, honey. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
“Shut up.” He scoffs half-heartedly, heat rushing to his cheeks.
“Who wouldn’t be, hm?” You pull back to look at him, your head cocking to the side, “The second you walk into a room their chances of anyone noticing them are diminished to zero.”
He rolls his eyes a bit, “I don’t care.”
“Oh, you don’t, huh?”
“No, I don’t.” He replies firmly, “Because it’s not about me, it’s about you.”
“Oh?”
“It’s about you being kept safe.” He swoops down, massaging both breasts and kissing along your jaw, “You should have nothing less than the best watching your back, always.”
You whine listlessly as he ducks down to suck a nipple into his mouth. Your hands cradle his head just for something to hold onto. When he pulls off of that one he kisses across your chest to your other peak, still talking.
“You shouldn’t lose value to them because you’re not available anymore,” He growls, sinking his teeth into the meat of your breast for a fleeting moment, “I’ll kill them if they try that shit again.”
“Sam!” You gasp sharply at that, shoving him back to make him meet your gaze.
He sees your horror at that statement plain as day on your face. He digs his heels in.
“I will. I’ll do it.” He pulls you up to his lips briefly, then murmurs against them, “I don’t care what it says about me— I don’t care what it does.”
You shake your head slowly at him, “Weren’t you just saying you think they’re gonna get themselves killed anyhow?”
“Yeah. And potentially it’ll be by me. If they pull some shit like that again—”
Your nails bite into the swells of his shoulders, “—Sam! You can’t just kill people you don’t like!”
“If those two fuckers got you killed then I’d be dead too!” He raises his voice all the sudden.
When that comes out he swallows thickly, gaze dropping as shame finally slips into his expression. His hands slow on you, moving to rub cautiously up and down your thighs again, a layer of denim separating him from the skin he adores. He can’t look you in the eye then, just stares at the ground.
“It wouldn’t matter any more.” He mumbles, “What reason is there to keep my conscience if I’m already dead inside?”
Your brows knit together, and you reach up to cup his cheek. “Sam.”
Hesitantly, he lifts his eyes to yours, looking like a scolded puppy.
“Your conscience is what makes you special.” You trace some hair behind his ear, “It’s what keeps you human in a job like this. Don’t let someone take that from you— including you.”
He tilts his head into your palm. His eyes follow his hands as they glide carefully up to your waist then to your ribs. They pause there, his thumbs brushing across your flesh tenderly.
“I’m sorry I scared you just now.” He murmurs, “I didn’t… mean to get so intense.”
You smirk adoringly, a sympathetically sad look in your eyes for the man you love with all your heart. So much pain is held in that beautiful sinewy body of his. On the outside he seems like a well-oiled machine but you know the truth; Sam Winchester is a tight knot of sadness and pain, always striving to breathe goodness into the world.
“Well, that’s kinda what makes you special, too.” You say, “Well, there’s a lot of things that make you special, but that’s definitely a big one.”
His eyes flicker up to yours, a hopeful glint in them.
“The same way you said I shouldn’t only be worth something to the two of them if I’m on the market or whatever,” You take a deep breath, “you can’t tie all of your worth to me, honey.”
He nods, face tilting down again. “I know.”
You wrap your legs around his and guide him closer again. “I love you, Samuel.”
He rolls his eyes but can’t subdue all of his smile. “It’s Sam.”
“Well, Sam,” You emphasize the correct name, “promise me something?”
He nods gently, eyes lost in yours.
“Even if I do go before you—”
He makes a small noise in protest at the back of his throat, barely audible with his brows pinching together. You shush him sweetly and press one fingertip to his chest.
“Even if I go before you, promise me you won’t let that be an excuse to give up.”
He blinks a few times, honestly stunned by that.
“You’re stronger than loss, Spaceman.” You reinforce, “I know you are. I’ve seen it.”
“It’s different with you.”
“I know.” You nod, both hands smoothing down his front, his chest hair tickling your palms, “I’m not saying it would be easy. But… even if I never hunt with those two again, there’s still… the possibility of either of us dying.”
He swallows, throat bobbing. His eyes are so miserable, you wish you could make it better, but this is the reality. You need him to say it. You need to hear it.
“Promise me?” Your voice drops to a tentative whisper, “Promise me that you won’t kill Sam Winchester on the off chance I get killed first?”
