SPNHiatusCreations | Week 15 | Sam Winchester
By: whumpitgood
I think this is one of the reasons why I love Sam so much. No matter how many times bad things happen to him and he goes through so much, he’s still Sam. He’s still positive and caring and sweet. He never lets all the bad things in his life change him from the wonderful soul that he is.
He’s been my favorite since the beginning and I absolutely adore him. Words can’t describe how much I love him. Sam Winchester deserves the world, but the world doesn’t deserve Sam Winchester. <3
A/N – this is for @jared-padaloveme ‘s Fluffy Birthday Challenge. Happy Birthday Juju! With the prompt/trope → “You’re afraid that you’ll lose me in big crowds so you always hold my hand but now you just hold my hand when there’s only, like, five people around and I’m getting vry suspicious.”
The first time you met Sam Winchester, you were only a little munchkin. You barely remember but your mom had taken pictures. They were kept in your memory box, stored deep inside your closet, hidden under a few old sweaters that don't fit you anymore but you refuse to throw away.
It was your first day at kindergarten, you were the next kid that join several months after the official school year had started. At first you were excited, it was an opportunity to meet new people, broaden your horizons, deviate from your comfort zone but the more you thought about it the more butterflies flew in your stomach, threatening to park their wings and bodies at the pit of your stomach.
Mrs Johnson, your new teacher, had introduced you to the class that sat in the rug. She had asked for a volunteer to show you around, everyone with the exception of one snickered, nobody wanted to help the new kid.
Tears filled your eyes but you quickly brushed them away, looking down at your feet. At least your feet couldn't make fun of you.
You had lost all hope, the hope that a young child should never lose, until...
'I'll do it!' A boy shouted as the laughter died down.
A hand shot into the air before he uncrossed his legs and stood up making his way to where you and Mrs Johnson were.
'Thank you, Sam. Alright class, let's get down to business.'
'To defeat the Huns,' you whispered. Sam smiled at your Disney reference.
The rest of the class abruptly stood, the suddenness of the motions catching you off guard. Your hand flew into Sam's, your small body inching closer to his as the rest of your classmates stormed close to you to get to their working stations.
Sam Winchester had come into you life and turned it completely upside down. He was your first friend. Ever.
You came home from school a bouncy child, with a bright smile on your face. One that could light up the entire planet. Your father was confused at your behaviour when he had picked you up from school.
Giddiness spread through your chest as you recalled that very same day's events. Sam had been so kind right from the get go. You talked about how weird it felt being the new kid, how scary it was, but then Sam had changed the subject. You talked about your families; favourite foods; anything your little minds could think of.
You were called to the carpet for a quick recap of the day before you were send home with your parents and guardians. Before Sam could walk off, you grabbed him by the hand and let him lead you to the rug, where you sat cross legged and side by side.
Naturally, you and Sam remained close friends. Whenever you were sitting by yourself; or when the bigger kids thought it would be a good idea to pick on you - he was always there to make you feel better.
He was your protector, your guardian, your best friend. You had even invited him over to your house for a play date every once in a while. You never even thought it was odd when he didn't suggest going to his place
'We'll stay friends forever, right Sam?'
'Always and forever, (Y/N). I promise.'
You had kept that promise until suddenly Mrs Johnson had announced that Sam had moved away and would not be going to that class or even school anymore.
You had kept the photos and forgotten about them until recently, you slipped it into your wallet and kept it near you at all times.
You had finished the rest of kindergarten without Sam, you hadn't made many friends after he left, and to be totally honest you were a wreck after you had been told Sam had moved to another school. Even your parents noticed the difference in your attitude.
Your parents had promised to take you to the park then get some ice cream. With what you had learnt, you simply said to them, 'don't make promises you can't keep!' Then stormed out of the living room and up to your bedroom. The only place that you found solitude, it was your very own sanctuary.
They left you to calm down for a few hours. You had cried yourself to exhaustion and eventually fell asleep in the comfort of your own bed.
Your mother's sickeningly sweet voice roused you from your peace less sleep. Groaning, you rolled away from her, screwing your eyes shut.
'What's wrong, sweetie?'
'Nothing! Leave me alone, mom.'
Moving her hand to your face, she gently coaxed yours away. With your eyes still screwed tight, she did the one thing that always calmed you as an infant; she ran her finger delicately between the crease in your brow.
Begrudgingly, you relaxed at the familiar touch, and huffed as you rolled over and hugged your little arms around your mom.
'Sammy promised me!' You whimpered into her neck. 'Mom, he promised we would be friends forever and he left. He left and I have no one.'
She hushed you, cradling you in her arms as her hand stroked up and down the length of your back.
You continued the rest of the year in a funk, nevertheless you powered through and tried your hardest to make friends with as many other children as you could. Not that that approach was completely successful, you still had three other friends that you would spend your time with.
You finished high school; you were a straight A student with a few B's but you preferred to not talk about a couple of D's you got in biology.
Your true passion, though, was journalism. You had always loved writing stories, factual or fiction; you loved them both equally. You loved learning the history behind the written word. When you were given the opportunity, you decided to go to Stanford to carry out your dream, and try to get a degree in Journalism.
Waving goodbye to your parents, you climbed into your car, and wiped away the tears that fell as you pushed your final box across the seat.
Arriving after a few hours, you found the correct campus that you were supposed to go to, a few trips there and back to unload your car and settle into your new home.
Your new roommate was so kind, you found out his name was Sam Winchester. The name sparked something in you like you knew his name but just couldn’t place it.
You had practically run straight into him grabbing his hand and pulling him down with you; you were always falling over your own two feet. Laughing and introducing yourselves, you said goodbye but awkwardly walked to the same dorm room. ‘I guess your my roommate.’
‘Hey, you wanna go to a concert?’
‘As long as you’re there with me, duh.’
You quickly packed all essentials; food, water, money, spare clothes, phone, and you could never forget your journal and your favourite pen. They were carelessly shoved into your duffel before you hoisted it over your shoulder and left.
When you got there you almost lost him, if it wasn’t for his height, you would have been cluelessly wandering around trying to find your friend.
You grabbed his hand once again, ‘would you stop leaving me? I’m gonna lose you, you jackass!’ You laughed and your clutched tightened on him.
