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#sam x y/n
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Don’t Call Me Sammy - Sam x Reader (One Shot)
A/N: It’s been ages. I’m not going to use my taglist, because idk if they all still wanna be on it. But, I was feeling smutty. And daydreaming about this little one shot all day. I can’t begin to describe how good it felt to put it on the computer. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3
PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.
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*Gif not mine*
Warnings: Oral sex- female receiving. No plot, really. Short sweet, and straight to the point. No real editing. Read at your own discretion.
Word Count: Roughly 1,000
"Sammy!" Dean waved his meaty palm directly in front of glossy, shadow rimmed hazel eyes. Catching the taller, youngest man's attention finally. "Come on, man. What's gotten into ya, Sammy?"
"I really need you to drop the nickname, Dean." Was the answering groan. Large, calloused fingers rubbed over a too straight nose. One that somehow had been spared in the chaos of hunting. Attempting to clear his head from the memories assaulting him.
"Yeah, okay." The elder of the two huffed. Bringing his mug of jet black sludge to his pouty lips. Caffeine to counter the night of driving they'd undergone. "This 'bout that girl back east?"
"What girl?" Those hazel eyes whipped back to the menu. A smug smile tugging the corner of his dimple.
It was definitely about the girl. But Sam would drop dead before giving his brother the dirty details. Just under twenty four hours ago she'd walked in and wrecked everything he'd thought he'd known. About her. About himself. About sex. God, the sex. His fist shook against his thigh as his mind traveled back to it all.
Dean had ditched him and y/n at the bar. On the prowl for his own piece of ass. One shot of tequila was all it took for Sam to get brave. He'd grabbed her hand, tugging the quietest girl he'd ever met out into the snow chilled air.
They hadn't made it far. Sam's room was right around the block. Already, her laughter flowed easier. Her walls caving in the quiet of the night. And as suddenly as it'd started? Reality swept in. "What are we doing, Sam?"
The slight uncertainty hidden in the undertones of a tease pierced his gut, "That depends...What do you want to do?"
He watched the wheels turning in her head. It should've been an easy answer, he thought. In his mind? It was simple. He wanted the night with her. Wherever it took them. As long as he got to hear that light peal of laughter, again.
She was laid across his bed. H/C tresses haloed around her head. A sight so sweet, he could've died again, right there and been okay. He watched her chew her bottom lip until it swelled. E/c eyes taking him in.
"It doesn't matter what I want." She finally sighed. Turning to the ceiling. He hated the sudden distance between them. He'd known her mere days, and yet? It felt like he knew her. She'd never choose something for herself. Too used to pouring herself into those around her.
"Yes, it does." He couldn't stop himself if he'd tried. The tips of his fingers trailed down her shoulder to her hand. Raising goosebumps along her flesh. Watching the way her breathing shifted. He could practically hear her heart racing. Or maybe that was his. The innocent touch igniting something feral inside of him.
His brain couldn't quite decide on who'd made the first move. All he knew was the sweetest kiss he'd ever experienced turned filthy in an instant. One moment he'd held her close, comforting without words. The next? He was staring down the prettiest pussy he'd seen in his life. Drooling over the dampness that coated each fold.
Glancing up, he watched her hand tighten on the comforter. Every breath she took made him ache harder for her. Kiss stained breasts straining against the cool air. He blew the teeniest bit against the heat that radiated off the slick flesh in front of him. And then he dove deep. "Sam!" Y/n's hips writhed at his first taste. The perfect blend of sweet and salty. "Oh, fuck," Another buck against him was his reward as he flattened his tongue against her. He pulled back for just a moment, pressing his forearm down over her belly. His other hand searching for entry. "Sammy, please!" The desperate plea was broken and cracked. He'd have handed her his soul right there, if he could've. Just to hear it again. Instead, he licked back up to her clit. Sucking deep as a reward just as he pressed into the wet heat of her. Hunting for that little ridge that made her thighs shake. "There!" His quiet girl was no longer in sight. Instead, she told him just what he'd done right. Moaning out while her pussy pulled him deeper. Clenching as they both begged him for more. Her fingers wrapped through his hair. Tugging as his bruised her thighs and inner walls. "Sammy, don't stop. I'm...I'm so close. Please, Sammy."
She chanted his name. Praising the way he'd taken her over. Demanding everything from him and more with every twist of her body. He applied more pressure just how he'd learned she liked it. Both inside and out, until his name peaked from her lips in a final scream of bliss.
"Sammy..." "Sammy." "Sammy!" Dean's bellow broke him out of the memory. "Dude, gross. You're drooling."
"Shut up," Sam huffed. Shifting in his seat. Attempting to reduce some of the friction he was feeling below the belt. His dick begging to remember what had followed after. "And-"
"Stop callin' ya Sammy," Petulant as always, his older brother looked him dead in the eyes. Mischief gleaming in the green. "Is that what gave you a woody?"
"Dude," Sam's head whipped so fast, his chestnut hair whipped him in the eye. Making his brother cackle like a full blooded hyena. Trying to see who heard as his arm covered as much of the evidence as he could. "Shut up."
"I knew it." The wheezing drew more eyes their way, as the bitch face took over the younger of the two. Scowling deep did nothing to curb the mission Dean was on. "She pavloved your ass." Another dry cackle echoed as he slapped the table.
Sam sighed. Knowing that he was doomed. Dean was right. She'd ruined him. And the second he was given another chance? He'd dive right in headfirst. Desperate to hear that throaty "Sammy" leave her lips as he pumped into her. Over and over, again.
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alexsoenomel · 2 months
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POV: Dating Sam Winchester
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supernaturalfreewill · 3 months
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Dean watched the worry on your face as you looked at Sam asleep in the hospital bed. The bruises on his handsome face were glaring. "He's gonna be okay," he finally said.
You nodded, but your eyes didn't leave Sam. "I know. I just—I wish he hadn't—he never should've—"
Dean let out a low laugh and rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah, well... that's the thing about Sam. He will claw his way out of Hell, but he'd throw himself back in to save someone he cares about. This time, it just happened to be you."
You looked over at Dean and he saw that your eyes were a little wide and glassy.
"Don't feel guilty. There's nothing you could have said or done that would've stopped him."
You chewed on your bottom lip thoughtfully and then reached for Sam's hand, pressing it between yours.
Prompt: "That's the thing about [Sam]. He will claw his way out of Hell, but he'd throw himself back in to save someone he cares about."
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ya9amicide · 6 months
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♡ supernatural masterlist ♡
pov: your camera roll if you were dating sam winchester.
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wild-lavender-rose · 5 months
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Confessions
Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader x Dean Winchester
Category: Hurt/Comfort
Summary: After your boyfriend breaks up with you, your friends Sam and Dean help to put the pieces back together in a very unexpected way. 
Warnings: Reference to break up, collapse, mild language 
Note: I started this a couple years ago shortly after a break up and finally decided to finish it. It’s not my usual quality of work some of the lines feel out of character and it’s super angsty and cheesy idk but I really wanted to get it finished and out of my drafts, so enjoy? 
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     Sam and Dean looked up from their vampire research when you entered the bunker, their brows furrowing with concern as they took in your glassy eyes and messed up hair. 
     “Hey,” Dean called. 
     “Hey.” You gave a nod, dropping the heavy backpack you had been carrying with a thud. 
     “You okay?” Sam was already pushing back his chair. 
     “I...” You shrugged off your jacket, gaze averting to the floor. “He...He broke up with me.” 
     “What?” The chairs squeaked as the brothers stood.  
     “He thought, with us bein’ hunters and all...Didn’t want to be each other’s weakness,” you took a step forward only to have your legs give out, causing you to sink down to the floor. “I can’t do this anymore.” 
     “Honey, woah,” Dean came around the table to kneel beside you, Sam close behind. “Easy, it’s okay.” 
     “I can never get them to stay.” You whispered, your head in your hands as Dean sat behind you and pulled you into a hug. “What's wrong with me?” 
     “It’s not you, he’s just an ass.” Sam knelt in front of you, hand resting on your leg. “Hunters suck at commitment.” 
     “I don't, you don’t.” You leaned back into Dean’s hug, tucking yourself into him as the tears began to fall. “I’m sorry,” 
     “It’s not your fault, baby.” Dean ran his hand through your hair and held you close. 
     “No, I, I shouldn’t have even tried. He said, that ass,” you shoved your sleeve across your eyes, trying desperately to regain composure. “He said that he was tired of sharing me with you and Sam. That I loved you more than him. But, I tried to tell him we were just friends, but he didn’t believe me.” You shook your head against a fresh wave of tears. “I’m such an idiot.” 
     “Why?” Sam asked, his voice soft. 
     “Because,” you looked at the floor, hot shame flooding over you. “Because it’s true.” You whispered. “I love you and I love Sam.” 
     Dean’s hand froze in your hair, his body stiffening. You could feel him looking over your head at Sam, no doubt having a whole conversation in that nonverbal brother code of theirs. You hated yourself for saying anything. Now it was all over. Your friendship would be awkward and stilted now. No stolen hugs and nights of falling asleep on their shoulders during long car rides under the guise of simple friendship. They would know your intentions now. Know that you loved them. 
    “Sorry,” you whimpered, starting to untangle yourself from the two of them. 
     The last thing you expected was for Dean’s arms to tighten around you. “Where you going, sweetheart?” 
     “To bed.” You pushed weakly at his arms, not truly wanting to escape his warmth. “Tomorrow I gotta find a spell that makes you forget what I just said,” 
     “You hear her, Sammy? Our girl wants to go to bed.” 
     “Come here,” in one smooth motion Sam pulled you into his arms and picked you up off the floor. “Whose bed do you want to be in?” 
     “Mine.” Dean grinned. “It’s got memory foam.” 
     “I don't, wait, but you,” you covered your mouth, hardly daring to breathe. “You...both of you?” 
     “From the day we met you.” Sam kissed your forehead. “Let’s get you to bed. Coming, Dean?”
     “Right behind you.” Dean got to his feet and followed you and Sam with a mischievous grin. 
And that was how the three of you started the beginning of forever. 
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carpentersghost · 1 year
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Invisible Locket // Sam Carpenter
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Summary: Trying to escape from the horrors of Woodsboro, the Carpenter sisters set out to New York. After a year of settling in, the two are surrounded with a trusted friend group and trying to move on from their past as best they can; including Sam wanting to be honest with her heart again.
Word Count: > .9k
Author’s Note: Kind of romcom vibes, my second favorite movie genre, because Sam deserves the softness. Does this count as an AU? Just a drabble; It's not exactly what I wanted but that's because I kept changing my mind about it. Maybe one day I'll write what I actually had in mind but for now, here. Hope you enjoy!
Please be 18+ or be blocked since there are implied sexual references. There are slight references to Scream 6 but nothing heavy.
Warnings: Language and sexual references
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There stood a very fine line between insanity and intensity; Sam wasn’t sure where that line was as of last night. She didn’t believe her mind could focus on anything other than her sister. It wasn’t that long ago that the raven-haired woman chose to let go of the grip she had on Tara; learning that her sister can handle herself well enough. And now that her hand is empty, it’s aching for something to reach towards.
Quinn nudged at your side, aiming for your attention before getting up. “Can you please tell Sam to not take too long on making up her mind?” her gaze pointed at you before gesturing back to her roommate. 
“Oh my god, you’re clueless,” the younger Carpenter whispered under her breath, not wanting her roommate to necessarily hear her. Tara gently slapped your back, seeing as you simply turned your attention to Sam the first time.
You sighed, looking between the three of them. You sat up straighter, noticing Sam dodging your gaze. “What exactly does she need to make up her mind about?”
“The cute boy across the hall asked her out and Quinn thinks Sam hasn’t given him a response yet,” Tara explained, plopping down next to you on the couch; a hand reaching for the popcorn bucket in your hands. Before she could grasp it, the container was out of your hands.
Tara groaned, reaching past you, getting a handful of popcorn. “You didn’t have to take it all,” the youngest one sighed before settling next to you again. 
Your head wisped, the couch arm beside you now occupied. Eyeing the older Carpenter, a repressed smile sneaks past your lips. You curse yourself, noticing Sam’s expression; hooded eyes, looking down at you from where she was sitting, a grin planted gently on her face. The raven-haired woman caught a glimpse of the effect she had on you. It became one of her favorite pastimes since meeting you after they moved to New York.
Trying to gain back some composure, you reset yourself; starry eyes replaced with what could be mistaken for a new moon, a smirk replaced the dopey smile you carried. “Even telling him ‘no’ would be courteous, Samantha.” Sarcasm was laced into every one of your words. 
“I did,” Sam said loud enough for everyone in the apartment to hear, namely Quinn, and got up from her position and sat on the other side of Tara. “But I am against someone falling for me,” the survivor admitted, her gaze shifting between you and her sister.
Deciding to ruffle her way out of being in between the two of you, Tara moves to another seat; but not before taking the popcorn bucket with her. 
Sam scooches closer to you, wanting to close the gap. “I’ve got a reputation, and it’s not one that I can easily change.” Her eyes now trained on you, her fingers inching closer to the inside of her jean pocket. “My reputation, the rumors, they all precede me. I can barely handle it, what if no one else can?”
“I feel bad enough that Tara and the twins have to deal with the attention at times,” her gaze shifted to her younger sister for a second. 
Tara sent a weak grin; her memories flooded with her presumed best friend attempting to kill her, and successfully killing others. Even then, she learned to trust again, and found a spark with Chad. She just wished Sam gave herself the same liberation. And she knew how free her sister felt with you. Unbeknownst to Sam or you, Tara thought you two were the worst at keeping secrets; knowing that you two have been hooking up for months.
Sam’s name slipped past your lips like a shot of espresso. You’ve come to realize the woman’s fear. Stars held onto your eyes once again. You licked your lips, trying to interrupt an incoming smile but failed. 
“You’re not poison ivy, and neither is your reputation.”
“Isn’t this all just a little too delicate? If I were to be in love with someone right now?” Sam pondered, biting her bottom lip softly. “Especially considering I don’t know how the other person feels.”
Tara’s eyes widened slightly at the indirect confession. Feeling like she’s interrupting something, she gets up from her seat, stepping back out of the room slowly, not wanting to make any noise.
You chuckled, “Carpenter, we both know I keep a picture of your face in an invisible locket.” The raven-haired woman smirked. “Unless we’re talking about a different kind of ‘delicate’,” you moved closer to her, earning you an eye roll and a shove to your shoulder. 
All of her fears began melting away with the reassurance you’ve given her. “So, you wouldn’t mind it if I turned it into an actual locket?” 
With furrowed eyebrows, you noticed as she took out a silver necklace out of her jean pocket. When she placed the locket on her hand for better view, you noticed an ‘S’ engraved on it. 
“And I’ll have one too, you know, to stop random neighbors from asking me out for a third time.” Sam pulled out a similar necklace, already hung around her neck, tucked underneath her t-shirt, your initial being engraved onto it.