His eyes flit back and forth between yours, a deep sadness in them. He doesn’t protest though, because he knows that you’re right— both of you are at risk a lot of the time. And Sam’s made promises before that have been more painful than this. He’s sworn oaths to untrustworthy people, he’s made bargains with unsavory characters, and he’s been able to keep the ones that mattered, whether they were easy or not. Nothing matters more than this, though— what you two have.
He nods, his stubble brushing the palm you’re still using to hold his cheek. “Okay. I can promise you that.”
You beam up at him, eyes just a little glassy with relief. “I love you so damn much, Sam, it’s ridiculous.”
He chuckles, “Me too. I love you so much.”
You crane up to kiss his lips. He returns the contact, one of his hands cupping the side of your face.
“Even when you’re as stubborn as a mule.” He grins against your lips.
A noise of indignation puffs out of you, your head pulling back to look him more directly in the eye. The playful spark is back between you two, his face all fondness and mischief.
“I’ll show you stubborn—”
He smushes his lips to yours and wraps both his arms around you. Kissing you until your breathless, he lays you back on the table, bracing one of his hands over your head to keep himself somewhat upright. When you settle, your breasts heave with a deep breath, the both of them sitting so pretty on your chest. He hums a groan, cupping them again and beginning a gentle massage.
“I can’t blame ‘em, honestly.” He murmurs, ghosting a kiss between your collarbones, “If I were them? I’d be kicking myself for missing my chance with you, too.”
You laugh, fingers carding through his hair as he kisses lower down your front. “You’re too sweet on me, Sam.”
That makes him smirk, his head lifting back up. His lips peck your throat and then sweetly on your chin. You can’t help a warm giggle at him, watching his features melt in adoration at the sound.
“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, falling to his elbow so that hand can trace patterns into your scalp, “I’m so damn lucky I found you.”
You bite down on a big smile, cheeks flushing under his gaze. With his eyes boring deep into yours, his hand glides down the swell of your stomach to the button of your jeans. You squirm a little in anticipation, eyes going from gooey adoration to hesitantly needy. You want him to touch you but you don’t want to have to ask too much— not this time.
He kisses under your jaw again, his warm hand slipping under your clothes right to your bare skin. You shiver from both sensations, a little whine escaping your parted lips. Both of your hands tangle up into his hair again. His fingers part your folds and find them just as wet as he hoped they would be.
“Mm…” He hums, nipping lightly a few times at the column of your throat, “…you’re soaked f’me, sweetheart.”
You release a full-throated whine, unable to stem it.
He groans as he begins slowly circling your clit with two fingers. “The noises you make… s’damn pretty…”
Your throat hiccups with another high-pitched sound that makes him shiver with want. His fingers speed up just a touch, the other hand running up and down the length of your torso, pausing intermittently to kneed your breasts.
“Honey,” You breathe, back arching, “need you.”
“You’ve got me.”
You emit a petulant noise of impatience, “I need you, Sam. Inside baby, need you to fuck me.”
He can’t help a growl as he peppers kisses all over your chest. Inside your jeans he switches his hand’s position to start teasing your entrance too. You writhe under him, back arching in a sensuous roll that presses all of you to him. He pushes back with all his weight, pressing you flat down again.
“Not yet.” He growls, “I’m not ready yet.”
You shudder, feeling one of his fingers breach your hole, then joined by a second one to sink all the way inside. A choked noise of almost disbelief at the pleasure comes out of you instantly. His skilled fingers work quick, pulling you up in a spiral of building pleasure.
“C’mon baby,” He whispers into your skin between kisses laid on your chest, “c’mon sweetheart, come for me. I know you can… you’re so good f’r me, right baby?”
You nod listlessly with a loud keen, eyes squeezed shut. The coil inside of you snaps and waves of bliss wash over your body. It’s so intense that you lurch a few times with the aftershocks, almost feeling a little dizzy off him. Your body deflates with a long exhale of ecstasy, eyes fluttering shut agains the force of it.
“Fuck, you’re so goddamn pretty, baby, you’ve got no idea.” He groans, pulling back for a moment, “S’perfect. All for me, huh?”
You nod again, eyes still closed as the world’s spinning slows down. You hear the rasp of a zipper and then the soft sound of his jeans dropping to the floor. Then his careful hands are tugging yours down with your panties, tender and reverent.
“Sam…” You mumble, a hand reaching out for him while your eyes stay shut.
