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cumulo-stratus · 1 month ago

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╰┈➤ We'll Never Leave

Sam Winchester x half sister!reader

Dean Winchester x half sister!reader

Summary: After losing the final family members you've known at 17, you found out that you had two half brothers. Everything was going smoothly - or at least that's what Sam and Dean thought before they found out you're not sleeping.

Notes/warnings: this was a request from @apalanchen/abandonment anxiety, grief, brief mentions of last trauma, sleep deprivation

The lights of the gas station convenience store buzzed overhead as Dean grabbed another energy drink from the cooler, his green eyes scanning the label with practiced efficiency. Three weeks. Three weeks since he and Sam had gotten that call from Child Protective Services, three weeks since they'd learned about the existence of their seventeen-year-old half-sister, and three weeks since their world had been turned completely upside down.

"Dean, you're gonna give yourself a heart attack with all that caffeine," Sam's voice carried from the next aisle over, accompanied by the rustle of snack packages.

"Says the guy who drinks enough coffee to fuel a small aircraft," Dean shot back, but there was no real bite to his words. His mind was elsewhere, focused on you currently sitting in the Impala's backseat, staring out the window with those hauntingly familiar eyes—their father's eyes.

The memory of that first meeting still felt surreal. A sterile office, fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across the social worker's tired face as she explained the situation. Their father had apparently had a brief relationship seventeen years ago, and when both of your guardians—your mother and grandmother—had died in a car accident, a DNA test had revealed John Winchester as your biological father. With John dead and no other family to speak of, Sam and Dean were your closest living relatives.

Dean's jaw had clenched at the news, not out of anger toward you, but at their father. Another secret, another life John had touched and abandoned. But when they'd first seen you—small, guarded, clutching a worn duffel bag that contained everything you owned—Dean's protective instincts had kicked in immediately. You were family. That was all that mattered.

"You getting anything else?" Sam appeared at his elbow, arms full of granola bars and trail mix, his long hair falling into his eyes as he studied Dean's face with that analytical expression he'd perfected over the years.

"Just thinking," Dean muttered, grabbing a bag of your favorite chips—something he'd noticed during their first grocery run together when you'd lingered in front of them but hadn't asked for anything.

“About Y/n?"

Dean nodded, his throat tightening slightly. "She's been… different lately. Quieter. More tired."

Sam's expression grew concerned, his eyebrows drawing together in that way that made him look older than his years. “I've noticed it too. She barely touched dinner last night, and this morning she looked like she hadn't slept at all.”

They'd both noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the way you'd started jumping at sudden noises, how you'd begun hovering near them constantly as if afraid they might disappear. At first, they'd thought it was the adjustment period nerves—after all, your entire life had been uprooted. But it was getting worse, not better.

Dean paid for their items, his mind racing as they walked back to the Impala. You were exactly where they'd left you, curled up in the backseat with your earbuds in, but Dean could see you watching them in the reflection of the window. Always watching, always alert.

"Hey, kiddo," Dean said softly as he slid into the driver's seat, catching your eyes in the rearview mirror. "We got your chips."

A small smile flickered across your face, but it didnt reach your eyes. "Thanks."

The word was barely above a whisper, and Deans chest tightened. When they'd first brought you home to the bunker, you'd been shy but curious, asking careful questions about their lives, their work, the strange underground fortress they called home. Now you seemed to be withdrawing into yourself more each day.

Sam twisted in the passenger seat to face you, his expression gentle. "How are you feeling? You seemed pretty tired this morning."

You straightened slightly, and Dean caught the way your hands fidgeted with the sleeves of your oversized flannel—one of Sam's old shirts that had somehow migrated to your wardrobe. "I'm fine. Just… adjusting."

The lie was obvious, but neither brother pushed. They'd learned quickly that direct confrontation made you shut down completely. Instead, Dean started the engine, the familiar rumble of the Impala filling the silence.

"We're about an hour out from the bunker," he announced, pulling out of the parking lot. "You hungry? There's that diner you liked about twenty minutes down the road."

In the mirror, he saw you shake your head. "I'm not really hungry."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look. You'd been eating less and less lately, picking at your food and claiming you weren't hungry. It was starting to become a real concern.

The drive passed in relative silence, broken only by the low hum of classic rock from the radio and the occasional comment about the passing scenery. Dean found himself checking the mirror more frequently than necessary, noting the way your eyelids kept drooping only to snap open again whenever you started to doze off.

When they finally pulled into the bunker's garage, you were fully awake again, that hypervigilant expression back on your face. Dean killed the engine and turned to face you properly.

"Y/n, you sure you're okay? You've seemed pretty wiped out lately."

For a moment, something vulnerable flickered across your features—fear, maybe, or longing—but it was gone so quickly Dean almost thought he’d imagined it.

"I'm fine," you repeated, already unbuckling your seatbelt. "Just tired."

You were out of the car before either brother could respond, grabbing your small backpack and heading for the entrance to the bunker. Dean watched you go, noting the slight tremble in your hands as you punched in the door code they’d taught you.

Yes. After you moved in they put a code on the door in addition of the old key.

"She's not fine," Sam said quietly once you were out of earshot.

"No kidding." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "But every time we try to talk to her about it, she clams up."

"Maybe we're coming on too strong. She's been through a lot of trauma—losing her mom and grandmother, finding out about us, moving in with two strangers who happen to be her half-brothers. It's a lot to process."

Dean knew Sam was right, but the knowledge didn't make watching you struggle any easier. They made their way inside, finding you already in the kitchen attempting to make a sandwich with shaking hands.

"Here, let me help," Sam offered gently, moving to stand beside you.

You jerked away from him slightly, then seemed to catch yourself. "Sorry, I've got it."

But Dean could see the way you were swaying on your feet, exhaustion evident in every line of your body. Without thinking, he moved to your other side, steadying you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"When's the last time you got a full night’s sleep?" he asked directly.

Your whole body went rigid under his touch. "I sleep fine."

"Y/n." Sam's voice was patient but firm. "You look like you haven't slept in days. And don't say you're fine—we can see that you're not."

For a long moment, you stared down at the half-assembled sandwich in your hands, your breathing shallow and quick. Dean could practically see your internal struggle, the war between wanting to trust them and whatever fear was holding you back.

"I just…" you started, then stopped, biting your lower lip hard enough to leave marks. "It's stupid."

"Nothing you're feeling is stupid," Dean said firmly, his hand still resting on your shoulder. "Talk to us."

You were quiet for so long that Dean began to think you wouldn't answer. Then, in a voice so small he had to strain to hear it, you whispered, "What if you change your minds?"

"About what?" Sam asked gently.

"About me. About wanting me here." The words came out in a rush, like you needed to get them out before you lost your nerve. "What if you wake up one day and decide this was a mistake? What if you realize you don't want a kid sister messing up your lives? What if you just… leave?"

Dean felt his heart crack clean in half. The hand on your shoulder tightened protectively as he processed your words, understanding flooding through him like ice water.

"Is that why you haven't been sleeping?" Sam’s voice was thick with emotion. "Because you're afraid we'll leave while you're asleep?"

Your silence was answer enough. Dean could see the tears you were fighting to hold back, the way your whole body was trembling with exhaustion and fear.

"Oh, sweetheart," he breathed, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. "Y/n, look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, you raised your eyes to meet his in the reflection of the kitchen window. What he saw there nearly broke him—raw vulnerability, bone-deep fear, and underneath it all, a desperate hope that you were trying so hard to protect.

"We're not going anywhere," he said firmly, turning you gently so you were facing him properly. "Do you hear me? We're not leaving you. Not now, not ever."

"But what if—"

"No what-ifs," Sam interrupted, moving to your other side so you were bracketed between them. "Y/n, you're our family. You're our sister. That's not something that changes based on convenience or circumstances."

"But you didn't even know I existed a month ago," you whispered, fresh tears spilling over despite your efforts to contain them. "And your lives were fine without me. You had your routine, your work, each other. You don't need some random kid complicating everything."

Dean felt anger flash through him—not at you, but at every adult who had ever failed you, every situation that had taught you that love was conditional and family was temporary.

"Hey," he said firmly, waiting until you met his eyes again. "First of all, you're not some random kid. You're John Winchester's daughter, which makes you a Winchester. And Winchesters? We stick together. We take care of each other. That's what we do."

"Second," Sam added, his voice gentle but unwavering, "our lives weren't fine without you. They were just… incomplete. We didn't know what we were missing until we found you."

You stared at them both, disbelief and hope warring in your expression. "Really?"

"Really," Dean confirmed. "Y/n I know this is scary. I know you've lost people before, and I know trusting us feels like a huge risk. But I need you to understand something—Sam and I, we've been through hell and back together. Literally. And the one thing that's kept us going through all of it is family. And now you're part of that family."

"The most important part," Sam added softly. "Because you chose to trust us, to give us a chance to be your brothers. And that means everything to us."

The tears were flowing freely now, and Dean could see the exact moment your carefully constructed walls began to crumble. You swayed on your feet, the exhaustion finally overwhelming your adrenaline.

"I'm so tired," you whispered, the confession seeming to cost you everything.

