as always, warnings: smut, rough, choking, dom sam, mean sam, friends with benefits sex, car sex, p in v penetration, one night stand
summary: sam finds out you’ve never had an orgasm
barely edited we die like men
———
usual scene after cracking a case — dive bar, everyone buys a round, greasy food, and a game or two of pool. usually a round consisted of a beer… but tonight? after the case you had? tonight was whisky. and it flowed. and flowed. and flowed.
“i’ve only been doing this for a few years — i don’t know how you and dean can still get up every day and do this,” you spoke, setting your shot glass down.
“dean loves nothing more than work all day, and crawling into someone else’s bed at night —“ sam laughed, taking his shot. “keeps him sane. and him getting laid and not cranky keeps me sane.”
“is sex what keeps you sane?” you asked with a laugh, motioning the bartender over for another round.
“sometimes — not really,” he shook his head.
“same,” you spoke. “casual sex is so hard to enjoy — i don’t care what dean says.”
“why do you say that?” sam chuckled.
“it’s hard enough teaching someone what you like — now you have to tell and expect a stranger to understand, and leave satisfied? that’s a lot of trust in someone i don’t know.”
he laughed again. “fair, but also — you might just have to advocate for what you want more. clear and explicit directions are the way to go.”
you stayed silent, wishing your glass was full once more to do something — anything — to tear away from the awkwardness of the situation. the whiskey had already began to dull your senses, but nothing ever seemed to dull sam’s. you knew he knew with barely a glance in his direction.
“unless you’re not able to convey clear and explicit directions…” he stated.
fuck.
“ok, lawyer,” you scoffed, taking your shot as you tried to hide your embarrassment.
“maybe that’s why you can’t perfect the ‘dean method’,” he spoke, fighting back a laugh, before awkwardness struck his face. “i’m sorry — i shouldn’t — i’m just messing around, is all.”
“you’re good, i know,” you smiled, waving your hand in the air. “but who’s got the time? i swear — it’s so much easier for guys.”
“definitely,” he spoke, and continued in a very technical manner. “i mean, i’ve heard that some women really struggle with even achieving orgasms by themselves.”
“i forgot you were a scholar, winchester,” you spoke, trying to not draw attention to the way your cheeks were reddening.
but with the way he stared at you, his eyes narrowing… you knew he knew your secret.
“you’ve never… before?” he questioned.
“no,” you spoke softly, holding his gaze. awkward topic, sure, but, hey — if he’s bringing it up, he’s got to deal with it.
“wow,” he spoke, letting out a sigh of disbelief. he did that weird thing with his eyes that he usually does when he’s surprised: they go wide, and they blink a few times — as if he could blink away the conversation he definitely regretted starting like an eyelash. “like… ever?”
“never,” you responded, shaking your head.
“wow,” he spoke, taking a swig of his beer. “that’s… that’s…”
“sam, i didn’t break my leg,” you spoke, trying to laugh it off. “i’ve never had an orgasm, but i’m not dead.”
“dean would think you might as well be,” sam quipped.
“agreed,” you chuckled, flagging down the bartender for another drink. “i’ve turned dean down a few times — lil too old for me — but if i get really curious, maybe i’ll —“
“don’t,” he suddenly spoke, shaking his head.
“…hey, you brought up dean and my sex life — this was bound to get uncomfortable,” you giggled.
“i can talk about either when they’re mutually exclusive,” he replied, now keeping his gaze on his beer bottle.
“and you’re also the one that brought up me needing casual sex,” you quipped.
“not with him.”
you rolled your eyes then, but the smile on your lips remained. “dare i ask — who, pray tell?”
you watched as sam took his time answering. he leaned over the bar with both elbows on the counter, letting both muscles strain against the sleeves of his shirt. his skin, lightly tanned, reflected the light from above to show off just how much sam put into working out. you watched the veins in his arms ripple, along with the one in his neck as he swallowed. once he took a final swig of his beer, he stared at you then. and when he finally spoke? well, he only spoke one word: “me.”
a half hour later, you were in the back of the impala. sam had you in his lap, manspreading his strong, long legs. it was hard to be insecure about anything about yourself with sam — he could pick anyone up and throw them if he wanted, so you felt like a goddess in your tight black jeans, grinding your core down onto him.
he had his large hands on your hips — pads of his fingers digging into your flesh. they would push and pull with every roll of your hips you gave. he wanted you as much as you wanted him, and he couldn’t help but want to control and mold it. the way you keened for him? sat so nicely in his lap? ran your hands all over his chest, up and down his neck, and through his hair? the pretty way you pressed your chest into him? oh, he was done for — but sam’s selfish side would be taking over.
“take off your pants and lay back against the door,” he ordered, pressing one last firm kiss to your lips.
you scrambled off of him, pushing your jeans down your legs as sam tried to pull the fabric off. there was nothing but confidence, determination, and hunger in his movements, leaving you with no room for awkwardness.
“your hands feel so good on me,” you rasped. “can you touch me… there?”
you shouldn’t have even had to ask, he thought. he liked to hear your voice, though — especially when it was full of want and need. there was nothing shy about your requests, and there was nothing shy about his response. the pads of sam’s fingers had immediately found your most sensitive bud, drawing rough circles. he had to test the waters, after all — you didn’t know what you liked, but sam winchester would find out. you sucked in a soft breath at the feeling, but all that came out of you was a whine. a whine for sam’s hands. his arms. his chest. his muscles. everything that held him above you and shielded you from the world — hiding you from everything dangerous, while keeping you all to himself.
sam’s lips immediately connected with the soft, sensitive skin of your neck. you hated hickeys, but the way he sucked at your neck? drawing blood to the surface? keeping your attention and thoughts on him, and only him? it was intoxicating, the way it felt. sam drew primal feelings from you — there was no shame, nor insecurity. he wanted you to feel everything he felt for you, and he wanted you to crave it.
he wanted you to crave the way skin prickles when it’s excited and scared and sensitive. he wanted you to crave the perfect amount of friction and moisture on your clit. he wanted you to crave the smell of his cologne on his flannel, the whisky on his breath, and the hungry look he had in his eyes when he saw your nipples peak underneath your shirt.
“please, sam…” you whined, cheeks beginning to burn with pink.
“nah — not like that, baby,” he spoke. “gonna make you work for it.”
you detested him for that as he climbed off of you, settling against the back of the seat. he shoved his pants and boxers down. you situated yourself into his lap once more, letting out a huff of frustration.
“you’re pissed?” sam quipped with a cocky smile, smacking your ass before swallowing you into a kiss. “good. show me.”
immediately, you forgot how angry you were. how deprived you were. how frustrated with him you were. you grabbed him by the base, and sank down onto him.
sam filled you to the brim. a man of his size and stature would do nothing but. you could feel your walls squeezing him, holding him in place as you struggled to adjust to his size. but sam? the cocky bastard? sam could only stare at you with a knowing smirk on his face, hunger for a challenge brewing in his chest.
“you’re so mean,” you whimpered, rolling your hips down onto him.
“i know, sweetheart,” he spoke. he wrapped one arm around your hips, and used his other hand to push you back in between the front seats. “lay back for me, yeah? trust me — i’ll make it right.”
you threw your hands behind you, holding yourself up by balancing on the console. and when you felt sam thrust inside of you for the first time? oh, fuck… you knew exactly what he meant.
what they don’t tell you in romance novels is that it’s incredibly difficult to find those sweet spots that make you sing. they make it seem so easy to “come undone” with one finger or one thrust, but anyone left unsatisfied knows the truth. you know the truth, and that’s exactly how you got yourself in the back of the impala. but sam? oh, sam… sam was the one they wrote those stories about.
it’s like sam could tell what you were starving for. you needed a man to see everything you were deprived of, and wanted to give it to you tenfold. sam was selfish in the way that he was selfless — he wanted you to see stars. he wanted your cheeks and the back of your neck to blush. he wanted you to whimper. he wanted you messy and beautiful and full of life. but sam wanted all of that for himself.
sam forcibly kept you bent at the angle you were, but he didn’t have to. the head of his cock pistoned into that spot behind your lower stomach, and immediately you recognized that this is what they meant by that special spot inside. his tight grip on your hips forced you take every bit of his strength against the neglected wall that craved sam and all of his talent so, so badly.
“oh my god —“ you whimpered, throwing your head back. “i didn’t — how did you —“
“yeah — that’s right, baby. never had this before, huh?”
“n-nothin’ like this, sam,” you spat through bitten lips, trying not to cry. “it-it feels...”
you tried to keep up with his speed and aggression. you wanted to show him you were good too and that you could make him feel good too, but it was all so much. too much. putty in his fucking hands, you were, and you had never felt so safe nor so good.
“you fuckin’ tease me on every hunt —“ he rasped, taking one hand off of one hip. “flirting with everyone, when i’m right there.” he spat on your clit, making you shiver. “wasting your time, and mine.” his thumb found your clit, making circles. “any of them make you feel like this?”
“never,” you were starting to stutter, words and movements. the pressure building in your womb was building, and building, and building. it was all getting too much. “i should’ve — please —“
he grabbed you by the back of your head then, forcing you upright and close to him. your chest was pressed against him, and warmth spread throughout you once more. you rolled your hips against his like you were chasing him, afraid you would lose him.
“fuck —“ he rasped in your ear.
“sam…” you weeped. “i’m so close. don’t stop — please —“
he grabbed you by the throat then, putting space between your faces. he held you in place and your gaze, scolding you when you tried to drift off with your eyes closed. each thrust combined with the circles he drew was drawing you closer and closer to your demise.
“so fucking worked up, aren’t you?” he spat. “yeah, yeah — i can see it. face all red, and tears? so frustrated.”
you couldn’t do anything besides nod and try to wipe your tears away, forcing back whimpers. something snapped inside you when you saw the dark, feral look in his eyes. he wanted your orgasm as much as you wanted him to give it to you. and when it hit? when it consumed you? when it made you so weak you couldn’t do anything besides lean against him?
all he could do? fucking laugh.
laugh at your demise. laugh at how it overtook you. laugh at how it crashed over you and swallowed you whole. laughed at how it filled you to the brim and then some. but most of all? sam winchester laughed in triumph at the fact that the badass, independent spitfire he knew was coming apart and making a mess in his laugh.
“that’s right, doll —“
“act so tough, and this was all you needed —“
“fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry for me.”
the swell of pride in his chest was felt by both you and him. he was pushing, pulling, nipping, biting, and kissing you every which way. your mind bent each movement of his, completely pliant in his hands as you came undone. your climax — it was so powerful, you fell against him as he chased his own. he bit down on your shoulder as he came, fucking his load into you.
the collapse was felt by both of you. he held you against him as you both came down from your highs, rubbing your back with his thumb. when he sighed in relief against your cheek, leaving a kiss on the still blushed skin… you knew you weren’t the only one satisfied.
PAIRING : sam winchester x fem!reader | dean winchester x fem!reader
SUMMARY : sam and reader have been together a few months. after a night out with her friends, she comes back to the motel, determined to have sex with her boyfriend. too drunk to notice, she climbes into the wrong bed.
WARNINGS : estalished relationship. strong language. fluff. angst. smut. oral (m. receiving). unprotected p in v. daddy kink. misunderstandings. violence. cheating. pining. mutual jealousy. mentions of alcohol.
A/N : had this idea in the archives for a while and thought it was time to share it. hope you like it as much as i did. also, if you need a clue: y/f/n-your friend’s name, y/o/f/n-your other friends’s name. y/n/n- your nickname
You and the boys had a case close to the city your best friends lived in. So, after the gruesome hunt, you catch up with them at their favorite bar. The brothers decide to join, eager to celebrate your victory while meeting your childhood friends. You walk into the bar, hand in hand with your handsome and tall boyfriend, his brother following behind as you search for the girls. Their eyes land on you, and their faces drop.
