#genderqueer sam

[pentacentric]

SAM WEEK 2025: Day 4 - LGBT+ Sam

I've drawn witchy genderqueer Sam before, and I'll draw them again without a doubt.

[cryxdraws]

Wooh Tucker’s finally done! Did he sew all the patches for Team Phantom? Absolutely. Is he bros with Wulf? Yes. (The guy saved his afterlife and is one of the few (friendly) people that understand *Esperanto. And they’re both carnivores, need I say more?)

Now who to draw next? Sam or Valerie…🤔

[adhd-orion]

okay okay but j*hn w*nchester not getting a single cishet child is the best thing to me like—

(these are just my personal headcanons)

trans bi greyro dean who slowly fell for a fucking angel of the lord and immediately chopped his tits off after j*hn died

genderqueer demisexual pan they/he/she sam who proudly wears skirts and dresses and talks about every person they’ve loved with such an open, genuine passion

and bi adam who is spending the rest of eternity with an archangel who also happens to be sharing a body with him

j*hn would throw himself back into hell after hearing this and i’m proud of his children for having the power to make him do something like that

[redleavesinthewind]

diner conversations

@spnprideweek day 1: coming out/flags

It happened unexpectantly, over a burger and a salad in some nameless diner in a nameless town somewhere in Wyoming. Dean was staring at Sam, one eyebrow raised, his burger stuck in the air, halfway to his mouth.

“What?” Dean asked, putting down the burger again, and tried to figure out how Dean complaining about the traffic had somehow ended with Sam saying that he was… Dean didn’t think he’d ever heard the word before, and he sure as hell didn’t know what it meant. And he couldn’t imagine what it had to do with pronouns.

Read more

[compo67]

Update to The Chicago Verse: Power Outage

The power goes out at exactly eleven eleven at night on January 23rd.

Should Sam and Dean go back to sleep or should they have fun?

--

Part of the longstanding Chicago Verse, a Wincest Post-Series fic set in the Pilsen neighborhood of Chicago. 

Read it on AO3. Start at the beginning here. 

Enjoy my writing? Visit my Patreon for bonus fic, polls, art, and more. :D

[benevolentsam]

OKAY LEAH. Okay, oh man, could I get maybe. Like. Genderfluid!Sam maybe coming out to Dean? I just. Have this ridiculous obsession with Sam coming out to Dean and Dean bein' all supportive and 😭😭 IT'S SO GREAT. But don't feel pressured if you don't feel comfortable with this prompt!! If you don't wanna do it, I won't be offended! <3 <3 <3

THANK YOU so much for the prompt Alex!!! I hope I did it justice ^-^

“Dean, I have something to tell you.”

Those words had Dean’s heart thumping, like a jackhammer in his chest. They never had anything good coming after them, especially not coming from Sam’s mouth. Dean, I think I broke my leg. Dean, I have this thing called anxiety. Dean, I don’t want to hunt anymore I want to go to college. Each and every time Sam uttered those words, what followed was some secret that changed their lives. Dean didn’t know if he was prepared for Sammy had to say next.

Dean took a deep breath and perched on the edge of his bed. Sam didn’t bother sitting, he was a ball of nervous energy. He could never sit still when things got like this.

“Whatever’s the matter, Sammy, we can deal with it,” Dean told him, hoping to calm him even a little. “We always do, don’t we?” Sam nodded.

“Dean, I- I’m genderfluid!” The words burst out of Sam’s mouth like a shot, so fast Dean almost didn’t hear them. Sam took a deep breath and repeated himself. “I’m genderfluid.”

“Gender what? I’m sorry Sammy, I don’t know what that means?” Dean had never heard the term before, but if it was something important to Sam he had to learn. Sam sat down on the bed opposite him and trained his eyes to the floor. There was a slump in his skinny shoulders, and Dean could feel the fear radiating off of him. Shit, this was the worst “something to tell you” yet.

“Genderfluid,” Sam said slower. “It means that sometimes I feel like a boy and sometimes more like a girl. Well, in simple terms anyway. I- I know it’s confusing, and-and it sounds stupid but it’s true! I can’t help it, Dean, it’s just who I am and- and…” Sam’s voice was starting to waver, his eyes were starting to glisten. Dean stopped Sam’s monologue with a bear hug.

“Hey, shush, Sam it’s okay, I believe you, okay? I believe you,” Dean hummed gently. “I don’t know much about this stuff, but it’s for you, Sammy. I’ll learn, it’ll be okay." 