“I’m comin’ baby,” His heat returns to you, making your eyes open. One of his big hands cups your cheek while he gazes down at you with so much adoration it almost makes you shiver. “Hi, sweetheart,” He brushes his knuckles across your cheek, “You ready for me?”
You nod again, movements sluggish and loopy. He beams down at you, one hand braced by your head again and the other disappearing out of your sight. The blunt crown of his cock drags up your folds, slow enough as to almost be torturous. You whine impatiently for the umpteenth time and he shushes you softly. The tip of him catches on your opening and then he presses forwards.
Your jaw drops with a deep gasp, eyes squeezing shut as he slides home. Your hands scramble up his arms, nails scratching at his skin desperately. He lets out a long, content groan, like he’s laying down in his bed after a long, hard day. The hand near your head tangles fingers into your hair and he bows down to kiss your lips. He’s so soft against your mouth even while he’s hard as steel and hilted inside of you. It’s a contradiction that almost feels unfair due to it’s power over your heart.
“So perfect,” He mumbles, grinding into you with rolls of his hips, not yet thrusting, “s’ warm… so wet… nowhere else I’d rather be…”
You can’t help a breathless giggle at that, despite knowing he’s being completely honest. He doesn’t get butthurt though, he presses a kiss to your lips with a smile. Limply, you throw your arms around his neck, kissing him back and meeting his next roll into you with a grind of your own. He grunts into your kiss as your walls pulse around him.
“More,” You pant between kisses, “more, Sam, please…”
He groans like your words make him weak. As if he can’t resist your command due to it being wrapped up in your sweetness. He pulls out a little then pushes back in. The friction is perfect— a delicious drag that sends sparks outwards into your muscles. Your hands fumble down to his hips, pulling him back in again on the next thrust, encouraging him to move faster.
“Mm…!” You release a long moan and it spurs him on further.
His rhythm picks up. Your nails dig into the meat of his ass, feeling all the muscles working under his skin with every movement. He drops lower onto his forearm beside your head, bathing that side of your face in messy kisses. You reach up to grip his hair with one hand, the other adjusting your hold on his butt. He keeps mumbling and muttering to you between kisses, like he’s delirious. He very well might be.
The pace picks up steadily over some amount of time you don’t bother even trying to count. His panting breaths tickle the sensitive skin of your throat and ear. You feel yourself beginning to get swept away by the pleasure. Your fingers fist in his hair, your other hand slipping weakly off his ass towards the place where you’re connected, searching for your nub of nerves. He grunts and bats your hand aside, using his unoccupied one instead.
You keen loudly as his fingers restart steady circles on your clit. Your arm draws his head closer to you, your face turning to blindly search for his lips since your eyes won’t stay open. He groans your name with the most pleasure anyone’s ever said it.
The thrusts reach a crescendo. You’re getting lost in the bliss, spiraling up and up to your peak with dizzying speed. Vaguely, you catch on to his voice, still rumbling low just for your ears.
“Mine, mine, mine,” he mutters under his breath like an incantation— like a seal of protection he could place over you. “My girl— my beautiful fuckin’ girl. So perfect, just for me.”
You manage a little nod before your body shatters into your orgasm. As you come, your voice calls shrilly, “Always…!”
The noise he makes at that is akin to the sound of when he gets punched really hard, except this time it’s all pleasure in his rich moan. Your walls pulse around him, milking his cock for everything he’s worth. His fingers press and pinch at your clit as you both ride out your highs. Your body twitches and lurches and writhes under his. He’s not much better, shuddering and choking on whiny noises as he pushes himself a little further into overstimulation. Your fist tightens in his hair until your knuckles pale. Very gradually, both of your movements slow to a halt. Then all that’s left is proximity and panted breaths against sweaty flesh.
“I love you.” He slurs at a mumble, kissing the first bit of you he can reach which ends up being your cheek.
You beam, cheeks burning from exertion and adoration, your arms looping around his neck to hold him close. “I love you, too.”
He hugs you back as best he can, staying inside of you for a few minutes as he softens. Eventually his back starts getting stiff and he reluctantly pulls away from your embrace. Your hands slide down his arms as he goes, not wanting to cease touching him yet. He catches one to kiss the seam of your palm, sweet and fleeting. With his hands gentle on your hips he pulls his cock out of you. He can’t help bending a little to watch the pearly white cum bead at your entrance. His fingers massage the insides of your thighs as a low, content rumble escapes him at the sight.