"I know, sweetheart," Dean murmured, pulling you into a careful hug. You stiffened for just a moment before melting against him, your small frame shaking with exhaustion and relief. "When's the last time you actually slept? And I mean really slept, not just dozed off for an hour here and there."

"I don't remember," you admitted against his chest. "Maybe… maybe four days ago? For a couple hours?"

Sam made a pained sound behind you. "Y/n, that's not sustainable. You're going to make yourself sick."

"I tried," you said desperately, pulling back to look between them both. "I wanted to sleep, but every time I started to drift off, I'd panic. What if I woke up and you were gone? What if you left a note saying you’d changed your minds? What if I was alone again?"

Dean's throat felt tight with emotion. He'd been on his own plenty of times, knew the terror of abandonment intimately, but he'd never been seventeen and completely alone in the world. The idea of you lying awake night after night, paralyzed by fear, made him want to punch something.

"Okay," he said decisively. "Here's what we're going to do. You're going to get some sleep—real sleep—and Sam and I are going to stay right here with you until you wake up."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes, we do," Sam interrupted gently. "Y/n, you're exhausted. You can barely stand up. Your body needs rest, and your mind needs to know that we're not going anywhere."

You looked between them uncertainly. "But what about your work? Don't you have a case or something?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing that can't wait. You're the priority right now."

"But—"

"No buts," Dean said firmly. "Come on, kiddo. Let's get you to bed."

He kept one arm around your shoulders as they made their way through the bunker to your room—a space they'd tried to make as comfortable and welcoming as possible with soft lighting, warm blankets, and a few personal items they'd helped you pick out during a shopping trip. You moved like you were walking through water, exhaustion weighing down every step.

Sam was already pulling back the covers when they reached your bed, his movements gentle and careful. "Do you need anything? Water? Something more to eat?"

You shook your head, settling on the edge of your bed with a shaky sigh. "Just… you're really going to stay?"

"We're really going to stay," Dean confirmed, pulling the chair from your desk over to sit beside the bed. "I'll be right here. Sam will be here too."

Sam nodded, settling into the small armchair in the corner of your room. "We're not going anywhere, Y/n. I promise."

You crawled under the covers slowly, like you were afraid the movement might break the spell. Once you were settled, you looked up at them both with those familiar green eyes, so much like Dean’s own.

"What if I have nightmares?" you asked quietly.

"Then we'll be here when you wake up," Dean said simply. "We'll remind you that you're safe, that you're not alone, and we'll stay until you can fall back asleep."

For the first time in weeks, you looked like you might actually believe them. Your eyelids were already growing heavy, the simple act of lying down enough to start pulling you under after days of fighting sleep.

"Dean?" you whispered just as he thought you'd drifted off.

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"Thank you. For… for staying. For not thinking I'm crazy or needy or—"

"Hey," he interrupted gently. "You're not crazy. You're not needy. You're seventeen years old and you've been through more trauma than most adults could handle. Wanting reassurance that the people who are supposed to take care of you aren't going to abandon you? That’s not crazy. That's human."

You were quiet for a moment, processing his words. "I love you guys," you whispered finally, the admission barely audible. "I know it's probably too soon to say that, and I know we barely know each other, but—"

"We love you too," Sam said softly from his corner. "More than you know."

Dean felt his chest tighten with emotion. "Sam's right. You're stuck with us now, kiddo. Whether you like it or not."

A small smile flickered across your face, the first genuine one he’d seen from you in days. "I like it," you murmured, your eyes finally sliding closed. "I really like it."

Within minutes, your breathing had evened out into the deep, steady rhythm of actual sleep. Dean leaned back in his chair, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he watched you finally get the rest you so desperately needed.

"She really thought we were going to leave her," Sam said quietly, his voice heavy with disbelief and sadness.

Dean nodded, his eyes never leaving your sleeping form. "Can you blame her? Think about her life—everyone she's ever loved has either died or left. In her mind, we're just the next in line."

"We need to do better," Sam said firmly. "We need to find ways to show her that this is permanent. That she belongs here."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "We do."

They sat in comfortable silence as the hours passed, taking turns keeping watch over their sleeping sister. Every time you stirred or made a sound, one of them was there instantly, ready to offer comfort if needed. But you slept deeply, your body finally able to rest knowing you weren't alone.

It was nearly dawn when you finally began to stir, your eyes blinking open slowly as you oriented yourself. For just a moment, Dean saw panic flash across your features—the instinctive fear that you'd wake up alone—but then your gaze landed on him, and relief flooded your expression.

"You stayed," you whispered, voice thick with sleep and emotion.

"We stayed," Dean confirmed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "And we'll stay as long as you need us to."

Sam was awake instantly, moving from his chair to sit on the edge of your bed. "How do you feel?"

You considered the question seriously, taking inventory of your body and mind. "Better," you said finally. "Rested. Still scared, but… better."

"The scared part will get easier," Dean promised. "The more time that passes with us staying exactly where we are, the easier it'll get to believe that we're not going anywhere."

You nodded, sitting up slowly and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "I'm sorry. For keeping you up all night, for being such a mess, for—"

"Stop," Sam interrupted gently. "You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing."

"We're your big brothers," Dean added. "Taking care of you, staying up all night when you need us to, dealing with whatever mess you think you are—that’s literally our job now. And it’s not a burden or an inconvenience. It’s a privilege."

Fresh tears sprang to your eyes, but these were different—tears of relief rather than fear. "I don't know how to do this," you admitted. "I don't know how to be part of a family."

"None of us do," Sam said with a rueful smile. "We're all kind of making it up as we go along. But we'll figure it out together."

Dean stood up, stretching muscles that were stiff from a night in the chair. "How about we start with breakfast? I make a mean pancake, and I think we could all use some comfort food."

Your stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, reminding them all that you'd barely eaten in the past few days. You blushed, but there was a hint of your earlier humor in your expression.

"Pancakes sound amazing," you admitted.

"Good," Dean said, offering you his hand to help you out of bed. "And while I'm cooking, you and Sam can figure out what movie we're watching today. Because we're having a lazy day. No hunting, no research, no leaving the bunker. Just family time."

You took his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet, and Dean was relieved to see that you seemed steadier than you had in days. The sleep had helped, but more than that, he could see that something fundamental had shifted in your understanding of their relationship.

"Are you sure?" you asked as they made their way to the kitchen. "You don't have people depending on you?"

"Right now, the only person depending on us is you," Sam said firmly. "And you're more important than any case."

You were quiet as Dean started pulling ingredients from the refrigerator, but he could see you processing Sam's words, trying to believe them. It would take time—he knew that. Years of abandonment and loss wouldn't be healed by one conversation and one good night’s sleep. But it was a start.

"Dean?" you said suddenly as he began mixing batter.

"Yeah?"

"Can I help? With the pancakes?"

The request was simple, but Dean heard the real question underneath it: Can I be part of this? Can I contribute? Do I belong here?

"Of course," he said, making room for you at the counter. "You can be my sous chef."

As you moved to stand beside him, carefully measuring ingredients under his guidance, Dean caught Sam's eye over your head. His younger brother was smiling, the kind of soft, genuine smile that Dean rarely saw anymore. They were all healing, he realized. Your presence wasn't just changing your life—it was changing theirs too.

"You know," Sam said conversationally as they worked, "I was thinking we could redecorate your room if you want. Make it more… permanent."

You looked up from the bowl you were stirring, hope and uncertainty warring in your expression. "Permanent?"

"Well, yeah,"!Dean said casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This is your home now. Your room should reflect that."

"We could paint the walls," Sam added. "Get some new furniture, maybe some bookshelves. Make it really yours."

The smile that spread across your face was radiant, transforming your entire appearance. For the first time since they'd met you, you looked like the teenager you were supposed to be—hopeful and excited about the future instead of constantly braced for the next loss.

"I'd like that," you said softly. "I'd really like that."

Dean flipped the first pancake with a flourish, grinning at your delighted laugh. "Then it's settled. Today we eat pancakes and plan your room makeover. Tomorrow we go shopping."

"And tonight?" you asked, a hint of anxiety creeping back into your voice.

"Tonight we prove to you again that we're not going anywhere," Sam said simply. "And tomorrow night, and the night after that, and every night until you don't need the proof anymore."

"And even then," Dean added, "we'll still be here."

You nodded, tears threatening again but held back by sheer determination. "Thank you," you whispered. "For everything. For staying, for caring, for giving me a chance to be part of your family."

"Our family," Dean corrected gently. "You're not joining something we already had—you're helping us create something new. Something better."

As they finished making breakfast together, the kitchen filled with the warm smell of pancakes and the sound of your laughter as Sam told increasingly ridiculous stories about Dean's cooking mishaps over the years, Dean felt something settle in his chest that he hadn't even realized was unsettled.

They were a family now. Not just him and Sam anymore, but the three of them together. It would take time for you to fully believe in the permanence of it, and there would probably be more sleepless nights and difficult conversations ahead. But they had time. They had each other. And for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

His family was complete.