When strolling through the corridors, on your way to a lecture, side by side with Sam, other students started rushing in your direction to get to their class. Panicking, you reached for Sam’s hand and enveloped his with yours, it was always a habit you had; when you were scared, when you were happy, when you were excited, any excuse really to hold Sam’s hand.
He looked down at you with a smile on his face, dimples deep in his cheeks, he squeezed your hand before he let go a swung an arm around your shoulder, drawing you into his side.
‘I gotta ask you a question.’ Sam asked as you walked to the library.
Adjusting the strap on your shoulder, but before you turned to him, you saw five people walking in your direction, your hand inconspicuously travelled down and gripped his.
‘Shoot.’
‘That,’ he points to your entwined hands, ‘when we’re in the hallway, it doesn’t matter if there are fifty or five people you always hold my hand. I’m starting to get suspicious.’
Immediately, you released his hand and looked down at your feet, ‘I’m sorry, I used to do it all the time as a kid. Guess I never really grew out of it. And maybe I just like holding your hand, you never know.’
Sam gathered you in his arms and kissed your temple, ‘I like it when you do, it doesn’t really bother me, I was just curious.’
‘Okay follow up question.’ Sam continues.
Resting your chin on his chest, you smiled up at him, nodding in acknowledgement.
‘Who’s the kid in the picture, the one you always have in your wallet?’
Stepping out of his hold, you took your wallet out of your backpack, removing the photograph from its alotted space. ‘I can’t remember his name but he was my first best friend. I loved him but he made a promise that we would be friends forever and he left not long after that. Apparently I shouted at my parents and didn’t eat for a few days. I guess I just didn’t have the heart to throw it away. I still kinda love him in a weird way.’ You shrugged, barely recalling the events that happened when you were younger.
Without warning Sam grabbed the sides of your face in his large hands, pulling your face up to meet his as he forcefully kissed you.
Shocked, a squeal escaped and sounded through your throat, but once you realised that Sam was kissing you, you quickly responded, your lips moving against his before you pulled away to catch your lost breath.
‘Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?’
Putting space between the two of you, Sam stuck out his hand. You skeptically took it, encasing his with yours. ‘Hi, I’m Sam Winchester. I was your first best friend. And I think I love you too.’
ORI! YASSS THERE IS A SAM FIC! The reader is sexually frustrated, Sam is being an adorable puppy, and Dean is having the time of his life! It comes out in exactly 6 hours :D
You can blame @thing-you-do-with-that-thing for this. She threatened me!
I know I have said this before, but I just want to say it again. One of the many MANY reasons I love Sam Winchester is that he never participates in that sexist trope. The trope Dean, Bobby, and other characters fall into so quickly. The "if we show emotions than we are weak like women" trope. It happens so many times through the show as a way to get a cheap laugh. Sam treats woman on the show as equals. He doesn't act shocked or surprised when they are able to kick ass. He doesn't instantly start calling them pet names and trying to hit on them. He shares his emotions with them when he knows he can trust them. He respects them.
Just something I have noticed through my rewatch of the show.
Hello friends!! This is my entry for @cockslut-padalecki ‘s Not My Ninth Challenge, congratulations my friend! That’s amazing!!
My prompts were: Masquerade ball and “Everything I do (I do it for you) by Bryan Adams.
Summary: You and your family are the victim of a demon. You are saved by the local blacksmiths, a pair of brothers who happen to also hunt monsters. You embark on the case with the younger brother, attending a masquerade ball with him in order to end the demon once and for all.
The ball is heavily based off “Masquerade of the Red Death” by Edgar Allen Poe.
Also, I am madly in love with Blacksmith!Sam. I didn’t know I needed this until I started writing it and now....I NEED IT.
Word Count: 9013
Pairings: Blacksmith!Sam x Reader
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The rain patted softly against the windowpane of your bedroom. Its hollow sound echoing off the quiet walls keeping you safe and warm. You stretched your arms above your head, flexing your back and the tired muscles in your legs. The blankets felt warm and comforting wrapped around your limbs, and you didn't want to move, but preparations must be made. You forced your tired limbs to act and swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touching the cold wooden floor. Making your way across the room to look out the window, you grabbed your robe on your way—the fabric wrapping your skin in its soft embrace. The street was still bustling with carriages and horses making their way across London. The sound of the hooves and wheels melting into the wash of rain.
“Lady Y/N.” A familiar voice spoke behind you, a warm smile spreading across your face as you turned around.
“Good morning, Elizabeth.” You tilted your head to the side as you walked over to her.
“How was your sleep, miss?” She asked, her fingers playing with the hem of her apron.
"It was fine; how was yours?" You asked.
"Fine, thank you for asking, miss. Would you like some tea?" She asked you even though she knew she didn't have to. Your morning routine was the same every day.
"Yes, please, and would you ask Arnold to get a fire ready? I would very much like to warm my feet on this cold and damp day." You said, making your way over to your vanity and waiting for her.
"Of course, miss." She gave you a slight bow before making her way downstairs to collect your tea and relay the message to Arnold. You ran your fingers through your hair, looking at your reflection in the mirror and almost wincing at the sight. Everything that reminded you of them in your features stung. Your nose, your eyes, your cheeks. All carved from two people who no longer walked this earth. You licked your lips and turned away from your reflection, fingering your necklace as you waited for Elizabeth to return.
She set the tray down in front of you, a teapot, a teacup, sugar cubes, and milk all waiting to be used. She poured tea into the cup and stepped behind you, taking a hairbrush off the vanity. Her hands moved through your hair, brushing it out so she could style it in the latest fashion. You stirred in what you liked and lifted the cub between your fingers, your movements halting instantly. This was your mother's cup. You could tell by how the paint was worn in the places where her delicate fingers would rest. You swallowed around the building lump in your throat, your chin quivering. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip to try and stop the flood that was about to erupt from you, the iron taste of blood filling your mouth as you bit too hard.
A loud thud pulled you abruptly from your slumber. The moon was still high in the sky, darkness filling your bedroom. Your body shot up, a gasping breath pulling into your lungs. You heard a scream. Your mothers scream. Her voice was scared and frantic. Footsteps echoed throughout the downstairs. Laughing. Someone was laughing. Your father's voice could be heard begging. Your strong and masculine father was whimpering—his broken sobs filling the quiet house. Your heart was racing in your chest so fast it was almost painful. You could hear your own breath loud in your ears. You closed your eyes and begged it to only be a dream. When you opened your eyes, you realized that your feet had swung over the side of the bed on their own accord. A sweat covered your skin, and your stomach rolled in your abdomen. Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.