“Yours.” You whisper without thinking.
His gaze flickers up to meet yours.
“Only yours.” You reaffirm.
The words seem to overwhelm him. His next inhale makes him shudder a bit. Before you can say anything else, he scoops you up into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. Halfway there you tease him about someone coming home to see you both butt-naked in the hallway. He smudges a kiss to your chin and tells you he couldn’t care any less about a single other person in the whole world right now.
A few weeks pass before Chase texts you again. He and Lewis are “in the area” on a hunt and “could use the extra hands”. Sam’s sitting in bed beside you reading, completely absorbed in his book. Biting down on a self-satisfied smirk you text back a simple reply:
Does anyone have any head cannons request? I've been writing some recently and I forgot how fun they were to write! Any request, suggestions, or ideas would be great! It doesn’t have to just be supernatural, it can be any fandom.
bringing Dean out of a storm after a hunt goes wrong
content: gn!reader. established relationship. vulnerable Dean. hurt/comfort. resolution in the rain. mentions of injuries and blood. two kisses.
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Sometimes, despite all the planning a person does to prepare for a situation, the script shifts awry, stringing you from your shoulders for an improv you didn't sign up for, making you react to an unforeseen action, just like how there were way more vamps in the nest that you have been staking out.
And the performance of an improv might not always translate how you expect it to be when all you can see is the different ways you might end up dying today, and maybe that acceptance was already there, just not for yourself. Not for the ones you love and care about.
Dean managed to behead the vamp that tried to jump you from behind in the last second, making you face yet another one that came at you from the front, who managed to slice your arm through your shoulder, but only for Dean to end up with a more severe gash on his forearm before taking it down.
Between the stubborn "Dean, hold still!" and the "I'm fine, sweetheart!" at the motel you were calling home for the night, Rain arrived in town with her carry-on bag, telling everyone she was here to stay the weekend. Dean found himself withdrawing a bit more than usual while nursing your wound after you demanded to patch him up first. You knew that silence, all too well.
"Hey," you called out gently, "You still with me?" The question somehow ends up stepping on a minefield instead of defusing a bomb because all you got was a "Right there with you, sweetheart," with a strained smirk, before he told you he was going out to clear his head.
Groaning at the fact of not having an umbrella, you quickly put on your still bloody jacket and follow after him. Knowing the rain would be the least of his concerns with how much louder the demons in his head were already talking.
The rain slipped through the tear in your jacket and into your freshly bandaged wound, sending a wince through your nerves. "Dean!" You reach out your hand onto his shoulder, feeling him shudder back into his senses before he turns his head to the side, not being able to face you, "Go back inside, baby," he pleaded, and you could hear the defeat in his voice, putting your well being over his yet again.
The rain anchored your weight to the ground, as if telling the two of you that you're not leaving until you make up. Not knowing where the rain stopped and his tears began. And despite not uttering a word, you can see how the pain has its shackles around his throat.
"I'm not leaving, Dean." You assure him as you step into his vicinity; the trembling in his bones is evident in how white his knuckles were, the cold emphasising it clearly, hoping he could hear the conviction above the pain you two were in, "Not now, not when it's easier to gun it so I could stay alive, or when you close everyone out, not ever."
Lightning flickered through the sky, illuminating your paled cheeks from the cold. His gaze falls to the ground, another wave of guilt consuming him for letting you stay in the rain enough that you're shivering. His own injuries be damned.
"I.. should've seen it coming." He starts, running a hand over his mouth, trying to get his bearings, but you knew the spiral staircase he was about to climb down to, and you didn't let him step on it. "No, De..", you reach for his hand, his bandage already soaking and the blood seeping, "You couldn't have seen it, we were ambushed." Your gaze searches his; he is so far away, and all you wanted was to find him and bring him back to you.
"Look at me... please," you whisper, the rain almost covering it up if it weren't for how close you were, his breathing coming in broken and shallow when he let himself look at you, your cold hand feeling like a warm ember as it cups his cheek, sending a trail of goosebumps all over his nervous system. "You kept me safe. Kept us safe."
His lips part, deflection already ready to spill before you brace your lips against his to keep it from falling. The last pillar in him crumbles as he kisses you back, letting you step down from being on your tiptoes. You could feel how warm his body was despite the pouring rain, telling you how much more it was on overdrive. Both physically and mentally.
