#bsf!sam winchester

[sunnwila]

dimples

high school best friend! sam winchester x f! hunter! reader

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summary: sam winchester transferred to your high school in your junior year. he lasted all of five months there but in that time, you grew close enough for sleepovers. you reunite on the hunt years later... closer to his brother than he likes honestly. it's shocking that you can hunt for all of two minutes before he sees you take down a vamp.

warnings: some very mild angst, some fluff. jealous sammy and dimpled sammy. nerdy sammy. LOTS of back story i got carried away, sorry. some shit head big brother dean too. brief j*hn winchester mentions... idiots in love!

i love sam's dimples, what can i say.

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The first time you met Sam you were freshly seventeen in your junior year of high school. Sam was just a year below you, despite being seventeen himself (he was forced to stay back a year because of moving around so much. This severely irked him).

No one had the nerve to go up to the new kid, he was lanky and had a mean resting face that dared people to mess with him. You didn't have it either honestly, but luckily for you, you didn't need to because Sam had beat you to it.

"Is that Frankenstein?" he asked, pointing to the book in your hand. His locker was a couple across from yours, but the hallway was nearly empty. He shut his with a click before striding over to you with his head tilted in curiosity. You looked down to the book you had taken out, it was the assigned reading for your Honors Lit class, and you gripped it at the realization that he was talking to you.

"Uh. Yes," you stumbled over your words which made him quirk a half smile, his dimple peeking out at you. Suddenly the giant kid with a size too small shirt and shaggy brown hair seemed completely harmless. You smiled back and from that moment on you'd been inseparable.

Dean had teased Sam endlessly about his "girlfriend" when he would pick him up from school and see you lingering by his side on the stairs.

"Girl and friend, Dean. She's my friend who happens to also be a girl," he would correct annoyed as he slid into the passenger seat, inconspicuously looking back out the window at you.

"Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night," he retorted with a chuckle and a glint in his eye.

Sam and you would pour over books, endlessly dissecting plot structure and sharing character analysis. He would geek out about whatever he was learning in history while you carefully listened and drew little cartoons of him while he babbled.

(His face would light up when he saw these drawings of himself, or sometimes it would be a panel of cartoon-him and cartoon-you doing something silly. Every time, he'd insist you sign them before carefully putting it in-between the pages in his book).

He'd purposely annoy you with arguments like who the best classic author was (he said Salinger, you said Steinbeck) and why Dally in the Outsiders was the best Greaser (you were quite fond of Ponyboy).

Sometimes you'd read in silence together, the white noise and the sound of his breathing enveloped you and you'd sometimes (a lot of times) get distracted peeking over your page to study his face and the way his brow furrowed when he concentrated.

Practically attached at the hip, you two would walk down the halls together, laughing about whatever stupid thing you could think of to get a peek at his dimples.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't harboring the teensiest crush on him.

What wasn't to love? His smile was the cutest. He was a full head taller than you, and then some. He loved to read all of the same books you did, and he was ever the gentleman, kind and reassuring. And he was funny! Most of the time you were in stitches when he would crack the rare joke (apart from his little sarcastic comments).

The only problem was that you didn't know a thing about him. All you knew was that he moved around a lot and had a brother. There was never a mention of his mother or father. The one time he had mentioned John was brief, and it was that he was kind of a hard ass because he was a Marine. The subject was quickly dropped in favor of Napolean and Napoleonic code, something he started reading about when he got bored in Pre-Calc the week prior.

You'd never gone to his house, but he would often come to yours, first to study, then to watch movies, then for dinner. Eventually he was spending weekends at your house. Your mother thought the two of you were dating. You had to shush her anytime she thought to bring it up with a sly smile at dinner. Sam wasn't stupid, he knew, but politely continued to eat with a faint blush on his cheeks, pretending he hadn't heard.

It irked you that you two could share so much of your time with each other, but you still knew so little about him. He knew everything there was to know about you. You'd only learned the little things, his favorite color (orange, the burnt siena kind), his favorite book (The Catcher in the Rye), how he liked his eggs in the morning (over medium, not too runny, but enough that he could dip his toast in it), and his favorite band (Alice in Chains). You took what you could get, and you never let it show, but it disappointed you that he didn't trust you to tell you. You were so vulnerable with him, did he think that you wouldn't understand?

One Friday he didn't come to school. You texted him a quick where r u??? before going into your shared chemistry class. You didn't hear from him the whole day and didn't see him again until that Tuesday. Worried sick, you pushed him for answers, especially for the black eye he was sporting. He dodged your questions and gave halfhearted attempts to change the subject until eventually he shut you out. He moved out of town a day later with no explanation. He had sent a goodbye text, but that was the last you heard from him.

For the next few years, you thought about Sam. All you'd had left of him was his Radiohead CD and an arbitrary green t shirt. You'd texted and texted but got no response.

When you'd graduated top of your class, you wished he was there. When you'd had no prom date, you wished he was there. When you were applying to schools you wished he was there.

When your mom got killed by a rugaru in your second semester of your freshman year of college, you'd wished he was there.

And like any hunter worth their salt, you dropped everything and began hunting the thing that killed her.

For a while you were chasing your own tail in circles. You came across other small hunters, but it wasn't until you'd met Bobby that you were finally able to track the thing down. All those years of your mom insisting on kick boxing and Jiu Jitsu classes were starting to make sense.

She'd been a retired hunter and a close friend of Bobby's. He told you that your father had been killed by a shifter a month before you were born, leaving your mother in ruins. Instead of aiming for revenge, she swore it off to keep you safe.

Fat load of good that did you.

Rugaru dead, you found yourself spending a lot of time with Bobby. You didn't go back to school, but you did start carrying your own weight around the scrapyard and helping with the hunter information hub.

That's how you met John Winchester. And evidently Dean.

When you first met them, you couldn't believe it. Were these the infamous Marine father and annoying brother Sam hardly spoke about back then? You couldn't believe it. You obviously hadn't known before that Sam's family were hunters, but things began shifting into place in your mind when you put two and two together.

He'd clam up when the subject of college was brought up, all the weekends he'd spend at your house, avoiding questions from your mother about where his family was and if he'd told them he was staying over. All the ominous talk about not wanting to go into the family business. Your heart swelled at the thought of seeing him again, only to deflate when Bobby had to explain that Sam wasn't in the life anymore. It was then you realized that all the time Sam spent with you, was to escape.

Pieces of you were glad Sam got out. His reluctance to mention his dad then made sense. But what stood out in your mind most often was his fiery blush when you told him that with the way he talked himself out of trouble all the time, he'd make a decent lawyer

Even three years later, you still thought about him. You missed him.

So you got to know the parts of Sam he hadn't shown you before.

Dean took to you almost immediately. He remembered you from that beat-down-town years ago and enjoyed annoying you just as much as his brother once had. When you got on your feet again and started hunting, you'd tagged along with John and Dean, eager to get out. When John got sick of lugging you around, calling you dead weight (not without a sneer and a scoff of disbelief from you) he sent you and Dean to small-fry jobs.

A month or two in, Dean and you found a rhythm. Find the monster of the week, do your homework, scramble to kill the thing, celebrate with a few beers and a night at a dive.

You hardly brought up Sam. It was a touchy subject. From the tidbits you'd gathered on drunk sappy nights with Dean, Sam had left without looking back. He'd run off to college and was determined to leave this life and his brother behind. Dean hadn't spoken to him in years. You weren't sure if you should tell him that it didn't sound like Sam to leave with no contact, but then again, he had done the same thing to you. You'd only been friends for five short months; you had no idea who he could've grown up to be.

John brought him up when he needed to point out how much better Sam was at research then you were, or really anything you did-- Sam was better. The pride in his voice mixed with the disappointed look in his eye encouraged you to keep your mouth shut. Usually, you'd just sit there and fume, you hadn't known the man long enough to spit something back, sufficing with muttered fuck you-s under your breath. You hadn't wanted to upset Dean, you knew how highly he thought of his father and had decided it wasn't worth it.

Fire would rise in your chest when you saw the pained look on Dean's face anytime his dad talked about Sam. In the months you'd gotten to know him, you became fiercely protective (something that made Dean wildly conflicted, he was the big brother/mama bear... having someone else dote on him was foreign, but strangely not unwelcome).

Usually, when John started on a tangent, you just removed yourself and lugged Dean with you. He kept the shouting up as you two stalked off to the Impala, or the Motel, or wherever he wasn't. It was around those times where he would send you two off on your own.

That's how you'd found yourselves in the Impala on the way back from a hunt in Raleigh. It took a week and a half to find a haunted doll hiding in someone's attic, but you'd managed to salt and burn it without much damage. Two years of hunting with Dean put you at a comfortable ease during a hunt and the two of you pretty much knew the ins and outs of each other, both as hunters and as friends.

On the way out of North Carolina, Dean decided to call John, to check in and see how his hunt in California was going. Fourteen missed calls later, Dean was worried. Bobby hadn't heard from him, and John wasn't necessarily a friendly hunter, so none of Bobby's hunter friends had seen or heard anything either.

The car was silent while he figured out what to do in his head. His resolve never faltered, his gaze trained on the road ahead.

"I think I should get Sam," he said.

"What?" The idea of seeing Sam for the first time in over five years almost made your heart stop. But you didn't want to be selfish. it wasn't fair to bring him back because of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Our dad's missing, Sam deserves to know," he had replied, knuckles tightening on the wheel.

"Dean, are you sure we should even bring him back in?" As much as you missed Sam, you respected him more.

"Our Dad is missing," he said with a tone of finality that shut you up. You'd have plenty of time to argue with him later, it wasn't worth it right now.

"I'll drop you off at Bobby's," he added.

"What?" you repeated, starting the fight you'd planned for later. There was no way you were sitting this out, you'd told him as much, but he wouldn't have anything of it. This was something he felt he didn't need to drag you into. You didn't even like his dad anyways, he had said. Which was true but hearing him say it felt like a slap in the face, as if you weren't allowed to want to help Dean, someone who had become family.