You forced yourself to drink the tea, swallowing the liquid in almost one gulp just to get your hands off the cup. Your fingers twitched as you placed it back on the saucer, and you nervously lowered your hands to your lap, wringing them together against the fabric of your robe. You chanced a glance at yourself in the mirror and practiced your smile, pulling your lips up into an attractive smirk. Even you saw the hollowness in your eyes, the empty spaces behind them.
“How is this, miss?” Elizabeth’s calming voice asked behind you.
“Beautiful, thank you, Elizabeth." You said, looking up at her in the mirror with a genuine smile and a slight nod. She beamed with pride and placed her hands on your shoulders, looking you over.
“Shall we get you dressed for the day?” She asked, her fingers squeezing into your skin lovingly.
“Yes. I shall go for a walk today. I much wish to be outdoors, at least for a little.” You said, standing and facing your closet. Elizabeth pulled out a sensible dress for the outdoors, one without a train on a rainy day like today. You nodded and pulled your robe and nightdress off, stepping into undergarments and preparing yourself for your corset. Elizabeth was good to leave the laces somewhat loose, allowing for proper breathing and eating.
The fire was warm as you ate breakfast quietly and alone. The rain was lessening, the sounds of the city becoming loud. Your eyes wandered the room where you sat, the faint stains on the walls a constant reminder.
Your feet took you down the stairs and through the house quietly. Your tiptoes the only thing making contact with the cold wood floor. You rounded the corner, and your breath caught in your throat harshly. The walls were painted in fresh blood, its crimson color dripping down to the floor. Your stomach rolled, and you placed one hand over it while the other came to cover your mouth, lurching forward in violent nausea. Fingers caught your eye, and you shook your head at the thought. You stepped towards the hand, walking over puddles of blood on your way. The floor creaked, and your movements stopped as if time stood still. You could feel him, the evil seeping out of every pore in his body. You turned and saw him standing there, a bloody knife in his curled fist. A chill ran up your spine, and you felt all the moisture leave your mouth, anxiety spreading through your veins quickly. You felt paralyzed under his gaze. He smiled at you, pointing the knife at you and raising his eyebrows. You took off, feet flying faster than you thought possible. Your blood was pumping so fast it was making you dizzy. You didn't know where to go, where to hide. His footsteps were heavy behind yours, getting closer with every step. You rounded another corner and made your way towards the front door. He almost had you in his grasp. You could smell the blood on his clothes as he reached his hand up to grab your arm. The door suddenly swung open, and you ran face-first into his chest.
Pushing your plate away, you stood and grabbed an umbrella before heading outside. Shaking off the memory and forcing your lips into a polite smile for the sake of your reputation. The cobblestone street was wet, small rivers of water racing through the cracks between the stones. You raised your umbrella and made your way through the crowd of people, horses, and carriages. You walked until you saw the sign in front of you, your face glancing up at the beaten wooden sign "Winchester Blacksmiths." You dipped into the ally next to you, staying out of sight and through the back door. Your heels clicked against the floor as you stepped inside. The sound of tools slamming together was loud in the small room, and knew he was working. You turned a corner and leaned against the door frame, watching him work. The room was an open space built with dark wood and metal. Tools lined the walls and shelves, all surrounding a raging fire and a water pit. The air in the room was thick with heat, humidity, and the smell of hot iron. Directly in the middle of the room stood Samuel. He was shirtless, his pants hanging around his hips. Soot, ash, and dirt-covered his skin and sat in the crevices of his muscles. The veins on his arms bulged as he raised the hammer over his head, bringing it down heavily to ram against the farm tool he was working on. Sweat dripped off his pointed nose and onto the floor. His hair hung in his eyes, and you bit back a giggle as he shook his head in an attempt to move it around in place. His chest heaved, heavy and oversized breaths filling his lungs. You let yourself stare at the massive man longer than necessary; in fact, it was downright improper. You couldn't look away. He was utterly captivating. His tongue poked out to lick his lips, leaving a wet sheen across them as he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. He turned and placed the tool into the water basin; steam rose and surrounded him in its hazy embrace, leaving you bewitched by him. You knew you had to tell him you were here, knew how it would look if he found you gawking. A lady such as yourself should never be seen acting indecently in public. You raised your hand and gave three knocks on the wood next to you, causing those beautiful eyes to finally fall on you and widen at your sudden appearance. He stood a little taller when he looked at you, his back straightening and shoulders squaring. A mixture of sweat and soot sat in the notch below his throat, and you subconsciously rubbed your thighs together at the sight. Now that he was looking at you, you could see how the streaks of black ash highlighted his blueish green eyes, making them look even more entrancing. His pants were unlaced, leaving them loose and almost falling down his hips. It was almost as if he suddenly realized he needed to say something, his muscles clenching and his mouth falling open.
“M’lady." He greeted you with a slight bow of his head. His voice was deep and husky, breathy from working all morning.
“Samuel.” You replied, taking a step into the shop. He turned and picked up a metal cup, taking large gulps from it, water splashing over his chin. You watched the water run down his jaw and over his neck, jumping his collar bone and finally landing in his chest hair. The feeling of water on his skin must have reminded him that he was without a shirt, as he looked down and then quickly back up at you, his eyes growing wide.
“Please excuse my appearance, m’lady. Allow me to put more proper attire on.” He looked at you sheepishly.
“You saved me from a demon, Samuel. We have seen each other in more vulnerable situations than our skin.” You answered, secretly loving this small exchange you were having. You watched his throat work as he swallowed, eyes staying on you for a beat too long. The corners of his lips pulled into a small smile, and he glanced away from you, eyes nervously falling to the floor. “Please, call me Y/N.” You added, letting yourself relax and hoping he would follow your instruction this time.
“What can I do for you, m’lady?" He asked, grabbing his shirt from the bench it rested on and putting it over his head. You watched the fabric fall over his muscles, and your fingers twitched at the desire to reach out and touch him.
"I was hoping to inquire about any news in the search for the demon." You said, keeping your voice low, so no one heard you on the street.
“It was my intention to tell you tonight.” He started, “Dean and I have tracked the demon to Lord Whitherton.” He said, leaning against the water basin. Your eyebrows shot up dramatically.