“Hey!” You shout as you see them making their way through the small crowd.
Letting go of his hand, you wrap your arms around your two best friends. They squeeze you tight, having not seen you in almost a year. It felt so good to be in their presence. You loved the company of the Winchesters, but it was due time to see your girls. And with luck on your side, they dropped all their plans to get together.
“Ugh, I’ve missed you guys!”
They let you breathe, pulling away from the embrace. “We missed you!”
“We’re glad you made it in one piece!”
They knew you were a hunter. You couldn’t lie to them. When you dropped out of college after learning about the supernatural firsthand, you couldn’t find an excuse good enough to tell them why and where you were going; You didn’t want to either. They begged you not to join the life, but they knew that whatever they said, wouldn't stop you.
“Thanks to these two,” You turn and intertwine your fingers with his before facing them again. “Guys, this is my boyfriend, Sam.”
Their eyebrows raise, and their lips curl. “Boyfriend?”
Sam extends his free hand for them to shake. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“You too,” they say as they each accept his strong hand.
Dean stands beside you, eyeing up the girls. You glance toward him, swallowing your annoyance as you introduce, “And this is his older brother, Dean.”
Like every straight woman, they stare at the gorgeous specimen with hungry eyes. You knew your friends well enough to know what they were thinking. You couldn’t blame them; He’s magnificent to look at. When you began working with the boys, you had the same thoughts, but they vanished once you started dating Sam.
Like his brother, he reaches and shakes their hands. You felt a strange tinge in your body when Dean’s touch lingers. Unsurprisingly, the girls liked it, and pretty soon, they were paying more attention to him than you. After ordering drinks, everyone moves over to the pool table, to play a game of Cutthroat. The match wasn’t much of anything; Dean took turns with them, his arms wrapped around theirs, taking his sweet time to show them how to align and hit the ball just right.
You roll your eyes, feeling jealous, and you aren’t sure why. After prying your eyes away from the scene before you, you lean into Sam. He wraps his strong arm around your waist, kissing the crown of your head. Given he’s much taller, you tilt your chin to the ceiling and meet his gaze. He gives you a small smile, already knowing your request.
He clears his throat and calls over to his brother, “Hey, man, it’s getting kinda late. I’m gonna head out. You ready?”
Dean looks up from your friend and over at Sam. “Late? It’s only 10:30.” Your boyfriend gives him a look, and he takes the hint. “Oh, right.”
“Well, I’ll catch up with you boys later,” Sam pulls you into an embrace, and you whisper in his ear, “Don’t wait up.”
He plants a sweet kiss on your lips before turning his attention to your friends. They smile and give him a quick discussion on the consequences of what’ll happen if he doesn't treat you right. Sam chuckles at their attempt to be threatening but understands where they’re coming from. He would never hurt you, and you knew that. They exchanged their goodbyes with your boyfriend before turning towards Dean.
“Well, ladies, it was nice meeting you. I hope to see you again soon.”
“Maybe we can catch up tomorrow,” “You know, somewhere more private.” They purr in his ear.
It had been a while since his last threesome, and though the attractive women were tempting, he had his eyes on another girl, one that already belonged to someone else. He knew he could never make a move, and he had no choice but to be okay with it. After all, he only has himself to blame for constantly putting his brother’s happiness before his own. He plasters a fake smile and shakes his head at the proposal.
“I would, sweethearts, but the world ain’t gonna save itself.”
“You’re so brave,” one of them fawns.
You roll your eyes for what feels like the tenth time. Hell, you’re surprised they haven’t rolled out of your head already. However, you’re the tiniest bit relieved when he declines their offer. You wouldn’t know who to be more angry with: him or them. Your friends weren’t the kind to have one-night stands but Dean never would’ve guessed. Knowing so, they would’ve gotten attached if they weren’t already. He says a final goodbye before walking towards you and Sam.
“Let’s go before I regret it.”
Sam gives you one last kiss, one that leaves you wanting more, earning a side glance from Dean that no one catches. “Have fun.”
With that, the three of you watch as the handsome brothers leave.
“They’re so hot.”
“How you get any work done is beyond me.”
With a chuckle, you shake your head. “It ain’t easy.”
“I could take them both and not in a fight,” Y/F/N says.
Your eyes nearly pop out of your head at your friend’s quip. Y/O/F/N laughs in agreement. Your mouth had fallen open, taken aback by her blunt honesty. Could you blame her? Not one bit.
“Well? Aren’t we all thinking it?”
“Of course not!” You squeak.
“So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have a threesome with them if the opportunity arose?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
“I mean…” You shrug your shoulders, not wanting to lie but not wanting to tell the truth either.
“Ha! You totally would!”
Shaking some sense back into your head, you speak over the loud, drunken individuals. “I love Sam. I don’t think I’d be with him if Dean and I ever…”
“Fucked?” Y/F/N finishes.
“Yes.”
“I could!” Your second friend shouts.
“I’ll drink to that!” says your first one, holding up her shot glass and waiting for you two to do the same.
You clink glasses and down the hard liquor. The alcohol burns in your throat, almost making you regret drinking it in the first place. You missed your girls. You adored Sam and Dean, but you couldn't get as rowdy and loose in front of them as you needed to sometimes. A few hours had gone by, and you each had switched to water after one too many shots of tequila.
“You’re telling me…tha you’n Sam…haven’t donnit yet?” Your friend slurs.
You nod but stop when your head begins to spin. “Not once. I think ‘e wants to take it ssslowww.”
“Nuh-uh! You have ‘ta have’a drink from that talllll glass’iv wat-ter.” Your other friend says before raising her empty glass to her lips. She frowns and waves the bartender over. “Can I have’a tall glass of waterr?”
You three burst into laughter at the “coincidence.” The fading alcohol makes you all tear up a bit, making the not-so-funny joke hilarious. The bartender comes over, and sets your friend’s hydration on the counter in front of her, paying half a mind to your boisterous trio. A few minutes had passed and the joke began to die.
“Seriously, Y/N/N. You need to’ride that man, like yesterday!”
“Yeah! You go back to that motel ‘n get dicked down!…Dick him down!”
Despite her words, you knew exactly what she was saying. With confidence, you stand from the bar stool. “Youknow what? I willl! ‘M gonna go and do my boyfriend!”
“Yeah!” The cheer.
After downing the rest of your water, you throw your share onto the bar. “All right, bitches. Ima go get laid,” You wrap your arms around their necks and pull them in for a hug. “I’ll see ya guys, tomorrow.”
“We want alllll the details.”
“You b-better not hold out on us.”
“I promise!”
Fortunately for you, the walk wasn’t long. The motel was down the street from the bar they chose. The cool air helped sober you up, not much but enough to see straight. Once the Impala’s in sight, you smile to yourself. You pull the key out and silently struggle to get it in the keyhole. Finally, you hear the lock click.
“Aha!” You exclaim before shushing yourself.
You push the door open to the dark room. Sam had gone to sleep over an hour before you showed but Dean was wide awake. He couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t been able to since he realized he had feelings for you, his brother unknowingly beating him to the punch. The moonlight shined across the floor, eliminating the foot of the beds. You quietly shut the door, and stumble to your duffle bag near the table.
Assuming the Winchesters were asleep, you don’t bother going to the bathroom to undress. You kick off your shoes, holding on to the table to keep your balance. Dean squints in the dark and sees your shadow, watching in secret. You pull your shirt over your head and his eyes widen. He looks away, knowing he shouldn’t watch, but he can’t help himself.
You wiggle out of your jeans, and Dean practically drools. Though the darkness engulfs you, the moonlight peeks through the thin curtains, casting a perfect glow over your curves from where you stand. You were in nothing but your undergarments, causing his pants to tighten. He knew he was wrong for watching you, for wanting you, for being so turned on but it wasn’t his fault. He can’t be blamed for how he felt, especially when you were almost naked in front of him.
Unsure if it was the confidence from the alcohol or the anticipation, you eagerly stroll between the beds. Dean closes his eyes, fearing that you’d catch him staring. You lift the bed sheet and the mattress dips softly beneath your weight. He stirs, forcing you to stop. Once he stills, you move again, this time between his legs. You kneel in front of him, grabbing the front of his jeans. His large hands stop yours, squeezing gently.
“What’re doing?” He whispers.
You push them away, whispering back, “I want you.”
With haste, you unbutton his jeans and yank down his zipper, allowing his boner room to grow. You lower his boxers, enough to expose his untrimmed hair, and though he wants to stop you, his mind clouds with lust as you pepper his pelvis with kisses. He wanted nothing more than you to take him into your pretty little mouth. To feel your lips around him, your cheeks hollowing as you suck harder and harder—no! You couldn’t.
“We can’t, sweetheart.”
“Why not?”
“You’re drunk.”
He heard the drunken drawl and figured you only wanted him while under the influence. Though a pang struck his heart, he would never take advantage of you. Even if that wasn’t the case, even if you did want him, his brother was in the bed beside yours. No, he thought. We can’t. He sighs, hating his decision but knowing it was the right one.
“But I’m sober enough to know I want this.” You straddle his hips, setting your heat on his erect and clothed member.
“We shouldn’t…” He weakly fights but a gasp escapes once you move.
“Please,” You grind, enticing him with every word. “I want you so bad, baby. I’ve wanted you for sooo long. I’ve dreamt of your perfect cock inside me, filling my pussy with your cum. Please don’t make me wait any more. I need you.”
He bites his lip; He could spill his load right now if he chose to let go. Fuck! You had him so whipped. He couldn’t say no to you, not like this. But his brother invades his thoughts.
“But what about—?”
“What about him? I want you.” You feel his hesitation so you curl your fingers around his shirt, pressing your palms to his abdomen and sliding them up to his chest. You lean down and kiss his tattoo. “Don’t you want me?”
Without missing a beat, he answers, “Fuck, princess, I want you so bad.”
“So fuck me,” You sit up and grab his hand, bringing it to your damp panties. “I’m so wet for you, baby.”
He huffs in shock; You weren’t exaggerating. You were drenched, just for him. His thumb rubs against your folds, smearing the wetness against the soaked underwear. He runs his digit upward, applying light pressure to your aching clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your impatient body. He couldn’t fight it anymore. He needed you just as much as you needed him. He nods, and you see the shadow before you agree.
You nearly squeal with excitement but the quietness reminds you why it has to stay that way. After all, you didn’t want his brother waking up to the intimate and long-awaited scene. You return to your previous position and eagerly pull both his boxers and jeans down. With your face so close, his erection pops out, lightly smacking your cheek. The harmless slap goes directly to your core making it tingle with anticipation.
All you want to do is pounce and bounce on him, but you desperately want to swallow what he’s packing. You drag his pants to his ankles and he quickly kicks them off. Your hand wraps around his member and you’re thrilled by the size. He was thick but not too thick, long but not too long; Like you suspected: He was perfect.
He forces himself to keep still, letting you take charge. His breath quickens as he feels your own fan against his sensitive sack. You take his tightened nut into your hot mouth, sucking gently. His body flinches, not out of discomfort but out of immense pleasure. You stroke his twitching cock as you show love to his other testicle.
His breathing comes out in huffs; He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last and you haven’t even taken him in your mouth yet. As if you read his mind, your mouth travels upwards, your tongue licking the underside of his dick until it reaches the tip. Your mouth swiftly closes around it, tasting his delicious pre-cum. His fingers weave through your hair, desperately wanting you to go further but not wanting to rush you.