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cumulo-stratus · 1 month ago

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supernatural x little sister! reader fluff

its my car, jackass!

description: with the flu plaguing you and the impala broken down, dean is left no choice but to set his masculinity aside to drive your fur lined and bedazzled car to the next motel. along the way, sam recalls the time you almost drove off a cliff when dean attempted to give you a driving lesson in the impala.

warnings: none, just fluff and dean being bullied.

word count: 2.5k

spn masterlist

The crunch of tires on the snow blanketed pavement was soft, and the silence inside the car was comforting.

You were in the backseat, curled up under one of Sam’s huge winter coats. The scent of his hypoallergenic laundry soap, the one that you and Dean usually gave him shit for, wrapped around you in a cocoon.

It was nice given all that had happened in the past week.

You’d been fighting off a nasty flu, so the boys had to go on the most recent hunt without you. Then the impala broke down, so now Dean was using yours to drive to the next motel.

No one ever drove this car besides you, but it was still used to store extra equipment since it was so unsuspecting, especially since you were so keen on decorating every square inch of it with rhinestones and fur.

You leaned against the side door with a tissue box tucked under one arm and your flaming forehead pressed to the cool fogged window.

Even with medication, between the fever and the congestion, you dangled on the edge of delirium, unable to sit upright long enough to drive the car yourself.

So when Dean climbed into the car, adjusting the seat back so his legs could fit, he took one look at the interior and sighed.

He fumbled with your lanyard, searching through all your little keychains with furrowed brows to find the key to start the ignition.

“Christ,” He mumbled. Just as he was about to peel the fur steering wheel cover off, you leaned forward,

“No! Keep it on,” You rasped from the backseat.

“Hey, easy,” Sam placed a hand on you to keep you from lurching at him.

“Seriously?” Dean deadpanned, motioning to the wheel, “You're gonna make me drive with this thing?”

“It’s my car, jackass!” you coughed, “Not yours.”

On any other day, you’d watch your tone, but you supposed the haze of the fever had you making bolder choices.

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Sam shot him a hard look.

“Fine.”

From your place in the backseat, you smirked as you caught a glimpse of Dean’s death grip on the wheel, the pale fur cover squished between his fingers.

“You sure you don’t wanna drive?” he asked, glancing at Sam.

Sam didn’t even bother looking up from the map in his lap. “You’re already driving.”

The dangling white Hello Kitty air freshener swung mockingly at him from the rearview mirror, ticking back and forth with every bump in the road.

“You know, maybe it’s a good thing Baby’s broken down,” Your voice rang out, scratchy, but cheeky nonetheless. “My car suits you better anyway.”

Dean shot you a side-eye in the mirror. “Shut up and sleep.”

“I don’t wanna sleep,” you mumbled, grabbing another tissue.

Sam shook his head, before glancing back at you. “You okay?”

You shifted slightly, “I feel dizzy.”

“You wanna sit up front? Might help.”

You nodded and sat up slowly, the movement making your vision wobble. As you reached for the seatbelt, Sam reached over from the passenger side to help. “Wait, I’ll help”

You groaned. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said simply, already climbing out as Dean pulled over on the shoulder.

After helping you unbuckle, he reached out and rested a hand against your forehead. You froze for a second, waiting for the verdict.

“Still burning up,” he murmured, brows drawing slightly together.

Well crap.

“Here,” He brought a water bottle to your lips. “Drink some more water.”

“I’m not a baby,” You shrugged away, grimacing a little. “I can drink it myself.”

Sam rolled his eyes before handing it to you.

He held your elbow to steady you as you hopped out and slid into the front seat, shivering a little as you buckled in. Dean side-eyed you again, a little less grumpily this time.

“Better?” He asked as he merged back onto the road.

“Yup,” You sighed, settling in.

A few minutes later, you reached for the radio and turned it on.

Dean visibly twitched.

Sam raised a brow from the backseat, clearly enjoying Dean's irritation along with you.

“You like my playlist Dean?” You snicker, “It’s comprised of the finest pop icons. Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Kesha…”

“I’m gonna crash this thing on purpose.”

“Oh please,” you sniffled, “I bet deep down, you like it.”

Dean didn’t answer. But he didn’t turn the radio off either.

As the car rolled to a stop at a red light, Dean's eyes tracked someone on the sidewalk. A woman in her mid-twenties, walking her dog, denim jacket, nice hair.

You clocked his line of sight,

“She’s pretty,” you grinned.

Then you turned up the music just loud enough to drown out the subtle purr of the engine and rolled your window all the way down.

“Heyy!” you called out.

She blinked and looked over.

Dean shot you a glare that said, don’t you dare.

“You’re beautiful!” you grinned, giving her a thumbs up.

The girl giggled, clearly flattered. “Thanks!”

He untensed a little, but not for long.

“And my BROTHER here?” You gestured to him, “He thinks you’re HOT—”

You were cut off as the car lurched forward like it had been electrocuted. You and Sam erupted into laughter as Dean scowled at the road,

“If you weren’t so sick I’d kill you.”

“Oh sure,” you chuckled. It trailed off into a coughing fit, a harsh, dry sound that had Dean glancing over instinctively.

Though his face was still a mask of irritation, a deft hand shot out to zip your jacket up higher, then fumble around a little to roughly tug the hood over your head.

You pulled the hood back in annoyance and slouched. As much as you needed to keep warm, you hated the stuffy feel of being trapped in your winter coat.

You were hot, but if you took your coat off, you’d be freezing.

If you didn’t blow your nose, you couldn’t breathe. If you did, your sinuses would ache from the exertion.

You hated the flu.

A few moments of silence later, you heard Sam in the backseat chuckling a little,

Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“What’s so funny?” You asked.

He shook his head, shoulders shaking as he hunched over to clutch his stomach.

“What’s wrong with you?” You turned in your seat, unable to help the little chuckle escaping you at his hysterics.

“Probably the cheap cupcake fumes getting to his head,” Dean huffed. His eyes scrunched at the dangling Hello Kitty air freshener, before he knocked it out of the way.

Sam caught his breath and leaned forward, “Dean, you remember the first time you let Y/N drive? She was what—like 15?”

Dean snorted. “You mean that time she almost killed us all?”

You gasped, sitting up straighter, “Hey! That was your fault!”

“My fault?” Dean scoffed, “Last I remember it wasn’t my hands on the steering wheel, Sweetheart.”

“Yeah, cause they were practically at my throat,” Sam shot back.

“Exactly,” you huffed, “I needed help but you were too busy arguing with him.”

“He was trying to provoke me!”

“Provoke you?”

As you tuned out their voices, the memory came back to you.

You were furious that your Dad was out on a hunting trip the day he promised to give you driving lessons.

Dean had been leaning against the doorway, waiting to take you and Sam to school.

He pushed off the frame and grinned, trying to meet your downcast gaze as he watched you walk past him toward the front steps.

He shrugged, worth a try.

It wasn’t a secret Dean had a soft spot for both you and Sam, but something about seeing his baby sister get turned away gnawed at something deep inside him. So when Dad said no to something, he was the one who got it for you anyway.

Sometimes with charm, sometimes with a crowbar.

He’d never forget the time he had to chat up a pretty cashier while he stuffed a for-display Barbie doll into his jacket that one Christmas.

Or the time Dad was out on a hunting trip and forgot to leave spare change. You padded over to him as you rubbed your stomach through your shirt, so he snagged a few snacks from the motel corner store and let you and Sam have at it.

Dad came back that same night and needless to say, he had a hard time explaining why you and Sam were buzzing around and jumping from one piece of furniture to the other with chocolate all over your mouths.

So when school let out a few days later and he turned down the usual route, Sam immediately narrowed his eyes from the backseat,

“Dean, you missed the turn.”

Dean didn’t answer until he pulled the Impala into an old, cracked parking lot behind an abandoned mall.

He threw the gear shift into park and turned to you with that familiar, lopsided smirk.

“C’mon, switch seats.”

You blinked, “Why?”

“You’re driving.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—seriously?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” he drawled, though he sort of did, green eyes twinkling and brows raised.

You beamed, “So you’re actually gonna teach me?”

“Why not?” Dean shrugged.

You never thought this day would come. Hell, Dean didn’t even let you look at the impala for too long.

Sam sighed in the back. “She doesn’t even know how to start the car, Dean.”

“Shut up, Sam.” You bristled. The last thing you wanted was that nerd planting seeds of doubt into his mind.

Luckily for you, Dean ignored him, sliding out of the car and gesturing for you to take the wheel. You practically bounced over the center console and plopped into the driver’s seat.

Dean stood outside a second longer than necessary, looking at the Impala like he was about to hand over his child to a toddler.

Then, sighing dramatically, he climbed into the passenger seat.

Sam, already pale in the backseat, yanked the belt across his chest like it was a lifeline. “You know this thing’s a manual, right?”

You shrugged, “Yeah. And that means...?”

“Are you serious–”

“Doesn’t matter what it means, I’ll teach her,” Dean cut in.

Sam sputtered, “Doesn’t matter?”

Dean shot him a glare before he leaned closer, pointing at the pedals. “Left foot on the clutch, right on the brake.”

“Okay…”

“Good, now ease into first gear. Don’t pop it. Smooth, like flirting.”

“I don’t think anyone flirts with their feet,” you mumbled, following his instructions anyway.

Dean chuckled, “You’d be surprised–”

The car jolted forward and stalled.

Sam visibly flinched.