The car ride was silent after your argument. You'd gotten out of the Impala without a word, lingering to see if he might say something. When nothing followed, you stood there like an idiot for another second before a simple "Goodluck" fell from your mouth and you shut the passenger door on him. You'd turned and trudged into the ranch ahead, too stubborn to actually give a proper goodbye.

For days you wanted to cry. You hadn't heard anything from him, Bobby mentioned he had called when he got Sam, but nothing else. When you got over yourself, you realized that in Dean's stupid protective head he probably thought he was looking after you. Whatever he thought had made his dad disappear, he didn't want you to get hurt. That's what Bobby had said. You tried to not let it sting whenever you thought about him thinking you weren't capable or a good enough hunter.

A week passed when you heard about Jess. Still nothing from Dean or Sam. You hadn't known he was in a relationship, neither did Dean, by the way he spoke about him--at least, he had never mentioned anything. A twinge of regret pierced through your heart, and embarrassingly enough, disappointment. That stupid high school crush never really went away. But you'd only sort of gotten to know him, briefly, you had no claim on him.

You didn't call Dean to check on them. You didn't want to press, you were sure Sam didn't need that right now.

Another week passed with nothing from them, and you quickly got sick of sitting around all day and decided to go back out and hunt. Overthinking your relationship with the both of them wasn't doing you any good. Bobby was worried for you, but you'd amassed quite the skill since your mother died, your fighting skills far passed anything Dean could muster, and your aim was getting better as time went on.

You took a car from the yard--something you'd been tinkering with for the time you'd spent there--and packed a bag. Then the gear. And after a nice roast dinner you'd made for Bobby and yourself, you hit the road, following a lead on a djinn down in Tennesse.

And just like that, you had spent a year hunting on your own. Not necessarily with the same efficiency that you achieved when you were hunting with Dean, but you handled your own well enough. Hunts took a little longer, but then again, you were finally on your own, no crutch to fall back on. It was relieving as much as it was lonely. You missed sharing breakfast or lunch or dinner with Dean at a diner, laughing when he stuffed his face.

And the money thing was kinda hard. Dean handled the fake credit cards. You'd learned how to hustle pool and so instead of committing credit card fraud, you used good old-fashioned misogyny to win a couple hundred bucks from loser guys at bars.

It was one of these nights that you found yourself at the edge of a pool table, hustling a group of guys that had a little more to drink then they probably should've.

Five of them crowded around the other side of the table, four cheering on the fifth who was currently aiming for a striped ball in the corner pocket. You'd beat two of them already, but somehow the others couldn't believe that you, a woman, could not beat them. Let alone have the smarts to hustle them out of their money. It must be beginner's luck they chortled amongst each other.

The laughing stopped when you beat the fourth guy. And like clockwork, the fifth stood up to play. You had to roll your eyes. Did they even consider the fact that you were hustling them? You couldn't tell if they were more upset that they were losing their money or that it was a woman they were losing to.

Either way, pride got in their way. Another win, and you had over half a grand in your hand. You had to laugh.

"Good game, hon. You almost had me!" you shook your head in amusement.

"You bitch," the fifth man snarled. Two other men saddled up behind him, giving menacing stares.

They weren't so amused, apparently.

"Freaky, huh? I mean, are you sure you guys weren't going easy on me?" you couldn't help yourself as you pocketed the cash. You hoped the kitchen was still open, maybe you could get some mozzarella sticks to celebrate your win.

"You think you're funny?" One guy said.

"Oh no! A little girl like me? Funny? Can't be," you grinned. A small audience was forming as people began to take notice of the hostility radiating off of the men. You knew when to quit it, so you smiled extra sweet at them, an evil glint in your eye, before bending down to pick up your bag from the ground.

It was at this precise moment that a few things happened at once. First, the fifth guy (the ringleader if you will) stepped forward, no doubt, with the intent to scare you. You had anticipated this and popped up, ready to play dirty and kick his knees in, when another man from the audience stepped in with a deep "Hey!" You got a brief flash of leather, and, unable to stop what had already been put in motion, side swiped the fuck out of the man stepping up to your defense.

"Shit!" he cursed as he went down. Shocked and apologetic, you turned to help him up, barely catching a glimpse of your victim, when a heavy hand came crashing down on your shoulder and pulled you away roughly. Assuming it was one of the other pissed off guys, you turned and swung in the general direction of what you assumed to be your attacker's head.

A familiar "oof" came when you made contact with a cheekbone. Immediately your brows furrowed, your hand slackened and your heart dropped. It couldn't be.

Your mouth was too slow on the uptake and Dean beat you to it. Hauling himself up from the floor where you'd swiped him down and called your name in disbelief. Your eyes widened when you realized.

Your head whipped around to see Sam standing behind you holding his cheek, bewildered.

"Holy shit!" you looked between Dean and Sam, the angry men stood forgotten on the sidelines of the whole ordeal, unsure of what to do. You paid no mind as you looked back to Sam again, not convinced this wasn't a dream.

"What are you doing here?" Dean asked as he pulled you in for a hug. You embraced him and shoved your face in his leather jacket.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" you quipped, slapping his shoulder.

"Getting attacked by you, even though I was about to defend your ass!"

"My ass doesn't need any defending, thank you," you smiled.

"Right. You had it handled," he rolled his eyes. You slapped his shoulder again.

"Yeah, I did. I'm a way better fighter than you," you shrugged.

"You are not."

"Bobby thinks so."

"What?" That got him. Before you could unleash your witty reply, Sam cleared his throat behind you, turning both yours and Dean's attention to him. He wouldn't look at you at first, just made big expectant eyes at Dean.

"What?" he said, clueless. Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning back to you with a soft smile on his face.

"Hi," he said, all sheepish.

"Hi!" You beamed and immediately pulled him in for a hug. He was at least three inches taller than the last time you'd hugged him. He smelled the same, though. Just the feeling of his heart beating against your cheek pulled you back to seventeen, pining after him and laughing in the echoing hallways.

"What are you-"

"Why are y-" you both cut each other off with an awkward chuckle as you pulled away.

"Sorry, you go," you smiled.

"No, no. You first," he gestured with his hand, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity, dimples peeking out in amazement.

"Uh, before you two start, can we sit? I need a beer," Dean chimed in with a grimace. You rolled your eyes, Sam mirroring your expression before turning to the nearest booth.

When you guys settled, Sam across from you and Dean on your right, you ask your question again, "Why are you guys here?"

"Hunt, duh," Dean replied, taking a sip from his beer. You saw Sam's eyes widen in annoyance in Dean's direction.

"Oh. Right. Sammy, she's a hunter now," he explained. Your head spun back to face Sam.

"Wait, you didn't know?"

"How was I supposed to know?" he replied, half joking, half butthurt at being left out.

"Well, I assumed your brother told you," you shrugged, looking to your right and fixing Dean with a look.

"Sorry, but he would've gotten all worried and distracted. You know how he is," he busied himself with a ring on his finger, avoiding eye contact.

"You're an idiot," you said before turning back to Sam with a smile.

"So you're a hunter..." he trailed off.

"Yeah, have been for about... four and a half years now?" you sighed.

"Wow. And that's how you know my brother," he said, eyeing Dean.

"Yeah. Went hunting with him and John a few times. Then with Dean for like, what? Six months?" you turned to ask.

"Eight," he replied.

"Eight months I guess," you said turning back to Sam. He had an unreadable look on his face. If you hadn't known any better, you'd say it looked like jealousy, but that couldn't be. He'd tensed up when you brought up John too, and by the clear lack of him around, you understood that they still hadn't found him. You didn't push the subject.

Sam's hands rested on the table in front of you, his fingers woven together and fidgeting. He didn't say anything for a while, just looked at you like you could disappear any moment. He seemed like he wanted to say something but refrained. Maybe for Dean's sake, maybe for his own. You wished he'd just say it.

After a moment he smiled, "Man, I can't believe it's you. I thought for sure you'd be a professor or something," he shook his head.

"A professor? Why?"

"Well, I was gonna say doctor, but you hated chemistry so much back then..." he trailed off. You laughed.

"Yeah, you're right," you wanted to reach out and touch his hand just to feel him. You still didn't believe he was right there in front of you, after all the years of wishing you could see him, hear his voice.

Dean spoke up then, "We're here about some disappearances."

"Me too. It's a vamp nest," you said without turning your head. You couldn't stop staring at Sam. He was looking down at his hands, so you drank him in without freaking him out. His hair had gotten longer; he kept his bangs though. The urge to trace the moles on his face made your fingers twitch and you had to squeeze them to remind yourself of where you were. Of who you were to him. His girlfriend had only died just last year.

"You're quick," Dean replied, "when'd you get here?"

"Mmmm, last Friday?"

"Huh," Sam chimed in, studying your face. Though he tried to mask his surprise at your efficiency in finding the monster in a short few days, his mouth gave it away, twitching in disbelief.

"Right, well, y'know where it is?" Dean sipped the last of his beer and motioned for another.

"Oh yeah, couple buildings down from here, was gonna head over after I gambled for my lunch money for tomorrow," you grinned. Sam laughed at this.

"Alright lemme finish this and let's go," Dean motioned.

"Are you hijacking my hunt?"

"You don't want help?" he tutted.

"Yeah, yeah," you swatted him away as he poked your arm. Sam watched this interaction closely, his jaw clenched. You only caught a glimpse of it before he steeled himself and his face went back to neutral.

Dean finished his beer in two big gulps and you and Sam followed him out and to your car.

"You fixed this thing up?" Dean gestured to your mustang.

"Mhmm, this is Cherry," you puffed up your chest in pride as the boys looked onto your cherry red muscle car.