"Can I look after you?" you breathed as you both rested your heads against each other, your hand still on his cheek while the other sheilded his aching heart, "Will you please let me?" The question hung quietly between the two of you, his hand still wrapped around your back and shoulder, and you felt him. Nodding. quietly resting his chin on your shoulder, almost hiding in the crook of your neck. And that was a louder declaration than any yes could, and, so, you did.
After taking turns in the shower, you sat him down on the bed, the med kit splayed once more as you made sure that his wounds were properly dry before wrapping them up in new bandages after he did yours, your thumb caressing his skin when you'd grab something from the box, placing gauzy kisses on top of them.
His gaze never leaves your face, his free hand attached to your hip, rubbing delicately back and forth while you work your healing hands. Wishing he could strip your pain away the way angels do. Smiling softly back at you whenever you'd look up at him.
"You're really pretty.." he whispers, halting your movements for a second as your heart beats extra hard. His hand comes up to caress your cheek and you lean into it, your own coming up to hold his wrist.
"I know." You jab lightly, a soft smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as he chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. "I'm sor-", he tries but you cut him short with a kiss, letting it soothe the aches clinging to the two of you, sweet, gentle and reverent in all the right ways. "Don't be.."
The rain continued her dance outside, cocooning the both of you inside the way she had planned all along, knowing the pain won't rake it's soaking fingers along your scabs anymore.
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hope I did your vision justice, lovely Katie. I loved the idea so much. Had so much fun writing it despite how much my heart ached.
Post-canon Destiel, Dean is focused on the fact that Cas is in love with him, yes, but also that Cas hasn’t been happy. His brilliant plan with no ulterior motives whatsoever is to offer to kiss him. Once. For his happiness. Because getting a kiss from someone you love makes people happy, right?
Cue them making out while Dean breathes out excuses about “making Cas happy” between kisses.
Then, of course, every time Cas “seems down” (so just whenever Dean feels like it) he offers to “cheer him up”, and they end up making out again. Rinse and repeat.
What kind of person you are!
Ginger, you're a natural listener, but you're also a questioner. You'll hear someone out, always. But you do want to know the other side of the story as well before you come to any kind of conclusion. Especially when it's about another person. You never want to wrongly assume someone is bad just because so and so told you they were. You find that to be a bit mean and naïve.
You're also creative, idealistic, loyal, and yet you have this constant feeling of invisibility. That you're there but not really seen or heard. And that insecurity is often backed up by other people's constant misunderstanding of you. It irritates you that others look only at the surface and choose to not dig deeper.
You value deep and meaningful connections; you value empaths who are driven to make profound impacts on the people around them rather than minor ones. If someone isn't passionate or soulful, how are you to know that person is genuine or not?
Aside from that, you're also very self-reliant, and independent. You handle all of your problems and emotions on your own. Because you or someone else convinced you that they're ugly. You figure you can deal with this baggage on your own because you're at least aware of it. You are so self-aware that it's unreal. But still, nothing ever gets dealt with inside.
Most of the time you pretend what you're feeling isn't there, because it's "gross" to feel, you're supposed to be stronger and better than what you're going through. You bottle up a lot and explode in private. By taking things out on yourself or isolating from others even further. Which you think might help, when in reality, it makes you feel less seen and more susceptible to drowning in your sorrow.
What kind of hunter you are!
You didn't start out as a hunter. You were just a girl, living her life the best that she could, when loss led you to seeking out more. A monster took someone close and personal to you. They took the only individual who you felt saw you, and it led to a downward spiral right into Hunting's jaw. You hate it, I don't imagine you liking the blood, the loss, and the gore of it all very much.
But it's for someone you love and are loyal to. So, you won't complain.
Even if they may be gone, you feel like you need to do this for them. And if you don't. You'd have failed them and yourself. Not that you matter much in your own eyes, but that failure would haunt you and make you feel feelings you wished never existed in the first place.
You hunt like you have to, not like you want to or need to. Every movement, every plan, it's all forced. You choke back everything that tells you to stop and keep going. You're so dissociated through each hunt that when you get wounded you won't realize until you're back at the motel crying alone and peeling off your clothes to take a shower.
There is a very kind and sensitive heart beneath that wall you've perfectly molded around yourself. But hunting doesn't give you an allowance to show it safely, and the people around you have even shown you to not trust it around them as well.
Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, and You!