“Lord Whitherton?” You said, disbelief lacing your words.
“Do you know him?” He asked.
"I do, and the man believes water to be spicy." You said, your hand coming up to touch your chest in shock. He laughed then, a wholehearted laugh that came from deep within his belly. You smiled too, watching his dimples deepen in his cheeks. His laughter subsided, his eyes landing on you once again, making your heart flutter in your chest within his stare. He licked his bottom lip, teeth sinking down lightly onto his tongue. You couldn’t stop the slight hitch in your breath.
“There is a problem.” He said, his voice becoming serious.
“What is it?” You asked.
“He is to host the ball at Bryar Manor in half a fortnight. We need to get to him then before he hurts anyone.” He explained. You nodded in understanding. You cast your eyes down and narrowed them in thought.
“Samuel. Does anyone at Bryar Manor know you or know that you are a blacksmith?” You asked him, your finger coming up to touch your chin as a plan formed in your mind. His brows knitted together on his forehead in confusion.
“No.” He answered after thinking for a beat.
“I can acquire an invitation to this ball.” You said, letting your eyes connect with his while he put the pieces together in his mind. His face fell, eyes widening at what you were suggesting.
“We would attend this ball together.” He said, letting his words hang in the air between you for a moment.
“Yes.” You answered, pushing down your growing nerves. You could see the pink rise to his cheeks as he raised a hand to nervously rub the back of his neck. He swallowed and opened his mouth only to close it again, letting out a shaky breath.
“I do not have proper clothing.” He said finally.
“I have a tailor.” You said, not letting him back out of this.
“I do not have money.” He said quickly.
“They owe me a favor.” You said quicker. He nodded his head and drew his lips into a thin line.
"When shall we go?" He asked, giving in to the idea. The left side of your mouth pulled into a small smile, feeling your body stiffen with excitement. To say that a growing need to be with Sam was taking hold of you was an understatement. You wanted him more than you wished to anyone in your life, and if the only way you could have him was through fake courtship, so be it.
"I will make arrangements for tonight; the cloak of night should keep our secret." You said, grabbing your umbrella.
“Very well, m’lady.” He said, bowing his head once again.
“Oh, and Samuel.” You said, turning and looking at him over your shoulder.
“Yes?” He said.
“Bathe before then.” You gave him a small laugh and left before he could answer.
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He watched you walk away from him, letting his eyes linger on your form. He ached for you, desperately needing you for his own. His days were left swimming with thoughts of you, dragging on as he waited to see you again only to find you invading his dreams in the night. Your y/e/c eyes looking into his for all eternity. Holding him captive in their gaze. He listened to the back door close, and he thought of the first time he saw you.
Sam kicked the door down, charging into the house with Dean on his heels. You suddenly ran directly into Sam’s chest, knocking him off his balance as he tried to catch you. You were screaming, tears running down your cheeks, and arms wildly flailing against him.
“I am here." That was the only thing he could think to say at the moment. You began to shake, the tragedy you experienced beginning to come to a realization. Dean chased after the demon with holy water, spraying the man so he couldn't get away. The demon smoked out of the man, swarming out the door and off into the black night.
“Sam?” Dean’s voice rang out from the house.
"I am unhurt, Dean," Sam assured his brother quietly. You finally looked up at him, your eyes staring into his, a mixture of confusion, terror, and heartache profound within them. Sam touched your shoulder lightly, feeling at a loss for words. You surprised yourself and him when you threw your arms around him, burying her face into the crook of his neck. Sam’s brow furrowed, but he held you, listening to your sobs of agony. He took you inside the house, still keeping you close to him tightly. He saw Dean standing in an archway, his face solemn. Sam could see the walls dripping with blood from the limited view he had, knew something horrible had happened here.
“Dean?” Sam asked.
"Don't bring her in here," Dean said quickly, pointing away from the room and into the rest of the house. Sam nodded and took her upstairs, letting you take the lead to your bedroom. It was highly improper for the two of you to be alone together in your bedchambers, you in your nightdress and him of a lower status. He swallowed and sat you down on the bed; he lit a few candles before kneeling in front of you.
“My name is Samuel, lady Y/L/N.” He said, trying to keep his voice as calm as he could.
“What happened tonight, Samuel?” You said, your voice small and shaky. Your hands still shaking in your lap as you desperately searched his face for answers.
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Night had just fallen when you both approached the tailor’s shop.
“M’lady.” Samuel greeted you with a bow of his head.
“Samuel, how many times must I ask you to call me Y/N?” You asked him, tilting your head to the side and smiling at him.
“I fear once more, m’lady.” He said with a smile of his own. He walked up the steps and opened the door for you, nodding at your thanks.
“Lady Y/L/N, how good it is to see you again.” The tailor greeted you, his eyes looking over Samuel with curiosity.
“Hello, Mr. Artin. I have a request to ask of you; I do apologize in advance as it is short notice." You said in your most ladylike voice, folding your hands over one another and giving him your most charming smile.
“I am sure I would be happy to fill any request from such a lovely lady.” He said with a soft voice.
"We require a dinner suit and a long frock coat for Mr. Winchester. He shall be courting me to the ball at Bryar Manor." You explained, keeping your voice light. You didn't miss the way Sam stiffened next to you or the sharp inhale you heard pulled into his lungs. The tailor looked between the two of you for a moment. The confusion evident on his face while he tried to understand the situation. It must look strange, you in a dress fit for a lady and Sam in his tunic and pants. Your hands untouched by a day's work where Sam's calloused skin was still blackened by a long day of labor.
"I see." The tailor finally said, rearranging his face back into its polite features. "That is short notice, but I believe it can be done." He agreed, taking a step towards Sam and judging his massive size. They walked into a fitting room together, Sam clearly uncomfortable and nervous, his eyes flicking back to you with every step. You perched yourself in a chair, hands folded in your lap and face in a passive smile as you waited. You were bred for this, groomed for courtship and marriage to a wealthy lord. You hated it, hated that all you were was for the pleasure of men and their needs. You saw nothing wrong with love, marriage, or men, but you hated that you couldn't live your life for you and your wants. The days were long when there were only needlework, tea, and books to pass the time with. The nights even longer when the loneliness would seep into your bones, filling you with restless energy. You were expected to be pure in every sense of the word, and ending your loneliness would ruin any chance you had at upholding your family's good name. Letting out a small sigh, you wished your parents had a son. Had another child who would follow all the rules with no questions asked, but it was just you.