"Creative," Sam quipped with a teasing smile. He peeked into the car, eager to see what you had in there. He wanted to take in as much about your new life as possible. He felt like he missed so much.

You popped your trunk, grabbing a machete and a book from your duffle.

"Hey, you still like this book?" you called out to Sam whose head was almost fully in your passenger side window. He shot himself up so fast, you were surprised he didn't hit his head. Sheepishly, he walked around to you where you held out your beaten copy of Frankenstein that the two of you had gushed over all those years ago. A laugh bubbled out of him, and you warmed at the sound.

"You still have this?" he reached out to take it from you, his fingers brushing yours, butterflies erupted in your stomach.

"Well, yeah. It's in your hand, isn't it?"

"Still a smartass then," he shook his head with a fond smile.

"Says you," you nudged his shoulder. Dean had wandered off to the Impala to grab their gear, so it was just the two of you alone. "You can have it," you said pushing the book closer to his chest. More fluttering in your stomach at the contact with his warm hands.

"No," he tried to argue but you shushed him.

"Seriously. I've read it so many times, I can recite whole pages, word for word." He laughed again at this, and you beamed.

"Fine. But I'm giving it back when I'm done."

"Sure, you are."

"I missed you," he said after a moment of silence. You looked up at him.

"I missed you too."

"I wanted to call so many times," he said.

"That's okay," you looked down and kicked at a pebble with the toe of your boot.

Both of you weren't sure what to say next. The Impala started with a roar in the distance, filling the silence between you two.

"I'm sorry about Jessica," you whispered. You didn't want to bring her up. You didn't know how Sam was doing; you hadn't ever talked about anything so vulnerable regarding his life with him before, but you needed him to know.

Before he could reply, Dean rolled up, window down and head sticking out his driver's side window.

"Alright, let's dust these fuckers, you comin'?"

"Right, yeah" you said, swinging the machete in your hand. Sam cleared his throat, eyeing your swinging before rounding the car and entering the passenger side. You sidled up to the trunk, tossing the weapon in with the others and swung around to the back, sat comfortably behind the brothers.

"How long you been huntin' again? Last I heard from Bobby you were hangin' around there," Dean asked as he sped off.

"Eh, year or so? I go back to Bobby's every coupla months though," you cracked your knuckles in the silence. Sam's head turned ever so slightly in your direction, you wouldn't have caught the motion if you weren't staring. He didn't say anything for the whole ride, but Dean did a whole lot of talking for the both of them, asking how you've been, commenting on the new machete, but never bringing up John.

When you got there, Dean assigned roles. You took the back entrance; he and Sam would take the front. You had a mean swing, and weren't worried, but Sam's eyebrows furrowed when Dean announced that you would be alone. He looked about to speak up, but you interrupted before he could say anything.

"I'm good. There's only like three of them in there, last I checked. I could do this alone if I wanted," you couldn't help the boast. Dean laughed and clapped his brother on the back.

"She ain't a little girl anymore," he strutted off (because yes Dean Winchester struts). Sam followed but not without a look of reluctance to you, "Be careful," he urged.

"I always am," you smiled before jogging to the back. You peered through the windows but saw nothing but shadows. It was pitch black out and there were no lights on inside. The back door opened without any force and you made your way inside, eyes scanning what looked to be the kitchen. You heard muffled footsteps to your right, but turned to see it was just Sam.

"Anything?"

"No, there's gotta be a basement," you replied. The two of you began searching for a door until you heard a grunt come from the room next to yours. There were a few more and what sounded like a punch landing. You and Sam ran to aid Dean in whatever he was dealing with when another vamp descended on you. You swung your machete around and nailed it in the arm. It hissed and swung its other arm at you, grabbing your shoulder.

In the mess of fighting, you caught a brief glance at Sam fighting his own vamp, it getting dangerously close to his neck at points.

You ripped from the vamp's grasp and kicked it down, knocking the wind out of it before swinging your machete around and slicing its head clean off. When you turned to see how the boys were doing, you were met with less success than yourself. Dean had gotten his weapon wrestled from him and thrown to the side.

You charged up to the vamp attacking him from behind and swung, but he moved at the last second and you cut through the air, nearly missing Dean's nose. His eyes widened before turning his attention back to the vampire, turning its attention on you, pissed.

Dean grabbed for his machete on the ground and charged, nicking its shoulder. You turned back to Sam who was far too preoccupied with watching your back that he was losing his battle. His arm was bleeding as he tried to fight off with his other good arm. As you made your way to help, the vamp kicked him across the floor, Sam slammed his head on the cabinets in the fall, and you winced. You turned back to Dean, who had his vamp cornered and was talking smack (because he always has to use that smart mouth). Seeing he was perfectly fine; you turned your attention back to your vampire.

Pissed, you took one swing to the unassuming man and his head thudded to the ground, rolling as you rushed over to Sam.

"Jesus," you said as you helped him up. He groaned. "Why the hell were you watching me?" you remarked, annoyed.

"I wasn't!" he defended, propped up against the cabinets behind him. Footsteps echoed behind you.

"Sammy what the hell!" Dean said behind you.

"He didn't bite you, did he?" you asked, brows furrowed and eyes scanning his body. You looked closer at the wound on his arm, and he hissed.

"No."

"No need to be pissy about it, c'mere," you hoisted yourself up and held out a hand for him to take. He grabbed it and used the leverage to pull himself up as well, not meeting your eyes.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," you scolded.

"Yeah, well I didn't," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"I dunno why you were so worried about me. I told you; I was fine. I can handle myself."

"Yeah, I gathered that," he replied with a huff as he walked through the back door.

"That was it right?" you turned to Dean who had been silent for the time being.

"Yeah, those assholes came from the basement. I checked after I wasted the other vamp."

"Wasted?" you teased.

"Shut up," he rolled his eyes with a smile. You turned your attention ahead of you again and saw that Sam was much further ahead than before, so you jogged to keep up with him.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he grumbled.

"You have a huge gash on your arm, and you hit your head like a motherfucker," you deadpanned. Normally, this would crack at least a small smile from Sam, but he said nothing keeping his eyes trained ahead.

"Listen, I don't understand why you're upset with me," you tried again.

"I'm not upset with you," he reluctantly responded after a moment.

"Then what's up?" More silence. You saw him chewing on his cheek, contemplating what to say next. "C'mon, you're my best friend," you nudged his bad arm, and he winced. "Shit, sorry."

He turned to you with a look in his eye, scanning over your face before speaking, "I wasn't expecting you to be so close with Dean."

You almost laughed, but for Sam's sake you reeled it in. A smile creeps up on you, and you watch his face for a second before replying, "Are you jealous, Winchester?"

He shook his head in disbelief and a small laugh fell from his lips. You smiled, "I missed that laugh." Your cheeks flushed at the moment of vulnerability, and you hesitated to meet his gaze. He dipped his head, so you had no choice but to look up at the puppy dog look he was giving you as the two of you walked right up to the side of the Impala.

You both stopped, saying nothing. You weren't sure what to say. Sam didn't have anything to be jealous of. Dean was your family, sure, but Sam was this big, never ending, sense of warmth. You held on to that stupid crush for years. How could you explain that to him?

You looked at him and studied his face. His lips were pursed slightly and his eyes darted back and forth over your face. You wished so badly to reach out and touch him but refrained, reminding yourself for the umpteenth time that it wasn't your place. Sam still said nothing.

Dean finally reached the two of you, clearing his throat with raised eyebrows. Some sight the two of you must've been, Sam bloody and beaten, and you sheepish and wide eyed, turning from each other to look at Dean.

"Don't you two look cute," he remarked with a smirk, making Sam choke in surprise, his neck stiff with embarrassment. Your cheeks went red, and you squinted at Dean as if you could inflict physical pain through a look. He looked smug as he glanced between the two of you and the both of you took a step away from each other at the implication.

"I need a cigarette," you both said at the same time. Then, "You smoke?"

����

not really proofread... sorry !

[whowantstobenormalanyway]

Tipsy Confusion

Bsf!Reader x Dean who thinks they’re dating

A/N: First attempt at a one shot, and first time writing anything supernatural!! Might make more of these with different readers and the same. Reader in this is a bit naive? But she's drunk, and I think we can let her off because of it! Summary: Dean thinks you're dating, you think you're besties, and usually you're okay with that, but right now you're drunk. Sam is a little menace, but at least he's having fun.

What Dean had done to deserve this, he didn’t know. 

Ever-serious Sammy was flirting with his girl, for no reason. Well, sure there were some reasons. I mean, you're hella smart, curvy in all the right places, funny, and have a bangin’ taste in music, but still.

Worse of all, to Dean’s dramatic and pissed off view, it seemed like you were flirting back, laughing and leaning into Sam.

In reality, neither of you were flirting. For one, Sam was fully aware of Dean’s obsession with you, and he saw you as an awesome, annoying sister than anything else; in his mind you were part of the family, but would never be his in that way, and nor would he want you to be. Secondly, you were pretty touchy with everyone, and you were tipsy. Three beers in and you were ready to start serenading the barkeep - it’s just how you were. 

Frankly, you would practically be on Dean’s lap right now, but he went to the bathroom and hadn’t come back yet, so you were just chilling with Sam. 

You noticed your bottle was empty, and pouted slightly when you noticed Sam and Dean’s were too. You didn’t notice the way Dean’s eyes softened at your expression, or the way they hardened again once you had skipped over to the bar to get them all more drinks and he could focus solely on Sam again.

“You two seemed pretty snug,” Dean said, making Sam jump as he slid into their booth. He ground his jaw at the amused smile playing along his brother's face. He was lucky he was his brother, else Dean would have bashed his face in for smiling like that, thinking about you.

Dean may have been a bit tipsy too.

Sam snorted, “Dean.”

“You think this is funny, Sammy?” Dean growled, “Stealing another man’s girl, man, come on!” He was undoubtedly about to go off on a tangent about the betrayed brother, so Sam cut in before he could spiral.