You ran into Sam and Dean on the same hunt. How convenient. You were undercover as a maid in the Hotel where these psycho killings were taking place, while simultaneously trying to get a lead on whatever was going on. When two gorgeous men in suits rolled in like they owned the place. They were asking around, getting more answers than you did, but everywhere they went. You followed, like a sly fox, just a blur of red hair.
Dean, he confronted you first. He found you ease dropping on some hotel goers' conversation about the killings, and he snuck up behind you with a very humiliated Sam following after him. Dean grabbed your arm and spun you to face him. Making your blue eyes widen behind your glasses, "We've got some questions for you."
"Dean!" Sam was making his brother release you. "I am so sorry about him, he's a jackass." But after properly and respectfully questioning you, Sam and Dean realized that they had another hunter on their hands.
Sam's first impression of you was that you were a good person. He clocked it almost immediately. Your kind eyes behind that almost shy and cold attitude. He figured you were just nervous. He didn't fully grasp that you were like this because you feared being vulnerable.
Dean's first impression of you is that you're one of the sweetest looking red heads he's ever met, aside from Charlie of course. On the surface you were monotone, now when it came to discussing the lives taken by the monster you three were hunting. It was a different story. You were empathetic and kind, and it was expressed for the people who were scared, sad, and hurting. You cared for the people who were feeling how you felt inside.
Little fun things!
Sam was the one who wanted you around after hunting with you. Sam was the one checking in. Sam was the one waiting for your calls. Sam was the one waiting to see your pretty face, big glasses, red hair, and bright blue eyes. Dean, he thought you were cool, but maybe a bit too sweet for his taste. You were almost like a little sister to Dean; someone he sought to protect, rather than 'ruin' with his issues. With Sam, he wanted more of your heart and into your mind.
After a while of hanging around the Bunker and with Sam. Sam had gotten a little more affectionate with you. He's smiling at you warmly, hugging you when you need it, helping tie back your hair with gentle hands. And God, does he love when you laugh. Your nose scrunches up, your glasses shine under the bunker lighting, and you just seem so care-free when you're not so hung up on hiding your feelings.
Dean teases the hell out of you for your height. But that's just a Dean thing. He's also calling you "Gingersnaps" a lot because well, it's a pop culture reference that he just can't miss making a joke about. "Gingersnaps, you copy?" Dean's asking through the walkie when you three are separated in the building you're investigating. The cheesy dumbass might even sing "Ol' Red" lyrics to you.
Sure, you love reading, but Sam, he reads to you. And you love that even more. You're sitting beside him on one of the Bunker's sofas with your legs curled beneath you, he has a book cracked open in his big hand, his other hand is resting around you as you lean into him. His tone of voice is soft as he reads to you. It could be monster lore, or simply just something you picked out and wanted him to read. And it always lulls you to sleep. And like some couples don't watch the next episode of a series without the other person, he won't read ahead unless you're present with him.
Extras!
Dean's expression is always confused as you flop around to get into weird ass positions. Why is one of your legs beneath your body but the other is propped up on the table? Why are you manspreading? What the fuck is going on? Sam, you seeing this? Dean just shakes his head and forces himself to get back to whatever he was doing. Sam, he sees nothing wrong with this, you're just getting comfy. Although some positions you get into, he wonders how you even got into them in the first place.
Sam clocks how you listen to Dean's ranting or his venting. You're always there. Even if Dean can be a dick at times. You just listen. You don't question him or pry; you just let him get out what he needs to and allow him to move on afterwards. But what about you? Who's listening to you? Sam is. You're in his bed with him, head on his chest, talking softly about what's going on in your mind. While Sam's hand is combing through your hair and his other is resting on the curve of your back. But the next day, you feel gross for even opening your mouth. You avoid Sam. The humiliation is too much for you. Sam spends the day reassuring you that you're human and that it's okay to feel.
"Ginger, you don't have to be so hard on yourself. Would you judge me for feeling that way?" Sam's asking carefully. "No.." You shake your head, "Don't do it to yourself then.." Sam's reaching for you to pull you into an embrace where he rests his chin on top of your head and rubs your back.
Sam and even Dean kill bugs for you. If a spider was spotted, no problem. Sam and Dean are professional monster exterminators. Arachnids, they can be considered monsters too. Which means that they're gone before you can even spot them.
Sam never lets you feel invisible. He's always wanting to be with you, he's always checking in, because he wants to and because he knows it's what you need. You're constantly reassured by him that you're loved, and that he's never leaving you.