You get his unsubtle hint and take him down your throat, inch by inch. He throws his head back, loving the way your mouth feels. Needing air, you retract and breathe through your nose. You go down again, your cheeks beginning to hallow. Soon, you determine a steady pace, sucking harder with each bob.
The longer you pleasure him, the wetter you get. Your saliva escapes your mouth, traveling down his shaft and over his balls. He was so close, closer than he wanted to be. He was half tempted to cum down your throat but held off, wanting to fill you elsewhere. You’re so lost in giving him the best head he’s ever received, that you’re confused when he pushes you back.
“W-what? What’s wrong?” You whisper, dazed.
“Get on, sweetheart.”
Your pussy flutters at his words. Finally, you thought. Fingers hooked on the hem of your black lace thong, you drag it down your legs and toss it on the floor. You move so your knees are beside his hips and you hover above his erection. His tip brushes against your drenched folds, causing you to whimper.
His hands fly to your hips, helping you maintain your balance while trying to hide his eagerness. You’re so close to fulfilling his, and your, dreams of being deep inside you. Sure, he was always respectful of you, never objectifying you, but he’s a man after all. Yet, it was more than wanting sex. He wanted that connection; He craved it.
You reach between your legs and take hold of his awaiting phallus. Without prolonging it any longer, you align him with your entrance and slowly ease down. Your head falls back as you each moan softly, finally getting the touch you desire. His wet member and your soaked pussy allow a smooth acceptance and you’re damn thankful for the preparation. Your core meets his base, and you smile at being able to take him fully. After all, he’s bigger than what you’re used to.
He sheds his shirt and rubs your thighs as you adjust to one another. You place your palms against his torso, readying yourself to move. He positions his hands on your hips again, prepared to assist. You lift yourself, and he glides out of your tight hole. His breathing quickens as he watches himself disappear.
The pain of him stretching you out is drowned by the alcohol in your system. If it wasn’t for the liquor, you could’ve sworn you were just drunk on him. It doesn’t take long before you create an unholy rhythm. He was captivated by you. The way your hips roll and your body bounces…It was intoxicating. The line between the best ride he’s ever gotten and it being you was blurred. No, it’s definitely her talent.
What he wouldn’t give to see you and not your shadow. His hand cups your covered breast, squeezing lightly. When it doesn’t suffice, he reaches around and unhooks your bra. After tossing it with your underwear, his fingers twiddle your hardened nipple. Groans and quiet moans fall from both your lips but once his other hand moves to your front, you forget why you were trying to remain silent. His thumb instantly finds your clit, eliciting a loud whimper.
“Shh, sweetheart. ‘Don’t want to wake him up, do you?”
“No, Daddy,” you whine. “‘M sorry.”
The nickname sent chills down his spine and he wanted more. It wasn’t the first time a woman had addressed him that way in bed but you were the only one he wanted to hear it from. It egged him on, so much so that he found himself thrusting up into you, taking control. I’ll show her who her daddy is, he thought.
You moan again, just above a whisper. The hand he used to fondle your breast goes back to your hip, guiding your body up and down, up and down. His hips meet yours and his thumb adds more pressure. You begin to squirm above him, the pleasure raking over your body as it also builds in the pit of your belly. Heavy pants mix with the sweet sound of skin slapping—a symphony to your ears.
With his rhythm so vigorous, and your aching thighs, you were ready to topple over. His thumb rubbed harsh circles on your sensitive clit, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. You were so close and so was he, but he refused to cum before you did. His hips snap up, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. Your nails dig into his skin, as you teeter on the edge of your most powerful orgasm yet. Fuck, keep going, Daddy, you thought what your mouth just couldn’t say. Just like that. He knew you were close by the way your walls clenched around his shaft. Just a few more—
“Dean, seriously? You—” The lamp between the two beds is switched on, blinding you and your partner.
Your high’s disrupted. You squint in the light, and when you see your boyfriend sitting up and across from you, your eyes widen. W-what the—? Your head whips to see the man still buried deep inside your guts. D-Dean?!
Suddenly, you become very sober. With a gasp, you push yourself off your deceiver. His mouth was agape, a mix of shock and guilt. We weren’t that loud, were we? But that wasn’t the point. No, he just had sex with his brother’s girlfriend.
Sam’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. The combination of moans, the collision of skin, and the mattress bouncing had awoken him. He groaned to himself, annoyed his brother would have sex in the same room he lay asleep in. Unable to ignore it, he decides to stop the fornication. What he didn’t expect was to find you on top.
“What the fuck?!” He shouts, throwing off his covers.
“Baby, i-it’s not what you think.”
You’re terrified. It wasn’t your fault, you thought Dean was Sam. In a way, it wasn’t Dean’s, either. He assumed you wanted him. You begged him. It didn’t matter. It was both of your faults. You should’ve known it wasn’t your boyfriend and he should’ve told you no and stuck to it.
“Sammy,” Dean holds his hands in defense. “Hold on a second—”
Sam leaps toward the bed, striking Dean across the face.
“No!” You cry, trying to pull your boyfriend away.
He lands another punch across his brother’s face. And again. You continue your pleas but he doesn’t listen. All he can see is red. You and Dean try to stop his violence but his strength overpowers you both.
“Baby, stop!” You tug his arm once more but he shoves you away.
He doesn’t mean to do it so hard. The force pushes you off the mattress. The room spins, not because you hit your head, but because of the alcohol and complexity of the situation. The possibility of you being hurt, of him hurting you, breaks through his fit of rage. He stops his punishment against Dean’s countenance and checks on you.
You sit up and see Sam with a worried look. Seeing you’re fine, he steps into his shoes before grabbing his duffle bag, and the keys to the Impala. With as much haste as you could gather, you begin to stand. He stomps to the door, throwing it open then storming out. You quickly wrap a sheet around your body before running out of the motel after him.
“Sam, wait!” You jog towards him, trying to catch his attention. “I swear it’s not what it looked like.”
He stops abruptly, and you run into his back. You stumble as he turns on his heel, “Really? ‘Cause it looked like you were fucking my brother!”
You shake your head frantically. “I thought it was you!”
“What? How the fuck do you get him and I confused?!”
“I—It was dark, I was drunk—I am drunk. I forgot which bed was ours,” he stared at you wildly. “Baby, I would never cheat on you. I’m yours, only yours.”
He chuckles darkly, sending shivers down your spine. “Yeah, well, not after this.”
Sam spins around and in a few strides, he’s beside the Impala. The door creaks open and he throws his bag into the passenger seat. He hops in and shuts the classic door behind him. You run towards the car, and put your hand against the glass. Tears begin to well in your eyes, afraid he’s serious. How could he not be? His girlfriend and his brother…the perfect recipe for disaster.
“Please, don’t go. We can work this out,” You plead, your eyes reflecting the desperation.
He ignores you and starts the engine. It roars to life and you’re petrified of the sound. You know if he drives away, it’ll haunt you forever. And that’s what he does. You begin to pound on the window, following the car as it backs out. The tears spill over and your breathing is erratic.
“Don’t go! Please! Sammy, don’t leave! Please, baby, I love you! No, no, no!”
Your boyfriend peels out of the parking lot, leaving you a crying mess. You didn’t know what to feel most ashamed of: The fact you cheated on your loving partner or how good it felt before the light turned on. Back in the motel room, Dean gets dressed. He touches his sore cheek, wincing from the pain. He had heard your confession and he couldn’t have been any more devastated. You thought he was his brother.
What was he thinking? He should’ve known better. It wasn’t the first time he’d taken the girl Sam liked away but this was the first girlfriend. He couldn’t help himself; He’s in love with you. You should’ve been his for the start.
He isn’t sure which is worse: That he might’ve lost Sammy for good, or that he doesn’t regret what happened.
DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SAM WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAG LIST
summary: sam protects you when you're vulnerable.
word count: 747
pairing: sam winchester x fem!reader
warnings: touching without consent, light sexual assault
⛧°. ⋆༺☾𖤓༻⋆. °⛧
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Your friend asks, hesitation in their voice. You nod. “Yeah, go. It’s two minutes away.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. I’ll call you when I’m home.” You show them a warm, assuring smile. You’re thankful for them. Not everybody can say they have people they can rely on, even if it’s waiting with you for two minutes for a taxi.
They smile back at you, walking down the path, disappearing into the hustle and bustle.
Town is busy, more-so than normal. You keep your bag clutched under your shoulder and your phone tight to your chest. You glance down at your phone, keeping your head low. The last thing you want is some weirdo approaching you.
“Nice boots.”
The voice makes your stomach drop. You look up. A guy, maybe 5’10”, blonde with a cocky smirk spread across his face. His eyes drag over you, slow and deliberate.
“Bet they’d look nice laying on my shoulders.”
Your throat tightens. Your words snare, catching like prey in a spider’s web. “What?” You spit, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion and disgust. He stops in his tracks, his friend chuckling behind him. Like this is funny. Like it’s a joke.
“What’re you gonna do?” He asks, the words lingering like an underlying threat. There’s no one else here to back you up, no one to protect you in case something happened. You move back toward the wall behind you.
“No one’s here.” He begins, “No one’s here to protect you.”
He’s sly. The tone in his voice rough and harsh, his body almost flush against yours. Your pulse pounds in your ears, a cold wave runs down your back. Your brain is screaming at you to do something—anything—
But the words tangle in your throat.
His fingertips trace up the side of your thigh, the lace of your dress lifting as he moves higher, higher—
“Get off me, you fucking prick.” You retort, staring at him dead in his eyes. He gazes at you as if it’s your fault. But he doesn’t move.
“I fucking said,” you repeat, “get. The. Fuck. Off. Me.” You threaten, but your body doesn’t budge. It’s like you’re still frozen in place, trapped behind an ice wall.
“Hey,” another voice greets to your left. Terrific. You look over. A mammoth sized man walks up to you, a red Stanford hoodie frames his broad shoulders and messy mousey brown hair covers his brows. He points to the guy hovering over you. “You know him?” He asks, smirking ever so slightly. “N-no, I-”
And that’s enough for him to square him in the jaw. His friend tumbles backwards, in shock at what’s just happened. He stands there as the guy in the hoodie shoves him hard, sending him to the ground. You stand there in terror, as he lays a couple more punches on his face, causing him to bleed. You can’t help but watch, though, as this is exactly what these kinds of sons of bitches deserve. The hoodie guy stands up, wiping a small splatter of blood from his cheek. The mark stays there and he pushes his hair out of his face.
“You okay?” He asks you, and you nod profusely. “Y-yeah, I don’t even know what to say. Thank you.”
You look up at him, a gentle smile appears on his face, his eyes glossy as if he’s either drunk or having a tough night, too.
“Don’t mention it.” He grins, holding out his hand. You shake it. “Sam.”
“Y/N.”
“Nice to meet you, Y/N. How’re you getting home?” He questions, and you look to your right, noticing your taxi had been there this whole time. The driver looks a little off-guard, but who wouldn’t be after seeing a fight?
“That’s my taxi.” You point over to it, and he walks with you. The friend of the guy is assisting him in standing up, but the other is wafting him away.
Sam walks you over to your taxi and opens up your door. “Get home safe, yeah?”
“I will. Thank you.”
Sam glances at you once more, before shutting the door behind you. The taxi sets off.
“You know that guy?” He asks you, looking at you through the rear-view mirror.
“That’s Sam. I just met him.” You reply, glancing back at the driver.
“Good kid. We need more of him.”
You look down at your thighs, still clutching your phone in your hand.