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Note
sooo I have this idea, for Sam Winchester where (gn) reader does something stupid (up 2 u) and Sam gets rlly mad and they don’t talk for a while, but Dean and them are still in contact and go on hunt together every once in a while. Sam finds out (reader gets srsly injured) and you can end it how you see fit!
-💋
.⋆。Risks and Rewards。⋆.
Sam Winchester x plus size reader
You take risks on hunts, it’s what you do but this time, the risk was greater than the reward
Warnings: gn reader, injuries, angst, arguments, hunt gone wrong, bleeding out, reader is called beautiful, mutual pining, deathbed confessions, major character death, still a happy ending tho (you’ll see)
WC: 2k
Minors DNI
Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library
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“I can’t believe you!” Sam’s voice partially shook the very foundation of the safe house you had just barely made it back to. “I can’t believe you would do something so fucking stupid!” His hair is sticking up in a million different directions as a combination of dried blood and utter frustration.
“If it wasn’t for what I did, you both would be dead by now!” You shouted back but winced as you pulled at the hastily done stitches on your side. Dean’s arm, which was the only thing keeping you upright, tightened around your waist.
“Can we save this for later, maybe when we’re not all exhausted and hurt?”
“No!” You and Sam retorted at the same time. 
“There were way too many fucking vamps for you to handle alone, it was easy pickings for them!” Dean attempted to guide you to the single bedroom at the back of the cabin but you shook him off with a glare. “I did what either one of you would have done in that situation.”
Sam breathed heavily through his nose, the vein in his forehead bulging with anger. “You turned yourself into bait! You had no plan, no weapons, and no backup. You’re lucky that Dean got to his machete in time.” 
“I had it handled!” Pain ricocheted through your body as you tried to stay standing without any support and you felt the hot trickle of blood leak down onto your hip. 
“You were impaled!” 
“I was fine! I had them right where I wanted them.”
“So you wanted three vamps to be practically dogpiled on top of you while you bled out?” The question was rhetorical but you answered anyway.
“Yes! Three vamps on me meant that you both only had to deal with one each. It’s basic fucking math Samuel.” 
“You fucking-“
“Alright that’s enough!” Dean finally interjected. “It’s been a long hard day and we’re all a bit wound up. We can have a more rational conversation in the morning once we’ve all gotten some rest. So Sam, go clean yourself up and I’ll get some food ready. And you-“ He turned to you with a harsh look. “-You go sit down cause it looks like you’re about to pass out.”
Sam’s jaw clenched and his eyes flicked to you but he quickly looked away. “Fine.” He grumbled and stomped off to the bathroom, his duffle bag in hand. You flinched when the door slammed shut. Dean gingerly cupped your face like a father would to their child and wiped away a tear you hadn’t noticed rolling down your cheek.
“He didn’t mean it, he just got scared.” You scoffed.
“Go make your food Dean.” You knew you were being unnecessarily harsh to your friend but you were still too angry and hurt to act rationally. He sighed and stepped back.
He pointed to the couch. “Sit, I’ll take a look at those stitches when I’m done.” But as Dean turned away to the kitchen, you didn’t go to the couch, instead you grabbed your car keys from the side table and quietly hobbled out the door.
When Sam had finally finished his shower and redressed in clean clothes, he was considerably calmer. He knew you were right, that they needed a distraction to kill all those vamps but when he saw you- metal pipe through your side with three huge vampires trying to get a bite at you, his heart stopped. 
Sighing, he looked at his reflection in the small mirror above the sink. Your blood that had covered his hands was washed away but he could still feel it staining his skin. He had been on the edge of tears as he stitched you up in the back seat of his brother’s car but those tears had evaporated into anger when you doubled down on your actions.
You were reckless and stupid and gone.
Sam stepped back into the main room of the cabin and immediately noticed there was one less person. The wide open door to the bedroom showed that it was empty and with Dean in the kitchen, there was nowhere else you could be. “Dean, where are they?”
His brother immediately froze, gaze darting to the couch before looking out the window and seeing that your car was conveniently gone. “Son of a bitch.”
——————
It was the silence that was killing you. You could hear everything, the few animals that scurried around in the forest that surrounded you, the wind rustling the leaves in the branches overhead, the sound of your blood as it poured from the huge slash in your abdomen.
You knew no help was coming because you were alone.
You couldn’t feel the pain anymore and you supposed you were grateful for that. “At least it’s a clear night.” You murmured to yourself as you turned your gaze upwards to look at the stars. It was dumb to go hunt a wendigo alone but you were still mad and you had a point to prove. Although, since you hadn’t talked to him in nearly three months, Sam wouldn’t actually know that you won the argument but it was enough for you to prove him wrong without him knowing.
But now, now you want to be wrong. You would give anything to hear his voice just one more time, even if it was because he was yelling at you. 
It took all of your remaining strength to reach into your pocket for your phone, praying that it wasn’t cracked as you switched it back on. The bright screen illuminated your face. There was a text from Dean and one from Garth that obscured the photo in the background, the photo of you and your boys at the Grand Canyon.
With trembling fingers, you scrolled to Sam’s contact, his name surrounded by childish hearts like you were a middle schooler with a crush. His photo was one you took in secret, a candid shot of him reading a massive book. He was hunched over and his brown hair uncombed but his eyes shone in the dim light of the Bunker’s library. You hesitated over the call button.
The ringing of your phone overpowered all other sounds in the forest and you were grateful for the reprieve from the quiet. “Sam’s phone.” Dean’s voice echoed through the small clearing, slightly broken and muffled because of the poor cell service.
“Hey Dee.” You smiled, biting back a whimper of pain as you spoke. 
“Hey kid! It’s been a minute, you ok?” There was a brief pause as you summoned up the courage to lie to one of your closest friends.
“Yeah- yeah I’m good. Do you think you could get Sam for me? I wanted to talk to him.” 
“Course. Hey Sammy, phone for you!” Dean shouted and you could vaguely hear Sam yelling back at him ‘stop answering my phone jerk!’. There was a brief scuffle and then a new voice, one that immediately soothed the burn of your injuries and set your soul at ease.
“Hi.” He said as Dean retorted with a fond ‘bitch’. There was a thud and then the line went quiet for a second. “Sorry, you know how Dean is.”
You chuckled and blood dripped down from the corner of your lips. “Yeah I do.” There was a beat, an awkward silence falling over you. “Hey Sam-“
“I’m sorry.” He interrupted you. “You were right, and I’m sorry for yelling at you, you just really scared me. I don’t want to lose you, I lo-,” his voice became thick and he cleared his throat, “You’re important to me and I want to keep you safe.”
Your eyelids fluttered as tears began to build along your waterline. “I’m sorry too, I was being reckless, I just thought it was our best bet.” You tried to readjust your body on the cold ground but hissed as pain exploded through your stomach.
“Are you- fuck are you hurt?” The panic in Sam’s voice was like being doused in cold water. Suddenly the blissful fog you were floating in, that was undoubtedly shock, drifted away and everything crashed back into you.
“No no I’m fine.” You attempted to calmly reply but it came out as more of a sob. 
“Where are you?” You could hear the jingling of keys and thundering footsteps. You laughed tearfully.
“Nowhere you could get to in time. Just talk to me please, I want to hear your voice one more time.” The sounds stopped but he didn’t speak again. “Please Sam, do this one last thing for me.” 
He took in a shuddery breath. “Don’t do this. Tell me where you are.” His voice wavered and you knew he was close to tears.
“Sam-“
“Tell me.” 
“You fucker.” You huffed. “Montana, Custer National Park. Don’t know my exact coordinates.” Your legs were cold, far colder than they should have been considering it was August.
“Keep talking to me.” He spoke into the phone and then turned and yelled into the Bunker, calling for his brother and Cas. “C’mon let me hear your beautiful voice.”
“You think my voice is beautiful?” Your heart jumped even as you felt it slowing down.
“I think all of you is beautiful.” Tears rolled down your temples, wetting the dirt beneath your head. You sniffled and clutched your phone even tighter.
“You’re beautiful too. Most beautiful man 've ever met.” Your words started to slur together but you kept talking, just like he asked. You would do anything he asked. “Got those big hazel eyes nd nice hair. Never told you but you made me nervous when we first met. You were so big and you were frowning but then you smiled and I knew.”
“What did you know?” You smiled.
“I knew that I was gonna fall in love with you. And I did. Sam-“
“No. No.” He cut you off again. “You don’t get to tell me that, not now. Not when I’m not there with you to tell you that I feel the same. You can say it when we get you home safe.”
“Sam, I’m not gonna last that long.”
“You will.” He firmly replied. “You have to.”
“Ok, then I won’t tell you how meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me and I also won’t say that you became my home.” Blackness curled around the end of your vision, and the stars slowly began to disappear. “Why can’t I see the stars anymore?”
“Don’t you dare close your eyes!” Sam screamed but his voice began to fade away as the darkness settled over you.
“I’m sorry Sam.” Your eyes shut as a bright light appeared before you.
——————
The first thing Sam was aware of was the smell of pine. It was so achingly nostalgic, he couldn’t help but smile. The raging river beneath his feet provided just enough ambient sound to disguise the familiar purr of an engine.
“You certainly took your time getting here Winchester.”
You looked just like he remembered you, from your hair down to the smallest details on your skin. Dean stood next to you, arm thrown over your shoulder as he laughed.
“He was always the slow one.” Sam just smiled and embraced his older brother, holding him as tightly as he could. Dean cupped the back of his head before letting him go with a teary smile. “You did it Sammy.”
They pulled away from each other and Dean gestured to you. “Go on, they’ve been waiting for a long time.” 
Sam approached you slowly, his smile growing wider with each step. You looked away bashfully. “I know we didn’t end off on a great note and my death was ever so slightly dramatic so you can be mad at me all you want.”
His big hands cupped your wide hips, pulling your attention back to him. “Tell me.” Your eyes sparkled under the setting sun.
“I love you Sam.” And as he kissed you for the first time, everything clicked into place and you both realised that maybe the risk of hunting was definitely worth the reward.
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lovelywriting666 · 1 month
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Strawberry Cream Cheese
Pairing(s): Sam Winchester x little sister!reader, Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, lil cameo of Claire Novak x reader (platonic)
synopsis: A day in the bunker with the boys
a/n: Girly reader, younger but like teenager age, takes place in no specific season, but like they all have up to date phones and stuff like that. Also this is a WIP and not proof read at all lolz <3
warnings: None
Hope you enjoy! :D
You were laying in bed listening to music, like classic lady gaga, Government Hooker, Americano, and Judas, while scrolling on your phone when you hear a knock on your door.
"Yeah?" You ask which is an invitation for the person on the other side of the door, presumably your brother, to open it. To no one's shock or surprise it's Dean.
"Hey kid, Sam's making breakfast do you want any?" He asks, his voice still laced with sleep, he probably just woke up.
You fell into the habit of getting up when Sam did so you could get ready for school, Sam was your personal alarm clock on school days and Dean was your personal chauffeur because Dean never trusted those school buses. But that's beside the point, you were used to waking up at the crack of dawn so you've been up for a while.
"Yeah, uh, just a begal and strawberry cream cheese" You respond as you pull yourself out of bed and stretch a bit.
Dean nods, "Alright kid, also change that music put on some good shit not this-" you cut Dean off with "Whatever old man" and Dean lets out and airy laugh and closes the door probably heading back to the kitchen where Sam was.
...
Once you put on something for the day you pause your music. Slide your phone into one of your pockets and head out into the hallway and to the kitchen. Sam was over the stove probably cooking eggs for himself and Dean, the toaster on and Dean with his head in the fridge.
You walk over to the kitchen table and sit down, you leg your legs across the bench and pull out your phone and you get a text from Claire.
Claire : Morning, going on a hunt, just wanted to let you know
You : Good Morning, have fun on the hunt!
Claire : Will do nerd
You : Knuckle Head
A plate clatters onto the table and you put your phone away and its your toasted bagel that Sam places in front of you and Dean sits across from you putting two plates down, one in front of him and one next to him. You gran the strawberry cream cheese container and open to find no cream cheese and you frown.
"What's wrong Bami?" Sam says kinda jokingly, it's the nickname Crowley gave you when you first met him with the brothers, it wasn't your proudest moment because you tripped in front of him, hence the nickname.
"We're out of Strawberry cream cheese" You say with a small huff and take a bite of your dry but good bagel.
"Damn, I think that calls for a food restock" Sam says, Dean and I agree.
Sam gets up from the table and grabs a notepad and pen from the junk drawer and walks back over to the table and sits down. He tosses me the notepad and pen, I scribble down food we need and other stuff while I eat. Once I think it's good I click the pen closed and Dean grabs the notepad off of the table and I continue eating.
"Nope, not buying *snack food* for you again" Dean said looking at the list.
"That was one time Dean! Plus you put it in the back of the cabinets, me and object permanence don't mix!" You sam with a huff and cross your arms.
"Fine, we'll get it but actually eat it this time" Dean says handing the list to Sam, you smirk getting up from the table and put your dishes in the sink. You hear Sam write down some things.
"Alright we'll let Dean finish eating breakfast, I'll wash the dishes and then we can head out" Sam say with a smile, I nod and head to the 'Dean Cave' because it has a bigger tv then in my room.
...
After a while you get a text from Sam.
Sam : Come on kid, we're heading out
You get up from the small love seat you were relaxing on and head to the main area. Sam and Dean were at the 'mission' table.
Sam was on his laptop and Dean was scrolling on his phone. Sam notices you first and shuts his laptop which makes Dean look up from his phone. Sam gets up from the table, Dean puts his phone in his pocket and pulls his keys out of his other pocket and jingle's them.
"Are lets get goin you two" Dean says with a smirk. You and Sam nod and follow Dean out to the garage and all pile into the Impala. You in the backseat, Sam and Dean in the front.
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watermelonlipstick · 2 years
Text
Roadside
This is so, SO overdue, but here’s my entry for @huffle-pissed‘s Vibes and Valentines challenge! My prompt was “Kiss me like that and you might regret it.” Thanks in advance for reading; I would love any advice or critiques!
Title: Roadside
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 5741
Summary: At least Sam’s there when the reader’s car breaks down. 
Warnings: smut with only the thinnest premise of fluffy story, dommy Sam
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           He was hot—it was hot. The sun alone was nearly enough to make steam come off the blacktop itself, although you were nearly sure you’d heard that was an optical illusion most of the time. This certainly wasn’t; the huge, lean man in front of you, your car popped open behind him like a themed calendar. Sweat had slowly collected through the fabric of his t-shirt, the grey cotton first gaining a stripe down his back that had swelled to some Rorschach test by this point. You were staring when he ducked out from under the hood and had to pull yourself together to look as casual as possible when you realized he had already been talking. “It’s got a small, like, cylinder piece and a handle like a normal wrench?”