“Okay, not terrible…” Dean said, gripping the doorframe. “Give it another go.”

You tried again. And again.

You groan,

“Dean, I don’t think I can drive this piece of shi–”

“Yes, you can. Just take your time.” Dean said.

You sighed, “Alright then.”

Then, miraculously, the Impala rumbled forward.

“Yes!” you grinned, “I got it!”

Dean jolted forward, eyes wide and slightly panicked, he wasn’t expecting you to actually get anywhere,

“Alright–okay, you’re moving. Now ease on the gas.”

You did not ease. You zoomed.

“She’s going forty-five!” Sam yelped, grabbing the back of Dean’s seat.

“Fifty,” Dean chuckled through clenched teeth, “In a twenty-five…Kid’s got guts.”

“We’re so gonna get pulled over,” Sam groaned.

You grinned wildly, watching the trees whir past, “I’m not going any faster than Dean does.”

“Since when has Dean been a good example?” Sam scoffed.

Dean raised a brow, “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act surprised.”

Dean turned back, offended. “I happen to be an excellent driver.”

“You jumped a median to avoid a school zone.”

“That was tactical maneuvering!”

“God, where does this road even lead to?” You murmur as you begin to see less and less road signs and a hell of a lot more forest.

“Your bitching about my driving meanwhile I’m the one who has to drive your ass around everywhere–”

“I would drive if you would at least let me touch the steering wheel!”

As they bickered, you squinted ahead.

“It’s my car, jackass! I decide who drives it and who doesn’t.”

It seemed like you guys were on some sort of elevated terrain, but you weren’t sure yet if the road continued or if it was just messing with your depth perception.

“Guys?”

No response.

“Dean?”

“I don’t need your clammy hands on the steer–”

“Guys!”

Their shouting match came to an abrupt stop as they whipped their heads to you,

“WHAT?!”

You yelped as the Impala screeched to a halt, tires screaming as you stopped mere feet from a jagged drop-off.

Only the soft tick of the cooling engine, the window rustle of dry leaves from outside, and laboured breaths filled the cabin. Your heart was lurching out of your chest and your ears rang from the adrenaline.

Dean slowly turned to look at you.

You slowly turned to look at him.

The car may not have dropped, but his stomach sure as hell did at your expression.

It screamed ‘this was your fault’ along with a few other profanities he didn’t want to put a name to.

He gave you a sheepish smile. “Look, in my defense—”

You glared at him.

“...Okay. No defense.”

After a few seconds of pin drop silence and him glancing nervously at you from the corner of his eye, he spoke again.

“Y’know what? You don’t gotta to learn how to drive anyway.”

You raised a brow.

“I’ll always be here to drive you around, you know?...” He rambled.

“I’ll be like you’re…what’s the word I’m thinking of?”

Sam raised a brow, “—Chauffeur?”

“Yeah, your chauffeur.” He grinned, “Your knight in shining Chevy armor?”

You and Sam stared at him in silence, both equally as exasperated as you were confused.

He sighed, “Don’t tell Dad.”

You chuckled at the memory. Thank God your car was automatic.

You slowly leaned against the window, eyelids feeling heavier and heavier before they fluttered shut, the car’s movement lulling you to sleep.

In your haze of sleep, you were vaguely aware of arms lifting you out of the passenger seat.

“Don’t wake her,” Sam whispered.

“I know,” Dean replied under his breath, carefully shutting the door.

You felt the shift in temperature as the motel room door creaked open and warm air met your scarlet face.

You stirred just a little.

“Shh, I gotcha’,” Dean murmured.

You weren’t fully awake, but his tone echoed in your mind. It was familiar and comforting.

It was that tone he used when you were a kid. After nightmares, when you were sick and couldn’t sleep, or when you asked if Dad was coming back tonight and the answer was yet again, no.

He laid you on one of the beds and pulled the blankets over your shoulders.

Dean plopped the keys on the nightstand, “Sure she’s gonna be okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Just needs rest.”

Dean ran a hand down his face. “Good. I’m never driving that thing again. Felt like I was losing testosterone by the mile.”

Sam stood, clapping him on the back as he started toward the bathroom, “Guess it’s payback for making her drive manual.”

what do we think y’all?

the flu freaking sucks yo. I remember I got covid that AND that shit within the same year (T_T)

thank you to @spideys-nse for the request !!

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cumulo-stratus · 1 month ago

Text

his hands, so calloused from his pistol, softly traces hearts on my face

♡⃛ part three of series: but daddy, i love him! ♡⃛ pairing: teenage dirtbag!sam winchester x rich girl!reader ♡⃛ warnings: sexual content, loss of virginity, mild mentions of violence, and some foul language. i wrote half of this wine drunk btw. ♡⃛ word count: 4.4k

<- PART TWO • PART FOUR (coming soon)

it had been secret kisses and late-night drives ever since sam kissed you in the courtyard. for a boy who didn’t care about appearances, who dressed in denim and leather. who wore boots that walked through streets you’d never dare pass, and looked at people with a steel gaze and zero interest, his lips were the softest you’d ever felt.

the taste of them never left your mind, haunting you in the dead of night, stealing sleep and leaving you with breathy sighs. he was the sweetest thing you’d ever tasted, consuming your soul and hypnotizing you with his mouth alone, until you found yourself right in the center of his palm.

despite the roughness of his hands, often dry and calloused like stone, he held you like you were something fragile, like one of the porcelain figurines in your mom’s display case.

on most nights, you wouldn’t even notice the hands on the clock nearing midnight, when you were supposed to be at your front door in perfect condition. you hadn’t seen the motorcycle since he’d brought you home from that night at the party. instead, he’d get one over on his brother and swipe the keys to the handed-down ‘67 chevy impala, fingers sticky and light like a crooked thief.

it was wild and crazy, but for the life of you, you couldn’t get enough of him.

he quipped back at your remarks, matched your wit with his, and when he'd say the right words that made you feel every second of your heart cracking, he'd scoop you up in his arms and kiss the pain away as if he’d never uttered them at all.

the last date you went on, he drove for a total of five hours just to go to the beach at night. he brought a couple beers with him. you’d never been a fan of beer in general, but for some reason, sipping from the same bottle he drank from made the bitter notes sweeter and your stomach warmer, not heavier.

he laid a towel flat on the ground, one big enough for both of you. the salty breeze tousled your hair—hair you usually spent hours taming into place. the ocean waves waxing poetic under the starry sky that put shame to all the love songs in your playlist, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded into nothing.

that was, until the shrill sound of your ringtone cut through your reverie, alerting you with a profusion of text messages from your parents that demanded your feet on the front porch in less than an hour. it was fucking impossible, given that a one-way drive took more than two hours.

with his jacket around your shoulders, hair wild and free, that’s what led to your voice echoing through the walls of your home for the first time in your life—suffused with a desperation and distress that, in hindsight, the grown-ups (and even you) would write off as teenage petulance. you’d never been one to slam doors and bellow retorts, but the moment an insult about him and his family left their tongues, you would only see red.

he climbed your window later that night, tapping on the glass with a tenderness you’d never expect from a boy raised on jagged words and parental love sheathed in iron spikes. he wrapped his arms around you as you cried into his chest, holding you through it all until the affliction left you bruised and numb. until your eyes no longer leaked, the hollow ache becoming more tolerable, and all that remained was the heat from his muscles blanketing your shivering bones.

the famous three little words hung on both your tongues. although they hadn’t slipped past your lips yet, the silence sufficed, satisfying your hearts in that very moment.

in the weeks that followed, you learned more than just the feel of his hands or the taste of his kiss. you learned his father was constantly out of town. every once in a while, he’d bring home a lady to meet them, and once, a lanky pre-teen boy came knocking on their door, searching for his dad—“john winchester”—to which even sam replied with, “shit, this is where he lives, and even i don’t know.”

you’d also met his brother. the first time was when you paid a small visit to their autoshop.

“man, i always figured i’d go straight to hell. guess God’s feelin’ generous, lettin’ me get a glimpse of heaven first,” dean flirted pathetically, a charming and boyish look on his face. and you understood, then, why he remained a legend among the girls a couple years older–still talking about him with dreamy sighs and lust-filled eyes, despite his weakened legacy from being a high school drop out.

a playful grin painted his lips, beaming with pride at the sight of his younger brother standing behind you like a dog trailing after its owner.