The door opened, interrupting your thoughts, and Sam stepped out holding two fabrics. One was a deep maroon with a golden floral pattern interlaced into it; the other was a rich emerald. Both were satin and easily the most expensive fabrics to ever grace a blacksmith's hands. His face was pinched as if he was trying to look like this was a choice he frequently made. You pulled your lips into your mouth to stop the laugh threatening to erupt from your chest.
“I like the maroon.” You said, crossing your legs and leaning forward slightly. He gave you a relieved smile and held up the maroon higher, nodding at the tailor.
“Very well.” The tailor agreed and wrote something down in his book.
You finished at the tailor and quickly left the shop, stepping out onto the street and breathing in a sigh of relaxation. Sam lowered his head and let out a small laugh.
“Thank you for this, m’lady," Sam said, looking down at you.
“I certainly owe you for my life.” You said with a sad smile.
“It is but only my job.” He said kindly, a stray piece of hair falling into his eyes, and it took everything in you not to reach up and push it back in place.
“Walk me home, Samuel.” You instructed, turning towards the direction of your house.
“At once, m’lady.” He agreed with a crooked grin. He began to walk, and you stopped him, placing your hand on his shoulder.
"We may need to have some lessons on etiquette." You giggled. "Here, hold out your right elbow to me, and place your hand on your chest with an open palm. Good." You praised him. "Always offer me your right elbow, so I am never on the left of the road." You hooked your hand through his elbow and placed your other hand over your fingers. You began to walk together, looking like a genuine courting couple.
“So when we do find this demon…” You let your voice trail off.
“I must send it back to where it came.” He said firmly.
“And how exactly does one do that?” You asked.
"We must trap it first; it is something called a devils trap; it renders them powerless while inside. Then, we exorcise it and send it back to hell." He explained. You nodded and looked away, feeling the emotions bubble up inside you again. “M’lady, there is something I wish to discuss with you.” He said softly, keeping his voice steady.
“What is it?” You asked, leaning your body away from his slightly to look into his profile. He stopped walking and turned to face you, looking down at you under the glow of the moon.
“When we find this demon…we must not let our emotions take over us. We must keep ourselves impassive to his atrocities and remain focused.” He said, his tone gentle but firm. You let your face relax and bit your bottom lip, nodding in agreement.
“I am used to it, Samuel. Women cover up their emotions often in both private and public.” You said with a bitter laugh.
“What do you mean?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.
"Rage is a man's luxury." You began, stepping back from the warmth of his body. "When a man expresses his anger, it is understood and almost expected. Excused as biology and dismissed as an impulse. However, no matter how justified her actions, she is considered mad when a woman shows anger. An unhinged lunatic who requires a man to put her in her proper place. Control her." You said, keeping your voice light and airy to further prove your point.
“I am sorry that you struggle in such a way.” He said kindly, his eyes softening as he looked you over.
"There are worse fates." You said with genuine care, feeling your jaw unclench and your muscles relax. He held out his elbow to you again, and the two of you began to walk.
“Do you not fear people will recognize me as the blacksmith?” He asked.
“No. I do not.” You said confidently. “We shall wear masks. It is a masquerade ball.” You said, falling back into step with him quickly. He nodded and twitched his mouth nervously.
“What you mentioned about being controlled. Is that a fear of yours, m’lady?" He asked cautiously. You looked back up at him, surprised by the forward question.
“Yes.” You answered honestly. “However, I can assure you, Samuel. I have no intention of being controlled.” Your voice was slightly louder than before, saying it to yourself as much as you were to him.
“And I can assure you, I have no intention of controlling you, m’lady." He said, shocking the both of you with his flirtation. "Heaven help the man who tries." He laughed then, his breath showing in the cool night.
“Indeed.” You agreed, trying to conceal your pounding heart.
He stopped in front of your house and stepped around you, smiling down at you with those gorgeous dimples, the shadows making them look even deeper.
“Come by the shop tomorrow? I wish to give you a few reading materials on demons.” He said. You nodded, smiling up at him with nervous energy.
"I will come in the night after all others have retired for the evening." You agreed.
“I shall await your visit." He said, his face coming closer to yours, and for a moment, you almost allowed yourself to give in to the temptation.
"Sweet dreams, Samuel." You almost whispered your breath mingling with his in the space between you.
“Sweetest of dreams, m’lady." He whispered back, tipping his head in an almost bow and stepping away from you and onto the road. You gathered yourself and walked into your house. The door closed behind you, and you pressed your back against it, resting your head on the cool wood.
"A demon, m’lady. My brother and I have been following it for some time; that is how we knew it was here." Samuel explained, his eyes catching the moonlight.
"A what?" You asked, shocked. There was too much happening. Too many emotions coursed through you at the moment. Fear. Anger. Sadness. Confusion. They raced through your brain and blood, causing you to feel alarmed and overwhelmed.
“This isn’t the proper time to have this conversation, m’lady.” He said quietly. Your world snapped back into focus around you at his words, and you felt your heart drop in your chest.
“They are dead, aren’t they?” You said, both wanting him and not wanting him to answer.
“Yes, m’lady. I am so sorry we couldn’t get here in time.” His voice was apologetic and kind. You broke then, the flood taking you with it in its frantic and hurried wave. You slid off your bed and onto the floor with him, wrapping yourself around this stranger. Needing contact. Needing to hear a heartbeat, feel flesh against yours in order to keep from crumbling apart. His strong arms held you together, his fingers stroking your hair softly as you cried into his chest.
The following week was full of energy and excitement. Days spent reading books about demons, curled up next to the fire. Nights spent at the blacksmith shop, discussions of the supernatural had between you and Sam for hours. You brought silverware, plates, napkins, and cups. Laying them out properly onto the table, teaching him what utensil to use during what course. There were laughter and shedding of outer clothing; coats and gloves slipped off to reveal appropriate amounts of skin in the night. You began to teach him to dance, twirling and spinning around the water basin in the shop. Feet kicking up dirt and debris as he moved you around the room, the fire warming you both.