***This bloody protective GIF of Sammy is brought to you by @sam-loml used with permission***
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Hunter Reader
Summary: During a routine hunt gone disastrously wrong, you narrowly escapes a vicious attack. Witnessing her brush with death triggers a primal shift in Sam Winchester. His usual trust in her formidable skills evaporates, replaced by an overwhelming, dominant possessiveness that surfaces with brutal force. He'll tear the world apart to keep her safe, and make sure she knows exactly who she belongs to.
Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :)
If you love it, please comment and/or reblog. Let me know your thoughts! :)
**IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT DON’T READ IT**
The pre-dawn air in the rickety motel room was thick with the scent of cheap coffee and gun oil. You leaned against the worn laminate counter, watching Sam meticulously clean his favorite hunting knife. The fluorescent light buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows on his focused face. His brow was furrowed in concentration, long fingers moving with practiced ease over the gleaming blade.
"You sure you don't want the last donut?" Dean called from the other bed, mouth half-full, gesturing towards the grease-stained box.
Sam didn't look up. "Nah, Dean. You finish it." His voice was low, calm. Then his eyes flickered to you, the intensity softening into something warm and intimate. "You want it?"
You shook your head, offering him a small smile. "All yours, Dean. I'm good."
Sam’s gaze lingered on you, tracing the curve of your lips. He set the knife down deliberately and crossed the small space in two strides. Before you could react, his large hands were framing your face, calloused thumbs brushing gently over your cheekbones. His touch was unexpectedly tender, a stark contrast to the lethal weapon he’d just been handling.
"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated deep in his chest.
"Hey yourself," you replied softly, leaning into his touch. The worry lines around his eyes eased slightly as he looked at you.
"You checked your gear? Extra rounds? Silver knife sharp?" The questions were routine, hunter’s habit, but the undercurrent was different – thicker, warmer.
"Twice," you assured him, placing a hand over one of his. "Just like you taught me."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. He dipped his head, his forehead resting against yours for a brief, charged moment. You could feel the steady thrum of his pulse against your skin. His breath was warm on your face. "Good," he breathed. "Just… be careful out there today. This one feels… messy."
It wasn't like Sam to state the obvious about a hunt’s danger, not like this. There was a possessiveness in the way his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on your jaw before he released you, his gaze holding yours a beat too long. "Always am," you whispered back.
Dean cleared his throat pointedly. "Alright, lovebirds, save it for the post-monster smooching. We got a nest of Rougarou to smoke out before they decide the local high school football team is an all-you-can-eat buffet." He stood, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Move out."
Sam’s eyes finally broke from yours, the softness hardening back into hunter focus as he grabbed his own gear. But the lingering warmth of his touch remained on your skin, a silent promise in the chill of the impending fight.
The Louisiana bayou at dusk was a living thing – oppressive humidity clinging like a second skin, the chorus of insects deafening, and the stench of stagnant water and decaying vegetation thick enough to taste. The Rougarou nest wasn’t in some abandoned shack; it was deep within a crumbling, water-logged plantation house slowly being devoured by cypress knees and Spanish moss. The air inside was thick with mold and the unmistakable, coppery tang of old blood.
"Split up," Dean hissed, flashlight beam cutting through the oppressive gloom of the grand foyer, revealing peeling wallpaper and rotting floorboards. "Cover more ground. Yell if you see anything that ain't supposed to be breathing."
Sam caught your arm as you turned towards a dark corridor. His grip was firm, insistent. "Stick close," he ordered, his voice low and rough, devoid of its earlier warmth. His eyes scanned the shifting shadows beyond your flashlight beam like a predator.
"I am close," you countered, keeping your voice steady but firm. "I know the drill, Sam. I’ve got this." You met his gaze squarely, asserting your competence.
For a fraction of a second, conflict warred in his eyes – the ingrained trust in your skill battling something primal and unfamiliar that seemed to have taken root since leaving the motel. He gave a curt, almost reluctant nod. "Fine. But yell. Immediately." He released your arm, but his body stayed angled towards you as you moved down the corridor.
You moved cautiously, senses on high alert. The silence was broken only by the drip of water somewhere deep in the house and the frantic thudding of your own heart. You cleared room after decaying room: parlors choked with debris, bedrooms with skeletal remains of four-poster beds.
Then, in what might have been a library, thick with the smell of mildew and wet paper, you saw it – a flash of matted fur and unnatural movement behind a collapsed bookshelf. Your finger tightened on the trigger of your sawed-off shotgun loaded with rock salt rounds.
Before you could fully process the threat, all hell broke loose.
It wasn't one Rougarou. It was three. They erupted from hidden nooks and shadowed corners with guttural snarls that ripped through the silence. They moved with terrifying speed, more beast than humanoid now, claws like obsidian sickles gleaming in your flashlight beam.
"CONTACT! LIBRARY!" you roared, firing instinctively.
BOOM! The blast caught the lead creature square in the chest, sending it reeling back with an unearthly shriek. But the other two didn't falter.
One lunged low, claws raking towards your legs. You pivoted hard, feeling the air whistle past your calf as you pumped the shotgun and fired again.
Click. Misfire.
Panic seized you for a split second.
Too long. The third Rougarou, faster than the others, slammed into you from the side with the force of a wrecking ball. Your shotgun flew from your grasp, clattering across the rotten floorboards into darkness. You hit the wall hard enough to see stars, the impact driving the air from your lungs. The creature was on you instantly – a crushing weight pinning you, fetid breath hot on your face. One massive clawed hand clamped onto your shoulder, talons digging deep through your leather jacket and into flesh. Pain exploded, white-hot and blinding.
You brought your silver knife up blindly, stabbing wildly into its flank. It howled, jerking back slightly but not releasing its crushing grip. Its other hand swung towards your face.
Time seemed to slow. You saw the deadly claws descending, aimed straight for your throat. You twisted desperately, throwing up an arm in a futile block.
Razor-sharp points grazed your raised forearm, drawing fiery lines of pain. One claw tip caught the corner of your mouth with brutal force.
Searing pain. The coppery taste of blood flooding your mouth. The crushing weight. The stench of decay and rage.
You were trapped, staring into yellow, inhuman eyes filled with mindless hunger. This was it.
"GET THE FUCK OFF HER!"
The roar wasn't human. It was a guttural, earth-shaking bellow of pure, unadulterated fury that seemed to shake the very foundations of the rotting mansion.
A blur of movement slammed into the Rougarou pinning you. Not Dean. Sam. He moved with terrifying speed and impossible strength. He didn't shoot it. He didn't stab it.
He grabbed it.
Massive hands seized the creature around its thick neck and one hairy arm. With a roar that echoed the monster's own, Sam wrenched it bodily off you and flung it across the room like a ragdoll. It crashed into the remnants of a marble fireplace with a sickening crunch of bone.
You gasped, scrambling back against the wall, clutching your bleeding shoulder and throbbing lip. Blood dripped warmly down your chin.
Sam didn't check on you. Not yet.
He turned towards the remaining Rougarou, the one you'd wounded and the one stunned by your salt blast that was now rising. The air around him crackled with palpable violence. His entire frame seemed larger, vibrating with unleashed rage. His eyes, usually warm hazel, were chips of obsidian ice, fixed on the creatures with terrifying focus.
Dean burst into the room, shotgun raised, taking in the scene: you bleeding against the wall, Sam standing like an avenging angel between you and the monsters. "Jesus H—"
"Mine!" Sam snarled, the word tearing from his throat like shrapnel. It wasn't directed at Dean; it was a declaration to the creatures, to the room, to the universe itself. "You touch what's MINE!"
He moved.
It wasn't hunting anymore. It was execution.
He met the charging Rougarou head-on. He sidestepped its lunge with preternatural grace and drove his fist, wrapped around his heavy silver knife handle-first, into its throat with a crunch that made you wince. As it choked and staggered, he seized its head in both hands and twisted with brutal force. The snap echoed horribly in the sudden silence.
The third one, whimpering now from its wounds and clearly recognizing the apex predator in the room, tried to scramble back towards a hole in the wall.
Sam was on it in two strides. He didn't bother with silver or bullets this time. He kicked its legs out from under it with a force that shattered bone. As it writhed on the floor, he dropped to one knee beside it, his face devoid of mercy or hesitation. He raised his knife – not for a quick kill – and brought it down with savage precision again and again and again, long after the creature had stopped moving. The wet thuds of blade meeting flesh and bone were obscene in the stillness.
Dean stood frozen near the doorway, his shotgun lowered slightly, his face pale under the grime, watching his brother with an expression of stunned horror.
Finally, the only sounds were Sam's ragged breathing and the drip of blood – monster blood pooling on the floor, your blood dripping onto your jacket.
Sam slowly rose from the eviscerated corpse. His broad shoulders heaved. His knuckles were white where he gripped his blood-slicked knife. He turned slowly.
His eyes locked onto you.
The fury hadn't abated; it had merely shifted focus. It burned in his gaze as he took in the dark bloom on your shoulder where claws had torn through leather and skin, the vivid red line splitting your lower lip, the blood smeared on your chin and arm.
He strode towards you, each step deliberate and heavy on the creaking floorboards. Dean started forward instinctively. "Sam—"
"Don't." Sam didn't even look at his brother. The single syllable was a whip-crack of command that stopped Dean dead in his tracks. His entire attention was fixed solely on you.
He reached you in three strides and dropped to his knees before you with a thud that shook the floorboards beneath you. His large hands came up – not gently this time – and seized your face again. But there was no tenderness now. His grip was firm, almost bruising as he tilted your head back under the beam of his dropped flashlight, forcing you to meet his burning gaze as he examined your injuries with terrifying intensity.
His thumb brushed roughly over your split lip, smearing the blood further. A low growl rumbled in his chest – a sound that vibrated through his hands and into your bones. His eyes were dark vortexes of possessiveness and barely contained violence.
"Look at you," he breathed, his voice a gravelly rasp that scraped raw against your nerves. It wasn't concern; it was accusation mixed with something feral – a primal rage at seeing his territory marked, his possession harmed.
His gaze dropped to your shoulder where blood seeped through torn leather. His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle jumped violently in his cheek. Without releasing your face, he ripped open the Velcro strap on his own duffel bag slung over his shoulder with his free hand, pulling out a field dressing pack one-handed with rough efficiency.
His movements were jerky, controlled violence barely leashed as he tore open a gauze packet with his teeth and pressed it hard against your bleeding shoulder wound. You hissed at the sudden pressure and sting.
"Hold it," he commanded gruffly, not releasing his hold on your face until he was sure your hand was pressed firmly over the gauze on your shoulder.
Only then did he let go of your jaw. But he didn't move back. He stayed kneeling between your legs, his body radiating heat and coiled aggression like a panther guarding its kill. His eyes never left yours – intense, demanding, utterly consuming.
Dean shifted uneasily nearby, watching the interaction with wary confusion. "Sam... man... she's okay. It's just—"
"Just?" Sam's head snapped around towards Dean. The single word was laced with venom so potent it made Dean flinch back half a step. Sam's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper that somehow carried more threat than any shout. "They had claws on her. They drew her blood." He looked back at you, his gaze searing into yours again as he raised his own bloodstained hand – coated in black Rougarou gore and streaks of your red blood where he'd touched your face and shoulder. "They touched what's mine."
He emphasized each word deliberately, holding your gaze captive as he slowly wiped his bloody hand clean on his own jeans with deliberate, almost ritualistic strokes. The gesture wasn't about cleanliness; it was a declaration etched in gore.
The silence stretched, thick and charged with unspoken tension – Sam's raw possessiveness radiating outwards like heat waves off asphalt, Dean's shocked confusion, and your own pounding heart echoing in your ears as you stared into Sam's dark, unwavering eyes. The only sounds were your ragged breaths and the relentless drip of water somewhere deep in the decaying mansion – a chilling counterpoint to the storm held barely in check within the man kneeling before you.