“dude,” your boy said, straight-faced and deadpan, linking your fingers with his. “stop hitting on my girlfriend.”

the agreement of exclusivity between you hadn’t been uttered yet, but hearing him call you his without even having to initiate the discussion, made a deeper kind of love you never knew even knew existed made itself known to you.

your group of friends looked at you with widened gazes when you walked hand-in-hand through the school halls together. gobsmacked looks colored their features when he left you with them, holding out his arm to return your handbag and pressing a lighthearted kiss to your coated lips before heading to his own class.

you found out through him that he’d been taking AP classes since sophomore year, and that he’d even done tutoring as a side hustle. but what left you dumbfounded and speechless was learning that his big money didn’t just come from selling edibles or joints to kids spoiled rotten—but from the fact that other students paid him thousands of dollars to take their SATs for them.

hearing the story of his life from his own lips and comparing it to what others had to say about him only made you want to fiercely protect what you had even more. after all, you knew well enough what it was like to have others twist their version of a tale into something more entertaining, more palatable because of how boring their own lives were that their only form of getting other people to listen to them was to talk about someone else.

your first social event together was a blurry haze of heated emotions, in a variety of colors of passion. it was a party one of your friends threw, your version of a typical friday night, except this time, you had a tall, handsome winchester to parade around with.

a faint memory of yours replayed in your mind, one that made flowers bloom in your stomach. you’d arrived earlier at the party than expected, hitching a ride with someone whose name and face you could no longer recall, after sam told you he had to help dean with a special delivery two towns away.

some pop song from the early 2010s pulsed through the floorboards, neon lights hanging on the ceiling that made everyone’s face aglow, glitter and other party favors scattered on the carpeted floor. your friends had long settled on a spot to mark as their territory for the whole night like birds of a feather that truly flocked together.

a hand settled on your lower back, a touch so familiar that didn’t jolt your body at all, as if your body memorized the shape of his hand more than anything else in life that you knew. a grin tugged at your lips, just barely turning your head to look over your shoulder to see the only face that mattered.

“you’re late,” you told him with an edge in your tone that meant to sound a little irked, though the burgundy tint on your cheeks gave it away.

a lazy smirk settled on his lips, the one that never failed to make your stomach do cartwheels. “and you’re beautiful.”

the party went on as is, laughter of tipsy teenagers singing in the air. it was almost everything in life that you could ask for—a kind of relationship that became some sacred heaven with a boy that knew you like the back of his hand—easily making all your paranoia, responsibilities, and insecurities fade into black and white, and one that made you forget every other name in the past that broke your heart.

your newfound wonderland was broken when one of your so-called friends—sandy-haired, in loro piana loafers—scott was his name, the same one who’d been trying to get you into his bed for years, made a sleazy comment. you hoped it didn’t reach sam’s ears, for the sake of not starting a mess in front of everyone you knew.

the moment scott’s alcohol-laden breath fanned across your face, and fingers that weren’t sam’s brushed your arm in a way that was too disgustingly familiar and far too presumptuous, your stomach flipped, bile threatening to rise in your throat. a protective arm settled on your waistline in an instant.

“sam,” you tried to reassure his stone-cold face, your hand resting on his puffed-up chest, worry creasing your forehead at the sight of his balled fists, “i’m okay. i’m fine.”

by this time, everyone at the party had rounded up to watch the tension unfold, hawk-eyed with their phones out, thumbs just a millimeter away from pressing the record button.

“what are you gonna do about it, winchester?”

he didn’t want to do this. not in front of you, and not here. he’d promised himself he wouldn’t let that side of him slip—the side built on anger and instinct, the one he kept buried deep since he met you. he told himself he’d be careful, that he wouldn’t knock the whole house of cards down.

but the sight of everyone surrounded like an arena crowd, preying on who’d land the first punch to make a lark of the misery, made the testosterone rush to his brain and the next thing you knew, gasps filled the silence and a sharp crack split the air.

a body hit the ground in one clean motion with a heavy whack, blood staining the pristine white carpet, the sound and sight of a clean knockout in front of your entire social circle leaving them stunned. your eyes scanned the room, every fame-hungry individual seconds away from posting it to the internet. anger surged through you at the bright flashes in your face, the hushed whispers about him filling your ears.

“sweetheart,” your boyfriend said, his voice sharp but low, gaze transfixed icily on the unconscious body, “grab your bag. we’re leaving.”

he cut through the sea of people with barely any effort. there was no need to shove as most stepped aside before he even got close, parting like waves around him. his hand stayed wrapped around yours as he guided you through the door and into the passenger seat of the impala. he shut it behind you as gently as he could, though you could still feel the rage simmering beneath his skin.

the drive was quiet. the hum of the engine filled the silence as pine trees blurred past in the background, their silhouettes tall and dark against the deep blue of the night. eventually, he pulled off onto a smaller road, winding through the woods until he found a spot just outside of town. quiet and secluded, tucked along the edge of the lake.

moonlight glinted off the still water as trees crowded the shoreline, their leaves rustling in the warm breeze. the headlights dimmed, and the windows rolled down. you rarely came to this part of town as hardly anyone you knew held much interest in it. but it was beautiful, especially under the night sky. something about being here, just the two of you, reminded you of that night at the beach.

the temperatures were starting to rise as summer crept closer. the air hung heavy with heat, and the scent of pine, now sweeter, almost vanilla-like after baking under the sun, drifted through the windows, wrapping around you both in a lazy haze.

he sat in silence for a while, with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the skin uncovered by your sundress. the radio was off, void of any sound to fill the silence. it was just the quiet hum of crickets and the occasional whisper of wind through leaves.

you turned your head and caught him staring at you with an unrecognizable look in his eyes. his arm extended, reaching to brush away a light strand of hair that concealed your forehead.

“come here,” he muttered under his breath, and the way he said it evoked something sultry within you, especially when he leaned in and caught your mouth with his. the hand on your upper thigh inched higher, awakening a primal hunger that had you finding a spot on his lap, and eventually landing you both in the backseat of the impala.

the inside felt a little too cramped, the leather sticking to your skin. there was barely any room to move, and even less room to think with his lips trailing along your neck. the air slipped from your mind just as easily as it did your lungs, leaving you breathless in more ways than one.

your hands tugged at the hems of his grey shirt—an old one you’d seen a couple times before. there were a few stains of motor oil on it, which once made you want to toss it in a bin or donate it to the nearest goodwill, but now, as you pulled it over his head, all you wanted was to sneak it into your purse and take it home as a memory of this night.

if it weren’t for the weight of his body on top of yours, your mind would’ve been floating in the heavens. slowly, your lower limbs parted to make space for him, loosely snaking around his waist. his arms settled on either side of your upper body, caging you in his embrace.

his teeth nipped at the soft flesh of your mouth as his hands wove through your hair. the leather stuck warmly to your skin, the car rocking just slightly with every shift of your bodies. you separated to break the kiss, catching your breaths, gazes locked on one another. his eyes were the kind you could stare into forever if heaven permitted. they reminded you of your brightest nights, wrapped in a whirlwind of passion and adventure, tucked safely into the back of your mind in a heart-shaped box.

“sam,” you whispered, the word hanging delicately in the thickened air trapped within the old chevy, “this is my first time.”

his eyes never left yours, not even for a second. the tips of his fingers traced intricate shapes on your cheek, almost like an invisible tattoo. his lips parted, and he muttered a response that rendered you thunderstruck.

“me too.”

questions raced through your mind, the rhythm in your chest loud and pounding as one of his hands twisted behind you. the zipper of your dress glided down just an inch before he paused. his brows lifted slightly, eyes softening in perfect synchronicity with your reactions.

“you sure?”

you were definitely not the ‘waiting for marriage’ type, and you were certainly far from high on the purity scale. but a moment like losing a certain card that began with a v was something you’d reserved for someone special. someone who knew what to do with your heart when you handed it to them, and someone who would stay another hour longer in bed the morning after.

“i want this,” you muttered, tucking the stray strands of his dark brown fringe away from his beautiful visage, catching a glimpse of nervousness beneath the armor. “with you.”

the articles of clothing plodded to the footwell in a slow tempo, leaving only your undergarments to cover the most intimate parts of your bodies. his tanned skin glistened under the moonlight, highlighting every freckle and scar, each one telling a story. somehow, he looked even more handsome under the night sky, the sharpness of his jaw and the soft fullness of his cheeks illuminated just enough to reveal the youth he still carried.

something hard brushed your bare inner thigh, and you noticed his cheeks darken despite the lack of light. you couldn’t resist the giggle that escaped your lips, breaking through the fearless front you’d been trying to keep up.

losing your virginity wasn’t exactly a frequent daydream, nor was it something you’d mapped out in your head. but like this—enveloped in his arms, shy smiles and blushing cheeks—it was somehow exactly how you pictured it. the wise ones did say you never forget your first.

slowly, he unclasped the hook of your bra, letting it slip and follow the dress you’d previously worn. you could tell he was trying desperately not to let his eyes droop low, but he was just a boy. and you decided to give him grace, sparing him the teasing for later. the sentiment was still appreciated.

his own underwear came off next, like the gentleman he was, permitting his hardened cock to finally spring free. a bead of pre-cum trickled down the head, revealing a desire that mirrored yours. the sight of his raw manhood only intensified your arousal, warmth and dampness pooling between your legs.

“sammy,” you whined softly, capturing his attention. he examined your countenance, awestruck by the plain fact that you needed him just as much as he needed you.