           “Oh, ah, sure,” you answered, rifling through the toolbox as quickly as you could to see if anything fitting that description popped out to you. You held up your best guess.
           “Perfect, yeah.” He held a palm out while keeping the other hand in the innards of the car, probably holding something in place. When you gave it to him, your fingers grazed his and you felt an electric shock blazed up your arm. Sliding the wrench in, his forearms rippled with tension under a light sheen of sweat as he cranked. After a few moments he drew back from the car, thoughtlessly dipping a hand under the hem of his t-shirt and lifting it as a makeshift handkerchief to dry his face and mouth. Seeing the taut muscles of his abdomen made you feel a little dizzy, and pulling the jersey against his body draped it almost pornographically off of him, the damp sticking in a way that left so little to the imagination he could have been dunked entirely in water. “Man, it’s hot as hell,” he said. “How long were you out here?”
           “Not that long, it wasn’t so bad.” Not if this was the reward.
           He nodded with an easy smile that showed he wasn’t so sure he believed you. “Well, it should be good now. Do you have a long way to go?”
           “Just to the next exit, my motel’s right off the highway.”
           Only a beat passed as he considered that. “I think maybe I should trail you? Until you get into town. In case this doesn’t hold out.” It startled you enough to pause before giving him a shy grin, and he seemed to mistake it for hesitation. “Or maybe to a gas station or something, not following you back to—”
           “No, no, that’s—that’s fine,” you answered a little too quickly. He smiled back at you, relieved. “Thank you so much, seriously. I don’t even know your name, you must think I’m a total asshole.”
           The dimples on both cheeks got even deeper as he extended his hand to you. “Sam. Don’t worry about it; I’m glad I could help.”
           It was warm as you shook it, as was everything else in the goddamned desert. Firm and gentle at the same time, calluses against the skin of your palm thick without being rough—a conscientious man who worked with his hands. “Then Sam, I feel like I should tell you that you have some grease on your chin.” Both his eyebrows lifted curiously as he tried to swipe blindly at it with also-dirty hands. You reached out, stopping just before touching his arm to stop him. “You’re—wait, hold on, you’re making it worse,” you giggled, the grey-black spot spreading along his jaw. He glanced over to the car, trying to use the reflection in the window to see himself. Rubbing for a couple seconds didn’t seem to help, and he held up a finger for you to wait.
           “I just need one sec and I’ll be ready. Why don’t you fire ‘er up and see if it feels okay to you?”
           You nodded, leaving the drivers’ side door open for some air flow and watching him as he walked back to the huge black muscle car he’d been in when he stopped on the road behind you. Bending down to use the mirror to help himself, he tried in vain to keep rubbing the grease off before seeming to lose patience and yanking his sweat-through shirt over his head, the cotton much more effective than his fingers alone. Your mouth dropped open a touch at the truly spectacular sight of him. His size was remarkable, of course, but it had been with his shirt on too. Without it, you saw that the glimpse of stomach you’d seen wasn’t a fluke; his whole body a model of sculpted, functional muscle, the swelled shoulders of a farmer or construction worker. Wholly masculine even without the dark hair collecting into a narrow stream, pouring down his stomach and dipping underneath a non-ostentatious belt buckle. He moved economically, his limbs showing an understanding of his body in space that felt almost elegant as he cleaned himself up and walked to the trunk, trading his now-balled grey shirt for a clean white one that must’ve been stored there.
           It was a shame, covering that work of art again. At the very least the freshly clothed man that walked back to you could’ve been out of any cologne ad, long lines of his legs in American jeans and boots kicking up desert dirt. You hoped you looked nonchalant by the time he got to you. “How’s it running?”
           “Seems okay, yeah.” You were going for coy but weren’t quite sure you were hitting it, not wanting to seem like a nutjob in front of him—Sam, a perfect name for this ultimate boy-next-door-knight-in-shining-armor, an accessible sense of rock-solidness in the sound itself. His lips split into a brilliant smile at the news.
           “Great! Okay, you ready, or do you want a minute?”
           “I’m all good if you are. I honestly can’t thank you enough, you totally saved me—”
           Sam waved it away. “It’s really nothing. You probably did me a favor, to be honest. My brother usually works on the car, doesn’t give me too many chances to stay sharp.” He smiled at your sheepishness. “So, I’ll just, ah, follow you?”
           And follow you he did. Trying your best to look casual in the event he could see you in the cab, you hunted around in your center console for any toiletries, finding a melted Chapstick that burned your finger when you opened it and a now-mushy stick of deodorant. Whatever cherry wax hadn’t spilled off your hand got rubbed into your lips, and you did your best to inconspicuously fish the deodorant through the neck of your shirt for a few swipes. You didn’t really know what you were even doing it for—Sam was, in all likelihood, going to ensure you weren’t so far from civilization that you’d die of exposure if the car broke down again and drive off to live whatever hot guy life he had, leaving you to fantasize about him in your stupid, scratchy motel bed.
           The drive gave you a second to muster up the courage to bring Sam and his gigantic Chevy to the parking lot of your motel. You reminded yourself you had nothing to lose, that if you didn’t go for it you’d likely never see this guy again anyway, your rejection an entirely private secret. By the time you saw the sign for vacancies, you’d almost convinced yourself it was a good idea, sticking your hand out the open window to wave Sam into the parking lot after you. When you saw his car park, you opened your door before you had a chance to talk yourself out of it.
           He met you about halfway between the vehicles. “Is something wrong?”
           Just an offer, don’t psych yourself out. “It’s really, um, hot. Out here. My AC’s barely cutting it and I’m betting yours isn’t either. I was wondering if you would want to, you know, cool off? Inside?”
           His eyebrows raised as he realized what you were asking, and his mouth formed around a silent word before he started over. “Ah—yeah. Yeah, okay,” he smirked somewhat disbelievingly. “Let me just, uh, lock the car, I guess.”
           You fought the urge to sell past the close and waited for him to return, feeling slightly more confident at the half-skip in his walk as he hurried to the Impala and back. The two of you walked into your room together somewhat awkwardly, standing almost close enough to touch without ever crossing the distance, reminded you were strangers in the middle of the afternoon, without cover of darkness or even a single drink to lubricate.  Inside was cool as promised though, the mechanically chilled air hitting you like a soothing curtain as you walked in. Waiting any longer would make you lose your resolve, so when he closed the door behind him a few seconds later you tried to channel someone extremely sexually confident and pressed the length of yourself up into him so that your lips could meet his.
           He seemed surprised by the force behind your push, pinning his body to the wall with a tiny grunt before seeming to become ravenous, his hands running through your hair desperately as he kissed you hard. Even with it the restraint in his movements was obvious as he curved down to meet you, his frame that much larger, stronger, this close to you. You felt something animal inside you flare at his hunger, and you let your nails run a little harder than you might’ve down his chest before biting his bottom lip, drawing it away from him as he groaned. Breaking away for only a beat to tug the back collar of his t-shirt over his head, you barely had enough time to relish your skin on that which you’d so admired back on the highway ahead of his flipping your positions and hitching below your thighs to pick you up, weight suspended between his arms and the wall. It made you gasp, and you felt Sam’s smirk against your lips. “Nice trick,” you breathed into the space between your mouths.
           “I have better ones,” he murmured, moving along your jaw to kiss-suck at your neck. You believed him entirely, feeling set alight already. A sharp sigh squeaked out when he ground some delicious trigger spot, and your head rolled back on your neck involuntarily. “Ow, fuck—” you snapped as your skull clunked hard against the wallpaper.
           “Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, reflexively covering the spot with paradoxical sweetness as his fingers dug beautiful perfect dimples into your ass. “Too rough, my bad—”
           “No, no.” It was too emphatic but you couldn’t be bothered to care. “Rough is good, I’m just clumsy.”
           He smiled, easy and light, letting his forehead tilt to touch yours as he chuckled. The grin was infectious as it spread to you through a brief, remarkably chaste kiss. “And you’re sure you’re okay?”
           You rolled your eyes. “Shut up,” you giggled as he tucked back into your neck, his pelvis tilting under you enough to feel the thick ache of him between your legs, through your jeans. After a minute or two, Sam’s arm behind your head folded somehow to become a seatbelt crossing your back and holding you to him as he walked you both to the bed, ease-dropping you down and ignoring the button and fly of your jeans in favor of shucking them off of you like some kind of cartoon, one incredibly hard pull taking them clean to your ankles as you tried not to shriek. By some miracle of modern elastic, your panties were jostled but still on as he covered your body with his, the heat of his body and the cold air of the room impossible contrast, and his fingers circled your neck. He didn’t apply any real pressure; his thumb rested in the hollow of your neck as he sucked on your tongue, the feeling of being completely overwhelmed almost too much to handle.
           The thumb brushed back and forth as Sam hovered for a moment, his fingers long enough to curl around the collar of your shirt with the same hand. “Off,” he growled simply, the smirk on his lips devilish. You grinned as you obeyed, shimmying out of not only your shirt but everything underneath it too, laying bare beneath him. He kissed you again before sliding down, teeth dragging lightly and stopping to catch tiny nips of skin as he moved to your hips, angling his broad shoulders and fitting through your legs to lick a firm stripe over the only fabric left covering you, the movement an electric shock.
           “I’m probably really—ah, sweaty,” you croaked.
           Sam just smiled, his tongue running along the inside of his molars before he drew it through the joint of your hip, his enthusiasm vibrating through his lips. He slipped then to taste a different kind of salt-tang, the sensation so much smoother than the panties pressed against it. When you began to rock against his glistening face, he took two fingers and turned them to hook confidently inside you, the rhythm of his mouth not changing at all as if this was choreography he’d practiced dozens of times. “Holy shit,” you breathed, grabbing a handful of Sam’s hair out of his eyes as he looked up at you. It was impossible not to squirm, and his other arm wrapped around your thigh like an iron bar, holding you in place while he worked magic before your body spasmed and clenched around him. He rode it out as you rode his jaw, leaving you a twitchy, heaving mess on the motel sheets.
           You caught your breath together, his head resting on your leg. Feeling slightly less jellied, you scooched back on the mattress until you could sit up, watching Sam slink to his knees at the foot of the bed. Swinging yourself around to get over to him, you slid into his mouth deep-dirty, tasting yourself on his lips and sinking as he clutched at your body, pulling you down onto his lap. The still-tender wet ground against his denim and God, could he really be that big zipped through your head while he pawed at your back.  You managed to get hold of the button of his jeans, undoing them as he realized what you were doing and leaned away to help you, his stomach flattening as he flicked them open and you rolled off of him. He rose in his kneel to get at the zipper until you grabbed his hands, stopping him to do it yourself. He got to his feet, about to move to the bed again, but you stayed down, freeing the length of him from the jeans and worn plaid boxers underneath.
           Fat drops of precum gathered on the tip of his cock tasted nearly sweet as they passed your lips, and Sam’s head rolled back. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned as you took him into your mouth with considerable effort. You tucked an errant piece of hair behind your ear and he reached down, holding the rest back as you bobbed. He was a playground, opportunity to try all the things you’d ever been curious about with the feedback of unconscious pulsing in his hips and the gorgeous, filthy things coming out of his mouth. The end goal had almost slipped your mind completely when the hand in your hair pulled you all the way off of him, Sam looking down at you on your knees. Motel quilt on your back reminded you how close you still were to the foot board and he bent down to kiss you, curling your head back onto the fabric to scoop under your thighs again. You tried to help scramble back to the mattress but weren’t fast enough as he picked you up and put you onto the bed, sucking down your neck as you giggled through the springs bouncing. “Wanted to bend you over the hood of your car out there, you looked so fucking good,” he growled along your throat.
           “Oh yeah?” you breathed, the chills down your spine and the feeling of his body on yours more than enough to distract you from how lame that must’ve sounded.
           Sam didn’t seem to care, grazing his teeth along your pulse. “Couldn’t stop thinking about what you looked like under those clothes—” he paused enough for you to feel the grin against you as he sucked an especially sweet spot and your breath hitched. It might as well have been one of those hypnosis recordings you’d tried a couple times to fall asleep, his low murmuring and movements slowly tugging you under a cloud of pheromone coated endorphins. “Tasting you—seeing your lips around my cock—‘s even better than I thought.”
           You whimpered like a virgin until Sam’s mouth finally caught yours. He rocked crystal-hard against your thigh and a small, hungry note came from the back of his throat when you bit his lip, forcing him to break.
           “Do you have…?” he asked, so close to your face you would’ve been able to count his eyelashes.
           You realized the question required a response at the same time you understood what he was asking. “Ye—yeah, of course. Sorry.” Fishing your arm out from the tangle of your bodies toward the nightstand, you were nowhere close to getting to the little bag of toiletries lying there even as you twisted your torso.
           “Bag?” Sam asked, his arm easily long enough to cover the distance when you nodded. His skin moved across your nipples as he reached, on its own something you would’ve been able to daydream about for months to come. Tanned fingers flicked purposefully through a handful of tampons and tiny bottles before finding a foil package he ripped open with his teeth, the hand disappearing. You felt him nudge against you before he seemed to change his mind, bringing two fingers to into his mouth while the other wound in hair at the back of your neck.
           Sam’s forehead pressed against yours. “Before I get distracted.” The fingers circled before dipping inside at the same time his tongue entered your mouth. You felt remarkably like he was a predator playing with his food without caring one bit. If it had been more elegant, less primal, it could’ve been watching an expert piano player. Within a couple minutes you were clutching for purchase along his chest, his arms, anything to try to hold yourself together as you fell apart. “Look at me,” he said, the hold on your hair tightening a fraction. His eyes were lit from within when you met them, the need in them nearly frenzied as you came spasming around his fingers. “Good girl, just like that.” It was virtually guaranteed your nails would leave marks digging into him. “God, you’re so fucking hot,” he breathed as the heaving of your chest started to even out.  
           He brushed his cock back and forth against you, pausing. “Yeah?” he asked, something gentle there even with the dark hunger in his eyes. You couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more than you did in that moment, squirming toward him as though you physically couldn’t help it. Nodding made him grin, sly and cocky and excited, and he pushed into you.
           It was slow, at first—his quiet, confident self-awareness that you’d need it somehow not coming off like hubris. When you hooked your leg around his hips he started rocking into you, picking up the pace as you threw your head back. Soon he was pulsing fast, forcing you to brace yourself on the headboard behind you with outstretched arms. He curved forward, his teeth catching your neck to pull a groan from it. You couldn’t tell how much time had passed, endorphins suspending you in a frozen limbo you could’ve stayed in forever, when he scooped under your back and picked you up, lifting you as he laid down.