You dreamt of him almost every night. His green and gold eyes, dancing with the glow of the fire, looking into yours kindly. The way his fingers splayed over your back when dancing, the pads of them pressing against your spine. You dreamt of his mouth, those pink lips moving over yours with passion. Gentle at first, but then growing with need and hunger. You would wake in the middle of the night, sweat dripping off your body and your heart pounding from the feelings he ignited within you, new emotions you had never experienced before. A heat that spread from your stomach into your core, leaving you bothered and restless. You craved him with a ferocity you had only read about. The way his firm and robust body felt against yours, holding you so close you could hear the pull of breaths into his lungs. You were falling deeper into the pits of your own desires, the lines of fantasy and reality becoming blurry and unreliable.
The days passed slower and slower as your anticipation grew until finally, the sun rose on the morning of the ball. You leaped out of bed, your heart racing and skin flush. You could barely drink your tea, excitement turning over in your stomach. You and Elizabeth walked to the dress shop together, a nervous yet eager current pulsing through your body. The day moved in a haze, sitting in a chair while Elizabeth pinned your hair up with ribbons and flowers. Her hands fluttering over your cheeks and lips, adding a pop of rouge to your skin. Smiling while she pulled on and tightened your corset, a task you usually hated and winced through, now seemed painless and expected.
The sun was beginning to set when you stepped into your dress, the fabric fitting you perfectly. You slipped your feet into your shoes and glided your gloves over your hands, pulling them up over your elbow while Elizabeth clasped your necklace behind you.
"You look beautiful, miss." She said, stepping back to thoroughly look at you. "Truly, you are the most beautiful woman." She smiled then, a full and happy smile that made you feel warm and light. She stepped over to you and fashioned your mask onto your face, making sure not to ruin your hair with the attachment. You swallowed and made your way down the stairs, getting yourself into the carriage as fast as you could. Elizabeth leaned on the door, making sure your dress was entirely in the carriage before closing the door.
“Thank you, Elizabeth. I love you.” You said, touching her cheek gently. She stopped in her tracks, looking up at you and blinking. Tears filling her eyes.
"I love you too, miss. Have a wonderful time." She said through a quivering lip. She closed the door, and you heard the crack of the whip, the carriage beginning to move.
--------------------------
Sam stood in the middle of the ballroom, his hands fidgeting with his dinner jacket. This was the most impressive and expansive room he had ever stepped foot into. Purple, burgundy and emerald fabric hung from the walls. Gold ropes twisted into them, giving a royal and regal look to the room that Sam had only read about in books. A massive staircase descended from the second floor, its double doors occasionally opening to allow for entrances. The crowd gathered on the dance floor, dresses and suits swaying in a flash of fabric as people passed around him, not giving him a second glance. He searched for you everywhere, his eyes desperately looking for you among the throng of people. He glanced to the top of the staircase again, and his world stopped spinning. You stood at the top of the stairs, a crème colored dress was fitted tightly around your beautiful frame. Gold and maroon flowers were sewn into the fabric from the bottom, climbing their way up until stopping at your waist. A mask decorated with fabric flowers and braids covered the top half of your face, blocking it from Sam’s view. He still knew it was you, however. Knew in the way his heart skipped a beat. Knew in the way his fingers twitched with the need to touch your skin. Knew it in the way his stomach jumped into his throat, making it hard to breathe. He felt it in his muscles, how all of them contracted under his jacket. Knew it in the way a chill ran over his spine, halting all his movements. He knew it in the way his lungs burned in his chest at the sight of your hands lifting your dress so you could descend the staircase. You held yourself with such grace and poise that Sam almost forgot to move so he could be waiting for you at the bottom. Your foot hit the floor, and he held out his hand for yours, taking it gently within his fingers. He bowed in front of you and kissed the back of your hand, greeting you like you had taught him.
“You look beautiful, m’lady.” He said, hearing the breathiness in his voice.
"Please, Samuel, call me Y/N." You said with a soft smile, and Sam licked his lips, nervous to say your real name out loud.
"You look beautiful…Y/N." He said, hesitating from apprehension before finally saying your name, loving the way it felt on his lips.
----------------------
Your foot hit the floor, and you placed your hand into Sam's waiting grasp. His fingers curled around yours, and time seemed to stand still around you as his lips kissed the back of your hand gently. Every inch of you wanted to rip the glove off your hand, to finally feel those lips against your skin. He looked ravishing. His hair combed back, framing his face perfectly. The tailor had made the suit just right, covering his broad shoulders and cutting at his slim waist. The fabric of his vest matched perfectly with the flowers on your dress. A black mask sat on his face, only showing those everchanging eyes that were fixated on you. You stared at him, a part of you missing the dirt and ash that usually covered his face and hands.
“You look beautiful, m’lady.” He said, his voice breathy and low.
“Please, Samuel, call me Y/N.” You said, smiling to hide the heat flowing throughout your veins.
“You look beautiful…Y/N.” He said, leaving a tiny hesitation before his mouth finally said your name for the first time, taking you by surprise. You loved the way it fell out of his mouth, how his lips, tongue, and teeth moved. The sound of his voice ringing in your mind, echoing throughout your heart as you two moved together through the crowd. Men in coats came around with trays of champagne. You watched your handshake slightly as you took a glass. Sam took one too, taking an inappropriately large gulp that you suppressed a smile at.
The party was exciting and loud—the sounds of music, talking, and laugher bouncing off the walls. Sam looked nervous at the beginning of the night, his shoulders tense and fists balled. A few glasses of champagne, and he loosened slightly, smiling warmly at you.
“What shall we do?” He asked you, leaning down to whisper the question in your ear.
"Most people dance." You said with a slight giggle. He stood taller, clearing his throat; he held out his right hand and tucked his left arm behind his back, shoulders squaring. A small smile played at the corners of his lips, his dimples showing from under the mask. His eyes bore into you while he waited for your response to his question. You slipped your hand into his and bit into your lower lip, feeling excitement fill you at the thought of his body against yours once more. His callous covered hand lead you onto the dance floor, where he wrapped you tightly into his embrace. His eyes never left yours as you began to move together, the party falling away until it was only you two. The demon no longer existed. Your worries were no longer overtaking in their bitter and dark embrace. You laughed in Sam’s arms, letting go of the past for just a moment.