“i know, baby,” he murmured, tracing along the seam of your lips, watching the way your teeth sunk into and toyed with the soft flesh.

his cards were on the table. after all, he had no reason to lie. as much as his other head screamed at him to finally bury himself between your warm walls, he forced himself to stay put. he didn’t want this moment to end in the blink of an eye, no matter how desperate he was to soak in your liquid gold.

the last item of clothing that needed to come off was your panties. his head dipped to align his mouth with yours, his tongue slipping through your parted lips in an open kiss before his fingers curled at the sides of the material. he peeled the cotton off your sex with shaky hands and in a way you could only describe as tantalizing. truthfully, with how wet you already were, you’d rather he’d just ripped it off.

your breath hitched when the air touched your bare skin, a minute whiff of your arousal wafting under his nose. if it weren’t so cramped in the impala, he would’ve dropped to his knees and savored the taste of you on his tongue. sadly, that fatal fantasy would have to wait, until he had you in a proper bed, preferably in velvety sheets that complemented your silky skin.

his fingers traced the soft skin of your inner thighs, inching toward your clit, before dipping into your wetness—coating his digits thoroughly as his thumb began rubbing circles on your sensitive nub. the pleasure that washed over your face hypnotized him, watching every parting of your lips, every subtle knit of your brows.

“feel good?” he asked gently, gazing at you with darkened eyes.

you could only moan, your head falling back in bliss at the way he worked you up with his fingers.

“words, sweetheart,” he prompted, his tone dropping an octave but still holding the same tenderness.

“it… it feels good, sammy.”

the way his name left your lips nearly made him short-circuit. if he could, he’d have it on record and play the melody until it etched itself permanently into his brain. he didn’t know how this was happening. how he, just the son of a damn mechanic with all kinds of fucked up in his dna, had the most beautiful girl, and maybe the most popular girl in school, in his arms and was making her feel this way.

your eyes flew open in a sudden motion, remembering something vital before actions could proceed.

“do we have protection?”

that halted sam’s movements, his mind scrambling for a memory, any memory, of having some sort of precaution in the vehicle. until he remembered that the impala was dean’s Baby, and dean always kept protection in the glove compartment since he was about fifteen.

“um, yeah,” he breathed out, a little sheepish. “dean always keeps some in the glove compartment.”

a brow rose at that, the edges of your mouth curling upward. he grinned, blood creeping up to his neck as he leaned back slightly, brushing your jaw delicately with his knuckles. you watched him awkwardly shuffle off of you and into the front seat, in nothing but his birthday suit, his shoulders hunched awkwardly for someone so vertically blessed.

the glove box creaked open, and you heard him mutter something under his breath, something along the lines of a thanks, before he returned with a mini, shiny foil packet in hand.

“let’s never talk about the fact that i just stole a condom from my brother,” he murmured shyly, climbing back over you and finding his rightful place between your legs.

you bit your lip to prevent the giggle that threatened to escape, and you could tell that he wanted to laugh too, had it not been for the clear-cut image of you naked and underneath him. his gaze melted into something serious, one of his hands moving to cradle your cheek.

your eyes followed the way his lips moved, the next words he uttered barely sinking into your mind.

“i love you.”

your breath caught in your throat as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, bittersweet emotions flooding the cavity of your chest. in truth, he didn’t have to say it aloud for you to believe it, though the confession sounded like the sweetest melody in your ears.

“i love you too.”

his forehead pressed to yours as he lined himself up at your entrance, his hips trembling with restraint. the tip of his cock intruded your opening painfully slow, almost as if he were afraid of causing you any pain or inconvenience. a hiss couldn’t be helped as he stretched your walls with a stinging ache, one that faded and dulled after a couple minutes of letting him adjust to your tightness.

he started with slow and shallow thrusts, his face buried in your neck. he couldn’t find it in himself to look at you while trying to stay in control, or else the moment would die sooner than either of you wanted.

“princess,” he groaned, his breath hot against your flushed skin, “you feel so good.”

for the one who could get your mind to shut off, you kissed him to stop the rambling and caught his bottom lip between your teeth. he moaned lightly, and the sound sent a pulse straight to your core. your hands found their way to his back, dragging down the flesh as your nails sunn in deeply, and he nearly lost it.

your fingers tangled in his hair, moaning softly as your bodies fell into rhythm. the impala creaked faintly beneath your warm bodies, your thighs curling tighter around his waist, heels pressing into the small of his back, and your arms pulling him deeper.

“you’re doing so good,” you whispered, kissing along his jaw. “right there, sammy. don’t stop.” you gasped and begged when his tip brushed over a certain spot that had your vision turning white. his hips snapped forward a little faster, and the sudden stretch made you cry out loud in pleasure.

he kept going, each roll of his hips more confident now. he uttered filthy words laced in honey into your ear, while his name tumbled from your mouth in a messier fashion. one of his hands found its way between your bodies, rubbing your clit with clumsy circles, desperately trying to get you to find release before he lost himself.

“b-baby,” he whispered, his eyes conveying a kind of vulnerability that left you reeling and dazed.

“it’s okay,” you moaned, your back arching beneath him. “sam, i love you.”

you came first, a cry catching in your throat as waves of pleasure rolled through you. the way your body tightened around him was too much. he buried himself deep with a broken groan, spurts of his release completely filling the latex, with his forehead still pressed to yours like it was the only way he could stay grounded.

for a few long moments, the world stopped– just your breathing and his heartbeat against yours. the stick of skin on skin, and the sound of the impala’s engine ticking cool beneath you. sam lifted his head, his muscles coated in a sheen of sweat, as your body laid languid beneath him.

in that charged silence and breathless beat, your worlds collided in a way the elders would shake their heads at and call reckless and stupid. but that didn’t matter because they didn’t know what you had. they didn’t hear the beat of your heart when he brought you home with his jacket wrapped around you like the greatest trophy you’d ever won. they didn’t know what it felt like to be held by him, to be loved by him, to have every inch of your skin go up in flames just at the sight of him. your thoughts slipped away like an uncorked bottle of wine. nothing else mattered when you were with him, often leaving behind only his name carved into every inch of your mind.

kids in love, they’d say, but what you had was real. and it was everything you could ask for. eventually, your folks would come around, and anything anyone else had to say would fall into menial background noise.

but tonight wouldn’t be that night because chaos was waiting for you at home, when the hands of the clock neared one and sirens blared in the silence in search of you.

BDILH tag list: @sacr1ficialang3l @saltcxrcle @h8aaz @littleladydemon @that-stanford-girlie @spnrelic @maneaterarabella @adv3rs1ty @piertomaximoffsgirl @kiabuggg @garfieldhollander @myceliumsunshine @otherluckywitnesses @dollyackles @tinaascended @marlsvii @mimiimmii @sammyslittlenymphet

general tag list: @veeweepeeknee

if you'd like to be added to the series' or everything tag list, please don't hesitate to let me know! :) also comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!! let me hear your thoughts down below!

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cumulo-stratus · 1 month ago

Text

devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

♡⃛ part two of series: but daddy, i love him! ♡⃛ pairing: teenage dirtbag!sam winchester x rich girl!reader. ♡⃛ warnings: shifted POV, some foul language and maybe a bit of angst. nothing 18+ happening yet. also note, im so sorry this took awhile to finish writing because my weekend was crazy and im lowk still hungover ♡⃛ word count: 2.3k

<- PART ONE • PART THREE ->

guys like sam winchester were good for nothing but wild sex and a dooby at a party. skilled fingers and messy hair that framed their handsome faces, the kind that made your heart ache at the sight, never knowing when it was safe to leave your heart on your sleeve. he wasn’t the type you pictured when you thought of landscape hedges, brick walls, and three trust fund kids destined for ivy leagues.

which is exactly why him showing up on your driveway just before the clock struck twelve, his black boots scuffing the pristine pavement, and you straddling a motorcycle instead of stepping out of some premium car driven by the son of a newport estate, teetered just on the edge of cardinal sin.

“what were you doing with that winchester boy?” your father asked, hand wrapped around a cold glass of fifty-year-old scotch. the same one you’d sneak a couple swigs from and drink alone when no one was home. his tone was cold and low enough to send shivers up your spine.

“he offered to take me home,” you said quietly, sitting criss-cross in the leather office chair.

“oh?” your mother hummed, holding a perfectly manicured red nail to her lips. “and where were your other friends? weren’t they at the party too?”

oh, they were. they were just a little too busy getting crossfaded behind the pool house, which left your only option as riding with the dealer himself. not your usual company, but he had gotten you home safe and sound.