“I am not trying to steal your girl!”

Dean squinted at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

Now Dean just looked offended. “Why not?”

“What?”

“She’s gorgeous, and smart, and funny. Who are you to think you’re too good for her, huh? She’s too good for you, and anybody else in this crappy bar, did you know that?”

“Oh my god, Dean!”

“What?”

Sam was about to reiterate that he didn’t want you, when you came back and plopped next to Dean holding drinks. “FINALLY!” He threw his hands up exasperated, “You can deal with him.”

“Dean!” You chirped, already invading his personal space, although he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he melted into you, as if your presence was able to relax him enough to melt him into a pile of goo. 

“Hi, Sweetheart.” He grinned at you, acting totally cool.

Sam just rolled his eyes and picked up his drink.

“You were gone for ages!” You said glaring at the oldest brother suddenly. “What, did you find a girl or something while you were over there?”

Now Dean was bewildered. You always said shit like that when you were drunk, insecurities festering beneath your skin, waiting to come out. In all honesty, you were just a tiny bit jealous of all those girls, I mean Dean was Dean!

But you could live with being his best friend most of the time. Only when drunk did you feel in anyway inferior. 

“The hell would I find a girl for when I’ve already got one?”

“You have a girlfriend?” Your eyes watered. Dean didn’t do girlfriends, and the fact that he hadn’t told you about one hurt just a little.

Dean panicked at your shining eyes. “I think you’ve had enough to drink tonight, huh, baby? Getting a bit forgetful.”

“I’m not your car!”

“...No, you’re you.”

Sam was biting his lip as hard as he could to keep from laughing. The little shit knew exactly what was going on. Dean was never one for grand declarations or romantic dates, so he didn’t think he needed to ask you to be his Girlfriend, but he had told Sammy about a gift he wanted to get you for your anniversary in a few months, which was apparently just a random day Dean had decided you two were officially together.

On the other hand, Sam knew you were pining over his brother, but was fully under the impression that both you and he were single. A couple of weeks ago you had mentioned how, if you were dating someone (Cough, cough, Dean) you would have taken them to a cute little riverside restaurant in the town they were staying in at the time. Another time, you were going on about how you wished his brother would see you as more than a best friend, but understood that commitment was hard for him in general and in their line of work.

And, yeah. Sam could have mentioned the situation to Dean, or to you, but that would have taken the fun out of it. He wanted to see who would realise the other’s beliefs first; he had a bet about it with Bobby actually.

Plus, Dean made his dating life hell as a teenager, so a little payback was rather refreshing.

[abbys-universe]

i think something really interesting abt my bsf and i’s relationship is that she has NEVER seen spn but i will send her misha collins edits and she is head over heels

does she have any clue who he is? no. do we only refer to him as pookie? yes. she doesn’t have tiktok and anytime i need to bribe her i just tell her ill send her pookie edits and she’s done for

[kara-winchest3r]

This picture is making me giggle it’s so funny

[dead-costco54]

[lostalioth]

☆ hi my loves here we go with a what 3rd or 4th i don’t even know attempt at doing kinktober lmaoo. now as always i can never seem to finish kinktobers which is why i lower how many days i do as well as i pick a variety of characters to write for so i don’t get bored writing all month for the same 3-4. the same as last year i will plan on posting a fic sort of every other day so (sun, tue, thur, sat) which is why it’ll be 18 days and not 31. if you recognize any as repeats in last years kinktober prompt lists, yes i carried some over from past lists that i didn’t get to.

☆ i do not do taglists on any of my fics and kinktober is no expection however you can follow my library acc → @aliothslibrary i reblog all my fics on that account seconds after i post it, and only my fics so if you wanna be notified of my posts for kinktober follow that acc and put notifications on :) you can also search up the tag #lostalioth kinktober for all my past kinktober fics etc.

☆ MY BLOG IS 18+ MEANING MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!! ALL OF THESE FICS INCLUDE SMUT AND EACH WILL HAVE THEIR OWN INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS.

day one → body worship + love marks w/ roommate!stucky

day two → dry humping + handcuffs w/ steve harrington 

day three → high sex + bribery w/ eddie munson

day four → bondage + fingering w/ tasm!peter parker

day five → creampie + master kink w/ loki laufeyson

day six → face sitting + thigh biting w/ marc spector

day seven → piercing + cock worship w/ bucky barnes

day eight → pain kink + praise w/ dean winchester

day nine → obsession + belly bulge w/ logan howlett

day ten → overstimulation + hand job w/ sub!miguel o hara

day eleven → semi-public sex + against a wall w/ steven grant

day twelve → dacryphilia + corruption w/ perv!bsf!eddie munson

day thirteen → cock warming + begging w/ steve harrington

day fourteen → free use + primal play w/ logan howlett

day fifteen → lap dance + choking w/ mob!bucky barnes

day sixteen → edging + sir kink w/ steve rogers

day seventeen → caught masturbating + anal w/ sam winchester

day eighteen → double peneration + drunk sex w/ steddie

☆ hope you enjoy my babes!! please send me feedback, don’t be shy to comment or reblog your reactions to the days as i love seeing how you guys feel about my fics :) thankk you so much for reading and supporting my writing if you do and if you don’t for whatever reason that is perfectly fine as well!!

[angellust333]

currently thinking ab yearner!dean who’s secretly crazy in love w you, his bsf. he can’t tell anyone, not even sam (who clearly knows since deans crush on you is so adorable n obvious). he hates himself for noticing how good your ass looks in those skimpy little shorts while you’re lounging around in the bunker (he literally wants to take a bite out of it, you just look so edible), for noticing how pretty your eyes look when you’re sleepy and dazed while on long road trips in the impala (and how badly he wishes you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes while sucking him off), and he hates himself & his deep obsession with your tits that is simply unholy (he’ll even go super fast over speed bumps just to see your tits bounce, imagining how good they’d look bouncing in front of him while you’d ride him). he’s so obsessed to the point the faint smell of your perfume lingering around drives him insane. who could blame him? how could he not be so obsessed with you?

———————————————————————

hi guys! this is legit my first time posting or writing a drabble ever and idk how to feel about it but jensen ackles has me in such a chokehold it’s insane. dean winchester the man that u are.

[tangledinlove]

phone works two ways, you know

pairing: sam winchester x fem reader 5.2k

summary: stories of that one time sam surprises you, that one time you surprise sam, and that one time you surprise each other

contents: childhood bsfs to ‘i sometimes want to kiss you but like the normal amount’ to strangers trope will always be loved by me

notes: title from baby came home 2 by the nbhd. this is set during season one because ive only watched the first season of spn lol. this fact also makes me not liable for mischaracterization ok enjoy please!

— thank u to the lovely @locknco for editing this love ya

Nightmares follow Sam Winchester like a moth to a flame.

Most of the time, they’re about Jess. Before the nightmare even starts, he knows what he’s about to see because it’s always the same.

The steady drip of blood against his forehead.

The burst of unbearable heat exploding against the ceiling.

The guilt that creeps in every time without fail.

He wakes up from those nightmares with his heart pounding and a blanket of grief smothering his lungs.

But sometimes, Sam Winchester is lucky.

Sometimes, Sam Winchester dreams of you.

—

Sam wipes his eyes as he stands over your bed.

It’s your actual bed, and not one at a crappy motel in the middle of nowhere. It’s unfortunately humid since it’s creeping toward the middle of August, but Sam doesn’t care. It’s a pretty special occasion — you’re taking a break from hunting for a few days.

He’d been beyond surprised when you’d told him. Catching you at your house during the summer was near impossible with the way your parents ran you around the country, so all your free weekends were taken advantage of.

John had dragged him and Dean to a case just a state over from yours, and Sam had realized it was the closest they’d been to your house in a while. The second the bones had gone up in a pile of salty flames, he was halfway to the nearest bus station and on his way to your city.

The bus pulled in late, and the long walk to your neighborhood meant Sam arrived even later. He wondered if your parents were home and decided he hoped they wouldn’t be. The last thing he wanted them to see was the pitiful sight of him walking through their front door at four in the morning.

And despite the way you insisted it wasn’t true, Sam knew your parents didn’t like him. He’d probably be seeing the barrel of your mom’s revolver before he saw her smile at him.

(“It’s not smart to be telling people the code to your house alarm.”

You laugh in that girly way you do sometimes. Sam imagines you twirling the coiled wire of your phone cord and his throat runs dry.

“Come on. It’s just you, Sam. And how else are you going to sneak into my house?”

Your parents change the code to disarm the alarm every two weeks as a precautionary measure, and you never forget to update him everytime it changes. Sam thinks it’s sweet, but the both of you know he’s barely lucky enough to get the time to call you. The stars would have to align for him to come visit.

“I’ll go in through your window,” Sam says.

There’s a small lift in your voice. “I’ll make sure to double check it’s not you when I throw a knife at the freak climbing up the side of my house.”)

Zero-five-zero-two-eight-three, you’d told him last week.

He’d gone silent on the other end when the numbers clicked in his mind — his birthday. The code to your house right now was his birthday.

Your dad had been too busy to set it, so you’d done it yourself, using the first six numbers that came to mind.

His birthday, apparently.

Sam tries not to think about it too hard.

But now he’s here, standing over your bed and trying not to pass out from exhaustion on your carpet.

Your room looks slightly different from the last time he visited. The walls are a new shade of your favorite color, and the old desk that was in the corner has been replaced with a vanity. There’s pictures of your hometown friends pinned all around the glass, but there’s a few photos he does recognize.

One is from your ninth birthday. Dean had smashed your cake in your face, as expected from the then thirteen-year-old, and you’d clocked him with your fist a second after. The photo was taken post-punch, and you’re grinning through the frosting on your eyes while Dean clutches his face.