Sam began to laugh, a watery kind of laughter, and even though the sound was melodic, beautiful even, Dean could feel water on his back. He withdrew from the hug, pulling back to see his little brother’s face. There was still puppy fat there, even though Sam was a skinny teen his face was still soft. He was too young to have gone through so much bullshit, to have shed so many tears. Sniffing, Dean petted his brother’s hair gently.

"Hey, Sammy, since you know, you’re not always a boy, does that mean you’re not my little brother anymore?” Dean asked.

“No, I’ll always be your little brother,” Sam smiled. “I’m not changing my name either. I know some people do but I like being called Sam.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean grinned. The talk had gone so much better than expected. Despite the tears, despite the fear, Sam was smiling and that’s all that mattered to Dean. Sammy was going to be okay. “So, Sammy, tell everything about this genderfluid thing. I want to know everything, I’m all ears.” With a grin, Sam headed for his backpack for a notebook. Sam had so much to teach him.

Forever accepting prompts

[compo67]

We’re Good [The Chicago Verse]

Sam listens to the rain fall against the bedroom window and the quiet piano music playing from his phone. 

Midnight.

Actually, 11:59 PM. 

The last minute of the day. 

John was fond of saying that the worst possible things could happen in the minute before one day becomes another. Separation. Temptation. Suffering. Death.

So when Sam wakes up, fifty-five years old, in a bed he shares with Dean, he immediately checks the time. 

11:59 PM.

He listens to his environment, feels the darkness of their room, and steadies his breathing so he can listen to the sound of Dean’s. 

Time seems to linger from second to second. All he has to do is wait out this minute, but it feels more like an hour. Thunder rumbles far away. The air conditioning maintains its steady hum. Dean stirs, but continues to sleep.

They had sex tonight.

Sam replays certain moments. Like the sigh and groan Dean gave after pushing inside Sam. Relief and pleasure. Then the throaty growls and grunts once they started moving against and towards each other. Sam on his back, Dean on his knees. It started raining just about the same time that Dean tensed because of pain in his knee. 

Sam offered to ride him instead. Make it easier on his knee.

Dean shook his head and kept going.

It wasn’t the first time they had sex since Sam’s stroke. That was more desperate. More rushed. More like the kind of sex they had as teenagers in motels.

Tonight felt more like the sex they’ve been having for the past few years.

Dean filled Sam up, his cock hard and heavy, flushed and twitching. He leaned back, which gave Sam a full length mirror kind of view. The dip of Dean’s collarbone, the outline of his hipbones, the impressive strength of his arms and hands. 

There was a fleeting feeling of discomfort. Not physical. Not quite emotional. Something that went as deep as Dean pushed in. 

Something like a math problem where Sam knew the formula, but couldn’t quite find the right numbers for it. He worked and reworked the problem, over and over in his head, breathing and moving, but not entirely...

“Here,” Dean murmured and grasped Sam’s hand. “Stay with me here.”

How’d he know? Then again. How has he known without being explicitly told? Is it that obvious in Sam’s face? 

Sam kept a tight grip on Dean’s hand. 

Dean leaned down and kissed him. 

When they finished, Dean said nothing about Sam’s cock. He didn’t call attention to the fact that it had been soft the entire time. 

All he did was clean them both up. He brought Sam a drink of water and nighttime meds, then he took a Tylenol for himself. They fell asleep listening to Zeppelin from Dean’s phone before Sam switched over to piano on his.

Midnight.

Actually, 12:01 AM. 

Sam sits up in bed and pushes his hair out of his face. He looks over at his nightstand and takes a deep breath before reaching out to grab an orange Walgreens pill bottle.

One blue pill shakes out of its bottle and into Sam’s waiting palm. 

He stares at the pill. 

This is technically a new day and nothing horrible has happened.

If anything, something good will happen. Hopefully. Maybe. What if this is a mistake? What if it’s too late in life? 

Dean sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes. His hair sticks out in every direction and he’s got a pout on his lips the size of Nevada. 

“Sammy?” His voice is deep and rough with sleep. “You okay?” 

Sam takes the pill, then looks over to Dean. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“...was that the last one for the week?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” He lies back down, this time on his side and facing Sam. “Then we’re good.” 

12:05 AM.

“We’re good,” Sam repeats. He places the pill bottle back on his nightstand and settles back into his side of the bed. 

Third week of estrogen.

Nothing horrible happened.