“um,” you said, accustomed to spinning these little white lies by now, “they were preoccupied.”

you watched your father rise and set his crystal glass down, all neat and quiet. “don’t stay too close to that boy, darlin’. it doesn’t look good.”

if someone held up a mirror in front of you now, you would’ve seen yourself deflate. it wasn’t all that surprising, really. when your life ran on business deals, networks, and wine club whispers, that’s just how it went. reputation always preceded.

you weren’t sure what left you reeling and somber more, the age-old ‘stay away from juliet’ crap, or the fact that you didn’t have the guts to argue. fast forward to monday morning. two days later, and the scent of him still lingered in your thoughts. you could still feel the calluses on his hands from working with engines and god knows what else, and the way those same rough hands almost reverently placed his helmet on your head even while you stood there stiff as a board from completely irrational (and okay, maybe slightly overdramatic) fears of getting on a bike for the first time.

school wasn’t the most riveting place on earth. maybe for some normal kid in a cheesy early 2000s satire, sure. but not for you. not when your family attended charity galas, spent summer in the hamptons, and threw breakfast parties at the country club every other sunday. not when your dad made you show up for tennis practice every tuesday and sit through french and piano lessons on wednesdays.

the school bell rings in your ears. teenagers rounded up in their cliques, the desire to belong running deep in the ocean of lost identities and low self-esteem. whether you tried too hard or didn’t try enough, life just felt like one long, endless classroom. you always wondered when people actually learned to break free from the mindless urge to follow a leader and stop scrambling for approval just to feed egos that died the moment that social media came alive.

your friends weren’t exactly your definition of friends.

no, real friends were the kind who showed up when the lights were off and your pockets were turned out, just to sit beside you in the silence. the kind who still showed up to the empty stadium when the whole world was cheering for your downfall. you weren’t born or bred for that kind of emotional intimacy.

when your world revolved around appearances and dinner conversations about which parent closed the biggest deal, who bought the newest lot to pave their way through corporate america, or who threw the kind of party people posted about for days, you stopped calling anyone a real friend. when no one has the courage to step outside the written storyline, you never really learn how to break free from the cage.

a friend to all was always a friend to none. and as glamorous as your life looked from the outside, everything was transactional. yet you still showed up to every party, still laughed at all the jokes made at the expense of others, and still swallowed every passive-aggressive dig when all you really wanted was to throttle someone in the hallway because somehow, all of that still felt safer than being alone. but you never knew how to leave well enough alone, either.

one thing you learned way too young was that people are always after something. whether it’s money, fame, opportunity, or a promise. show up at the cafeteria table talking about your dad’s new partnership, and suddenly all the bitches with the worst kind of connections are making you feel like you’re the most important person in the room. you knew the second anything scandalously pearl-clutching got out, they’d be the first ones in line with their pitchforks, so-called receipts, and screaming, “burn the bitch!”

people never really grow out of that. so when you’re stuck in a teenage wasteland wishing for something real, your only choice is to escape and trade the dom pérignon and caviar on blinis for cheap beer and cold pizza on a friday night.

first period wasn’t that much better. you sat at the back, where all the popular kids gathered, of course. phones vibrated under the table, whispered judgments passing between children of mothers (that weren’t exactly better than their offspring) who preached about not bearing false witness every sunday.

boredom overtook you, and you found yourself wandering down the hall, no longer interested in your chemistry teacher’s recent divorce or how he drowned his problems in alcohol. you craved fresh air after being trapped in an enclosed space for too long. you strode to the doors and pushed them open, the breeze and clear blue sky greeting you with no one around but the wind to keep you company.

as if your thoughts had summoned it, that sharp scent of processed tobacco drifted beneath your nose. your body moved before your mind caught up, compelled to find its source and somehow drawn by instinct, desperately needing to know if it was him.

hidden behind the courtyard wall, there he stood, in his own little secret garden. this time, he’d traded the hoodie for a field jacket that hung a little too big, which you could guess was likely passed down from his older brother. his hair seemed like it hadn’t been combed through in days. a little long and messy, the ends curling just slightly and flopping into his eyes whenever he looked down. long lashes that sat on such pretty eyes that weren’t so intimidating when he was relaxed. the memory of your arms around his waist, your hair wild in the breeze, your heart thudding louder than your thoughts—all of it came rushing back in motion pictures.

your gaze dropped to his mouth, where a cigarette rested between his lips. the way they curled around the filter, the slow drag of smoke pulling into his lungs. something restless and unnamed stirred in your stomach, a flicker of heat blooming in your belly. your teeth sank into your lower lip as the warmth slipped its way lower, all the way down south.

god, for a habit that repulsed you, why did it have to look so good?

“i thought fancy girls like you knew that staring was rude,” he said, slicing through your little daydream.

you blinked, shaking your head as if that would actually banish all your not-so-innocent thoughts. “i wasn’t staring.”

a sly curve pulled at the corners of his mouth, the knowing kind that made your cheeks burn with unwanted heat. “with your kind of crowd, you’d think you’d be better at lying by now, huh?”

your brows pulled together into a frown. “what are you implying?”

“i mean,” he drawled, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his worn-down converse, “aren’t you used to covering for them?”

it stopped you cold, the dig knocking the wind out of you because you knew exactly what he meant.

you snapped before you could think, though it didn’t come out nearly as strong as you wanted it to. “you don’t know anything.”

“oh?” he said, his tone turning sharp to match his words. “so you’re telling me you just roll with it when your snot-nosed, pompous friends chew you up and spit you out? just take what they want and use you up like it’s nothing?”

“ever heard of minding your own business?” you bit out, “they’re my friends.”

he let out a dry and bitter laugh at that, his hazel eyes noticeably turning dark in broad daylight. “yeah? you’ve got a real shitty idea of what friends are.”

your breath caught in your throat. your mind flooded in visions of red and maroon at his remarks that sliced through you with an invisible knife, cutting you raw and open.

your fists curled tight at your sides, frustration clawing its way up your throat as his words looped in your head like a broken record. you didn’t know how they still managed to cut so deep despite them being harsh truths you already knew and buried, and yet they still unraveled parts you thought had been long stitched shut. you tried to swallow it down. tried to shove it under the rug, but it gets to you anyway because he was right.

“you know, i don’t get you people,” he said, shaking his head. “you guard each other like you’re protecting the fucking great wall, but it’s never for the right reasons.”

you tore your eyes away from him, gathering the pieces of yourself he’d laid bare and dared to psychoanalyze. his voice dipped just a little softer, yet it still stung. “you don’t deserve that. nobody does.”

you let out an exhale, shaking with anger, rage, and a fair amount of resentment towards yourself that had nowhere else to go. you refused to look at him. it still echoed inside you, leaving behind nothing but a bittersweet ache in your chest.

“gee, thanks for the concern, pal,” you muttered, “why do you care anyway?”

you heard the flick of a lighter again, and when you finally found the courage to glance his way, there was another cigarette tucked between his lips. “do i need a reason to be a decent person?”

it wasn’t his words that got to you, no. it was the way his eyes pierced into your own, burning through the facade of counterfeit smiles and deceitful words that slipped past your cherry lips, like he’d known you’d cut off your nose just to spite your face ages ago.

and that’s what made your heart pound louder than you’d ever known, nearly deafening, your knees threatening to give out. because he saw through you. cracked straight through the wall you’d built out of calculated steps and cold-hearted decisions. there was something in his eyes, something unreadable. was it anger? disappointment? whatever it was, it twisted in your gut, clawing and cruel, making you want to shove his opinion off a ledge and rewrite the narrative before he could see too much.

getting under your skin felt like second nature to him. he knew exactly which buttons to press, knew exactly how far to push just enough to see when you’d break. it was maddening, infuriating, and somehow, intoxicating.

you snapped.

your hand barely made it halfway before he caught it, fingers curling tightly around your wrist and pulling you in until your back hit the wall with a dull thud. his mouth crashed onto yours before you had a chance to catch your breath, and you breathed him in, the sharp taste of mint and tobacco settling heavy on your tongue. the shock barely had time to settle before your hands were in his hair, tugging at the ends to wring out your own frustration through the strands. you pulled him in closer, goosebumps erupting across your skin, every nerve and fiber alive and buzzing under his touch.

you’d been kissed before, by the same boys from your gated community, but none of them were like this. his lips moved against yours with such fierce precision– rough enough to ignite a pool of desire, yet gentle enough to make you feel worshipped. he consumed every other thought in your mind, silencing the voices that never made it feel safe.

the kiss broke between you with a harsh gasp, his forehead resting against yours as you breathed in his scent. he smelled exactly how you imagined, like trouble wrapped in heartbreak and bottled into something dangerously addictive.

you didn’t care. you’d already taken the leap, ready to drown in him without a single regard for safety. your fists clenched at his jacket, knuckles nearly white from your tight grip. he chuckled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. your lashes fluttered up to meet his eyes.

“what happens now?” you asked, breath uneven and heart racing.

“you,” he said, fingers smoothing down the crown of your head, brushing through the strands mussed by his touch, “are gonna go back to class. gotta keep that perfect attendance, kid.”

your lips dipped into a frown, not letting go just yet. “but—”

his hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer before his mouth stole yours again, cutting off your protest and melting your thoughts into mush. “you know,” he murmured between kisses, “you’re really pretty when you’re not arguing with me.”

his head dipped lower, tugging at the collar of your blouse to press kisses into the hollow between your neck and shoulder. you shuddered, mesmerized by how just a few touches from him could make your mind go completely blank. so effortlessly pliable, and so completely his.

he was everything bad for you and everything you couldn’t resist.

author’s message: can you tell a girl grew up with romcoms and therefore grew into a pathetic hopeless romantic that lets love consume her soul and every fiber of her being. also, my heart is still full from the feedback the last chapter got <3

general tag list: @veeweepeeknee

if you'd like to be added to the series' or everything tag list, please don't hesitate to let me know! :)

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cumulo-stratus · 1 month ago

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you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes

♡⃛ part one of series: but daddy, i love him! ♡⃛ pairing: teenage dirtbag!sam winchester x rich girl!reader ♡⃛ warnings: this is an AU guys. no monsters, ghosts, or angels and demons. they're about seventeen-ish, but there's gonna be a time jump in the chapters ahead. also, there are gonna be some references in this, which i'll explain further at the end. this chapter’s pretty short in my standards anw ♡⃛ word count: 2.07k