The other picture is of you and him from when you were both about twelve. He’s sitting between your legs, laying against your stomach with your American Girl doll in his lap. He’s braiding her hair using the instructions in an old book of yours, and you’d shoved the camera in his face before he could stop you. The photo captured him glaring into the lens of the camera, his thick brown hair pulled into two pigtails on top of his head.

It’s nearly cut out of the frame, but you’re smiling so hard behind him it makes your entire face light up. It’s one of Sam’s favorite pictures of you.

Now, you’re a lump on your full sized mattress, a new step up from your trusty twin bed. The blanket thrown over you has little flowers on it that match your bedsheets, which he already knows you’re very proud of. Still asleep, you roll over onto your back, and that exhaustion from earlier comes back with a vengeance.

Sam drops his jacket onto the heap of clothes on your chair and works to unzip his jeans before his legs give out.

If you were awake, you’d slap him on the back for that, a teasing grin on your face. “I would’ve brought some cash if I knew you were going to strip for me!” you would probably say, like a menace.

He can’t wait for you to wake up so you can annoy him even more.

Sam’s left in a pair of boxers and a baseball t-shirt from a supermarket in Pennsylvania, sweating even in your air conditioning. When he lifts the covers off the bed, he freezes.

You’re wearing a shirt he’d given to you as a souvenir a few months ago. A movie theater in Jersey they helped with their ghost problem gave them a free shirt in return. The cartoon penguin smiles at him now, balancing on one foot with his arms out, like he’s surfing. Sam smiles back while he settles in next to you.

Now that your bed is bigger, there’s more than enough room for the both of you, which is good since it’s so hot out. It means there’s no need to sleep piled up like you had to in the past.

…but Sam hasn’t seen you since that time your families had run into each other in New Mexico, and he hasn’t slept with you like this since you’d been home during your finals week a few months ago.

Under the eye of the penguin on your shirt, he slides one arm below your side pinned to the bed and uses it to pull you against him.

You complain up a storm, even asleep, but settle down quickly. He wonders if you’ll kick him in your sleep again, claiming you were dreaming of being a soccer player.

With your face pressed to the spot between Sam’s arm and shoulder, he listens intently to the nonsensical string of words you mumble out against his skin. Your musings only get more muffled as you press even further into him, throwing your arm over his torso and staying there.

Sam’s hand kindly soothes over your hip, where your shorts have little pink clouds printed on them.

“Woah,” you grumble, dragging out the word. Your hand flexes and then clenches into the fabric of his shirt. “Woah.”

His eyes dart to you embarrassingly fast, guilty for disturbing you but more than excited that you’re awake. Your voice always sounds sweeter in person than it does over the phone.

When he finds your face in the darkness, he realizes your eyes are still shut. Sam runs his hand up your side, warm with sleep. “Hey. You okay?”

Your mouth twitches into a frown. “My friend. My friend’ll do it.”

Oh, he realizes. You’re just sleep talking.

“Okay,” he answers quietly. He wants to hear your voice again, but he also wants you to go back to sleep. You only really mumble like this when you’re about to wake up from a dream. “Sorry,” Sam adds, though he’s not sure what for.

Your face screws up, but then you sigh sweetly against his chest. “Dean?”

(Even when Sam dreams of this, he still feels like you’ve beaten him over the head with that single word.)

You’re dreaming, all right. Of his older brother.

“You gotta get rid of it,” you complain, a pout pulling at your lips.

“He will,” Sam agrees, just to appease you. Thankfully, the worry lines on your face flatten out, and you move yourself even closer to him.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, so Sam closes his eyes, squeezing your shoulder in hopes you go back to sleep.

It doesn’t work, though.

You jolt up and practically launch yourself off the bed, nearly slipping on your hardwood floor before you grab onto your bedside table.

Sam calls for you, but you don’t seem to hear him, busy fumbling in the dark for the lightswitch. He leans over and flicks on the lamp, flooding your room with warm, yellow light. “You okay?” he asks.

The way you spin towards him is comically slow, like you’re being spun in a microwave. There’s a crease on your cheek from being pressed to your pillow for so long, and your eyes are barely open. Sam laments the heartbreaking fact that he can’t see you everyday.

Within the next second, he’s being flattened back against your pillows. You’re by his side so quickly, he’s half inclined to ask you if you’ve gained the ability to teleport.

He squeezes your hip. You take the hint and loosen your hug.

“Sam!” you say, at a volume much too loud for four in the morning. You don’t say anything when he tries shushing you, too busy flitting your hands over whatever parts of him they can reach, laughter spilling from your lips. “You’re here!”

“Took you long enough to realize,” he teases. “I could’ve been some kinda killer, and you would’ve gone on sleeping.”

“What kind of killer would have a face as sweet as yours?” You’re kneeling over him now, smiling so wide it makes Sam feel winded. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” he says, matching your smile. “Do you wake up from all your dreams like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve been electrocuted.”

You smile. “I think my brain knew you were here. Made me wake up so I could say hi.”

Sam kisses your forehead. “Hi. Thank you to your brain.”

“Hi. And you’re welcome.”

The two of you sit like that for a little bit, taking in the sight of the other’s face for the first time in months. You seem to enjoy his new haircut, and he studies the new scar going down your bicep while you tell him the story about how you got it.

When the recount of how you were thrown out of a window starts turning into more yawns than words, he pulls you back down to the bed.

“How are you?” he asks, like he hadn’t just asked you that this morning.

Your tongue darts over your chapped lips. “Good. Missed you a lot,” you say, for the second time in the past five minutes.

“Your parents are—they’re good too?” he asks, stuttering over his words.

Whatever he feels for you gets stronger every day, but it’s only when he sees you again that he realizes just how much he likes you. He forces his eyes up from your lips and squeezes your side. Sam really wants to kiss you.

You nod, moving his arms around so you can cram yourself as close to him as the world and physics allows. “Yep. Yep, yep, yep. Your dad and Dean?”

Sam hums. “They’re fine. Didn’t even ask where I was going when I took off.”

“You didn’t tell them?”

“I think they know by now. My dad asked about you on the drive back to the motel.”

You’re curled against his left side, your chin resting against his chest so you can stare up at him. It means that his next few intakes of breath have to be done with a lot of careful thought.

“Can I just come join you guys?” you ask, and Sam’s surprised he can’t hear any hint of a joke in your voice. “I’m sick of missing you all the time.”

He makes a fist, and uses his knuckles to drag circles over your back from the hills of your shoulder blades to the jut of your hip bones.

Sam laughs. “I don’t think you’d want that.” He can tell you’re about to argue until he adds, “Moving in with my dad, that is. You know what he’s like.”

“I’d put up with it for you, though,” you say honestly.

“He treats you like shit,” he stresses. “And he likes you. Maybe it’d be better if I moved in with you instead.”

You push yourself onto your forearm so you can give him a real serious look. There’s a sore spot on his cheek from where he’d gotten shoved into a wall by some spirit, and somehow, you know.

You caress his face, dragging the pads of your fingers over it. Sam makes a weird sound in his throat, something like a hiccup, and you thankfully don’t smile too hard about it.

Sam decides that it’s probably best for his health that you don’t see each other too often. He knows without a doubt that his heart would give out if he felt any stronger about you. He soaks up the warmth of your hand on his face before you let it drop to his collarbones.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You lean down to press a kiss to his cheek before shifting your face into his shoulder. “Just appreciating your pretty face. If you moved in, I think my parents would have your head on a stake by the end of the week.”

It startles a laugh out of him. He can’t quite look you in the eyes because you’re trying to hide from him, but he tries to anyway. “Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry!” you groan, using one of your free hands to push at his face. “I thought they liked you, I really did. But my mom found out what I changed the alarm code to and made me clean every single gun in that stupid closet.”

Cruel and unusual. “All ‘cause of me?”

You think long and hard about it. “I think it was part of it. She was also mad because I forgot to do the dishes last week, so it could’ve been that, too.”

Your parents have quite the array of weapons. The jacket closet turned armory in your living room has enough rifles to arm half the state of Kansas, and Sam thinks about what a sad sight it would’ve been: you on the floor with a cleaning rod in hand, and about fifty more handguns to wipe down.

“Poor girl,” he says, pulling your palm into his hand. He presses into the calluses you have from where your gun usually sits. “You didn’t suffer too much?”

“Nope,” you say, awfully cheerful. Your next blink is slower than the others, so he resumes his ministrations against your back. You go limp again. “Only cause I… knew you were coming over soon.”

His face warms, but he has to poke fun at you before he lets you fall asleep.

“Sam, my parents love you,” he mocks, letting his voice go quieter. “Come over for dinner, Sam. No, my parents won’t mind, they love having you over.” He smiles at you. “Must be why I gotta show up here before the sun is up, right?”

Your chest stutters before you laugh, which usually means you’re really embarrassed.

The dream ends when he takes pity on you and kisses the spots on your arms you tell him are aching from all your hard work.

—

Dean wakes up that morning to the sight of Sam hunched over the old table in the corner of the room. There’s a pile of newspapers at his feet and one in his hands, which he stares at so intently it looks like he’ll burn a hole through it.

“Y’know, if you keep scowling, your face is gonna get stuck like that.”

Sam doesn’t grace him with a glance. It’s clear he’s been up for a few hours already. “I think I got something.”

—

Rachel Anderson and John Hansen were two college kids from the suburbs of Virginia. Both were from respectable families, both were straight A students, and both were well-loved by the community.

Two nights ago, John left family movie night to shoot himself in his backyard. And last night, Rachel drowned herself in her bathtub during a sleepover with her friends. In the center of their bedroom floors were identical suicide notes. Each in their own handwriting, but not a single difference in wording or sentence structure.

Sam has to park the car down the block when they arrive outside Rachel Anderson’s house. The street leading up to the building is lined with shiny new cars — Mercedes, Lexus, and BMW logos as far as the eye can see — making the Impala stick out like a sore thumb.