Sam finally tore his gaze from yours to scan your face again – the split lip he'd touched so differently hours ago, now swollen and bleeding; the paleness beneath your skin; the pain tightening your eyes. A muscle ticked furiously in his jawline as if he were physically restraining himself from further violence… or pulling you into him with crushing force.
He leaned forward abruptly, invading your space until his forehead rested roughly against yours again – just like at the motel, but devoid of all tenderness now. This was claiming. His breath fanned hot and harsh over your injured lip as he spoke through clenched teeth.
"Not another scratch," he growled, the command vibrating against your skin. It wasn't a request; it was an edict carved in stone. "Not one." He pulled back just enough to spear you with that obsidian gaze once more. "You stay behind me."
He waited for no acknowledgment or argument from you or Dean. In one fluid motion fueled by barely leashed power, Sam rose to his feet and turned towards the dark corridor leading deeper into the house – towards any remaining threat.
His silhouette was immense against the gloom, radiating lethal intent and an aura of iron control that had utterly replaced his earlier calm competence. He paused only for a second at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder at you kneeling on the floor. His eyes flickered over your injuries again – your blood on his jeans seemed to ignite something dark within him – before settling on your face with that same unnerving intensity.
"Dean," he stated flatly, his voice devoid of any inflection except command. "Cover her six." He didn't wait for an answer; he knew Dean would obey that order implicitly now.
Then Sam Winchester stepped into the shadows of the corridor alone – a silent, vengeful storm moving with deadly purpose to eradicate anything else foolish enough to breathe in his territory near his claimed prize.
Dean finally moved then, quickly kneeling beside you to help secure the dressing on your shoulder properly. He worked efficiently but kept glancing nervously towards the corridor where Sam had vanished into darkness punctuated only by distant sounds of violence – sharp cracks of breaking bone or heavy impacts that made dust shiver down from the ceiling – each one a chilling testament to Sam's unleashed fury.
You stayed silent against the wall, clutching your throbbing shoulder, tasting blood on your swollen lip as you stared at the empty doorway where Sam had disappeared – leaving behind only an echo of command ("Stay behind me") and the heavy scent of iron and rage hanging thick in the ruined library air.
The oppressive silence of the ruined library shattered with the sounds of heavy, deliberate footsteps approaching from the corridor Sam had vanished into. Dust motes danced in the beam of Dean’s flashlight as they turned towards the doorway.
Sam emerged.
He was a vision of brutal efficiency painted in gore. Black, viscous Rougarou blood coated his arms up to the elbows, spattered across his face and neck like macabre war paint, and soaked the front of his flannel shirt and jeans. A deep scratch ran from his temple down to his jawline, bleeding sluggishly, and another marred the back of one hand. His knuckles were raw and split. He breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling with controlled power, but his expression… the volcanic fury that had consumed him earlier was banked. Not gone, but submerged beneath a layer of something far more intense and focused: you.
His eyes, still dark but no longer the obsidian ice of pure rage, scanned the room and locked onto you instantly. The tension radiating from his broad shoulders eased a fraction, replaced by a wave of palpable relief so strong it was almost physical. He crossed the debris-strewn floor towards you, his movements purposeful, ignoring Dean entirely.
"You okay?" Dean asked gruffly, eyeing his brother's state.
Sam didn't answer. He stopped before you, where you were still leaning against the wall, Dean’s hands having just finished securing the gauze pad tightly over your shoulder wound. Sam’s gaze swept over you – the stark white dressing, the swollen, blood-crusted split lip, the scratches on your arm, the paleness of your face beneath the grime and blood.
Without a word, he bent down. One arm slid firmly behind your back, the other hooked under your knees.
"Sam, no, I can walk," you protested immediately, pushing weakly against his chest. His flannel was stiff with drying monster blood. "It's just my shoulder and lip, I'm fine."
He didn't even acknowledge your words. His arms tightened, lifting you effortlessly off the floor and cradling you against his chest. He held you close, possessively, his head dipping slightly so his cheek brushed against your hair. He inhaled deeply, as if confirming your scent beneath the blood and fear. "Quiet," he murmured, the single word low and brooking no argument. His tone wasn't harsh, but it held the absolute finality of a command issued by a force of nature. You were coming with him, held by him. End of discussion.
He turned, carrying you as if you weighed nothing, and strode towards the exit. "Dean, car," was all he said, his voice gravelly but calmer.
Dean grabbed the gear, his expression a mixture of concern and lingering unease at the shift in his brother. "Yeah. Right behind you."
—
The drive back to the motel was conducted in near silence. Sam drove, one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel, the other resting possessively on your thigh, his thumb making slow, rhythmic strokes over the denim. His gaze constantly flicked to you in the rearview mirror, checking, assessing. The fierce protectiveness emanating from him was a tangible thing, filling the Impala's interior. Dean wisely kept his observations to himself.
Back in the dimly lit motel room, Sam carried you straight to the bathroom connected to their room. He set you down gently on the closed toilet lid. "Stay," he ordered softly, his eyes holding yours for a beat longer than necessary before he turned to rummage in their extensive medical kit.
He worked with meticulous care, but an underlying current of fierce energy thrummed beneath every movement. He dampened a clean cloth with warm water. "This will sting," he warned, his voice low and rough as he carefully began cleaning the blood from your face. His touch was infinitely gentle around your swollen lip, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly as he dabbed at the crusted blood. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek as he focused on the task.
His large hands were surprisingly deft as he peeled back the field dressing Dean had applied. His breath hissed through his teeth at the sight of the angry, deep claw marks raking across your shoulder and upper arm. The fury sparked briefly in his eyes again – a dark ember flaring – before he ruthlessly banked it. He cleaned the wounds with antiseptic wipes, his touch feather-light but firm where it needed to be. He applied antibiotic ointment with careful strokes before re-bandaging it securely.
Dean hovered in the doorway, watching the intense, silent care. He cleared his throat. "Uh... I'm gonna... grab some food. Real food. Burgers? Fries?" He sounded desperate for an escape from the charged atmosphere.
"Yeah. Good," Sam said without looking up, his focus entirely on securing the bandage on your arm. "Get extra."
"Right." Dean practically bolted from the room. The click of the motel room door closing felt deafening.
Silence descended, thick and heavy. Sam finished taping the last edge of the bandage. He didn't move away. He remained kneeling before you on the cool bathroom tile, his hands resting lightly on your knees. He stared down at where his own bloodied knuckles rested against your jeans for a long moment.
When he finally looked up, his eyes held a storm of emotions: anguish, residual fury, a terrifying depth of fear, and an overwhelming tenderness that stole your breath. The raw vulnerability was startling.
"Seeing you like that..." His voice was a raw scrape, barely above a whisper. It cracked. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "On the floor... blood on your face... that thing..." He couldn't finish. He closed his eyes for a second, visibly wrestling with the image seared into his mind. "I saw red. Pure red." He opened his eyes again, meeting yours with heartbreaking intensity. "The thought of losing you... of something taking you from me..." He shook his head slightly, unable to articulate the sheer terror that had consumed him. "It wasn't just danger. It was... unacceptable. A violation."
You reached out, wincing slightly at the pull in your shoulder, and cupped his cheek. The rough stubble scratched your palm. "Sam," you said softly, your own voice thick. "Look at me. I'm okay. You saved me. You got there." You traced the scratch on his temple with your thumb. "We got roughed up, but we're here."
He leaned into your touch, turning his head to press a fervent kiss into your palm. His eyes drifted back to your bandaged shoulder, visible where your torn shirt had been pulled aside for treatment. "Those marks..." he murmured, his voice thick with regret and something darker – possessiveness twisted with pain.
"They'll scar." He said it like a condemnation, as if the scars were a brand of his failure to protect you perfectly.
You shifted forward slightly, ignoring the twinge of pain, and pressed your forehead to his, mirroring that primal gesture from before the hunt and after the attack, but now filled with shared pain and comfort. "Then they'll just be reminders," you whispered against his skin. "Reminders that I have someone who would tear the world apart for me."
A shudder ran through him. The fierce protector softened further, revealing the deeply loving man beneath the storm. The tension in his shoulders finally began to ease, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion and overwhelming relief. He wrapped his arms around you carefully, mindful of your injuries, and pulled you gently off the toilet lid and onto his lap on the floor. He cradled you against his chest, your head tucked under his chin.
He held you like that for long minutes, rocking slightly, his large hand stroking your hair with infinite gentleness, a stark contrast to the violence he’d unleashed hours before. The scent of blood, sweat, antiseptic, and Sam filled your senses.
His lips brushed against your hairline, then found your ear. His whisper was a warm breath filled with absolute conviction and a love that bordered on ferocity:
"Mine," he breathed, the word a vow now, not a snarl. "Always mine. And I will never let anything take you from me again. Never." He pressed another kiss to your temple, his arms tightening possessively yet protectively around you. "You're safe now. I've got you. Always." His whispered promises were a shield forged in love and tempered by violence, a sanctuary built amidst the lingering scent of blood and bayou decay.
I know that from an canon lens, Dean is the one with these lustful non brotherly for Sam bc of how obsessive he is and how he disregards Sam's bodily autonomy. (and I love it)
But there is something about Sam having these forbidden feelings for Dean, really feeding into this self image of Sam that there is something deeply wrong with him. That he is rotten to the core for thinking like that about his brother.
Thinking that he is an disgusting abomination that goes against nature itself.
Blurb: You've never needed anyone to get on your damn case. You're quite self-sufficient and nice about it: politely, no thanks. And then you go contradict yourself by falling in love with Sam Winchester - go figure.
Tags/Trigger Warnings: Fluff, angst, strangers-to-lovers, pregnancy, mentions of character deaths and Purgatory, mentions of Hell and Lucifer, leviathans, hurt/comfort, insomnia, mood swings, language.
{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
On My Case: Part 1.
Greenville, Illinois hosted you for the new case.
The cursor stared back at you with ridiculous accusations of how blank your mind is reflecting the blank page. Your eyes fought for dominance against sleep that threatened to pull your mind in it's dreamy shackles. The tick of the seconds hand on the clock reminded you that you hadn't slept in days - yet again.
Insomnia had claimed you years ago, but bouts of sleep pulled you under now and again, spaced out over weeks.
You checked your cell again. Your digital clock gave a number to the ticking one with dots across the room against a wall.
No missed calls, or texts.
But what were you even expecting?
It's not like the answers were going to just pop on your screen like they once used to - when Bobby was still around.
You minimized the word document you had been journaling your last case in, from three days ago - while it was still relatively fresh in your mind; but it was just an excuse to avoid research on the new one.
This case was something about the tourists going missing like a clockwork: four people, every six months, for over three years now.
You picked your mug to sip on the coffee, but pulled in air. Huffing, you detached your ass from the chair, and stretched up straight, stifling a yawn as you headed over to pour yourself another cup of good ol' joe. You groaned when the Keurig spluttered but a few drops of the water-like composition. You dropped the mug in the sink, and unceremoniously did away with the useless machine.
You snatched the sweatshirt from the back of your chair and donned it over your shoulders unflatteringly as you marched out into the cold night.
The parking lot beyond was deserted, and the uncomforting lights overhead flickered. You patted your loveable gun on the way to the reception area down the line, straight ahead, past all the other little cabins that were part of this lowly motel.
You pulled up your hood to let the shadows cover your face as you passed the receptionist who was dozing off at his desk, drooling down on the registry that made you scrunch your nose in disgust.