The music suddenly stopped, coming to a sudden halt, all conversation and movement ceased. The loud and echoing sound of a clock's chime sounded throughout the great room, its sound reverberating off the walls, and your chest ached at the strangeness of it all. People looked sad as they listened to the clock. Their smiles dropping from their faces, paleness overtaking even the most rouged cheeks. You and Sam glanced at each other, dread coursing through your veins quickly. The realities of life hit you like a brick wall. You weren’t here to have fun. You weren’t here to look deeply into Sam’s eyes as he spun you around the dance floor. You were here to send a demon back to hell.
A scream filled the air, and you two broke apart, looking around frantically. A woman stood next to a table, her hand covering her mouth as heavy sobs fell out of her. Another woman was on the floor; blood came out of her mouth and sputtered onto her face and dress. The longer you looked at her, you realized her eyes were also bleeding—the red dripping over her cheeks and jaw. You touched your stomach, your lips curling in shock and disgust.
The chiming entirely ceased, the echoes following quickly after, and the music swelled again, laughter filling the room with noise. You and Sam moved toward the woman and looked her over, bloody and lifeless. Her hand still clutching her handkerchief as her eyes stared off, unseeing into the distance.
“What is happening, Samuel?” You asked, looking around at the party guests. Their bodies once again swaying to the beat. Their lips curled around glasses of wine and champagne. As if nothing ever happened. As if there was not a dead woman lying in their wake.
“I do not know, m’lady. It is as if they have been bewitched." He said, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the room.
"I wish to see more of this manor. I do not believe anyone shall miss us." You said, standing and making your way through the people, Sam walking behind you into the unoccupied area of the manor. The halls were an uncertain and winding labyrinth. A quick and sharp turn at every angle made you second guess yourself with each step. Every new room you entered had an entirely new color: purple, green, blue, orange, and white, each one with high gothic windows decorated in the best quality stained glass, illuminated by candles with flickering flames, and decorated with elegant furniture. The final room was black. Its walls seeming to hold secrets of the darkest order. There were no candles in this room, no source of light. All it held were windows that had scarlet glass within them. The moon's light casting an eerie and deathly look to the room, its silence listening to whomever brave enough to walk within its walls, in the very back of the room, on the blackest and darkest wall, sat a clock. You and Sam hesitantly walked into the room, your heels loud against the floors as you stepped over to the clock.
Its heavy pendulum swinging back and forth, ticking away at the time on someone's life with its hollow sound. As you and Sam inspected the manor, one more hour ticked by, only to have the same result. The music and people stopping at the exact same time, as if on cue. Their faces filled with sudden understanding and realization. Then a scream and premature death. No one could guess who would be next. No one could understand the reason behind these senseless killings. You and Sam raced back to the grand room, eyes scanning every corner and crevice. You stilled as you suddenly felt the way you did that night. A chill ran up your spine, and your breath left your lungs. Your body stiffened, and you almost fell against Sam, grabbing his jacket sleeve for balance.
“It is him.” You heard him say next to you harshly. You looked over at him and saw that his gaze was fixated on the balcony. You followed, and there he stood. Lord Whitherton stood with his hand on the railing, his dead eyes looking over the crowd. He was dressed entirely in red, his long coat wrapped around his skinny frame leading to his pants that ended just below his knees. White socks covered his calves, and a large red hat was perched on his head, red feathers coming out of the top. He smiled a wicked and disturbing grin, his lips pulling awkwardly over his teeth. Sam took off up the stairs, his long legs taking him three steps at a time, leaving you sprinting. As soon as you got to the top of the stairs, the clock sounded again, its chime the only sound in the room, until another scream erupted. Another woman falling to the floor. Blood seeping from her mouth and eyes, her body falling to the floor lifeless and still. Sam charged toward the man, anger and hate spilling out of every pore. Sam went flying through one of the double doors with a swift flick of the demon's hand. His body crumpling to the ground from the force.
“Samuel!” You shouted, running into the room after him and falling to your knees by his side, taking his head into your hands. It was strange. You knew it was. You should be charging at your enemy with everything you had. He killed your parents. He took everything from you, leaving you broken and shattered. However, when you looked over at Sam, all of that was shoved down for a moment. You held his head and said his name, gripping your fingers into the fabric of his jacket.
"Lady Y/L/N, how wonderful to see you again." He spoke behind you, his voice like a snake. Your eyes closed, and feelings of anger and sadness swam through your veins, overtaking you in their fiery heat. Sam stirred under you, his hands pushing himself into a sitting position as the doors closed behind Lord Whitherton. At the sound of your title, your vision went red with rage. Anger spread throughout you; the tiny spark that always sat in your chest ignited with your repressed emotions. You sat a little taller, facing him head-on.
"Y/N," Samuel said next to you, his arm pushing you behind him and putting his body in between you and the demon. You huffed and fought against his strong arms, trying to get to Lord Whitherton. The demon walked towards you, a wicked grin crossing his face.
"Winchester." He said, his voice laced with disgust, his lip twitching from hatred. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, disappearing in thin air. You gave one final push against Sam and ran towards where he was, running your fingers through your hair in frustration. You spun and went to grab the handle.
“No!” Sam said, his hand coming to cover yours. “Please. No. I will do this alone.” He said, closing his eyes as he spoke.
“What do you speak of? We have been in this together from the inception of this plan.” You said, anger making your words come out rapidly and rushed.
“I know it was.” He replied, still holding his hand over yours so you could not go anywhere.
“I must do this, Samuel! He killed my parents!” Your voice was rising now.
“I know, but-“ He started.
"No! I do not care what your concerns are. This was always my fight." You said, ripping your hand away from his.
“Do you not see it?!” He shouted, grabbing you by your biceps and forcing you to look at him.
“Samuel, I-“ You started, but he interjected. Now it was his turn to cut you off.
“Do you not see that everything I do, I do for you?” He said, his voice lowering in volume. You stopped fighting him at his words, confusion setting in.
“What?” You asked, looking into his eyes, desperate for an answer. He let one of your arms go so he could rip his mask off his face.
“Look into my eyes.” He started, grabbing your arm again. “You will see what you mean to me." He stared at you, his voice breathy and shaky. You didn't know how to respond. This was possibly the worst time for this, but you couldn't deny how your body reacted. Your heart rate spiked, and heat spread through your skin, warming you from the inside. You were suddenly very aware of his skin on yours, that feeling once again making itself known in your core. You did what he asked and looked deeply into his eyes, letting yourself get lost in the green, blue, orange, and gold within them, like a sun setting over a lake. You saw the love there, the hope, the adoration he held for you.