Dean cranes his neck to look up at the houses on the same street as the Andersons. Pretty suburban towns like these scare him a little more than he’s willing to admit.

He whistles. “Didn’t know they made BarbieLand a real place.”

Sam cracks a smile at that. “How many of these people do you think have a membership at that country club down the street?”

The two of them snicker all the way up to the front door. Sam knocks, his brother too busy looking around at the rest of the neighborhood.

“If any of your little college friends have houses as nice as these, maybe we should make a quick visit the next time we’re in California,” Dean jokes, eyeing a neighboring pool.

Sam stops rolling his eyes because the door swings open, and he plasters on his most sympathetic smile for whatever grieving family member is on the other side of the door.

It’s a guy about his age, wearing a crisp black sweater. The dark circles under his eyes make it clear he was close with Rachel — a man plagued with grief through and through.

“Hey,” Sam says. “This is Rachel’s house, right?”

The man flicks his eyes from Sam over to Dean, who’s only now looking away from the nice looking houses to join him at the front door.

“Yeah. This is it,” he answers, though he still doesn’t open the door fully. The three of them stare at each other for an awkward second before the guy clears his throat. “If you guys don’t mind me asking, who are you?”

“I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean,” he explains. “Me and Rachel had psych together. She saved my grade in that class last semester.”

Sam’s not surprised at how easy the lie rolls off his tongue. Lying is almost as important to the job as the guns in their trunk are.

The man, satisfied with the answer, lets the door creak open. “Oh, I see. I’m Will. Thanks for coming, you two. Everyone’s out in the backyard.”

A girl’s voice floats to the front door from somewhere nearby. “Will, is it Deb?”

William Anderson was mentioned in the article about Rachel’s death. He’s the girl’s older brother, who pivots to face the girl speaking from behind him.

“These are friends from Rachel’s psychology class,” he says, stepping out of the doorway.

Olivia Anderson was mentioned in the paper too. The youngest child of the family, just a year younger than her older sister. For a second, Sam thinks he’s hallucinating. She looks just like her and a little like Will too, down to their twin black sweaters.

A different voice responds, and something about it makes the hair on the back of Sam’s neck stand up. “Psych class? Rachel didn’t—”

The closest Sam can get to describing this moment is like the seconds before a spirit manifests. His heart kicks up a little bit quicker. Alarms ring in his head, and the area around the Andersons’ front door turns electrified.

It’s you.

You get pulled into view by Olivia Anderson, a deer caught in headlights wearing your own matching black sweater.

Sam doesn’t want to blink, certain that your face will shift and it’ll be some sick trick of the light. A dream haunting him even while he’s awake.

“Rachel didn’t what?” Will asks, not suspicious, just curious.

Your mouth opens and closes, like you’re fumbling for something to say, and Sam doesn’t blame you.

For one, you’re going to lie for them. Both him and Dean are beginning to realize that Rachel didn’t take a psychology class at all, and you’re trying to figure out how to twist your sentence into an excuse that makes sense.

And two… you’re standing in front of your best friend who you haven’t spoken to in four years. Sam isn’t surprised that you have nothing to say to him.

“Rachel didn’t like anything about that class,” you decide on, your eyes shifting from Sam to Dean then back again.

You swallow hard. It looks like you’ve—

“—seen a ghost?” you ask, grinning.

The duffel bag in Sam’s hands hits the motel floor, but he’s too stunned to even wince at the sound.

“Looking a little scared there, Sammy,” you tease, pushing yourself off of the old bed in the center of the room. “A little old, too, honestly—”

He’s crossed the room before you can finish your sentence.

You squeak at the impact, your arms being crushed to your sides with the way he captures you in a hug. The two of you stumble two big steps back so you don’t tip over.

“You’re here,” Sam says, like he can’t quite believe it. You manage to work your arms away from your body so you can hug him too. “What are… How did you—”

“Dean finally remembered my phone number,” you joke, squeezing him with a big smile on your face. “I know you guys have to drive out early tomorrow — uh, I guess today, actually — but you know I had to come see you on your birthday, Sam. Even if it’s just for a few hours.”

It’s seven minutes past midnight on the second day of May.

Sam Winchester is eighteen.

“You’re here,” he repeats. He doesn’t bother trying to wipe the smile off his face. “I can’t believe it.”

When Dean had clapped him on the back and told him he’d booked him an extra room for his birthday, Sam was shocked. Birthdays weren’t anything special to either of them, so he’d been thankful, but also very confused. Buying another motel room wasn’t cheap, yet he’d done it anyway.

From the adjoining room next door, Sam’s sure his brother has a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s probably going to hold this over his head forever, claiming how much of a great brother he is, and Sam will let him.

He hasn’t seen you in four months. He thinks he might throw up.

“You drove here all by yourself?” Sam asks you, once the two of you have settled on the bed. He takes a seat cross-legged and both of you pretend like you’re not about halfway into his lap.

“Yep,” you say proudly. “Dean had to teach me how to parallel park over the phone so I would have my license in time.”

Sam’s heart swells ten sizes. “Thank you. I can’t believe you came out all this way.”

You hit him on the shoulder. “Of course. You’re my best friend, did you really think I was gonna miss your eighteenth birthday?”

He leans in close enough to the point that it’d be easy to kiss you. So, so, so easy.

He doesn’t, though, and you don’t push it. You reach for one of his hands in his lap and trace over the ridges of his knuckles, a little smile on your face.

His hair has finally recovered from the Nair that Dean had put in his shampoo a while back, so it hangs just over his eyebrows and curls around his ears again. You blow the brown locks out of his eyes and then smile a little wider.

“I have a gift for you.”

You slink out of his lap, and Sam tries not to frown when you get up to grab your backpack. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Stop worrying,” you chastise, dropping your bag onto the bed to look through. “I’m your actual birthday gift. This one’s just extra, so it’s nothing fancy.”

“You being here is worth more than any fancy thing you could've bought me at a store,” he says, and you brush his hair from his face affectionately.

“I’m happy you think so, Sammy.”

Too wrapped up in the sight of your smile, he forgets to say something about the dumb nickname.

“I got this from the grocery store down the street before you got here.” It’s wrapped in the plastic bag you’d bought it in, but Sam takes it from your hands like it’s made of gold. “Consider this one… supplemental.”

You huddle close while he takes the gift out of the bag and reads it.

“Thirteen Ghosts,” he says, flipping the DVD case over in his hands.

“Figured we could watch a movie together.” You poke his side. “See how funny they make their monsters look.”

This isn’t the first time you and Sam have watched a movie together. There was that one time when you’d watched Notting Hill on your couch, but your parents kept giving him warning looks from in the kitchen and he’d made sure to keep the bowl of popcorn and half of the couch between you two.

And Sam will always hold some level of respect for your parents because they’re your parents, but he could not be more glad to be hundreds of miles away from them right now. Because the second that he comes back from popping the DVD into the player, you’re very kindly asking to spoon, and Sam is not well known for being able to say no to you.

You tuck yourself against his front, and he slips his arms around your middle. You trap his hands there by slotting yours together, tracing over the lines on his hands like a palm reader. Sam watches you while you watch the movie, pretending to follow along with the dialogue and your whispered commentary.

The lights of the TV flicker on the side of your face as you poke fun at the actors, and he’s hit with a wave of anticipatory sadness. Sam prays to whoever’s listening that he never falls asleep. Prays this night lasts forever, and that you don’t have to go home and he doesn’t have to leave in the morning. If the rest of his life is bad horror movies and sleeping next to you, he’d die happy.

You laugh at something that jumps on the screen, and Sam can’t help himself anymore.

When he says your name, he practically winces hearing the sound of his own voice. It’s shaky and nervous, and you shift to look at him with concern in your eyes. One of the actresses screams on screen, and you squeeze his hand that you still haven’t let go of.

“You okay? Did you wanna turn the TV off?”

“I love you.”

You turn to face him completely, and Sam Winchester, the luckiest eighteen-year-old in the world, is able to watch the smile light up your eyes.

You let go of him to hold his face, like he’s something to be treasured. “I love you too, S—”

“—am, and I’m Dean,” his brother says, offering his hand for you to shake.

Your grip looks solid when you reach across the threshold of the Anderson house to take his hand in yours, as if you’re meeting him for the first time.

The whole thing feels like a nightmare.

It’s unnatural to watch your tight lipped smile and awkward shuffling while you stare blankly at Dean. You let go of his hand like he hasn’t pulled you off your couch and taught you how to dance in the middle of your living room. Like he hasn’t let you finish the rest of his food at rundown diners just because you ate yours too fast.

You turn to Sam next, and his stomach does a backflip.

Four years was a long time.

Sam knows he’s not the same person who left you on your front porch. He’d held you for longer than usual that day, and left you with a promise to visit that he hadn’t meant.

He doesn’t think you’re the same girl who was left there either. You look different. A little older, a little more mature.

(At eighteen, you would’ve given him a nasty look for that. “Older? You can’t say that to a girl, Sam.”

“I said you looked older, not old!” he would’ve defended frantically. “There’s a difference!”

“Why the hell would I want to be told I look older, you jerk!”)

And he loves you, but it’s true. You look older, but it means you look as lovely as ever. Grown into yourself and radiant in ways you hadn’t been at eighteen. You look like you’re glowing.

Your hair is also done in a way you never liked to do by yourself. He knows it for a fact, because you’d always complain to him over the phone about it, wondering how he was able to do it for you so nicely.

(He’d always said it was because he was patient and you were clearly not, but it was mostly because he’d practiced it on your old dolls a bunch of times before he’d asked to do it on you.)

Your hair now looks nicer than anything Sam could’ve done for you. He wonders if you did it yourself—if you had to learn because he wasn’t around anymore, and was never coming back.

Sam wants to tell you that he’s missed you, and that there hasn’t been a day he hasn’t thought of you.