You turned the last corner, and there was the vending machine you'd thought you'd spied earlier.
Quickly, you hassled half a dozen coffees out of it, broke the seal on the first one to take a sip. 'Not much better than Keurig, but you'll do,' you muttered to yourself.
As you were ready to turn back towards your room, two long shadows blocked your path. And to match them, two large men joined you in the reception area.
Your face was hidden mostly, but you could make out the flannel and washed-out jeans. It was only a second, but you also noticed their faces - handsome, handsome men they were, you couldn't help but notice as you walked away.
Rolling your eyes to your thoughts, you entered your cold room - courtesy of a broken heater, and proceeded to waste away your night in the laptop's light, and coffee's company.
If only you knew that your life was about to change forever.
Bars didn't hold much attraction for you - but in a small town like this where everyone knew everyone, bars tended to bring the furred and feathered townies in. Simply on principle - the popular ones have to show face on a daily basis. Not to mention, all of your tourists have also been picked up from here.
You nibbled on your drink, a house-special margarita that earned you a dirty-look from the tender when you requested it non-alcoholic.
Ah, well.
'Y/N, hey!' a voice called you. You turned with surprise to note your best friend. You barely had time to shove your drink to safety when she wrapped her arms around you.
You greeted her with a laugh, 'B/F!'
She pulled away to look you over with a questioning brow. 'Dressed to impress, I see,' she levied her sarcasm.
You rolled your eyes with a pout. 'What's wrong with my sundress? It's cute!'
'It's the same one you've been wearing for five years, Y/N,' she gave you a wry look. 'Shopping is still a socially acceptable activity, honey.' She slid onto the barstool beside you, and ordered two beers.
'Ah, I'm trying not get drunk,' you told her.
'You're working?'
You hummed, sipping your sugary substance and grimacing, before pushing it away altogether.
'And here I thought your dry streak had finally driven you to a decent bar.'
'It's not a dry streak if it doesn't bother me, B/F,' you chided.
It was her turn to roll her eyes. 'Just because Devon was a bad apple doesn't mean you should boycott the man-kind, sweetie.'
You chuckled, 'Are we hear to talk about my crap love life? Or are you going to tell me what you're doing in town yet?'
She narrowed her gaze at your clear deflection but let it slide. 'Passing. Garth called, he needed help with something. Thought I'd make a pitstop before driving for another seven hours straight.'
'Oh, you looking to crash?'
'Nah,' she sighed. 'Just a drink, and probably a game to last my sanity. Bobby's replacement thought it would be a good idea to pair me up with Saltz.'
'Yikes,' you winced. 'Garth is still learning the ropes though - cut him some slack, he'll learn the internal relations amongst us.'
She gave a non-committal hum, drowning her own beer, and taking the one she ordered you to give it the same fate.
You understood that feeling. Saltz was probably the last person B/F wanted to see in this life - but Garth's innocence was yet to be bothered by the broken and tense relationships of hunters with one another.
Just another instance where you were reminded of Bobby. You eyed the beer enviously, wondering just how dedicated you were to staying sober.
Before you could decide, the bar doors blew wide open, and chill air seeped in for a second as two familiar giants granted the dull bar their grandeur presence.
You recognized them from the night before, but you could finally look at them properly.
The shorter one of the two had spiky dirty-blonde hair, mischievous eyes that danced with mirth as he took the bar scene in, he had gorgeous legs that went on for days, and had visible bow-shape to them when he walked. Your breath may have stuttered.
But it disappeared when you noticed the taller man. Chestnut brown pullable hair, stubbled face, full-equipped innocence in the form of permanent puppy-dog eyes, broader shoulders you could easily imagine clinging onto like a cat finding purchase on the edge of a bathtub. Sincerity exuded from his very being, and you sincerely wanted to kiss him.
They looked like the perfect duo of chaos and calm, of glee and grace, of fun and seriousness.
'Wow,' B/F said, finding it hard in herself to pick up her jaw from the floor. You shared that sentiment, even wondering if you were too obviously drooling as the compelling presences walked by you.
You didn't want to look away when you said: 'Okay, even I'll admit - they're hot.'
'Hot?' Her head swiveled in your direction. 'More like sex-on-legs-come-Greek-Gods.'
You giggled a bit. 'Okay, enough of the objectification. They're humans at the end of the day.' You still sneaked a glance, before forcing yourself to turn away. 'Plus, you don't have time for that; you have an asshole to put in place.' You slid off the stool, tugging at her wrist to get her to stop staring.
She huffed. 'Dude, screw the hunt, how many times am I gonna have the chance to ogle, and maybe take Dean Winchester home? Sam, too, if he's game!' she practically growled.
Your eyes widened in surprise. 'Winchesters? How d'you know?'
'Oh, saw them leaving Bobby's once,' she shrugged. She sighed then, looking like she'd just aged ten years. 'I'm gonna miss them,' she pouted.
You had to restrain the laugh that was begging to bubble out. 'Hold the phone. You're telling me, that the shorter guy there - Dean; he's the Lord of playboys, the one who wrote the gospel on hit-'em-and-leave-'em?'
'Uh huh,' she murmured dreamily, 'I'd worship him. Get on my knees right now.'
You snorted. 'Dude, you're vulgar.'
'Hey!' she exclaimed. 'No hate on the religion!'
This time you full-on laughed. 'Alright, alright!' Then, you lowered your voice, '. . . What do you know about Samuel there?'
She finally tore off her gaze to eyeball you with interest. 'Oooh, am I sensing the beginnings of a crush here?'
You rolled your eyes despite the light blush that dusted your cheeks and neck. 'I don't even know him! I'm just . . . I'm curious is all.'
'Aw, well. So, he's the more mature one, I guess. I mean, legend has it, that he kickstarted the apocalypse, but everyone says he's real nice. I dunno. Sweet, kind, considerate. In general, though, be wary of them, because Winchesters carry their own woes.'
You whistled. 'Look at you, becoming a poet.'
'I have my inspiration right in front of me,' she said cheekily, gazing back at the Winchesters.
You shook your head at your best friend, and finally pulled her along with you. 'Let's get you to the car before you get drunk on more than them beers.'
You could've almost sworn she whined, but the grouse followed you nonetheless. You deposited her in her car, when she asked. 'Wait, weren't you working on case in there?'
You smirked. 'Yeah. But I have a feeling I'm not the only one anymore.'
'Oh, yeah!' she realised. 'Man, I think they're gonna fight with you on that one - I've rarely heard of them working with someone they stumble across.'
'So I've heard,' you nodded. 'Don't worry, I'll handle them. It was good seeing ya, bud.'
'You, too. Keep your nose clean, eh?'
'Yeah, and you, your head down.'
She pulled away after a few waves and disappeared into the night. You wrapped your arms around yourself against the cold, before walking the few miles to your motel.
You got the news from the corner you'd met two days ago. The second victim of the week. Halfway through the six-month cycle, you'd noted with sadness. Not much of the body was left, just the nitty-gritties. A lone woman traveler - new to town, last seen at the Anchor Bar.
With slight upset, you wondered if you'd perhaps seen the girl yesterday at all during your own visit. Slightly dwelling on the fact that maybe if you'd stayed, you could have saved her.
Then, the more rational part of you interrupted the self-hate and assured you that you did what you thought was best. And it wasn't like you wasted time by leaving the bar to the Winchesters, you got a huge headway on the research, ultimately contributing to productively.
You ducked under the police tape, unsupervised. The leftovers of the body had been dumped along the same road on the side of Shoal Creek where this killer usually disposed of them.
The first Officer who noticed and recognised you. 'Agent,' he greeted.
'Officer Freely, thank you for calling me.'
'Yeah, the victim matches the profile, I thought you'd wanna see for yourself. The body is so dismembered, we're just trying to . . . piece her together first,' he grimaced. 'Most of the skin, essential organs . . . gone. Even the bones have been chewed at.'
You felt bad for her, your resolve to get her justice only hardening. 'Can I have a look?'
''Course,' he stepped aside to let you examine.
The sight was horrible, only long time hunters could've probably stomached it the way you did. The poor girl must have been in so much pain, even most of the hair and nails were gone as the on-site corners assembled the eroded bones. The corners debated that she was also skinned before she was killed, and you shuddered with sheer empathy.
You stared around for a long time, from many angles, but were disappointed when that yielded nothing.
You requested for the personal belongings acquired, and sifted through the bag, grabbing her purse. Just as you were about to invade the dead person's privacy, your ears perked up at two new sounds.
'FBI? What, are you having a parade or something?' an ancillary Officer scoffed. 'Your friend is already here.'
You schooled your smirk and glanced up at the two "agents" who were now nervously walking towards you.
You gave them your hand. 'Hi, Agent Granger. You are?' You shook Dean's hand first, then Sam's, holding his for a second longer than you meant to.
'Agent Page and Agent Plant,' Dean introduced, gesturing between the two with a fake polite smile.
'Where from?' you interrogated.
'Washington,' the brothers said simultaneously with practice coherence.
You acted surprised. 'Head-office! Really? No one told me they were sending reinforcements.'
They looked trapped, quickly exchanging a fleeting look before Dean bristled with fake authority. 'Look, Agent, I don't know who sent you, but maybe you should talk to our Director—'
'So that your "guy-in-the-chair" can cover for you?' you brusquely interrupted. 'I don't think so, Dean.'
They both shifted uncomfortably. 'How do you know us?' Sam addressed you for the first time.
You decided to tease them longer: 'I saw you in the bar last night . . . something about your faces. A search on the police database told me what was weird with your appearances - ya looked a little too alive.'
They both tensed, and if you hadn't practiced reading the victim's, and their families for years, you might have missed the subtle shift in their body language. You wondered if they'd make a run for it.
'Alright,' Dean took the reigns in his hands, and you pegged him as the take-charge guy of the duo. 'Let's make a deal. Officer, lives are at stake here. We'll explain everything, just let us finish this case—'
'So that you can run away? N'uh-uh!' Then, you broke your boss-bitch routine to allow yourself a smile. 'If you want a deal, you take me to drinks, after we solve this case together, hunters.'
They both blinked, once again, exchanging looks of astonishment. 'You're a hunter?' Sam confirmed.
'Your partner for the case,' you grinned. 'So, tell me, did you see our victim leave with someone last night?'
Dean shook his head, raising a hand, 'Wait, so . . . No, wait. I don't think we're working together, Lady.'
'Y/N L/N,' you supplied. 'Thought you'd say that. That's why I took the liberty to finish up on research last night while you staked out the bar.'
Sam snorted in amusement, a sparkle lighting up his otherwise tired eyes. Up this close you could finally notice how worn down he truly looked. The black circles almost made his hazels look like caramel islands struggling not to drown in the obsidian seas.
Dean just looked annoyed. 'We didn't ask you do that.'
'Oh, yeah? And who would've done the research? You, Mr. Playboy, or him, Mr. Dark Circles?' Your soft eyes met Sam's. 'I mean, seriously. Are you okay?' you asked him, almost demanding.
The nurturer in you was bristling for someone so exhausted.
Sam looked shocked that you'd outright ask him that. And Dean was even more annoyed.
'All I'm saying is we could've survived without your help, thanks.'
'Dean,' Sam said in a placating tone.
And you suddenly realized that they were having a silent conversation that you weren't privy to. A small smile plumed your countenance, it was nice to see them close - encounters like this often gave you hope that one day you'd have the same with someone.
Someone who unlike the cheating scumbag of your one and only ex-boyfriend, Devon, would care about you. Someone who would care enough to get to know you till the point that you two could have silent conversations.
'Look,' Sam was the one that talked this time. 'We appreciate the help. It's just . . . we're not used to other people working with us.'