"Samuel, please-" You began, not knowing what you were asking for but overcome with too many emotions to form a coherent thought. He reached up and touched your cheek, letting his thumb move over your skin.
“Do not tell me it's not worth trying for. You cannot tell me it's not worth dying for. You know it's true. Everything I do, I do it for you, my beautiful Y/N, everything I have ever done since the day I laid eyes on you has been for you and only you.” His words struck you with their sincerity. They were raw, honest, and exactly what you wanted to hear.
“We will do this together.” You said, licking your lips and shrugging out of his embrace. He reluctantly let you go, lowering his eyes in shame at his outburst.
“I am sorry, m’lady. I should not have put you in this situation." He said, reverting back to your title. You reached up and touched his face gently.
"I would give it all for you, Samuel. Everything, my title, my servants, my house. I would sacrifice it all for you…but right now, I need your help to send this evil entity back from which it came." You said, bouncing nervously at your confession. His lips parted, a small breath left his lips, a smile tugging at the corners.
“I can do that." He said after a beat. "I can do that." He nodded his head. All the bliss drained from both your faces when the clock chimed again, its harsh sound making both of you jump. All joy left the manor, a chill swimming through the air making your bones ache. Another scream filled the air. Another person lost a life, bloody and painful. You made your way back down the stairs, your eyes wide and frantic as they searched for the demon. You saw the tail of his coat from the hallway. You nudged Sam, and the two of you made your way after him, following him back down the labyrinth until he turned into the black room with the clock. Sam smiled at you, knowing your secret. You walked in behind the demon, cautious and frightful. Lord Whitherton turned and flicked his wrist, closing the door.
“Back for more, are we?” He asked with a smug and arrogant smirk.
“I am here to end you, to send you back to that black pit you crawled out of.” You said, raising your chin in defiance.
“Dear girl, you have nothing over me.” He said with a small chuckle.
"Are you for certain?" You asked, cocking an eyebrow. He raised his hand again, snapping his fingers. Nothing happened. His face fell slightly, eyes narrowing in confusion. He snapped again, and again, nothing happened. You looked up, his eyes following yours to the devil's trap you and Sam had painted onto the ceiling. "It is astonishing what one can conceal under a dress." You smiled, lifting your skirt to show him the metal canisters Sam made and you tied to your legs. He tried to charge you, anger showing in his reddening face, but the trap stopped him from going beyond its borders.
“I will kill you.” He hissed, spit coming out of his mouth as he spoke. You took a step towards him, looking into those dead and empty eyes, pushing down all your fear.
"Sometimes there is use in being consistently underestimated." You whispered before stepping back and letting Sam perform the exorcism. His body shook angrily. Face twitching as Sam got further into the spell. The demon screamed and fought until the black smoke was forced from Lord Whitherton and down into the ground. Your body suddenly felt lighter; a weight you forgot the heaviness of was lifted off your chest finally. You touched your neck and stumbled a bit, air racing in and out of your lungs. Sam caught you into his hands, pulling you into him and holding you as you breathed.
"I am here." He told you, like he had said that very first night. He smoothed his hands over your skin, his breath tickling your neck and shoulder.
“Thank you, Samuel. I do not believe there is enough I could say to express my gratitude.” You said, through your gasping breaths.
“There is nothing you need to thank me for, my Y/N. I am so sorry about the unfortunate circumstances that brought us together, but I will be forever grateful that you are in my life now. As I said before, everything I do. Everything I have done. It is all for you, my sweet.” He whispered into your hair, his breath warm. Your shaking body calmed slightly at his words, your breathing steadying into a normal rhythm.
You do not remember how long he held you or when you stopped crying. You do not remember his arms carrying you out and placing you in the carriage or the way he draped his coat across you when you shivered. All you remember was the way he made you feel. How your heart began to heal when he touched you, wounds beginning to mend themselves.
The following day you woke in your bed, the sunlight brightening your room as the birds chirped on your windowsill. You smiled for the first time in months, feeling it touch your eyes and heart. The day passed in slow anticipation as you waited for the cloak of night. Until you could see him again, feel him against you in the humid shop. Your body bounced as you walked onto the street, walking quickly to your destination. You turned down the ally and through the back door, letting it sound as it closed. Sam was there in an instant, his hands bringing you into him.
“My Y/N, I missed you.” He said, his voice husky. You could smell his sweet sweat mixed with ash and hot metal.
“It has only been but a day, Samuel.” You said, nuzzling your face into his tunic.
“I still counted every moment, waiting until your smile could brighten my day once again.” You let out a shaky breath at his words, holding him even closer. He pulled away from you, holding your face in his hands.
“I waited for you as well, wasting the day with thoughts of you.” You said, smiling at him.
“May I kiss you?” He asked you, placing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.
“That is highly improper, Samuel.” You joked.
"I cannot find it in myself to care." He said before lowering his mouth to yours, tilting your head back with his thumbs. His lips were soft at first, gently moving over yours with caution and need. His mouth opened, and his hands slid down your body, gripping your dress in his fingers. Your hands slid up his chest and twisted into his hair, pulling lightly on the strands. Your lips opened with his, a small moan escaping your mouth as his tongue entered you experimentally. He tasted like home. His knees bent, and he lifted you against him, turning so he could place you on the water basin. You spread your legs apart so he could stand between them, grabbing at your thighs and pulling you into him with force. His kiss became rougher and needier. His tongue becoming more aggressive, tasting every inch of you.
“Samuel…” You breathed when he gave you a moment to catch your breath.
“I have dreamt of that since the moment we met.” He said, resting his forehead against yours.
The following days and weeks were full of midnight kisses and strolls under the moon. The darkness held your secrets. It kept your desires to themselves in the harsh light of day. You explored each other in the late hours of the night. New skin being touched every day. New feelings emerging from within. Your heart was awakening to him, mending the pieces of your shattered and broken existence. He made you feel things you had never known you could feel. Ache for him in a way you thought impossible and foolish. You never needed anyone but him; he was yours and you his forevermore. You were forever taken care of in his hands. His strong and sturdy hands. The hands of a blacksmith. The hands of a hunter. The hands of your love.