Overall!
Why are you so mean to yourself, Ginger! Based on everything you've shared and the information I've gathered myself, I can say that you are so sweet on the inside, you're soulful, creative, empathetic, and highly intellectual. But you hide all of that because it scares you to be seen as weak. Which you are in no way shape or form are!
I wish it'd take more than a really close bond for people to get to see how beautiful the real you is beneath that mask you wear to protect yourself! You're kind, thoughtful, and warm. You just need to be put into the right crowd. One of reassurance, of deep-thinking and feeling individuals, and out of what society calls ideal.
I want to see you and Sam together so badly. But even Dean wouldn't be a bad fit. You soften Dean, you make him feel seen and heard, you treat him the way you want to be treated and make him feel how you wish you did. If anything more flourishes between you and Dean, it'd be tender, slow, and almost hesitant. You'd be Dean's forbidden fruit.
Dean never wants to ruin what he has with you or alter it by adding the complicated bits of a relationship. Now, with Sam. Loving each other comes naturally. You've got such a beautiful spirit, and after Sam has seen it, he wants more. You're a person he can learn from, grow with, and never lose interest in.
It was another moment where Sam is reading to you. Just you two were curled up together in his room. The pages of his book are turning softly, his heart is beating in his chest where you can hear it with your ear, his voice is rumbling softly, and you feel warm and safe.
"Sam?" Safe and warm enough to admit something allowed to him, because it feels wrong to hide.
"Yeah?" He's stopped reading to look down at you and into your careful blue gaze.
"I love you." It's one of the only times your tone doesn't waver or weaken on him when stuff get's too 'weak'. It's soft, it's sweet, and it's sincere.
Sam smiles softly, his stomach is fluttering, his heart is beating faster, "I love you too, Ginger." It's simple, and natural. And it allows you both to settle right back in where you two left off.
But a bit more will follow up afterwards. Tender kissing once you're straddling his lap, an almost reverent make out where Sam gets to peel your shirt away softly and awe at your beauty, and passionate love making that finally breaks the so called, 'just being friends', thing you two had going on.
I really hope that you like this and that it's somewhat accurate!! I love the color scheme of this one so much!!! <3
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ a/n: I love unserious Sammy. see the rest of the honeybee drabbles for more soft moments!!
You prepare yourselves in silence, standing at the back of the Impala and moving in sync. When you reach out, Sam hands you a flashlight. You hand him his knife in return. Within a few minutes, you’re both geared up, an unspoken choreography you’ve been doing for a year now.
“Ready?”
You nod in confirmation.
It’s dark, and almost concerningly damp in the warehouse you’re currently stalking through, trying to find signs of your latest monster. You keep your gun drawn, even though neither of you think it will be here. Mostly, you’re trying to find anything that will clue you into the full picture. Before Sam, a place like this would’ve sent your nerves straight to the pit of your stomach, and your heart into your throat. But these days, it’s hard to be scared of anything with him at your side.
You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that Sam is behind you. Whenever you stop, his hand rests on your waist. When he crosses behind you to enter a room, his fingers brush your side, telling you to follow him.
It seems to be some sort of a records room, or an office, filled with stacks of yellowing files and random pencil scratches on paper. “Sam.” You whisper from your side of the room, calling him over. “Look at this.”
“What the hell…”
You meet his eyes, trying to hold back a laugh. The pile of papers sitting in front of you are all crudely drawn stick figures in various poses, with various expressions. It’s completely out of place, and the last thing you’d expected to find in the equivalent of an evil lair.
“Putting you to shame.” He smirks, shuffling through the drawings. “Oh, as if I couldn’t draw a stick figure.” You scoff, picking out a paper with clear space. You look around the desk, searching for some sort of drawing utensil. Sam holds up a pencil with a smirk, “Here ya go.”
You make a few attempts, but don’t like how any of them turn out. With Sam hovering over your shoulder, you shove the paper back into the pile. “It doesn’t matter, we should just keep going.”
Sam’s high pitched laugh echoes through the room as you grumble back to the hallway.
When you reach the end of it, you take a half-step and hesitate before entering the open storage area where there’s noticeably less cover. Sam’s chest is against your back, hand giving your hip a reassuring squeeze. “You’re good. I’ve got your back.”
You glance over your shoulder and smile at him. Nothing was more true.