           His deft movements rearranged you like a doll, legs on either side of his waist. You nearly fell forward in surprise but the thick pillar of him kept you supported like a puppet, that much deeper than he’d already been with the added gravity of your body. Each pump skewered into you in the most delicious way; for a brief, flitting second of legible thought you felt you understood how people could feel so overcome they spoke in tongues. Taking each of your hips in the broad span of his hands, Sam began to ram up into you hard and fast, some tilt hitting you just right to fall apart again, your head falling back like you were being raptured. He slowed as you came down, wrapping his arms around you to pull in for a long, filthy kiss. “I could watch you all goddamn day,” he murmured against your skin.
           Again he moved you as you giggled giddily through the compliment, sliding you back on the bed and standing up. He came around the corner of the mattress and seemed to be making good on his promise, his eyes sliding over your body where you laid. Something about it, being seen like that by this glistening Tarzan, with his shining hair and perfect soft-rough balance, made you feel stripped past your skin to your bones, to the very core of yourself. An insane way to feel for a man you’d just met that day, but there you were.
           For what it was worth, the smile Sam gave you in that moment was equally as insane—you were sure then you weren’t imagining the affection there, that there was something just as sparkling in his hazel eyes as there was in the glint of his teeth. He stroked himself for a few seconds, the mere sight of your body a private piece of pornography, before grabbing behind your knees and yanking you down the mattress to where he stood, the backs of your thighs thudding against his and locking in place with his palms. The way he’d pulled you pressed his cock between your legs, as much a taunt as anything, the heat of it feeling like it throbbed against you. He rocked there, taunting with the grind before you drew back and slipped him inside you yourself. Knowing you wanted it that much made Sam bite his lip to keep from smiling too widely. With only a beat or two of buildup, he slammed into you—hands an iron grip on your thighs, pulling you in as much as he thrust forward, the force of it seeming like he could drill you right through the floor and you’d beg him to keep going.
           He took a thumb into his mouth and reached down without missing a single stroke, circling your clit. “You going to cum for me again?” he nearly murmured, low and steady.
           You would’ve done anything then, but more importantly, it seemed like your body had been crafted as a puzzle for him to take apart and would’ve obeyed without your input. He pounded harder, riding you through the inevitable before he came himself, the muscles in his arms and abdomen clenching while his breath got rough.
           The aftershocks had him bracing his weight on stretched, sculpted arms as his breathing evened out before he discreetly shucked the condom into a wastebin and laid down in one relatively fluid motion. If you hadn’t been so thoroughly spent, it might’ve even seemed a little too suave, a little too practiced in its coordination. He sidled up to you, spreading his wingspan in low-pressure invitation for you to lie along his side. It felt—gentlemanly, somehow; the pretense of sex already foregone, the ruse of manners drawn away to reveal a relaxed sincerity you weren’t expecting. It made the inappropriately profound crush you were developing on him worse, the hooks sunk in like ice picks.
           Sliding underneath the arm and resting your head on his chest felt treacherous, but it would’ve been more awkward not to. You half expected him to tip forward and kiss your hair, but the way his fingertips brushed back and forth on your bicep, holding you to him, was just as nice. The two of you laid for a few moments, letting your bodies soak in and the hormones float lazily through your bloodstreams.
           “Thanks for inviting me in,” he said after a few content minutes. His voice sounded like caramel, lilting enough you could hear the smile behind your head. Propping yourself up to your elbows, you grinned back at him.
           “Thanks for coming in,” you answered. He bit his lip, tracing the lines of your face with his eyes for a moment before looking up at the ceiling, letting his smile deepen enough to pull the dimples into his cheeks.
           Bashful silence reminiscent of some middle school dance hung in the air just long enough to start to feel awkward, and Sam cleared his throat. “Do you, maybe, ah, wanna get something to eat?” he asked, only a note off of breezy.
           The smile wiggled around on your face, threatening to beam. “Sure,” you finally answered. “I could eat.”
           He grinned back at you. “Cool. Let me just call my brother, I was supposed to be on my way to see him before you, ah, invited me over.”
           Sam did, politely covering himself with the top sheet as he sat up and grabbed his phone from the pocket of his discarded jeans. He poured into them fluidly like a glass of water filling, tucking the phone under his chin while he threw the button together and stood up. You watched him cross to the bathroom, likely looking for some privacy and throwing you a silent, unnecessary ‘sorry!’ before snatching his shirt off the ground and closing the door behind him. Watching the slink of his spine, the jeans low-slung on his hips, even his bare feet, you were nearly thankful for the physical barrier forcing you to stop staring. You stood on then-coltish legs and tried to pull yourself together as quickly as possible, trying in vain to fix your hair in a tiny compact mirror when Sam came out, throwing his t-shirt on. “Ready to go?”
           “If you are.”
           Walking together across the street was a pleasant kind of silence. Without having to fill the space with words, it the intimacy felt more lived in between the two of you than you might’ve believed if you weren’t experiencing it.
           You probably could’ve guessed he’d open the door for you, but it didn’t make it any less gentlemanly when he did. The heat of his hand was palpable hovering over your lower back but he didn’t outright guide you which was somehow more attractive, although it’s possible anything he did would’ve been attractive at that moment. After ordering, you leaned onto the table to rest your chin in your palms.
           “So, Sam. You always so chivalrous?”
           “Chivalrous?” he asked, the tip of his tongue flicking out to grab his straw.
           “I came three times before you were even inside me.”
           Sam choked on a sip of Coke, his eyebrows raising in shock as he coughed once through it, smirking as he swallowed. “I didn’t know that was chivalrous.”
           You grinned, cheekily pleased you’d managed to surprise him and moving your cup out of the way as you saw the waitress walking over. “What would you call it, then?”
           He kept smiling, dimples staying deep as he said a small ‘thank you’ to the waitress and graciously denied a need for anything else when she asked. When his eyes met yours again, they were coy. “Guess I hadn’t thought about it.”
           Picking up a fry and blowing on it, you rolled your eyes. “Sounds like a yes to me. Is that some pickup artist always-leave-them-wanting-more thing?” It was Sam’s turn to roll his, accepting the teasing as flirtatious as you’d hoped he would. “Or are you some mythical being luring women in on the side of the road?”
           Bedroom eyes looked back at you atop his smile. “If I remember, it was you on the side of the road.”
           “Don’t change the subject,” you said, hoping the heat of flattered embarrassment wasn’t obvious on your face.
           After a few beats he realized you were serious and stretched back in the booth, running a hand over the back of his hair. “I don’t know, it’s less—distracting, maybe? If I don’t, ah, you know, take care of it, I have a hard time not thinking about it.”
           “Take care of it? How romantic,” you laughed.
           “Whatever, you know what I mean. Easier to have fun if everyone is.” He rolled his eyes but seemed to be a good sport about the ribbing, grabbing a fry and biting it in half. “Plus it’s hot.”
           The sly smile he gave made you giggle like a schoolgirl, and he grabbed a few more fries. He really was handsome—gorgeous, even—with high cheekbones and those dimples, his neck the wide-strong of an athlete. You only knew you’d been staring when one of his eyebrows twisted up, silent curiosity of whether something was wrong.
           “So, um, what do you do?” you tried to cover, intently focusing your gaze on picking the next fry.
           Sam swallowed and took a sip of his drink. “I work with my brother.”
           “Same brother you called? Hope I didn’t mess with your job.”
           “No, I—” he grinned, slightly embarrassed at misspeaking. “I mean yeah, same brother. But you didn’t mess with anything. And even if you had, I ah…I wouldn’t have cared.”
           That made you flush and you struggled to think of something clever to say before deciding you couldn’t come up with anything, wishing you could’ve held onto the spunky, raunchy girl you’d been able to put on before you got lost traveling his face. “What do you guys do? Are you from around here?” Stupid, don’t be clingy.
           He swallowed and you worried maybe you had mis-stepped. “Not from around here. We’re, uh, exterminators? Sort of exterminator consultants.”
           “Sexy,” you smirked, enjoying the reappearance of his dimples.
           “Family business, I guess. It’s what my dad did.” He pivoted abruptly, clear but sweet Not Interested In Discussing in his tone. “My guess is you’re not from around here.”
           “Oh really? What gave it away?”
           His eyebrows crooked incredulously. “The motel?”
           You hoped the ‘fuck, right’ didn’t show on your face too clearly, winking as if it was always a joke rather than a chunk of your brain shutting down for how badly you wanted this plate of fries to last forever, to split a milkshake with two straws like teenagers after a sock hop. “Maybe you should be a detective, Mr. Exterminator.”
           He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
           You’re losing him. “You must get along with your brother pretty well to work together.”
           “Yeah, we—yeah, we really do. We’re a good team, I guess. Makes it a lot easier to be on the road together all the time.”
           His fond smile was reassuring both in the way it seemed like you still had his attention and in the sweetness his being close to his brother showed. “How long have you guys been on the road?”
           “A while. Where are you from? Close to here?”
           You took a sip of your drink to stall. “No, not close really. I’m just passing through.”
           He considered that with a downward turn of his lips. “To where?”
           A deep breath blew out of your nose, continued inability to answer this question one of the recurring frustrations in your life. Something about Sam felt right, though—open, like he would understand—and if he didn’t get it, you probably wouldn’t ever see him again anyway. No harm, no foul. “To nowhere, really. You know, ‘finding myself’ or whatever,” you said, rolling your eyes to show you understood how it sounded and that you thought it was lame too even if secretly, sincerely, it didn’t. ‘Finding yourself’ may have been less accurate than ‘running’, but if you were worried about scaring this guy off by wondering what he did for work, you certainly weren’t going to tell him your whole life story right off the bat.
           Sam looked at the table, slowly rotating his glass with his fingers. “Well if nowhere is ever close by, it would be cool to, ah, see you. Again.” He finally glanced back up when he was done speaking, as though he could handle the aftermath but not the implied question itself.
           The heart thumping in your chest seemed not to remember this guy had already been inside you, ohmygodhelikesme bounding through your bloodstream and drawing a smile across your face like a crisp clean sheet. “I think that could be arranged.”
           You could’ve written a bubblegum pop ballad for those dimples. Sam’s tongue moved along the underside of his molars as he grinned across the table.
           He paid the check without looking at it, leaving a fold of bills on the table and walking you back across the street to the motel room door like he was dropping you off at home after a date on a school night. Standing at the threshold, you struggled with the feeling that you didn’t want him to leave, feeling ridiculously like you were saying goodbye to someone you really knew, not this random hot guy who’d fixed your car and blown your back out.
           “So. See you later?” Sam asked, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck nervously.
           You swallowed and nodded before pressing to your tiptoes and kissing him deeply, slipping your tongue into his mouth and biting his lower lip, dragging it a bit as you stood back. “See you later.”
           Sam smiled with his eyes closed. “Kiss me like that and you might regret it,” he murmured, his hand lingering on your lower back for a beat before dropping.
           “Somehow I doubt that,” you grinned into the heat of him.  
           It would’ve been enough, the memory of the day and the way he took a few steps backward like he couldn’t bear taking his eyes off you even a beat too early. But about fifteen minutes after you got back into your room, your phone went off:
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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Gentle and Kind
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Title: Gentle and Kind
Pairing: Prince!Sam Winchester x Queen!Reader
Word Count: 14k
Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)
Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.
A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
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Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.
When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.
You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.
Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield. 
You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.
“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”
In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.
“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.
You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.
The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.
Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.
“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”
Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.
Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.
You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?” 
You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.
You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.
Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.
“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.
The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.
Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.
“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”
“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”
“As pleasant as can be expected.”
You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.
The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.
Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.
“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.
He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.
“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”
You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.
Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.
“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.
Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”
Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”
You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.
The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.
“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure. 
“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”
“You? Not your father?”
Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”
“I see.”
You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.
“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”
He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”
“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.
You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.
“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.
“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”
If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.
“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”
You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.
The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.
“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.
“Very.” You don’t say anything more.
“And handsome, too,” she prods.
“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”
She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.
“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”
You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.
Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.
“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”
“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.
The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.
Both men stand as soon as they see you.
“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”
You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”
Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.
“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.
Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.
“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”
Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.
His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”
“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.
“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”
“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.
“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”
You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”
He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”
“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.
“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”
Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.
“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”
You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.
The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention. 
Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.
You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.
“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.
“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”
“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”
You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.
As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall. 
“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.
“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”
“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.
“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”
“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.
There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.
John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”
Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.
“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.
“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.
You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.
“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”
Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”
She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.
You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.
“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”
He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall. 
Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”
Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”
A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.
You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”
“I’m fine,” she replies.
Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”
Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.
You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”
This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.
“Nice?” Charlie teases.
You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”
Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”
She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.
“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.
“Shall we?” Sam asks.
You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.
You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.
“Would you like to skate?” he asks.
“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.
“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”
Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life. 
You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”
He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.
“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.
It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.
“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.
“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”
You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.
“Y/N?” he asks.
“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”
Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”
Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”
“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.
“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.
He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.
You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.
Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.
You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”
He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”
Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.
You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.
“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”
“I did,” Sam replies.
You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.
He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”
Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.
You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”
Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.
After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.
Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.
A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room. 
“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.
“Do you like to paint?”
You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”
“What would you like?” he asks.
You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.
“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.
The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.
“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”
He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.
“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.
He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.
“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.
You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?
Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.
The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.
“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”
“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.
“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.
“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”
“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”
You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.
“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”
Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.
You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”
John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.
The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.
“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”
The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.
“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”
The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.
“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”
Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”
You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.
The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside. 
Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.
Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.
“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.
“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.
“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”
Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face. 
“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”
You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.
Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.
“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”
You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”
He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.
“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.
“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”
“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”
He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.
“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.
“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”
At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.
“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”
John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”
A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.
“You called for me, Father?” he asks.
“I did.”
John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.
“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”
“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.
Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.
You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”
“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.
John scoffs. “Samuel—”
“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.
Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”
You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”
He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”
John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”
Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?
There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree. 
“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.
A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”
He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.
“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.
“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”
“Did you dream of marrying someday?”
Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”
“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.
“It’s my duty as queen.”
Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.
“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”
Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.
“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change. 
“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”
Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”
“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”
“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks. 
“I don’t wish to force you—”
“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”
You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.
“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.
“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”
Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.
“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”
You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.
“Y/N?”
Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.
“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.
“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.
She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.
“He’s a good man,” she tells you.
“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.
“It’s okay to be scared.”
You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.
“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.
This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”
She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”
Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”
You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.
Finally, you nod and stand.
She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”
“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.
“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”
A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.
Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.
“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.
“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.
Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”
She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep. 
The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. 
A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.
“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.
Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.
Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.
“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.
“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.
“Y/N?” he asks.
You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.
“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.
“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.
“But your father—”
Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”
You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”
He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”
You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”
“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers. 
Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.
“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”
Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.
John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.
“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”
He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.
“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”
Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.
“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.
You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”
Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.
Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.
Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.
The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.
Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.
After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window. 
The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.
“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.
“Let me go!” you bark at him.
He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.
Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.
You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.
While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,
“Make way! The Queen is here!”
There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.
When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.
“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.
“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”
After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.
“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.
You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.
“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”
“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction. 
“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”
“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.
“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”
You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”
He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.
Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.
“Let me show you my home.”
Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.
You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.
As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.
Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.
“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.
Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”
You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”
He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix. 
You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth. 
Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.
“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”
“And I am prepared to face them.”
“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.
His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”
“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”
He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”
You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.
When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.
“Are you awake?”
His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.
You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”
He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?
“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”
“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”
“Oh.”
You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.
“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.
Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.
“So it is,” he replies.
“Merry Christmas, Sam.”
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”
You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.
“We’re married,” you murmur.
He hums. “So we are.”
“What do we do now?”
“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”
You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”
Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.
“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.
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116 notes · View notes
pixiexdusts-world · 10 months
Text
Incorrect quote
Y/n: What was that?
Sam: I told Bucky and Steve they should have sex.
Y/n: They haven't had sex?
Sam: No.
*both laugh*
143 notes · View notes
literallylexa · 1 month
Text
Dr. Monster
(Sam x Dean x Cas x Reader)
Chapter 2: “The Prophecy”
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Should be a longer storyline. Has a bit of a mystery aspect to it. Specific chapters will be for certain romantic interests which I will put in the beginning of each chapter. This story is about (Y/N). Think of it as an entire season about YOU! Still developing a storyline but has lots of ideas. Will have to rewatch some seasons to get the lore right. Debating if I want to “spoil it” in the description of what the fanfic is about or leave it a mystery. I think I’m going to set the story around season 7-8 but of course I’m changing up some of the things that happen so it will be off script from the original spn show.
I’m going to switch to second person rather than third. Easier to write when it’s in (Y/N)’s POV.
Saving people, killings things, it’s the family business. During one of Sam and Dean’s hunts, they came across a small town in Oregon. Strange encounters happen is this town frequently, however there hasn’t been any killings or missing persons until now.The boys find their way to a veterinary hospital and find the cause of it…
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The group arrives back to the hospital. The boys follow you to your office. “This town has many supernatural beings in it. None of them would hurt any of the people here. We all work together to make this community safe. All of them here have nothing to go back to. They either lost their homes, families, or they were turned forcefully. They all came to me for help. I provide them medical care if they were hurt, jobs, a new life. In exchange, they protect us.” You say.
“Was that woman last night also supernatural?” Dean asks.
“Whoever is killing these people specifically know that they are supernatural.” You sigh. “Maybe it’s a hunter?”
“Or another supernatural being.” Castiel replies, “I feel a presence here, something strong.”
“I feel it too. Ever since the night at the diner, the energy in this place has been off. Like somethings here…watching us.” You add on.
“That makes no sense though. Another monster killing monsters?” Sam says.
“We killed the bitch, Eve.” Dean sighs, “Sent her ass back to purgatory. None of her freak shows should be around anymore. Unless some flew under the radar.”
You gasp, “Eve?” You’ve met a woman named Eve before. Dark brown hair, green eyes wearing a white dress. She came to the diner one night, asking about this town- she never been here before. Her presence was off, making you nervous as you talked to her. She was scary, demented almost. She talked like a serial killer would. That was many months ago, however that encounter you remember like it was yesterday. Prior to Eve visiting your town, you were already involved with the supernatural. However, you’ve also been different since your encounter with Eve. Visions, actually feeling the presence of monsters, sometimes even seeing demons true faces. You’ve never dove into your new abilities, as it scared you. Are you a monster too?
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THEN:
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“Excuse me ma’am?” The woman places a hand on your shoulder. A shiver runs through your entire body when she touched you. It almost stung. You gasp out, confused from the sudden sensation. You turn around facing the unknown woman, setting (your fav drink) down onto the bar counter. You look at the woman, she wears a white dress with no shoes on, hair clearly not brushed for a while. “Are you okay?” You ask her.
“I’m Eve.” She says, doing a closed mouth smile staring at you.
“Uh yeah nice to meet you.” You say, creeped out by the situation. “How can I help you?” Looking around the bar, trying to see an escape out.
“I was told to come find you. I heard you help some of my children out.” Eve continues to smile, “I’m so thankful for you. Even monsters deserve someone to care for them.”
Your eyes widen, who is this?
“Don’t be scared, (Y/N). I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just trying to show you some gratitude.” Eve chuckles. “I’ll make sure that you’re protected. A war is coming.” Eve says. “Between everyone. Watch out for yourself.” Eve stands up to leave, touching your hand. “Besides, you’re one of my children now.”
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NOW:
“You’ve spoke to Eve?” Cas asks, wide eyed.
“Holy shit.” Dean gasps. “You’re the person they were talking about in purgatory. They were saying that she’s our savior. That every monster is going to be back on Earth because of you.”
“What the hell?” Sam asks, incredibly confused.
“Hold on a second. I know what’s going on.” Cas speaks up. “Whoever is killing your friends, is actually out to get you. A lot of the monsters wanted to stay in purgatory.”
“So basically…whoever is this is coming to get me because I’m some sort of savior? That’s ridiculous.” You laugh nervously, “There is absolutely no way that I would ever let monsters out of purgatory.”
“This makes no sense.” Sam says looking at you with puppy dog eyes.
You clear your throat after making eye contact with him. He’s so handsome.
“Hold on a second. Everything is coming together now. We need to talk to Kevin. (Y/N) are you up for a road trip?”
“Who’s Kevin?” You ask, mind racing and twirling around.
“He’s a prophet of the lord.” Castiel says blankly.
“Ok first an angel, now a prophet…please don’t tell me God is real too?!” You exclaim, hands shaking.
The boys look over at each other with a shrug. “Yeah uh, his name is Chuck.” Sam chuckles.
You sigh, placing your hands down on the desk while looking down. Everything has just gotten so much more complicated.
Dean and Castiel watch outside while Sam stays with you as you pack up your things. He stood against the door frame, trying not to watch you too intently, however he couldn’t look away from you.
“I never thought I’d be in this situation.” You say, grabbing some clothes and stuffing them into a suitcase. Sam looks away as he sees you stuffing your panties into the side of it, barely fitting.
Sam gets out of his trance, “uh yeah. I mean how did you even get yourself into all this? Helping monsters?” Sam asks, looking at you intently, wanting to listen to you as you talked.
“Long story short, a shapeshifter saved me. Really bad car crash. Had to go to the hospital and they drove me there. When I saw them again, they were in another skin- ya know wanting to stay low radar. I started to look up the supernatural and I noticed it was all around me. Something about this town is special.” You say, looking at Sam.
“Not all monsters are evil.” Sam laughs, “I once fell in love with a werewolf…and a demon.” He scratches his head. “The demon was definitely evil.”
“Been there done that.” You laugh, recalling previous romantic encounters with supernatural beings. “How’d you get into hunting?”
“Well-“ Sam stops his sentence, hearing a scream from outside. “Pack your things now.” Sam runs over to the window and looks out. Dean and Castiel are fighting somebody.
“Shit.” You hiss out, hands shaking. You close you suitcase and grab your gun, cocking it back. Sam looks back at you and nods. The two of you run out to the Impala where Dean and Castiel are fighting. Your vision becomes blurry as you look at the faces of the people. Demons. Your head hurts and the back of your eyes sting, Sam grabs you by your shoulders and rushes you over to the car.
“Let’s go!” Dean yells, throwing himself into the driver seat, Sam and Castiel joining. You and Sam share the backseat as Cas is up front with Dean.
“What the hell was that?!” You scream out, “Are demons after me?”
“Maybe the demons are working for something.” Cas sighs looking back at you. “We need to get somewhere safe.”
“We’re heading to the bunker now. Kevin is meeting us there.” Dean says, driving faster.
•••
The team stops at a motel for the night. Sam puts together demon warding around the motel while Cas takes care of the look out. “So it looks like there’s only one bed.” Dean looks at you and smirks. You laugh, slightly charmed by Dean’s character. His smile was enchanting. You would never admit this, but his smile made your panties wet. His voice, his body, his eyes are all too much for you to handle. You know you shouldn’t think these dirty thoughts about him but you can’t stop. Looking at his lips and then back at his eyes you smile, “Looks like you and Sam can share the bed and I’ll take the couch.” You place a hand on his shoulder and bite your lip, dragging your suitecase to the couch.
“I would rather sleep on the floor.” Sam comments, pushing hair out of his face.
“Oh please I’m a pleasure to sleep with.” Dean winks at you.
“I’m sure you hear that all the time.” You laugh and shake your head. Sam seemed almost angry watching Dean flirt with you.
“Please take the bed. Dean can take the floor and I can lay on the couch.” Sam says.
“That sounds perfect.” You smile at Sam, smirking at Dean as his mouth is agape. Sam and Dean’s eyes watch you as you go from one side of the room to the other. You felt like you were walking weird from the eyes staring. However it did put a strange sense of confidence in you.
That night you couldn’t sleep. Many things were on your mind. Demons, angels, purgatory, God…what will happen when you see this Kevin person. What is your role in all of this? Not to mention the three handsome, sexy men that are taking you on this journey that kind of seem into you. What will happen next?
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alexsoenomel · 10 months
Text
Chokehold (Sam Winchester x Reader smut)
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Request: Hey I don’t know if you’re taking requests but I was reading Adrenlize Me and I had an idea for a part 2? Sam and reader have been getting at it for a bit but this time they finally say “I love you” to each other? Rough smut with a little dash of fluff? 🥰
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Warnings: sexy times and I love you’s, mentions of addiction 
Word count: 2.1k
Note: I apologize for being so slow (school+work+ADHD). Writing this made me realize how single I actually am.
 Enjoy! Like/Reblog or both if you like it! :)
PART 1
Addiction. First, it feels like a warm hug, sucking you in, disguising itself as something familiar, something beautiful, and finally, you feel like you filled that hole in your soul. Then it starts taking, it takes and takes until there is nothing left to take, until you cannot give anymore – until you’re dead. You find out, a little too late, that the warm hug was just a one-way ticket to your inevitable demise.
This started as a deep-seated need but turned into a full-blown addiction sooner than I thought, but the only difference was this was a blissful one, with no reaper waiting for you at the end. It only brought endless pleasure. 
Sam was no better than me. We couldn’t stop ourselves; every touch, every kiss would send us into a euphoric state, and it was better than any drug known to man. 
After our little adventure in Dean’s beloved Baby, we tried to keep our dirty little secret hidden. Sam would come to my room only during the night when he could hear Dean snoring in his room, and even then, we had to be careful since Dean was a light sleeper. He would muffle my moans with his hand whenever he was on top of me, he would sometimes even let me bite his shoulder, but it was impossible to be quiet, especially when we both liked listening to each other come undone. Long story short, Dean found out.
“Good thing you two lovebirds finally got together! The bad thing is now I cannot sleep.” He told us one morning while sipping his black coffee, clearly tired and cranky. 
Lovebirds.
That word was stuck in my brain that day. It still would pop up occasionally. It reminded me that we never labeled our little arrangement. When it happened, we would carry on, pretend like this thing was meaningless, and then we would do it all over again. We would cover every topic under the Sun apart from this one. We completely ignored it, but it was there, just around the corner, something more than just a meaningless hookup. 
Sure, he was able to make my legs shake, make me forget my existence, and his touch would set me on fire every damn time, but the way he would look at me right before I would come, the way we would look at each other…  I knew I was falling for him. 
We were birds of a feather –we connected through art, books, and music. We liked the same things but were far different characters. I was more of a 'Shoot first, ask questions later' kind of girl, like his older brother, and he was far from that. He was my voice of reason when I would let my emotions consume me; he was the one who would tell Dean and me to get our shit together whenever we would jump the gun (and that would often happen because we were both hotheads). We worked perfectly together. 
***
"God, I'm exhausted!" I said and put my bag on the table. 
We just got back from a hunt in Omaha, Nebraska, and it was a wild one. It dragged to no end until we finally ganked the ghost that was killing unfaithful men. I almost got thrown off the balcony, Dean almost got stabbed, and Sam, well he took care of it. Overall, I was just happy the case was over and, that I could sleep in my/Sam's bed. 
"Me too! Gonna hit the hay!" Dean said taking his shoes off. 
"Already? It's only 10 pm." Sam said. On a rare occasion, Dean would sleep early, he was the worst night bird in the flock. For him, 2 am was too early for bed, and mornings started at noon. 
"Sammy, I almost got stabbed today! Yeah, already." Dean said and disappeared into the hallway. 
"Night, Dean!" I said. 
"Night, night!" I heard him say. 
I was immediately hit with the realization that I was alone with Sam. There was something so alluring about him that made me nervous in the best way possible. It would boost my dopamine and adrenaline – like a drug. I swallowed nervously as I turned to see he was staring back at me and I immediately recognized the look – the look of devotion. 
"What?" I asked. He looked tired, with messy hair, and bags under his eyes. I was a tired mess too. During these days caffeine kept me awake and sharp since we were working night and day trying to solve the gruesome mystery. 
"Shower?" He asked.
"Please!" 
We went to his room since I would spend most of my nights there. What started as casual, grew to be a routine. I started hating sleeping alone in cold sheets – his warmth kept me safe. 
When we entered his room, pleasant silence joined us. We stripped down our dirty clothes and sins as we went to the bathroom. We didn’t say a word until warm water touched our tired bodies.
“Warm enough?” Sam asked me.
I nodded. He shampooed my hair, and I did my body while letting my muscles relax under the shower, feeling every part of me slowly shutting down from exhaustion.  Once my hair was nice and cleaned and I turned to face Sam, kissing where his heart was as I balanced myself on my tiptoes since he was much taller than me. 
“My turn?” I asked and got on his knees, like he usually would do when I wanted to wash his hair, and wrapped his hands around my waist, cupping my ass. It wasn’t the first time we showered together, the aftercare was as important for him as it was for me, but this time it felt far more intimate and real. The aftercare would usually turn into rough shower sex, leaving me breathless and sometimes even covered in bruises, but this time I saw true intimacy and meaning of showering together. 
Sam kissed my stomach as I washed his hair, sending light shivers all over my body. His hand went between my legs, and a light moan escaped from my lips. 
“All done!” My voice trembled. Sam stood up and kissed me hungrily. I could never get enough of his kisses, his lips were soft, kisses sweet kinda like cherries in spring, nothing like I’ve ever tasted before. He broke the kiss as our eyes met, water still running down our bodies. I could feel his breath on my lips. The air, even though hot and heavy, got a little bit chilly for a second – or was I getting nervous? I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. I didn’t know why I was getting nervous. Everything that seemed familiar was now foreign to me. Even though we fucked a million times, even though we both had seen each other naked, I was still feeling that tickling sensation in the pit of my stomach. 
Sam turned off the shower. We did our night routine in blissful silence. Skincare, haircare, the whole nine yards…in blissful pleasant silence. Sam even started using my Vitamin C serum, when I told him how good it is for the skin. 
I was pleasantly surprised when he took a little bit of my hydrating cream after the serum. I would always use that after having a rough day on the job, it did wonders for my tired skin. 