You smiled a little. 'I'm sorry about Bobby,' you softly said, something that had them correcting their surprise and shock once more at the change of topics. 'But after him? There's only a few of us left to be experts at this - we gotta keep his legacy going, man, we gotta work together. I understand not wanting to let a person you don't trust tag along for a life-and-death fight. But I was here first. So, either you work with me, or you don't work. I'm flexible,' you smirked. 'Let me know what you decide. I'm staying at your motel; Cabin 'oh-2.'
Stepping away to give them some breathing room, you informed Freely of your departure and told him that you're borrowing the evidence bag before stopping next to Winchesters one last time. 'Dean?' The brothers looked at you with annoyed expressions. 'Nice wheels,' then your tone was pushed to an edge, 'It'd be a pity if they land in police custody.' They raised their brows, faces hardening, so you pacified, 'If you rat me out, I'll not be morally opposed to take you down with me,' you ended on a wink.
Then, you left.
You smirked when a knock sounded in your room. As expected, two giants crowded your entrance.
'We're in,' the Giant Handsome told you, while his older brother, the Giant Annoyed just huffed slightly, practically pushing you aside to walk in before you could invite them yourself.
'Make yourselves at home,' you welcomed them and shut the door after a sweep of the parking lot - an old hunter's habit. Only Dean's car was in the lot now - no other guests, you assumed, or guests like you who didn't have cars. You hadn't seen anyone else, so you couldn't be sure.
Both the brother's had dressed identically even if the colour aesthetics differed by a large margin: flannels, jeans, boots, and jacket; and where Sam went with lighter, calmer tones than Dean who was all dark and mysterious. You immediately gravitated to the safer option.
'Motel, sweet Motel,' Dean quipped as he plopped down into the hard chair, pushing away your research papers with little to no care - and you had to bite your tongue not to chide him. Sam, apparently more considerate, arranged the papers and, much to your appreciation, piled them in a corner to sit opposite his brother with his arms crossed on the table.
You bypassed them, and brought two plates out in the open space. You'd been prepared with extras, knowing they'd fold. You stationed the dishes in front of them, much to their surprise.
'Olive Branch,' you smirked. 'Even though I have a feeling you get it, protect your territory and whatnot.'
'You didn't have to order,' Sam said, though he eyed the food hungrily.
You beamed, 'Good that I didn't. I cooked.'
'In this shithole?' Dean raised a brow. 'Sweetheart, no way you had the stuff to make this here.'
'I'm resourceful,' you argued. 'Just eat! Leave the worries of the culinary world to me.' You pulled the third and last chair back, sitting on it and pulling one of your knees up so your foot was on the seating surface and you could rest your cheek on your knee.
Dean shrugged as he went in for a tentative bite, ending up moaning at the first that made you giggle with a blush.
'Um,' Sam hesitated.
'Worried I'm trying to poison ya?' you asked with a teasing smirk.
'I just—'
'He's a health freak,' Dean said around a mouthful. 'Damn, this is good.'
'Don't worry,' you assured Sam, 'me, too. If there's one thing I don't compromise money on - it's food. The rice are sugar-watchers, vegetables sauteed in clarified butter, and that's homemade cheese and cottage cheese I used to make the vegetarian steak. The glycemic indices tend to fly low in my meals.'
The brothers just exchanged an impressed look. You basked in it.
Sam hesitantly dug in.
'Oh, my God,' he groaned. 'That's good!'
Your body shook with shy laughter under your oversized shirt that was swallowing you up in this position, and your sweatpants were barely peeking from under it. But you were too lazy to wear anything but your comfy clothes, even for company.
You'd never change for anyone in your own room.
'I can't believe I like eating vegetables,' Dean exclaimed, and you laughed harder.
And as the ice broke, you let the brothers dig in a little - wondering when was the last time they got a homecooked meal. But you didn't pry, letting them enjoy while you felt proud of yourself.
'Alright!' you bend forward to retrieve the notepad you'd scribbled all your notes on. 'So, I hit a dead-end on the purse,' you informed. 'But I talked to the corner, and she told me that the bite marks were too . . . basic. Like, it didn't seem to belong to a carnivore or an omnivore.'
'Rules out werewolves.'
'And vampires,' added Sam.
'Right, because they have advanced set of teeth for precisely this. I thought what kind of herbivore would be doing this? But the search is still too elaborate.
'So, I tracked down the victims over the years. No connection between families, age, social circles - total strangers, except, their origin. These people may have grown up in different places, but all their families can be traced back to Greece at one point or another.'
'When did you get here?' Dean asked, shocked.
'Um, Monday?'
'You got all this in three days?' Sam raised an inquisitive brow.
'Honey, I got all that in on my drive over,' you boasted. 'Now, what took me time was the Greek-i-ness of it all,' you flicked your hand to the long tower of research books. 'I had to get the books shipped in from a specialist. I finished them today—'
'All of them?' Dean's voice upped a decibel and you couldn't help the smirk that edged onto your face.
'I'm a fast read. I love reading, actually.'
'Me, too,' Sam leaned in with interest.
'Oh, yeah. Classics? Oooh! Fiction or non-fiction?!'
He chuckled. 'Uh, most days, it's purely research. But when I get time, I read documentaries.'
'Watches them, too,' Dean uttered with disgust.
'No! Have you seen "My Octopus Teacher"?'
'By Criag Foster,' Sam nodded. '"The Elephant Whispers"?'
'Uh, yeah! Only a dozen times,' you scoffed. '"Home"?'
'That's French,' Sam pointed out.
'Well, yeah. Have you seen it or not?'
'I tried,' he chuckled.
'Alright, lovebirds,' Dean interjected. 'Want to share the loot?' he raised his chin to the stack of books.
'Right!' a blush flamed your cheeks, you cleared your throat. You beckoned your laptop as Sam and Dean wolfed down their dinner. You finished typing and turned the laptop towards them. 'I'm 84% sure it's Geryon.'
Their eyes scanned your find. 'Known for being a giant, has three bodies, or a single one with three heads and hearts. He used to feed tourists of his farm to his cattle. I was skeptical about the cow thing, but the dental results came back, late last night, and they were shocked to tell me that indeed, it was the cows.
'Fun fact, Hercules was sent, as his tenth labour, to capture a cow and bring it back!'
'I didn't see any fun there.'
You levelled Dean with a dry look. 'Well, maybe you'll revel in knowing that Hercules killed the man for the first time - with an arrow.'
'That's the only way to kill him?' Sam inquired. 'That's easy.'
'I mean, the arrow has to go through all three of his hearts at the same time.'
'Okay, so now we just find the bastard,' Dean clapped his hands together. 'Is there more of this veggie delight you forced me to like?'
You smiled a little, 'Kitchen. Warm it up first!'
As Dean left, you turned to Sam who was playing with a stray broccoli. His brows were furrowed, deep in thought.
'We didn't see a really tall guy, or anyone even mentioning triplets or something at the bar last night. I mean, this is a small town, right? We should've heard something in the interviews of the locals.'
'Essentially, he's the same guy, so I doubt anyone even knows that there's different bodies. Maybe, the other two do leave, but you know same name, same face. He could even have been sending a completely new person to fetch those unsuspecting fellows.'
'You think someone is helping him?'
'Possible. Like a farmboy or something. A ranch hand. A cowboy.'
'You called?' Dean's head popped in.
You looked between Dean's smug expression, and Sam's exasperated one before snorting in amusement.
'He has a cowboy fetish,' Sam rolled his eyes as Dean slid into his seat again with a healthy serving that made your heart flutter - you weren't used to having anything you did appreciated. You wondered if Sam would like some more, too.
You shook your head to yourself. 'Anyway, how is it possible that four tourists with ancestral Greeks end up in the same town, around the same time? I mean - some of the vic's families hadn't inhabited their motherland in years.'
'So, you think he's summoning them somehow?' Dean pieced together.
'That would make sense,' supplied Sam. 'We went back to the bar today after hitting the corner's—'
'Ah, Corner Hornset. Mean old lady.'
'Understatement. She refused to tell us anything because she'd already talked to you.' Dean eyed you with a little irritation and you just shrugged innocently. 'I don't even know how you got her to talk at all.'
You chuckled. 'I'm very persuasive.' You gestured to the food they were eating.
'Right,' Sam grinned, moving onto his next point. 'But we did see the footage from last night at the bar. Alexandra, here, our latest vic, only talked to the bartender. So, we questioned him, too.'
'All he had was that she wouldn't stop scribbling in her diary. So, obviously our next step was the only hotel in town.'
You nodded along; this was the only cheap motel, nearest to the town, and since you couldn't afford the hotel in the town, you had come here.
'But we didn't find anything.'
The brothers exchanged a look suddenly, and Dean turned towards you with a non-harmful accusation in his eyes.
'Unless you took it.'
You smiled, 'Guilty. I swept the place before you guys must have gotten there, I guess. I was getting to the diary part - but I haven't read it yet.' You rushed to your bag, and produced the book. 'Ta-da!'
'Okay, I'll give you this: you're good at research.'
You mock-gasped. 'Alert the media, I got a compliment from a Winchester! I'm famous!' You placed your hands over your heart like it might explode of happiness.
The theatrics made the brothers laugh as you unwound the string, and flipped quickly through the pages as they finished dinner. Sam insisted on cleaning the dishes when you said you carried the utensils with you, a side-effect of having cooking as a passion. Whereas Dean brought his weapon's bags from the trunk of his "Baby" - as you learnt he called his car, and started cleaning them before the hunt.
Most of the writings were in Greek, with only bare minimum English words interspersed into the text - so you translated to the best of your abilities and were done with late into the second hour of beginning it.
'I found an address!' you announced.
'Then let's get this show on the road.'
The hunt went with but a few hitches. It was early morning hours, and you all had your own Geryon to have your hands full with until the man got annoyed himself by the three pesky humans, and merged into one giant person himself - growing in height till even the roof of his house was too small to contain him.
With some quick thinking, Dean had played distraction to pull his attention away from you and Sam. The younger Winchester had thrown you the long stick of a lamp that sported a jagged end, and you had jumped the guy's shoulders as the brothers threw small home appliances in the man's eyes to let you sink your weapon through his chest.
Thanks to your calculating eyes, the weapon had been stabbed straight through. Who knew Geometry and shit would come handy while offing a Greek monstrosity?
The giant had fallen forward and you'd only been saved from crashlanding when Sam pulled you into his embrace the last moment - his incredible reflexes keeping you safe in the steel bands he called arms, pulling you away from danger.
As the body melted into a swirl of ashes as you'd come to learn most Greek monsters did - you heard a faint mooing of the cows where they ceased to exist along with their Master.
With the successful hunt under the belt, you three decided to hit a bar to celebrate, and to get to know each other better.
After "sleeping" through the afternoon, you three met on your door, and took the Impala to a bar in another town, a few ways away so that no suspicion befell you three. You three bought new rooms at a new motel and then went to party the night off.
As it turns out, the brothers had several stories to provide a depth to the already gaping stitches in your side. Their bickering only added to the hilarity of the night - right up until Dean split his difference and took the bartender to the nearest motel.
One on one, you couldn't believe what an incredible human Sam was.
He didn't dwell much on the past, though you sensed a lot of heartbreak there. He mostly talked about the mellow moments, and the niche ones of his life. How it was growing up, with his father, and his brother. Soon, it also ended on the apocalypse times.
You added the view of the other hunters there, and what you yourself thought when you'd heard about them - and how they barely matched the description. How the legend didn't even begin to scratch the surface of their true personalities.
He asked about you and your life.
You found there was a sea of commonalities between the two of you. You discussed your favourite documentaries, books, movies, languages, even college.