He wonders what you would say. He wonders if you'd sound the same, and he’d be able to tell, ‘cause of how often he plays your old voicemails over when he misses you. He remembers just how you would sound when you were laughing and remembers precisely how much slower you would speak when you were upset.

You don’t extend your hand for him to shake, and Sam’s left to wonder if your hands would still feel the same in his.

And when he meets your eyes, he reads the hurt written all over your features. Hurt that he put there. Hurt that’s probably healed over in the last four years, leaving a nice long scar he’s sliced open again just now.

You nod at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

He digs his fingers into his palms. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

notes: the party ended four years ago and she JUST GOT HERE!!!! LMAO ive been infected with the sam winchester virus but who can blame me look at his face

[noorasredlip]

pov: texts messages w bsf!sam winchester

author’s note: ok so this is the final installment of whatever this “series” thing was. tbh it was more of a rite of passage for me to feel comfortable enough posting on tumblr than anything else lol. i’ll be posting more stuff now, like headcanons, drabbles, oneshots and etc… i still have more text messages planned tho don’t worry! as always feel free to leave any comment/feedback/request! love yall! <3

[matchpointfaist]

masterlist ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

now taking requests for....

mike faist - art donaldson, dodge mason, roger sharpe, riff lorton, danny lyon, connor murphy

sam claflin - alex stewart, finnick odair, billy dunne, alistair ryle

misc- jace herondale, cardan greenbriar, sam winchester

♡ indicates smut

art donaldson ᯓ★

tis the damn season ♡

common tongue ♡

twilight ♡

it will come back ♡

college best friend! art

college best friend! art part two

college best friend! art part three ♡

dilf! art ♡

dilf! art part two

dilf! art part three ♡

guilty pleasure (innocent! art x flirty reader) ♡

would you save me? (innocent! art x flirty reader) ♡

a love like religion (innocent! art part three) ♡

pretty piece of flesh (innocent! art part four) ♡

couldn't make it any harder

ceo! art ♡

coach! art ♡

sugar daddy! art ♡

sugar daddy! art intro

art x twin peaks reader♡

anobrain

loser! art

dilf! art gets you pregnant ♡

art x physical therapist! reader ♡

art x physical therapist! reader part two ♡

super rich kids ♡

hunger games art ♡

dilf art x virgin! reader ♡

pr relationship part two ♡

dads bsf! art x reader ♡

apollo! art x devotee reader ♡

cowboy! art ♡

stanford art x shy reader

divorced art! x ex reader ♡

comforting art ♡

divorced art x young reader ♡

pretty woman au ♡

dilf! art x cart girl! reader ♡

dilf! art x soft girl reader♡

character study of art

boss! art ♡

rockstar! art ♡

mike faist ꨄ

mike x costar! reader

dodge mason 𐚁⊹₊ ⋆

reckless driving ♡

valentines day with dodge ♡

roger sharpe ⋆｡°✩

rhiannon ♡

romancing! ♡

riff lorton ⊹₊⟡⋆

why do fools fall in love?

rich girl reader part two

riff x teacher! reader

riff x rich girl reader blurb

riff x rich girl reader part four

connor murphy ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

best friend! connor

best friend! connor part ii

connor x new girl! reader

connor x cheerleader! reader ♡

grumpy! connor x sunshine! reader ♡

danny lyon ★

danny x nurse reader ♡

photography class w danny ♡

billy dunne ⊹₊⟡⋆

you're no good either ♡

billy x popstar! reader

alistair ryle ⋆｡°✩

you get me closer to god ♡

finnick odair ⋆♆.˚

finnick x victor! reader ♡

mentor! finnick x victor! reader ♡

orpheus! finnick x eurydice! reader♡

sam winchester ˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

my angel

picture you part one

picture you part two ♡

jace herondale ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

valentine's day with jace ♡

knight! jace x princess! reader ♡

cardan greenbriar ⛧♡

the high king of elfhame ♡

king cardan! x consort reader ♡

[sunnwila]

need you

sam winchester x hunter! bsf! reader

⋆༺♱༻⋆

summary: dean and you are coming back from a bar after interrogating someone. sam has been left alone and the two of you find him drunk and stumbling over his words. takes place sometime around season 1, pre "playthings" drunken sam.

warnings: angst, grieving, self-loathing, pining, sort of drunken confession

"Alright, we'll grab the shotgun inside, head over to the farm and gank the sonuvabitch," Dean says, one foot out of the door.

"Are you absolutely positive this needs to happen tonight?" you groan, feeling the soreness in your back from being up for so long.

"The quicker we kill this thing, the quicker we can get back and sleep," he patronizes you with a sugar-sweet tone.

"Whatever," you grumble, opening the passenger side as he begins to unlock the motel room door ahead.

It's well past midnight and you can't believe the days not over yet. All you want is to lay down.

"Are you drunk?" You hear Dean say as you get out of the car. He's ahead of you by several feet, so you don't hear what Sam said to provoke the question, but you hurry to his side to see what's happening. He side-steps out of the doorway to the motel room, and you're met with the sight of Sam slouched on the couch. His head is lolled back onto the cushions behind him, and his legs are spread. He looks half unconscious and your heart drops in worry.

"Dude," Dean trails off. You keep staring, unsure of what to do. Your eyes travel to the half empty bottle of unspecified amber liquor on the floor by his foot.

"What are you thinking, man. We're on a job!" Dean says. You shoot him a look to cut it out. Sam had been having a hard time lately with the loss of his girlfriend and the evasiveness of his father, he didn't need his brother on his case. His head produced enough guilt to last him a lifetime and then some.

He groans from the couch, his head dropping to his chest. You hear the hollow thud of his chin meeting sternum and wince. You step forward, close enough to snatch the bottle from between his legs so that he doesn't knock it down. Once the top is screwed on you hand it back to Dean.

"Let me handle this, just get some of our stuff ready for tomorrow," you nod your head to the duffle bag sitting on the table across from you.

"Tomorrow? We were supposed to do this tonight," Dean says through his teeth, anger rising.

"Yeah, well clearly that's not happening," you whisper shout, "he can't even stand up." Dean stares at you for another second stubbornly, before rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue in his cheek. He sighs before turning to the duffle without another word.

At least that was one battle won.

You turn your attention back to Sam who's looking up at you through his bangs with a remorseful look. You huff and step closer, putting a smile on your face to try and comfort him. His eyes are watery and your heart breaks.

"C'mon sugar," you whisper to him, grabbing his arms that hang uselessly by his sides to try and help him up.

You grunt with effort when he doesn't move to assist you.

"No..." he slurs in protest. You try again, this time crouching to try and use your legs in the effort. He still doesn't budge much, shifting his weight and letting his head roll.

"Sammy, you gotta help me out here," you say with a smile for his benefit.

"Don't deserve it," he mumbles and you furrow your brow. "You guys go without me, I can't help anyways."

"Don't say that, we need you." You remove your hands from him and stay crouched, studying him.

"I can't save anyone!" he raises his voice now, lifting his head and looking at you, pain swimming in his eyes.

"Sam..." you trail off, unsure what to say. You didn't know this was weighing on him this much.

"Where's this pity party comin' from?" Dean pipes in from behind you and you whip your head to him, shutting him up with a look.

"Don't listen to him. And what do you mean, you can't save anyone? You save plenty of people all the time," you point out, if only to take his mind off of whatever self-loathing was going on. You knew what he was getting at.

"Couldn't save Jess," his voice cracks when he says her name and you frown. There it is. Your hand itches to reach out and hold him, but he was so unpredictable sometimes, you aren't sure if that's what he needs.

"That's not your fault and you know it," you say, trying to meet his eye. You're speaking so gingerly, you're not even sure if he hears you.

"Dad was right, can't do anything right. Can't help anyone," he mumbles to himself, avoiding your gaze. Your ears strain to pick apart his slurred speech and you shift your position, about to lean closer. He senses this and in a moment of confusion, reaches out, grabbing your hand in urgency. His wild eyes meet yours and you hold your breath, waiting for the next thing, but nothing comes. He sits there, eyes darting between yours and breathing heavy.

"Don't listen to your dad, when have you ever listened to your dad?" you try, gripping his hand to tether him to your words, let them sink into his skull. His face looks like he's on the verge of tears, but he can't cry.

"We need you Sam," you say again to reassure him.

"Dad didn't need me."

"Well John is an idiot. We're not your father," your tone has a finality that he can't argue with, even drunk. His eyes search yours and you watch as he fights with himself. Over what, you're not sure. You catch him staring at your intertwined hands and feel him grip you harder, like you'll disappear.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed," you say softly, afraid to upset him again. This time he listens.

You help him off the couch with some effort and walk him to the bed a foot away. He sits and slumps into you, practically throwing his arms around your waist.

Your hands freeze just above his head, raised and unsure of what to do. He stays there for a moment, breathing you in as you stiffen under the sudden affection. It's quiet, your mind wanders, allowing yourself to selfishly bask in the comfort of Sam hugging you.

"Don't leave me," he says into the denim of your jeans.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, relaxing into his touch and settling your hands on his shoulders. You wish desperately to be able to run your fingers through his hair, but you don't want to cross a line and break the spell.

It's quiet again, and you think Sam has fallen asleep, so you turn to Dean who is watching with a bewildered look in his eye coupled with mild amusement. You mouth, what do I do? to him and he shrugs, still watching the interaction.

You turn your attention back to Sam who is not asleep and is now looking up at you so reverently you feel an overwhelming sense of sadness well up in your throat.

"I love you," he says so quietly you can barely hear him. Your heart splinters and the words die in your throat. You wish so badly that everything was different. That he wasn't drunk and probably stretching the truth. That he wasn't grieving his girlfriend who he thought he'd marry. You wished that maybe in another life you had gotten Sam before Jessica did. That none of this ever happened and that you two were living a normal, apple-pie-life.