“You’re learning,” I told him as I brushed my teeth. 
“From the best.” He simply said. 
***
I didn’t remember the last time I did my night routine in my bathroom – and it all started when Dean caught me leaving his room to get my toothbrush. 
“You two are louder than a jackhammer!” He told me as he opened the door of his room, messy hair, eyes barely open, clearly feeling creaky from lack of sleep…again. “Keep it down, or I swear I’ll kill you both!”
“Sorry!” I was embarrassed but trying hard not to laugh.
Ever since then, I decided not to leave his room during the night. So, naturally, I started leaving my stuff in Sam’s room. 
***
After we got in our pajamas; Sam in his gray sweatpants and me in my oversized blue T-shirt I “borrowed” from him, got under the covers. I could feel my whole body relaxing, as I let my mind drift God knows where…I was ready to fall asleep, but Sam had other plans. He wrapped his hand around my waist pulling me closer to him. His semi-hard cock was pressed against my ass, and I felt his lips on my neck. 
“Yeah, Sammy?” I bit my lower lip. 
“I don’t wanna sleep.” He mumbled between kisses. 
I turned around, missing the softness of his lips on mine. I kissed him, feeling the minty taste on his lips. My hand went in his hair, pulling him closer to me. He moaned when I pulled his locks, sending shivers all over his body. He pushed me back onto the mattress as he climbed on top of me, leaving kisses all over my jaw and neck. I loved his lips on my skin, I loved everything about them; the softness, the taste, the ability to make me wet in seconds… 
“You got me worried today,” Sam whispered between kisses. 
“Sorry, I was a hot-headed dumbass.”
I thought I could take down the ghost by myself. I didn’t stick to the plan and almost got thrown off the balcony when the damn thing attacked me – my mistake.
“Like always.”
And that’s why you love me. I bit my tongue. I felt my walls completely coming down under him. I didn’t care about labels, I didn’t care what we were, I just knew my heart was struggling to stay silent. I wanted to say those words as much as I desperately wanted to hear them from him. 
“Shut up and kiss me!” I told him instead. 
Sam pressed his lips on mine, this time his hand went down my stomach between my legs. His fingers were cold, making my skin shiver, but his touch bought endless pleasure. 
I could feel his two fingers in me for a few seconds before he pulled away. 
“Tease,” I said annoyed. He loved making me beg and feel desperate and I loved every second of it. 
He licked his fingers clean and kissed me letting me have a taste as well. 
“You are delicious.”
Everything about this seemed different. He was sweeter and far more gentle. Usually, he would tell me to be quiet, his good girl, he would be rough, but this time…he wasn’t? He had a gentle side, but I’d rarely see it. I felt something was different. I felt my heart connecting with his and my soul feeling closer to his own. 
“And you’re a tease.” 
He laughed, showing off those cute little dimples I adored so much. 
"Just a little. " He smirked before kissing me again. I was growing impatient, and it was like he heard me. He wasted no time, he moved my panties to the side as I helped him lower his sweatpants. He entered me slowly, letting me adjust to his size, letting me bask in the pleasure his cock was giving me. I buried my fingers into his damp hair, arching my back slightly. 
"You feel so good!" 
He would always tell me that. Every time. No exception. He knew his words made me needy, horny, and desperate…He knew what buttons to push. 
He started to move and that was when my heart decided to work against me…or it did me a favor? My eyes were lost in his, not wanting to break the contract. I was feeling every inch of him, slowly moving in and out, skin to skin….
"I love you!" 
I heard myself say. My heart was pounding, I could see his expression change as his hair was falling on my cheeks…he smiled and kissed me.
"I love you too!" 
I didn't expect this answer from him. At the moment it didn't seem real but I think we both knew it was coming. Between the constant staring, and flirting just to gross out Dean and the genuine connection we had, we knew…
Sam's pace became faster, and I was slowly losing it. His face was inches away from mine, feeling each other's breaths as my climax was getting closer. I could feel my body shaking, my nails digging into his back as I couldn’t get his name out of my mouth. 
“Come on, baby!” He whispered in my ear. 
I loved his voice, I loved his touch, his kiss. I loved him.
I came hard, biting his shoulder (Sam didn’t even flinch), not wanting to be too loud because of Dean and his “Next time I’m gonna kill you both” sentence. 
He kissed me before collapsing next to me. We were both panting, waiting for someone to say something, to break the ice that had already been broken when I told him I love you. But no one did. Instead, we fell asleep, my head on his chest, safe and sound. 
495 notes · View notes
supernaturalfreewill · 5 months
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"God, Sam!" You steadied him as he nearly collapsed in your entryway as soon as the door was open. "Jesus, what happened?" you asked, your eyes drawn to the concerningly large crimson stain spreading across his stomach and side.
Sam hobbled farther inside your house and you slammed the door on the cold and the rain. "I'm—" he winced, "sorry to just show up like this. You're the closest safe place I could think of."
"It's fine. Were you driving around like this??" You ushered him into a chair and then surveyed him again. "Look at you. I told you: heroes get hurt, Sam. Villains get even," you joked, despite the seriousness of his injuries. "I suspect they have more fun too."
Sam managed a small laugh which drew his mouth into another wince. He settled more heavily back into the chair. "Are you suggesting you're the latter?"
You tilted your head, considering him for a long moment. Even pale, bathed in sweat, and covered in his own blood the man was handsome. It was almost infuriating. "It's a work in progress."
Sam laughed again. "You're a healer. I don't think being a villain is in the cards for you."
You began to unbutton his shirt so you could see the full extent of the damage and set to work. "Maybe not. But you won't find me throwing myself into danger in quite the same way you and Dean do."
"Good," Sam said. "But I'm hoping you can help me with this?" he asked as his shirt fell away.
You nodded, knowing this would drain much of your energy. "Yes, I can. But it may take me a couple days to finish completely," you replied, alternately balling your hands into fists and stretching your fingers out, as if warming them up. You hovered them over the wound and could feel the burn and sting of it itching in your palms. Your eyes shut.
Sam studied your dark lashes and the pout of your lips. "You don't have to heal it completely. Just—make sure it doesn't kill me," he added with a dry laugh.
"Hush," you scolded him, not opening your eyes. "This is my expertise, hero. I'll do what's best."
Prompt: "Look at you. I told you: heroes get hurt. Villains get even."
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keiththecat · 9 months
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Trading Hurts
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader (You)
Summary: You're a lifelong hunter, and you help out the Winchester brothers, saving Sam's life and risking your own. Your fast feelings for Sam scare you and you run away. What will happen when you run into the brothers again?
Word Count: 3.8k
Warnings: 18+, series typical violence and monsters, weapons, hurt/comfort, medical procedures, cursing
Author's Note: Hello friends! Second ever fic here. Had to show some love for the other Winchester brother too! As always, Y/N is your name, and feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading <3
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the related characters. The Supernatural series is created by Eric Kripke and owned by The CW Network. This work of fan fiction is for entertainment only. I am not making a profit of any kind from this story. All rights of the original Supernatural series belong to The CW Network.
AO3 link here
“Sam! Look out!” Dean yells as he sinks his silver blade into the heart of the werewolf he’s been wrestling.
Sam is standing over a werewolf he just killed. He turns around to see why Dean yelled, feeling claws tear the flesh on his left side as he turns. His right hand goes to the wound, his knife falls from his left hand, and he makes eye contact with the wolf as it roars. The roar quickly turns into a look of confusion and hurt before the wolf collapses in front of Sam. Behind the wolf, you are left standing in front of Sam, smirk on your face and blood-covered knife in hand, “Hi, I’m Y/N. Looked like you could use some help.”
“Yeah. Thanks. I’m Sam.” Sam says, still holding his side. Damn, she’s gorgeous, he thinks to himself.
“Not a probl-“ you’re cut off by a werewolf suddenly behind you, grabbing you by the neck and throwing you into a nearby tree. Everything goes black. 
The next thing you know, your eyes snap open in the back of a car. Your head is propped up by something warm and you feel like you can’t breathe. Your body is in so much pain, it feels like you’re on fire. You start to panic, willing your body to move to find a way out.
“Hey, no, you’re okay,” Sam’s face comes into view above you. You realize your head is propped up on his lap and he’s trying to hold your arms down so you don’t flail around. “I need you to look at me and take a second, Y/N.”
You try to calm down. You look into his hazel eyes and your mind tries to catch up. Well, you think, if this is how I go, at least I get to look into a touch of Heaven first. 
You try to remember how you got here. “Right,” you start, voice raspy, “werewolves. Winchesters.”
Sam’s eyebrows furrow, “You know who we are?”
You nod and then wince when it causes a jolt of pain like lightning through you. 
“Sorry, right, not important right now,” his voice continues, “you’re injured pretty badly. We’re on our way to the hospital to get-”
“No!” You cut him off. “Please, no hospitals.”
“Okay, okay,” Sam takes your hand in his, then makes eye contact with his brother who’s driving. “No hospital.” He looks back at you, “Can we at least take you to our bunker to-“
“Sammy,” Dean warns. “We don’t even know her, you want to take her to the bunker?”
“What other option do we have, Dean? Cas is busy and not answering. She’s injured because she saved me!”
“Uh, hello? I’m right here.” You interject awkwardly. “You can just drop me at my motel room, I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse alone before.”
“No, we’re taking you to our bunker and doing what we can to fix you up. It’s the least we can do.” Sam leaves no room for argument. Dean grumbles under his breath in the front seat but keeps driving.
You try to mentally take stock of your injuries. Hm, you think, definitely a few broken or at least bruised ribs. Probably a concussion. I feel wet and sticky so I’m sure I’m bleeding somewhere but must not be too bad since I’m still alive. For now, at least, I guess.
Sam continues holding your hand and mindlessly running his fingers through your hair until the car eventually stops and is shut off. Dean gets out of the car first, “I’ll get stuff set up in the infirmary.”
Sam eases himself out from under your head, then turns back toward you. “Can I, um-“ he reaches his arms toward you.
“Carry me? I can probably walk.” You start to sit up, but you’re hit with a tidal wave of nausea and fall back to the seat. You take as deep a breath as you can manage, pushing the nausea away as best you can, “Okay, maybe not. Would you mind?”
“No, no, not at all,” he insists. Suddenly you’re in his arms, he’s walking, and you’re wondering what kind of muscles he has hidden under all that plaid. He laughs under his breath a little, cheeks and ears turning red. You realize you must have wondered out loud. “Sorry,” you say, turning to hide your face against his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Probably the best compliment I’ve had in a while.”
He makes his way to what you assume is the infirmary. Dean is setting out supplies for bandages, stitches, and wound cleaning next to an old cot. Sam gently places you down on the cot. “Are you okay with me checking out your wounds and cleaning you up some?”
You respond in the affirmative. Dean is standing a few feet away, leaning against another cot, staring at you. “So how long have you been a hunter? What’s your deal?”
“Dean,” Sam says, and fixes him with a look. “Can’t this wait?”
“It’s fine, Sam,” you touch his arm. You lean forward, reach over, grab shears and hand them to Sam. “Start with my back, it hurts the worst.”
Sam looks at you for a moment, then gets to work cutting your shirt open from behind. He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “How’s the damage back there, Sam?” You ask.
“Well, you’re definitely gonna hurt for a while. I’ll have to stitch a few wounds back here, and you’re already bruising.” He prods his way down your back on each side, “Feels like a few broken ribs, too.”
You realize you’ve had your eyes closed, relaxing to his voice even as he delivers the news. “I figured. Just do what you can please.”
Sam starts cleaning and stitching what he can. You explain that you’ve been a hunter since birth, your mother dying in childbirth and your now deceased father raising you in the hunting life until he died when you were barely a teen. Then you tell them how Bobby Singer has treated you like his own. 
“How come we’ve never ran into you before then? We’re at Bobby’s all the time.” Dean asks, still seeming skeptical.
“I haven’t been back there in years. Even when I was there, I stayed for a few hours max. I keep busy,” you explain, “I didn’t grow up in one place, so it always felt weird to stay stagnant. Felt dangerous.”
“Like things could catch up to you if you stopped moving,” Sam says quietly from behind you, his large but gentle hands continuing to sew a large gash down your back from the tree. You nod as best you can without making the pain worse.
“Alright,” Dean says, “you can stay as long as you want. At least stay until you’re healed. The place is warded, you’ll be safe here. You got this, Sammy?”
“Yeah, we’ll be good.”
“Alright, I’m gonna go clean the blood out of Baby and hit the hay.” Dean leaves, throwing a wave over his shoulder.
“Baby? I assume that’s his car?” You ask.
Sam laughs lightly, “yeah.”
Silence passes between you two, but it doesn’t feel awkward. Sam finishes with your back, and then you feel him gently place something over your back, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment. You’re hit with a wave of his smell, and you realize he placed his plaid shirt on you. He comes around in front of you, now in a short sleeve black V neck that lets you see exactly how ripped he is. Holy muscles, you think, so that’s how he carried me so easily.
“I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too. You seem to be okay mentally so far, but let’s keep it that way, yeah?”
You laugh a little, looking away shyly to break your stare, “yeah, sounds good to me. Thanks, Sam.”
“No, thank you for saving me.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, do you need stitched up too? He scratched you before I got him, didn’t he?” You reach for his side, mentally smacking yourself for forgetting.
“No, no, I’m okay. Not deep enough to need stitches, I don’t think.” He brushes you off, glancing down at his side where the shirt is torn, long but thin scratches peeking out underneath. 
“If you say so. But seriously, thank you. You definitely saved me back there.” You say, slowly getting yourself up. He reaches out to place a hand under your elbow, helping to steady you once you’re on your feet. Your hand falls to his bicep, and you bring your other hand to rest on his chest. “Damn, you’re built like a tree. Is that a Winchester thing?”
Sam bursts into laughter, his adorable dimples bracketing the most gorgeous smile you think you’ve ever seen. His cheeks and ears are turning red again. “Aw, is Samuel blushing?” You tease.
This was the start of your crush. Except you couldn’t even call it a crush, you were instantly head over heels in love with the taller Winchester. It hit you like a hurricane. So sweet, attentive, selfless, and that’s not even mentioning his smoking hot body. Silky chestnut hair, deep hazel eyes full of emotion. But instead of giving in to the temptation and telling him how you feel, you left just two days later. You couldn’t bear the thought of being rejected by him, or of being so close to him but so distant at the same time. So you asked Dean to drive you while Sam was out on a run, not wanting to have to say goodbye to him. Dean took you back to your motel and your belongings, leaving you with nothing more than a “call if you need anything” and his number. You’ve kept in contact with Dean, mostly sending memes and jokes to each other, and doing your best to not ask about his brother. Turns out Dean has a knack for dad jokes, sending you at least one a day, more if he thought you were having a bad day. You’d consider him your best friend, even though he’s really the only person you talk to anymore besides Bobby on occasion. Dean has come a long way from his skepticism when you burst into their lives, considering you like the sister he never had.