'A lawyer?'
He nodded. 'Before . . . well, I lost my college girlfriend to a fire.'
Your smile dropped, and you rested your hand on his, scooting a little closer. 'Natural?'
'No,' he hesitated. 'The same demon who killed my Mom.'
You squeezed his hand. 'You're like a Phoenix,' you replied with a thoughtful note.
A ghost of a smile danced across his lips. 'A Phoenix?'
'Uh huh. No matter how many times you succumb to the fire, you'll rise again . . . won't you, Sam?'
He averted his gaze as darkness grew in the shadows of his hazels. 'I don't know about that. Sometimes, the inferno is too strong.'
You had a feeling that he was no longer talking about the same thing that you were. He released your hold, and sighed. 'You know what - let's call it a night?'
Somehow, you felt like you'd said something wrong. You couldn't stave off the nagging disappointment that accompanied it, but you nodded your agreement anyway.
You two walked back towards the outskirts, a few miles from the bar which was right at the edge of the town, and it was mostly silent. But nothing awkward.
Despite that one moment, you two were walking comfortably beside each other, and halfway through, you glanced up at the tall man - a sort of safety enveloped you the longer you kept your gaze on him.
Why did you feel like you'd never be in danger as long as he was beside you?
You were overreacting, right? You barely knew the man!
You, however, still blushed to yourself at the cozy safety and the humbling warmth. Luckily, the moonlight was too dim to alert Sam of your schoolgirl crush that you may have gained from your conversations at the bar.
You looked down at another sundress you'd chosen to wear - you didn't even try to be all glitter and glam, and you prided yourself on the soft beauty and subtle features. You yellow sundress hugged you where it needed to, spreading out in flourish when you moved a bit too quickly but only leaving you with clean grace and elegance.
The only downside you could admit was the pinch of the cold. So, when you brought your hands up to yourself, Sam was quick to notice.
Without a question, he extracted himself from his beige jacket, and before you could even show signs of protest, you were being engulfed in the soft material, encapsulated in his heady scent, and enamoured by the heat that simply enhanced his consuming presence.
'Thanks,' you mumbled, too flustered to bring out any objection.
He smiled, scratching his neck a bit as he pulled his lower lip into his whites. 'How'd you get into hunting, Y/N?'
You loved how your name rolled on his tongue.
'I was writing a thesis about how the myths came to be. There are certain things in our lives that are incomprehensible, and my theme was that stories are forged to bridge the gap of sense and nonsense. I may have researched more than what was required and ended up on Bobby's porch - leading me to pester him till spilled his guts.
'I was too enchanted to leave,' you shrugged.
'So, you're telling me you chose this?' Sam seemed incredulous.
'Sam, if we started hating things because of their pitfalls, we'd love nothing in this world.'
He paused to let that sink between you two. 'Hunting has always just brought our family pain,' he quietly said. 'Even now I-I . . .' he clenched his jaw, and gulped.
You interlaced your fingers with his, and his lips parted in surprise, looking down at you with torture in his eyes.
'I understand,' you murmured. 'To tell you the truth . . . hunting did leave me with insomnia, and nightmares. I guess, it's not easy - but that's not a reason to stop loving it. It's like a relationship, a job - you hate it, you love it, but you always do it.'
'That's a terrible pun,' his lips twitched.
You chuckled. 'True. Although, I'm better at ironies, if you're interested.'
He squeezed your hand. 'You're an incurable optimist, huh?'
You grinned, 'What gave me away?'
You two chuckled. He released your hand in reluctance, and you sensed that he may not be too much of a touchy-feely guy.
You'd reached the new motel that Dean's car was already stationed at and Sam walked you to your door.
You turned your back to the door so that you were trapped between Sam's enormous chest and the rough wood. You smirked as you got on your toes and kissed his cheek, veering your lips to his ear and whispering, 'Thanks for tonight. I had fun.'
He was slightly bashful when you pulled away. 'Me, too,' he meekly ducked his head, combing a hand through his hair. 'Um, you know . . . even I can't sleep,' the hesitance in his eyes told you that it was hard for him to admit.
'You got insomnia, too?' your eyebrows inched towards your hairline.
'Kinda,' his embarrassed eyes darted away before meeting yours again. 'I, I went to Hell,' his breath hitched, almost cracking, as he reveled something vulnerable of his to you, 'to stop Lucifer. My soul was in that dog's bowl for a year and a half - when Dean put my soul back in . . .' he struggled to continue, gaining gloss in his orbs. 'I just haven't been able to . . . The devil's always in my head, you know?'
'Oh, honey, that's awful,' you whispered, letting your hands brace against his shoulders, empathy welling in your eyes. 'I can't even imagine what that must have felt like.' You could see that he was trying to downplay it by shrugging, and an instinct also tipped you off that he didn't often esteem someone with such a personal detail.
'It's . . . I was wondering, since we both won't sleep,' he awkwardly chuckled. 'And I can't go back to my room anyway . . . Would you like to spend more time . . . with me?'
A beaming smile answered him. You opened the door and let him in after a nod. Your duffel was still on the couch, untouched after your hasty packing earlier in the day to get out of the previous town.
Sam took a seat on the table, and you took the one opposite him; and you two might as well have not stopped talking at all.
Beers were broken out, more laughs were shared, more views were given, and you two ended up on the bed to get a reprieve from the hard chairs. Even though the mattress wasn't much improvement from the wood, it was still softer, and you two lay on your sides with some space in between to keep talking well into night.
Sam couldn't believe how long he had gone without Lucifer disrupting his reality - he didn't even have to use the hand scar thing-y this time. He was amazed to see the effect you had on him, and that too, just in under a freaking day!
Your new opinions, your happy outlook, and your dry humour was too good to be true. It was not something he'd have expected when you sassed them into submission the other day. In fact, when Sam and Dean begrudgingly decided that you'd earned the upper-hand, the only reason they'd decided to tag along with you was because they worried for your life and if you weren't good enough to hold your own.
They quickly learned that you were a well-endowed hunter. Any misconceptions of your inabilities to take care of yourself faded away in the first hour of your company.
And now he finds out that you're sweet, kind, funny, smart, sexy, and voluntarily sacrificing your shot at normal. If he could've just shot across to you and kissed you senseless, he would've.
For first time in years, he's afraid that he'll fall for someone again.
It never truly crossed his mind after Jessica. Sure, there were girls now and again, but you . . . you were just . . . .
As if he wasn't awed enough, it was to the melody of your voice that his eyes started drooping. With a smile on his face, he found himself relaxing. He didn't browse on that though, worried he'd jinx it - or worse, he was imagining it.
But in reality, he was falling asleep; his fingers clinging to your hand from when he caught it and just didn't let go - the touch made him feel calm, although he usually refrained from doing that upon meeting someone for the first time, he just couldn't help it now. Handholding you was somehow acting as his theter and he was hooked.
You would have been surprised that he fell asleep, if your eyes hadn't been drawing shut as well.
You lazily drew the blankets over the two of you when Sam started snoring, your body already half-asleep, then you snuggled a bit closer to him to fit under the scratchy material that you couldn't be bothered by just because it had managed to pull the two of you closer.
Sam woke up with a mousy frame attached to his front, his arm curled around the warm body. His bleary eyes fluttered a few times, smiling faintly when he saw you nuzzling his arm under your head peacefully. His heart rate picked up a hitch, but he controlled his feelings.
Albeit a bit reluctant, but he let you go. Carefully, he deposited you back deeper into the sheets, amused that you showed no signs of waking up.
Feeling more fresh than he had in days, he decided to pop in real quick in his own room, and left you a small note with his whereabouts. Then he crossed the corridor, and knocked on the door to be sure.
'Come in,' Dean's muffled voice announced.
Sam peeped in after jiggling the unlocked doorknob and pushing the door in. Dean was already sipping on his coffee with a huge shit-eating grin on his face. 'Walk of shame, party of two!' he cheered.
Sam predictably rolled his eyes, shutting the door after himself. 'Dude, I didn't sleep with Y/N.'
'Why not?' Dean's smile dimmed. 'The chick was totally gunning for ya!'
'We just slept in the same bed,' Sam admitted, trying to be casual about it.
Dean's brows shot up in surprise. 'You slept?'
Sam shrugged, his own smile growing. 'Yeah. And we talked all night before that.'
'Aw, Sammy has a little crush,' Dean cooed as he poured one mug of coffee for Sam.
Sam accepted the drink, decidedly ignoring the teasing, though even he had to hide a smile behind a sip. 'How'd your night go?'
Dean's grin was back full-force. 'Awesome. We tried some new stuff, she was trying to put herself through dance school or something - there were ribbons.'
Sam regretted asking when his imagination hurried to paint pictures in his head to match Dean's words. 'Gross.'
'Anyway, she left early, woke me up so I found us a new case.'
Sam's heart and lips dropped. 'Oh.'
Dean read between the lines, another huge smile gracing him. 'If you want to ask her to join . . .' Dean trailed off with purpose.
Sam scowled deeper. 'You don't mind?' he skeptically checked.
'Getting laid is the solution to all the problems in life, Sam,' Dean uttered philosophically.
The younger brother's nose scrunched, 'It's really not.'
'Well, it gives you courage to face life,' Dean huffed. 'Look, she's a pain in the ass . . . but I guess I can make an exception.'
As if on cue, there was a knock to their door. Sam jumped forward to open it even when Dean was closer, and with a check through the peephole, he was delighted to see you smiling on the other side. He opened the door, and welcomed you in, though his grin faltered when he noticed the duffel strapped across your shoulder.
Still in your sundress from the night before, just with a jacket on top, you looked ready to leave.
'Hey,' he eyed your belongings once again. 'What's up?'
You looked between the giants. 'My best friend flagged me down. Her ex is driving her crazy on a case,' you chuckled sympathetically. 'I should go before the piece of shit actually gets what he deserves.'
'He deserves help?' Dean wondered.
'No; death,' you corrected. 'But my friend doesn't deserve jail.'
Dean shot Sam a look who just shrugged a little like it didn't matter. 'Right. We also caught a case. We were actually going to ask you to join . . . .'
Disappointment swirled in your gaze before it was gone so fast that Sam wondered if he imagined it there for a second. 'Aw, that's too bad. I would've loved that . . . But I can't just dicth B/F.' You looked between them apologetically.
'We understand,' Sam jumped to your rescue, forcing a charming smile. 'It's alright.'
'Next time?' Hope emerged in your mesmerising e/c irises.
'Yeah, yeah, sure. I'll call you,' Sam said with a genuine smile this time. He'd already fed your number in his cell last night and vice versa.
Your smile converted to a smirk. 'Oh, you mean, you won't gatecrash my fun and get on my case again?' you joked.
Sam chuckled. 'I'll try. But it's hard not get on a beautiful woman's case.'
You blushed hotly then, looking away, and Sam could swear that he wanted to keep complimenting you if it meant being treated by your gorgeous face like that.
'Looking forward to it,' you softly murmured. You stepped forward to side-hug Dean, then turned to the more familiar man for a tighter hug, and even a peck on the cheek, pulling away then to part ways with a small, shy wave.
As Sam stared a bit longingly after your retreating figure, Dean sniggered in bemusement. 'You're so smitten.'
'Shut up!'
A/N: Do Sam-girls accept me yet ❤😂? Lemme know through likes, comments, and reblogs, and/or DMs 😘!
Y/N is the princess of Aldrinia, a beautiful, magical kingdom that borders Lawrence. When she leaves her childhood home to marry King Samuel, she finds herself trapped between her husband-to-be's expectations and her fading ties to her homeland.