But none of that was real. Sam was drunk, and grieving his girlfriend, and feeling bad for himself. So, you took a deep breath and plastered a smile on your face.

"I know, sweetheart," you reply as if the words didn't feel like sandpaper in your throat. As if your heart wasn't plummeting with the jumbled rejection of his drunken affection. As if you weren't contemplating the meaning of all of this. He wouldn't remember this in the morning anyways.

His brow furrows and he pouts before throwing himself onto the bed behind him. He turns away from you and says nothing more, settling himself into the bed like a petulant child. You take a stabilizing breath to distract yourself from the last two minutes and watch as his breathing evens out.

After another quiet moment, you turn and pretend nothing out of the ordinary happened, which is bullshit because Dean was right there.

"Jesus," is all he says. His pistol is taken apart in front of him, lying on the surface of the table as he cleans the barrel.

"Yeah..." you trail off and take a seat next to him, your heart hammering in your chest as you begin to unpack the interaction.

⋆♱

this one is just kinda meh. was supposed to turn it into a loooooong plot with smut but.... kinda thought it was too depressing.

anyhoo!

[whowantstobenormalanyway]

Hangovers (TC2)

Part 2 to Tipsy Confusion!! A/N: Thank you to everyone who read and/or interacted with the last one! I can't believe so many people liked it! 🩷 I hope this one is as fun to read! Bsf!Reader x Dean who thinks they’re dating

“Dean, turn the goddamn light off!” You smushed your face into the motel bed’s pillow. Your head throbbed and everything was way too bright.

A groan came from beside you on the bed where Dean was suffering a similar fate.

“That’s the sun, so up and at ‘em!” Sam’s chipper voice sounded from the table he was perched at, sipping his coffee.

You were sure Dean growled in response before saying, “If you don’t wipe that smug smirk off your face, I’m gonna come over there and do it for you.” He hadn’t even looked up, but he knew. You knew too; you could feel the smugness dancing across the room.

A laugh slipped from your own lips, but regret came quick in the form of further pounding in your head, and your valiant attempt to suffocate yourself with the pillow.

Sam hummed knowingly, not threatened in the least.

“Can you close the curtains then, pretty please?” You asked, voice a mix of irritation, pain, and fake sweetness.

“No!” Sam laughed, “Guys, it's literally half ten in the morning. You gotta get up.”

The bed creaked as Dean rolled out, a loud thud sounding when his feet hit the floor. “I’ll get it for you, Sweetheart.” Bangs and curses came from his mouth and you looked up to see his eyes closed as he manoeuvred himself towards the window.

It wasn’t fair. 

Dean had this annoying ability to turn you to mush, calling you ‘Sweetheart’ and trying to ease your own pain while he himself was hurting. 

Self-sacrificing idiot.

When he finally managed to get the old, moth-eaten curtains closed, you let out a sigh of relief. Dean, despite his headache, perked up at the sound and sauntered over to you, eyes open now in the dimness of the room.

The bed dipped where he sat and you were forced to roll into him, the warmth of his bare thigh brushing against your own pajama shorts. Squinting up at him, you found him smiling softly down at you. 

“Thank you, De,” you muttered against the pillow.

“Can’t have my girl in pain now, can I?”

His girl. If only he meant it in the way you really wanted. 

He started to run his fingers through your hair and watched as you relaxed against him, a sleepy smile falling across your face as you began to fall back asleep. 

“Nope,” Sam threw the curtains back open, receiving a glare from Dean. “I found a case in Michigan. We can get there before sunset, but only if we leave in the next half an hour.”

“Sammy, I think we can spare a day, and I reckon I’m a little over the limit still to be driving,” Dean said. His voice was still raspy in a way that made your stomach curl.

“I’m not asking you to drive. I’m telling you to get your asses up and out the door.”

“What’s the case?” You murmured before Dean could respond about Sam driving his car.

“Some Teenager’s claim they saw the Abominable Snowman.”

Dean groaned and flopped on top of you. “People make claims about that all the time, dude.”

Sam rolled his eyes and set about packing, making as much noise as humanly possible. “Not all of those people come back with friends who died of frostbite, and claw marks on the body.”

Every muscle in your body screamed at you, but you pushed Dean off and sat up. Your best friend looked like a kicked puppy as he too was forced to sit upright. “They died of the frostbite, not the claws?”

“That’s what the autopsy showed,” Sam said, chucking you your rucksack filled with clothes.

The case had piqued your interest, and Dean knew it even before he turned to look at you.  The thinking face as it had been dubbed was one of Dean’s favourites on you. Nose scrunched up, mouth moving around in a little dance he could watch forever, and then, when you had come to a conclusion, your eyes twinkled a little and you bit your lip.

“Fine,” Dean said when you turned to him.

You tilted your head at him, a teasing grin on your face. “Aw, dude.”

Dean huffed and crossed his arms, making his muscles bulge deliciously. “Don’t call me dude.”

“Chum.”

He glared.

“Bro.” Sam let out an accidental snort at that one. Dean’s own face turned into one of mild horror and confusion, but overall just irritation. He turned his face away from yours, huffing a breath to show his distaste.

You pouted at him. He was so sweet and easy to rile. “Sorry, Honey-Bunny-Boo,” you said, voice high pitched like you were talking to a puppy. You also kneeled up to hug him from behind, poking his cheek just because.

The new position allowed you to see the cherry red hue climb up Dean’s neck and around his ears in response to the nickname. 

Before you could comment, he swung you around and lifted you up as he too stood. A shriek left your mouth and Sam rolled his eyes. Dean trotted over to the bathroom and deposited you inside, huffing again at the smirk on your face when he looked at you. He went to make a snarky comment, but his lips twitched before he could. 

Your heart rate rapidly shot to the sky when he planted a kiss on your forehead before leaving you to it and going to help Sam pack. 

He kissed your head and cheek and anywhere else pretty often, hell he’d kissed you on the lips more than once, but this felt oddly intimate. Almost domestic.

It made you nostalgic for a future that you knew wouldn’t be yours. Oh, but how you envied whoever he did end up loving like that.

Note: Originally they were going to have two separate beds, but I thought it was funnier sharing!

@marvelhead17 @screaming-les-bean

[kara-winchest3r]

[dead-costco54]

I also made this one

[23swife]

SPN FIC RECS : MARCH

— omg two months in a row!! i’m on a roll. show these authors some love and comment on their fics if you read !!

@chxrrywines : crybaby — my only sam fic cause i’m not into him that much these days but this is blondie we’re talking about so of course i loved what she wrote instantly and was holding back tears. author’s synopsis : inspired by the song crybaby by searows

@sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth : but at night I'd have these wonderful dreams — most relaxing read ever and i really needed it when it showed up on my dash honestly author’s synopsis : Dean tells you about his retirement plan: "a beach somewhere, toes in the sand. Couple of little umbrella drinks, Hawaiian shirts, obviously."

@maddie0101 : wanted — the angst. that’s all i have to say. author’s synopsis : you went looking for something real, only to come back broken. But this time, Dean won’t stay silent—because you were always his.

@supernotnatural2005 : happily ever after — literally all her fics are my fav thing ever and this one was just so so beautiful, i love tension before fluff. author’s synopsis : Set after 'Carry on'. Dean is alive, and you all decide to hang up the hunting life for good. Sam has moved on and you're waiting for your next chapter with Dean. However, the way Dean has been acting lately is making you doubt if you will ever have one.

@honeyryewhiskey : rhonda hurley — all i have to say is that EVERYONE has to read this. i will personally read it to you if you haven’t read it. author’s synopsis : Rhonda Hurley. . . we were nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And y’know what? We kinda liked it.

@honeyryewhiskey : morning brew — in love with anything involving both brothers because i can’t pick sometimes. i adore the flirting between both of them, so fun. author’s synopsis : if you’re opening up the cozy cup café, you can count on the winchesters being your first customers of the day.

@saltcxrcle : sober thoughts — read drunken words first but i was stupid so i did it out of order but it was still incredible. guys can you tell i like angst yet? probably not… author’s synopsis : avoiding dean seemed like the best course of action after embarrassing yourself by confessing your feelings to him

@sacr1ficialang3l : sad and stressed — more like a drabble but i wanted injected in my veins. you don’t understand, i wanna snort it. does that make sense? get me a needle. author’s synopsis : crying in older!dean’s arms.

@chevroletdean : you always meet twice — reread bcs i love it. this is my fifth reread or something. expect it in next month’s recs too basically.

@chevroletdean : leather jacket and pumpkin spice latte — another reread but it’s critical.

@wendichester : the substitute — reader was written in such a cute way and it really really stood out to me. made them seem engaging and guns and i wanted to be their friend. or my friend, whatever. also, the tension y’all !! author’s synopsis : the real winchesters come to join the supernatural musical

@deanwritings : baby, we’ve got a problem — first series on here! read it all in like two days, such a light read (at least the beginning is) and it really paints baby coming to life in a great way. author’s synopsis : The reader faces some trouble when Baby isn’t just a car anymore.

@figthoughts : bsf dad jensen — i will do absolutely ANYTHING to have him come to life. please. please. please. absolutely so well written. author’s synopsis : jensen catches you tipsy in his kitchen after a night out with your friends.

[punkomens]

CASS IS GOOD DATE.

Summary: Sam needs time to think about what to do with the book and needs Dean out, so he asks Castiel for help.

But Dean really is a dedicated Valentine's Day teacher

This is set in season 10 episode 18.

READ HERE.

Category:

M/M

Relationship:

Castiel/Dean Winchester

Characters:

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Original Supernatural (TV) Character(s)

Impala

Additional Tags:

Wing Kink

Inappropriate Use of Grace

Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester

Bottom Dean Winchester

Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Dean thinks fucking his bsf is normal

Fake/Pretend Relationship

Valentine's Day

set in season 10 episode 18

Quickening Sex

Sex in a Car ART FROM A FRIEND OF MINE.