Now, four months later, you have run into the brothers again. You’re in a small town in Missouri hunting some vampires, when you spot the Winchesters walking into a diner.
“Hey, tall and taller, got room at your table for one more?” You call out.
The brothers turn around, confused. Dean’s eyes lock onto you first, and he opens his arms for a hug. “Hey, loser, what are you doing here?” He asks. 
You jog a few steps, falling into his arms for a few seconds. “Hunting some suckers. Guessing you’re here for the same?”
“Actually yeah, wanna save little Sammy’s ass again like last time?” Dean jokes, his eyes lit up in mirth.
Sam shakes his head, lips pressed together, rolling his eyes. “That was one time, it won’t happen again. And since when are you guys close? You disappeared months ago, Y/N. We haven’t heard from you.”
“Yeah, sorry, I, uh, got called away for something,” you lie, hoping Sam won’t notice and Dean won’t call you out. “Dean and I have kept in touch though.” You playfully hit Dean on the shoulder.
Sam tries not to feel hurt that you have talked to his brother all this time but not him. And you’ve clearly talked enough to get close, Dean doesn’t hug just anyone.
“Well, come on,” Dean says, throwing an arm around your shoulders, “I’m starved.”
You all make your way inside, sitting at a booth. The boys sit on opposite sides, and you debate who to sit next to for a moment too long, then you slide in next to Dean. Sam notices your hesitation, but buries his face in the menu.
You all order and eat your meal, sharing stories about all the hunts you’ve had in the last few months. 
“No wonder we’ve had it easier recently, Dean. You didn’t tell me Y/N was taking care of so much,” Sam says.
“Didn’t think it mattered,” Dean says, mouth full of pie. “Asshats got ganked, people got saved.”
“Yeah but we could have helped out more.”
“I was fine, Sam. I like keeping busy, remember?” You say, then turn to Dean, “Speaking of, do you know yet where we’re looking here?”
Sam speaks up before Dean can, “actually yeah. We’ve narrowed it down to two warehouses on the outskirts. We’re planning to go check them out after we get a room.”
“Perfect,” you state, looking at Sam. “You boys wanna ride together from the motel since we’re all going to the same place?”
“Sounds good,” Dean says.
You all get up and leave, piling into your cars and going down the street to a motel. The boys get a double room to share like always, you get a neighboring single. You go into your respective rooms to gear up for the hunt.
“What the hell, dude?” Sam says as soon as the door is closed behind Dean. 
“What?”
“Y/N is who you’ve been texting all the time? Why didn’t you tell me?” Sam asks, clearly hurt.
Dean looks at Sam for a moment before understanding crosses his face. “Oh, you’ve got it bad, huh? Here, you want her number?” He pulls out his phone to pull up her contact and passes it to Sam.
“No, that’s- well, yes, but-“ Sam stumbles over his words.
“Look, it’s not like that with us, Sammy. We’re friends. That’s it.”
“Oh.” Sam lets that sink in and runs his hands through his hair.
“Yeah. So relax, she’s all yours. At least, she hasn’t mentioned being with anyone. I’d doubt she had time for it with the constant hunts she’s had. She’s worse than either of us have ever been with needing to keep moving.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Sam says, saving her number in his phone and giving Dean’s back to him. 
“Well?” Dean asks.
“What?”
“Text her. Say it’s in case we get split up or something. Make up an excuse. Give her your number or I will.” Dean insists.
“Okay, okay, get off my back about it then, yeah?” Sam says. Dean throws his hands up in surrender, turning away to rummage through his duffel.
[Sam 5:55PM : Hey, it’s Sam. Dean gave me your number. Wanted you to have mine just in case]
A full minute passes, and Sam wonders if she will even respond. Then his phone dings with a notification.
[Y/N 5:56PM : Got it. Good thinking. You boys ready?]
[Sam 5:56PM : Yup, meet you at the Impala?]
[Y/N 5:57PM : Sure thing, Sammy Boy ;)]
Well, Sam thinks, I guess the winky face is a good sign? Maybe she does like me?
“You ready, Dean?” Sam asks, heading for the door.
“Let’s do this,” Dean says, grabbing Baby’s keys.
*
Half an hour later, you’re all sitting in the Impala outside the second warehouse. The first was empty except for rats and dust, no signs of bloodsuckers ever having been there. 
“Safe to assume this is it then, huh?” You ask, leaning forward between the boys and looking out the windshield. 
“Yeah. We all ready?” Sam asks.
You and Dean respond “yeah.” You all get out of the car, grabbing your machetes and forming a plan. There are three entrances to the building, you will all split up and take one. You’ll meet in the middle, and then go to the upper floors together. You nod at each of the brothers, and you all go your separate ways to enter.
The front door creaks open, and you slowly make your way inside. The day’s last light is filtering in through the windows. You have a flashlight in your back pocket but you’re trying to draw as little attention as possible. You make your way down the hallway, which opens into a large center room. As you come through the doorway, you hear grunts and sounds of fighting from the hallway to your right. That’s the door Sam came in, you think and your heart drops into your stomach when the noises stop but Sam doesn’t emerge. You start toward that hallway, and you’re met with five vamps carrying Sam’s unconscious body. They notice you, drop him, and advance on you before you can move any further.
“Dean!” You yell, starting to fight them off. You can’t keep track of where they all are, you just know that they are surrounding you and landing more hits than you are. Your back, arms, sides, and stomach are all taking hits and you struggle to get the upper hand. You manage to block a few hits and decapitate two of the vamps in quick succession, as you hear Dean’s footsteps thundering closer. That’s when you notice a large vampire standing over Sam. 
You fight even harder now, desperate to help the brothers and save Sam. You manage to shove one against a metal pole before cutting its head off in one swing. You kick one in the abdomen, surprising it and knocking it over. You drop to your knees, straddling the vampire’s chest, and swing your machete down on its neck. An arm from the other vamp you’re fighting snakes around your neck, choking you and pulling up into the air. With your body weightless and hanging in the air, you swing an elbow into its sternum and a heel into its knee. It lets go long enough for you to drop, turning as you go to swing out and cut its head off.
With these five dead, you can turn to help the Winchesters. As you run over, the vamp throws Dean a few feet, with Dean landing on his back and sliding across the floor. Jesus, you think, he looks even taller than Sam. You run and launch yourself at the vamp, knocking it back a few steps but not knocking it down. Glancing around the vamp, you can see Sam starting to come back around to consciousness. The vamp manages to grab you by your throat, lifting you into the air. You try slashing into its arm with your machete, but the grip it has on your throat doesn’t let up and you’re starting to see spots.
“Dean,” you manage to rasp out, your machete falling from your hand as you grow weaker,” get Sam and get out of here.”
Suddenly the vamp’s hand goes slack, its head rolling down and onto the floor. You fall to the floor, gasping and coughing for air, your hand on your neck. Sam is standing over the dead vamp, machete in hand.
“You okay, Y/N?” Dean comes up behind you.
You nod, still coughing.
“Sam?” Dean asks.
“I’ll be fine, it was just a good hit on the head.” He kneels in front of you. “You sure you’re okay?”
You nod again, “Guess we’re even now, huh, Sammy Boy?” 
The boys help you up and out to the car. You all ride back to the motel in silence. Dean is first out of the car and heading toward the rooms, leaving you and Sam behind in the Impala.
“You’ve got some blood on the back of your head,” you say.
Sam’s hand goes to the back of his head, coming back red. “Oh. Huh.”
Another moment passes, then you get out of the car and head to your door. As you’re unlocking it, you realize Sam is standing behind you. You glance over your shoulder at him. “You okay?”
“Would you mind helping me clean it? The blood on my head, I mean. I’m sure you’ll be more gentle than Dean would.”
“Sure, Sam. Come on in.” You open the door and head in. He follows and closes and locks the door behind him, checking the salt lines.
“Have a seat wherever, I’ll grab some supplies,” you say, heading into the bathroom for some warm water and a washcloth.
When you re-enter the bedroom, Sam is sitting on the edge of your bed, looking out of place. You crawl onto the bed behind him on your knees and start cleaning the blood from his hair as gently as you can.
“So, um,” Sam starts, “why did you stay in touch with Dean?”
“Oh, um, I don’t know. I just texted him one day and we hit it off. He’s pretty funny.”
Sam’s hums in response. You furrow your brow, “should I not have?"
"No, it's fine, I mean-," Sam stutters, "I just- um, maybe we can keep in touch this time?"
You’re taken aback, and you’re glad you're still behind Sam because you’re opening and closing your mouth like a fish for a moment. “Uh, yeah, Sam. I’d like that.”
“Can I, uh, ask you a question?”
“Of course, Sam.”
“Did I do something to upset you last time? At the bunker?” When you don’t immediately answer, he continues, “Because I thought we were getting along and hitting it off and then I came back one morning and you were just gone.”
“No, Sam,” you say, putting a hand on his shoulder and moving around so you’re in front of him. “You did nothing wrong. I got called away for something.”
“Okay,” he say, but he looks like he doesn’t believe you. Really, he looks like a kicked puppy and you can’t stand it. Fuck it, you think, I can’t have him thinking he did something wrong and looking at me like this. “Okay, I wasn’t called away. I, um,” you sigh. “Ilikeyouanditscaresme,” you rush out, avoiding eye contact.
A moment passes where nothing is said. You’re still looking away and you bring your thumb to your mouth to chew on the nail. He brings one hand up to pull your hand away from your face, and his other hand rests on your cheek. “Look at me, Y/N.”
You follow his command, meeting those hazel eyes, your heart feeling like it’s going to beat out of your chest. “I like you too,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. 
You put your hand on top of his on your cheek. “Really?”
He nods, smiling and giving you a glimpse at those adorable dimples. He brings his other hand to your cheek, his large hands now framing your face, and he’s looking into your eyes for permission. You nod, and then his lips are on yours. You feel like your brain has short-circuited, and it takes a moment for your lips to move to match his. His tongue licks your lower lip, again asking for permission, and you gladly open up to let him inside. Wow, you think, this is earthshattering. 
You both pull away, keeping your foreheads together.
“You’ll have to teach me how to do this,” you say.
He opens his eyes, confused.
“This ‘feelings’ thing,” you explain, “I’ve never really done this before.”
“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll always have your back.”
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trektraveler · 1 year
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My Hero
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Summary: Doctor Sam WInchester had fallen hard for the woman living just down the hall. She was easily the most adorable and the most accident-prone creature he had ever met! Yet for all the times he came to her rescue, he was too shy to make a move. Maybe he could work up his courage, if he got just one more chance...
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Sam x Reader, Doctor!Sam Winchester x You
Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader, Garth, Dean Winchester
Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, fluff
One Shot
Word Count: 3700
Author’s Notes: I swear, every time I get sick all I want is a Winchester to come and take care of me. Is that really so much to ask?? I think not! This is my very first Sam x Reader fic! I have a few more ideas rattling around for the youngest Winchester brother, but this is decent practice. For now. Enjoy!
     Bang.  Bang.  Bang.
     “Coming, coming!”  Sam pulled t-shirt over his head as he trotted to the front door.  He’d been getting ready for bed when the insistent knocking started.
     The door swung open to a very nervous young man in a Wong’s delivery uniform.  Sam recognized him from the few times he ordered from them. 
     “Hey, its Garth, right?”
     “Yeah,” he shifted on his feet, his eyes round with worry, “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”
     Sam’s instantly shifted into his professional mode.  He was currently an attending at Lawrence General Hospital, having just moved back a year ago from L.A.  It had been an adjustment, but a welcome one.  Big city life didn’t suit Sam at all. 
     “I am.  What’s going on?’
     “I was dropping off an order down the hall to the lady in 302 and I heard this thud behind the door and now I can’t get her to answer.  I think something’s wrong.”
     Sam was already grabbing his medical bag, “Show me.”
     302.  He knew the woman who lived there.  More or less.  They kept running into each other.  He first discovered her fighting with the soap dispenser in the laundry room.  Then again when she locked herself out of the building during a thunderstorm.  And then last week when the elevator got stuck between floors.  He always seemed to be wandering by when she needed a rescue.  She was funny, smart, accident prone, and completely adorable. 
     Sam had been working up the courage to ask her out, but something always seemed to crop up.  An extra shift at the hospital or a birthday party for a colleague.  He knew it was an excuse.  For all of his professional success, Sam was, and always had been, extremely shy.
     “Y/N?”  He knocked loudly on the closed door, then tried the handle and found it locked. 
     “Alright, stand back,” he said to Garth.  In one powerful move, Sam kicked the door in, the heel of his foot landing in just the right spot to splinter the doorjamb. 
     “Damn,” Garth blew out an impressed breath, “You aren’t even wearing shoes.”
     You were laying in the foyer.  Curled on your side with your hair spread out like a halo.  A wallet sat a few inches away from outstretched fingers. 
     Sam was at your side in an instant, gingerly turning you over and searching for a pulse, “Y/N?  Can you hear me?”
     Garth hovered nearby, nerves in his voice, “Is she okay?”
     Sam ran a hand over your forehead, “She’s burning up.  Go see if you can find a washcloth and a glass of water.”
     His worry only grew when he carried you to the couch and you still didn’t come to.  He held your limp body up with one hand while he worked your hoodie off with the other, leaving you in a tank top and yoga pants.  He’d strip that off you too, if he had to.  Every inch of bare skin he touched felt like it was on fire! 
     “Why isn’t she waking up?”  Garth asked handing Sam a kitchen towel.
     “Dehydration.  With a fever this high, it can happen quick.”  Sam dipped the towel in the water filled coffee mug and bathed your face and neck.  Sure enough, his efforts were rewarded.
     You groaned, even that soft sound reverberated through your pounding head.  Everything hurt and all you wanted was to slip back into the blankness of sleep.   But it was so noisy!  Someone kept talking, like the parents in a Snoopy cartoon.  Unintelligible, insistent, and so annoying!
     Sam gently tapped your cheeks, “Y/N.  Come on, darlin.  Open your eyes for me.”
     With a bit of coaxing, you did as he asked.  Everything around you swirled and slowly came into focus.  Your head felt heavy and fell to the side, Sam was there and smiled down at you.  As a reflex, you smiled back before your fevered brain could catch up and tell you who you were looking at.
     “Hey… it’s my hero.”
     Sam chuckled in relief, “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”
     “You’re here.  That’s so nice… why are you here?”
     “You passed out,” he replied, pressing the cool cloth to your brow.  “Do you remember what happened?”
     You tried to search your memory, but everything was so fuzzy!  “Um, I came home from work… I was sick.  Felt really bad.  Everything hurt.  Achy and cold.  Headache.  Then I ordered soup from the place down on Main Street.  I dunno…I feel a little out of it.”
     There was a blood pressure cuff wrapped around your bicep that was inflating.  Where did that come from?  Sam was doing that doctor thing where they listen to you talk while taking vitals at the same time.   
     How did doctors do that?  Did they teach that in med school?  It seemed especially confusing to you as your thoughts kept skipping away and going down rabbit holes.
     Cool fingers felt under your jaw, pressing against swollen lymph nodes.  He always had such a gentleness about him.  Such grace.  Surprising for a man of his size, but he seemed to take such care with you.  Like you were the most rare, delicate creature in the world.
     Last week when you found yourself stuck in the elevator, it was Sam who answered your call.  He muscled open the doors single handed and lifted you up though the opening without breaking a sweat.  You were more than a little awe struck by his display of strength and chivalry.  If you’d had half a brain, you’d have invited him for coffee as a thank you.  As it was, you were preoccupied with being late to work.  A sadly missed opportunity with your handsome neighbor.
     “You came home from work, was that last night?”
     “Um, yeah.  Yes.  As if Mondays aren’t sucky enough.”
     Sam’s eyebrows rose, “That was two days ago.”
     “What?”
     “Today’s Wednesday.”
     That information had you on the move.  You sat straight up and instantly went white.  The room titled and if it weren’t for Sam’s hands steadying your shoulders, you probably would have slid right off the couch.
     “Whoa, whoa, whoa.  Not so fast,” Sam advised, forcing you to recline.
     “I gotta go call work… or… somebody.”
     “The only place you are going is to the E.R.”
     “No, I can’t go to the hospital.”
     “Y/N, listen to me.  You’re dehydrated to the point that you fainted.  Your fever is 103, that’s dangerous territory.” 
     Sam tried to be stern, but he just didn’t have it in him.  You looked so pitiful with your hair sticking to the sweat slick skin and the dark smudges under your eyes.  You were desperately sick and he wasn’t going to simply leave you without treatment.
     “I know a lot of people are scared of the doctor, but I promise I’ll be right there with you.”
     You swallowed, wincing at the feeling of knives in your throat.  “I’m not scared, I’m uninsured.  My job is new, benefits don’t kick in for thirty days.”
     Garth piped up, “You’re a doctor, can’t you just prescribe something and treat her here?”
     “It’s not that simple.  She needs to be admitted so they can get an I.V. going and get some fluids into her system.  And bring that fever under control.”
     He felt your head loll against him.  He looked down in alarm and found you’d lost consciousness again. 
     “Y/N?  Wake up, Y/N!” 
     This time no amount of effort would bring you around. 
     “Damn it,” Sam growled as he got to his feet.  He grabbed a notepad from your entry table and scribbled a list down.  “Do you know that walk-in clinic on 42nd street?”
     Garth followed him, “Yeah, I pass it on my way to work.”
     “Great.  My brother is on call there tonight, go in and ask for Dean.  Tell him it’s for me, he’ll help you.”  Sam tore off the list and thrust it into Garth’s hand, “Get everything and hurry!”
     Garth shoved the paper in his pocket, “What if they don’t believe me?  That clinic isn’t in the best part of town, junkies hassle them all the time.”
     “Dean will believe you but in case he doesn’t say Poughkeepsie.  It’s our go word, means drop everything.”
     “A secret code word, you guys must be brothers,” Garth muttered on his way out the door.
     You woke feeling warm.  Bundled up in something soft and secure.  Your eyes stayed closed as you enjoyed the luxurious feeling.  Most mornings you woke up stiff with your muscles complaining about the ancient futon you had yet to replace.  It was left over from college and the wood slats dug into your hips, but moving to a new town was expensive!  Anything like a proper mattress would have to wait until you had a few more paychecks under your belt.
     You stretched a bit, content to roll over and fall back into your dreams, but something tugged on your hand and pinched.  You frowned and tried again; it was like you were caught in a fishing net. 
     “What the hell…?”  You grumbled unhappily, determined to keep your eyes closed out of stubbornness.  You blindly felt around and found a tube and tape attached to your right hand.
     Your eyes popped open.  An I.V.?
     You weren’t in your bed.  You weren’t in your room!  Where the hell were you? 
     The dimensions matched your bedroom, but it wasn’t bare bones like yours.  This one was painted a lovely smoke grey.  Bookshelves lined one wall and a mahogany dresser matched it on the other.  The bed was the biggest you’d ever seen.  The headboard was massive and intricately carved.  The mattress was firm but yielding. 
     The bedside table housed bottles of medication, a stethoscope, a digital thermometer, and a glass of water.  You remembered being sick.  Sicker than you’d ever felt.  You remembered your boss sending you home then… nothing.  Just a blur. 
     You sat up slowly.  When the room didn’t spin, you decided to press your luck.  You pulled back the covers enough to dangle your feet over the edge.  Your toes found plush carpet.  You felt weak, but not dizzy.  And you were cold without the blankets.  Looking down you found bare legs.  You were wearing only your tank top and Wonder Woman underwear. 
     Fuck.  Where the hell are my clothes?!
     With a quick yank, you pulled the I.V. out and headed for the door. 
     “Yeah, Dean I know.  If I promise to wash and wax your car, will you get off my case?”
     “No way in hell you are waxing my Baby, do I need to remind you about Liza Raffaella in the eighth grade?”
     “Please don’t,” Sam groaned into the phone. 
     “It’s wax on, wax off.  Not wax on, go chat up a nerd girl for three hours while the wax bakes on in the sun!”
     “Sam?”
     Sam spun at the raspy voice behind him.  You were standing in the hall, your hand braced against the wall for balance.  You looked a little wobbly, but far better than you had in hours.
     “I gotta go,” he told his brother before ending the call.  “Y/N, hey.  How you feeling?”
     “Confused.  How did I get here and where are my clothes?”
     “Oh!”  Sam’s cheeks colored instantly as he grabbed a soft, woven throw from the back of an over-sized chair.  He draped it over your shoulders and ushered you to the sofa.
     “Sorry about that, your fever was sky high.  Needed to bring it down in a hurry.  Here, sit.”
     You sank down onto a couch that was just as comfortable as the bed you’d woken up in.  Sam disappeared into the kitchen then returned with a glass of ginger ale and some crackers.  He was rattling off something about Chinese takeout and your pants being in the laundry.  All the while he was fussing over you.  His long fingers found the pulse point on your wrist, and he produced a pen light from somewhere to check your pupils.
     After a few minutes, he realized you were staring at him, “Y/N?”
     “Sam, grateful that I am for your hospitality and bedside manner… I still don’t understand why I’m here.” 
     “Well, I figured it would be a better place for you to recover… with all the construction.”
     Now you were really confused, “Construction?”
     Sam rubbed the back of his neck and embarrassment turned his ears pink, “Yeah.  I ah… I kinda broke down your door.”
     “What?!”
     “You weren’t answering!  I just had a really bad feeling, and I would never have forgiven myself if something happened to you.”
     His gaze traveled your face then locked on your eyes.  “I was worried about you.”
     You looked at him, really looked.  He was beautiful, as he always was, but there was an edge of exhaustion to his features.  His five o’clock shadow was darker than you’d ever seen it.  The fine lines around his eyes and lips were etched deeper and his hazel eyes were slightly red.  Even his enviable hair was disheveled. 
     “So, you committed destruction of property to save my life?”
     “I did.”  He gave a nod, his tone teasing, “You gonna turn me in?”
     A small smile played around your lips, “Nah.  I might need your services again.  I have a habit of getting into trouble.  Nice to know I’ve got my own personal hero on call.”
     “You call, I’ll come running.”
Two Years Later:
     “That was not our first date!”
     “We spent the entire weekend curled up in my bed, it counts.”
     “I was unconscious!”
     “Not the whole time,” Sam countered, threading his fingers through yours, “Sometimes you’d wake up.  Of course, you were delirious.  You did have some of the most creative fever dreams… what was that one about the Catholic church hiding the existence of extra-terrestrials by dressing them up like the clergy?”
     “They were hiding dinosaurs, not aliens.  Tiny dinosaurs under their creepy old lady robes.  And still, not a date.  I think you’ll find most dating experts would agree with me on this.”
    “Dating experts?”
     “Your brother.”
     Sam huffed out a laugh, “Don’t be fooled by the rumors, he’s not the Casanova everyone thinks he is.”
     “I dunno, guy gets a lot of dates.”
     “First dates.  Ask him about his batting average for second dates.”
     “Oh yeah?  Got him beat, do you?”
     “Hands down.”
     Sam curled a finger under your chin and brought his lips down to meet yours.  You hummed happily as an electric spark zinged all the way down to your toes.  It was crazy that even after two years he still managed to excite you with just a touch, or a look.  You never had to doubt his feelings for you, he wore them openly and proudly.  He never missed the opportunity to hold your hand in the grocery store or to wrap his arm around your shoulders at the movies.   A kiss to the temple, a hand at the small of your back.  Every touch was filled with the warmth of the sun on a summer’s day.  Every night was filled with the heat and passion of desire that could never be sated. 
     You leaned into Sam’s side as he guided the two of you down the winding path that cut through the willows.  “So, tell me Doctor Winchester, why haven’t I been to your family’s estate before?”
     “I wouldn’t call it an estate, it’s just a few acres.”
     “I don’t care if it’s a patch of dead grass… you have horses!  Horses, Sam!  I’ve wanted to go horseback riding since I was ten.”
     “We might be able to squeeze in a lesson for you before we head home.”
     “Really?!”
     “I’ll bet you’re a natural, you’re already an expert with a riding crop,” he whispered in your ear.
     “Sam!”  You admonished him, instantly turning red, “That was a one time!”
     “Best birthday ever.  And to answer your question; you haven’t been here before because I was waiting.”
     The path curved and opened up to a decent sized pond.  A dock jutted out onto the clear, still waters and ended in an elaborate gazebo.  Painted a picturesque white and topped with a copper finial, hundreds of tiny fairy lights hung from the rafters glittering with magic and romance. 
     “Oh wow,” you breathed, following Sam down the planks.  “This is like something out of a book.  God, it’s beautiful!”
     “My parents built this place from the ground up.  Mom had this vision in her head about a pond where she could come and watch ducks.  Teach her kids to swim and fish.  So, one summer, Dad started digging.  I don’t think he even had a plan, all the neighbors thought he was crazy!  But he was stubborn and determined.  And he loved my mom more than anything.”
     You walked out to the end of the platform and leaned out on the railing.  Dragonflies danced along the surface of the water as the sun began to set and the crickets started to sing.  “He did a great job.  Did he build the gazebo too?”
     “Anniversary present,” he confirmed, joining you by the railing.  “This was my favorite spot when I was a kid.  Dean loved the garage, hanging with Dad and tearing apart trucks with the radio blasting.  I couldn’t stand the noise, so I’d come out here.  Even in the winter.”
     Suddenly, a swan flew down and landed in the middle of the water.  Graceful and noble, it glided across the water sending the slightest of ripples out in its wake.  As it turned, you could see a single black feather against the white of its tail. 
     “Oh!  I’ve never seen a swan with one black feather.”
     “He’s always had it, never could figure out why.  He showed up when I was ten and just never left.  I call him Solomon.”
     “Is it just him?  I thought swans always paired up?”  
     “Well, that’s the thing, they do have mates for life, but he showed up alone.  And I know it sounds silly, but he was mopey.  He didn’t take a lot of interest in anything; he didn’t interact with the ducks or even pay any attention to me when I tried to feed him.  He was sad.  Some animals grieve and I think he was grieving for his lost mate.”
     “Poor guy,” you murmured, watching as Sam took a packet of birdseed from his pocket and tossed a bit out on the water. 
     “When I left for college, Solomon migrated and didn’t come back in the spring.  I thought I’d seen the last of him, but then I got a call from Mom this past summer.  He was back and he brought someone with him.”
     As if on cue, a second swan swooped down and landed beside Solomon.  Pure white and just as lovely.  They looked like a postcard, gliding on the sunlit water.
     “You’re kidding!  He found another mate?  I didn’t know swans would do that!”
     “Some do, special cases.  And Solomon’s no fool, he might have been content to be alone forever, but when that right one came along, he snapped her up.”
     “That’s amazing!”  You turned to Sam with a beaming grin, but stopped short when you realized he wasn’t standing there beside you.  He was kneeling. 
     “Sam.”
     He took both of your hands in his, tipping his face back to gaze up at you with such tenderness and devotion it made your breath catch.
     “I’ve been thinking about this moment for a long time.  I knew what I wanted to do and how I wanted it to look, but the words never came.  Everything I wrote seemed inadequate.  Even the word love falls short.  It’s not enough, it’s not big enough.  Being with you is a revelation, Y/N.  You call me your hero, but baby… it’s the other way around.  You rescued me.”
     Tears had already gathered in your eyes when he pulled out a blue velvet box.  A diamond solitaire sparkled inside like a star in the sky. 
     “I don’t know if I’ll ever have the words, but I swear to show you.  To treasure you, to make your happiness my mission.  To answer your call and to love you for all my days.”
     You dropped down to your knees and tackled him.  Your arms flung around his neck, nearly knocking him over in your enthusiasm.   He caught you with a laugh and kept the two of you from tumbling off into the water.  You kissed every square inch of the face you’d loved since he first rescued you.  And you laughed.  Joy bubbled up from your heart like effervescent Champagne.
     “You astonishing,” Kiss. “Brilliant,” kiss. “Romantic,” kiss, kiss. “Beautiful,” kiss, kiss, kiss.
     “Y/N… baby…”
     “Yes?” Kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss.
     His hands wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you back slightly so he could look into your eyes.  He traced the curve of your face, fondly tucking your hair behind your ear.  You were always moving, always racing towards everything in life.  It was something he loved about you, your exuberance.  Your passion!  You burned so bright, his light even on the darkest days. 
     “Will you marry me?”
     Your brow creased in confusion before you realized, he didn’t actually say the words a moment ago.  You been so excited that he never got the chance. 
     “Yes,” you nodded, your forehead coming to rest against his. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
     Sam slipped the ring onto your finger, “Will you look at that?  Perfect fit.”
     “Guess that means you’re stuck with me now.”  You shifted so that you were sitting in his lap, your hand cupped his jaw, “I should tell you up front that I tend to get into trouble, there’s a good chance that you’ll be required to rescue me from time to time.”
     “Good thing rescuing you is my second favorite activity.”
     “Second favorite?”
     “Yeah,” he murmured against the curve of your neck, “Let me show you the front runner.”
     Before long, Sam had swept you away in a haze with his deft fingers and clever tongue.  The title of Hero that you bestowed on him became a running joke through the years and then a loving nickname.  But that didn’t make it any less true.  He’d always been a hero, and now he was yours. TAGLIST @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseunbyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetryy @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witchly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker @panicking-outside-the-disco @haylie-spnfam4evr @lauraashley93 @foxyjwls007 @bluedragonflylady @foxyjwls007
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