-> PART TWO

the house was located near the end of a quiet, curved street. you know, the kind where the pavement was smooth and all the mailboxes in that area matched. the front door was painted in rustic red, standing in the middle of two tall white columns that held up a wide porch roof. a bench swing sat on the far end, all pristine and symmetrical. the welcome mat underneath his boots, too flat and crisp, that he almost thought was ironed on the daily. the gravel on the driveway, evenly laid and raked, with a muted glimmer under the night sky.

this was the kind of place he and his brother would have rolled their eyes at.

empty cans and red plastic cups scattered on the grass, the music blasting from the inside rattling the windows. he shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his hoodie and strode across the lawn, ignoring the perfectly good and well-maintained stone path, leaving behind faint footprints on the grass.

he brought his hand up to the door, bruised knuckles banging against the wood. he could hear the laughter and chatter coming from the inside. when no one answered, he decided to push the door open anyway, and was greeted by the sight of nearly the entire student body, all smashed and wrapped up in their own pretentious worlds.

he knew he didn't belong there. not even a little, but he had a job to do.

he weaved his way through the crowd, catching glimpses of jocks sweet-talking wide-eyed underclassmen, and the rich snobs puffing on cigars their dads probably kept in mahogany boxes. there were a few familiar faces, mostly cheerleaders who used to hang around dean before he decided to drop out to run their so-called family business. a shit business, if you asked him.

he spotted the guy dean had shown him a picture of, one of his best customers according to him. he was posted up right next to you, laughing at something he’d just whispered in your ear.

sam headed his way towards your little friend group, all of you dressed in the same prissy style. knee socks, preppy polo shirts, expensive leather jackets, and loafers that had never touched dirt. one of them noticed him, some beach-blonde, five-foot-seven guy in a linen sweater with sunglasses on his head like it was still daylight. the kind of guy dean would’ve called a fucking douchebag on sight.

said boy gives him a once-over. “who invited caleb rivers over here?”

he ignored the comment, not like he knew who that was. he'd heard worst over the past couple years since he moved to this wasteland of a town. his eyes found yours, shining with curiosity rather than judgement, and probably the most sober ones in the room.

rich boy buyer clocked him instantly, “relax, he’s just the drop. you got the goods?”

and just like that, everyone else seemed to go back to their own thing, like he’d just been stamped with approval to exist in their space because one of them knew him. sam didn't say a word, just pulled out the brown bag tucked safely in the pocket of his hoodie and filled with the pot brownies dean made earlier that day in their shitty little kitchen.

“perfect,” rich boy said, digging into his wallet and pulling out two hundred-dollar bills. “hey, thanks, man. why don’t you stay for a couple drinks?”

he should’ve said no. should’ve just taken the money and gone home to smoke a joint with his brother while their dad was out of town. it wasn’t exactly a rare occasion. it was mostly just him and dean on most nights, easy to run the town’s plug operation with no real adult supervision.

john was barely in the picture, and when he was, it was only with some piss-poor excuse about needing to be around more. but tonight he decided fuck it, why not. so he made his way to the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the cooler, and watched the party unfold in front of him.

he wasn’t far from where you were. he noticed the way your brows pinched together and your bottom lip stuck out when someone spilled a drink on your shoes, probably by some low-key designer he hadn’t heard of. the kind only the truly wealthy knew about. and he noticed the way you flinched when one of the guys got a little too handsy when no one was looking.

but he saw it, and he didn’t like it. still, he wasn’t in any position to do anything, especially not when your friends surrounded you like wolves decked in ralph lauren.

he tried not to look your way when you and your friend made your way over near him, caught up in a conversation he couldn’t help but overhear.

“come on, B, you said you were gonna take me home!” you said, clinging to your friend’s hand with the kind of desperation he only ever saw in spoiled girls who’d never broken a rule in their life. “you know my dad’s gonna kill me if i’m not back by midnight.”

“i know, but nate said he’s taking me to his grandma’s lakehouse tonight. maybe you can ride with someone else?”

“but you’re the only one with a car tonight!”

he almost snickered, if he wasn’t so busy trying to look like he was minding his own damn business. rich people and their champagne problems, he thought.

apparently, he hadn’t done a very good job at hiding his reaction because both girls turned to look at him.

“something funny?” you asked, arching a brow, arms folded and one hip popped out.

he could’ve shaken his head and let you go on your merry little way, but there was something about your tone and the spark in your voice that made him want to push your buttons just a little. “what? daddy didn’t let you borrow his benz tonight?”

he caught ‘B’ visibly smirk at that, looking away and hiding her face behind a red cup.

your eyes narrowed into sharp little lasers, zoning in on him like he was some bug under your shoe. “okay, unless you have a solution to offer, don’t talk to me.”

the corner of his mouth twitched upward at your tone. it should’ve rubbed him the wrong way, should’ve reminded him why he didn’t go for girls like you. he wasn't dean and he didn't have a different girl in his car every week, but he'd dated around. you were definitely far from his type, but the fire in your eyes when you got pressed entertained him like nothing else.

“i got a bike, if you’re interested.” he suggested with a casual shrug.

your eyes snapped wide, all flared and dramatic, like he'd just suggested a felony. “hell no.”

“your decision, cinderella,” he said, “just saying. not like you’ve got much of a choice here, do you?”

he could tell the smugness in his tone got under your skin and he was trying real hard not to enjoy it. something about the way your lips pursed, gloss catching in the dim lights that he found amusement in. he fished his phone out of the pocket of his worn levi’s, pulling up the digital clock on the homescreen. 11:20.

he could practically see the war going on behind your eyes, all that fire and pride doing laps around your pretty little brain. ‘B’ had checked herself out of the conversation by now, gone to circle back to her crowd, all the same clones in sheep's clothing.

“clock’s ticking.” he mused, taking a long sip of his beer, almost dragging out the moment for himself just to keep seeing you squirm.

“alright, fine!” you grumbled out, punctuated by a little stomp as you turned away from him with a flip of your hair.

he saw you grab your coat and bag from the corner, moving through the sea of people like you’d done it a hundred times before. he followed, all quiet and brooding, the line of his shoulders cutting through the crowd right from right behind you. he shoved past faces he never met, bodies pressed too close to each other with red solo cups in their hands. the room felt tighter now, more people than when he first came in. just a bunch of strangers and background noise.

he was back at the entrance where he first stepped in, watching you stomp down the front steps with the same bite in your stride. he didn’t move, just stayed planted there with heels stuck to the porch like he had nowhere else better to be and dug out the half-pack of reds from his back pocket.

you didn’t notice until you were halfway across the lawn. when you turned, you caught him lighting a cigarette between his fingers, lips curling around the filter like he had all the time in the world. he blew out a small, lazy cloud of smoke, and your mouth dropped open.

“seriously?” you fumed.

a slow, half-smile tugged at his lips.

“what?” and just to rile you up further, he took another drag.

he watched you storm across the lawn, yanked the cigarette straight from his mouth, and tossed it somewhere off into the dark. “news flash, patrick verona— i’m running late!”

and before he could say a word, you grabbed his hand and dragged him with you. he blinked, barely processing what just happened, falling in step behind you. “who’s patrick verona?”

so that’s how sam winchester ended up with the world’s most spoiled brat clinging to him on the back of his motorcycle, wind whipping through the night as she held onto his waist like her life depended on it. he was definitely gonna hear it from dean if he found out, but in this exact moment, sam couldn’t bring himself to care. not when you were the first girl he'd ever taken on his bike. not when he’d rather have you leave with him than with your sleazy friends back at the party who dressed like the finest gentlemen, but were clearly very far from it.

your house wasn’t too different from the last one, about the same manicured excess. except this one had a wraparound porch with pale grey floorboards, perfectly arranged hydrangeas flanking the steps, and a silver lexus gleaming beneath the night sky.

he parked the bike right out front, clearly out of place in such a nice neighborhood. you slid off behind him, your mary janes hitting the ground soft. then the porch lights flicked on, and through the window he saw an older couple he presumed were your folks, stepping out in matching velvet robes.

he watched as you took the helmet he usually wore and handed it to him with a little more grace than when you’d flicked the cigarette out from his mouth.

“thank you, sam,” you said, voice much softer now, like you’d just remembered what manners were. after all, good girls always did say please and thank you.

his brows shot up, caught off guard by the sound of his name on your lips more than he wanted to admit. “surprised you know my name.” he said, taking the helmet off your hands.

that same shy little smile tugged at your lips, a hint of pink staining your cheeks. “everyone knows who you are, winchester.”

he didn’t need to glance at your parents to feel their judgment. it radiated off them in waves. all tight-lipped, stiff-spined, and sticks shoved so high up their asses. he’d seen that stare before and he didn’t have to look to recognize it. people like that always stayed the same.

he simply nodded, flat and unimpressed, revving the bike back to life. “better get inside, princess.”

you skipped up the stairs, sparing him one last look at the top and much to his surprise, gave him one last smile. one that made him almost smile right back had it not been for the old couple that glared daggers in his direction.

he didn’t leave right away, choosing to linger instead just to piss them off further, and waited until the door shut behind you.

some part of him already knew, like a little itch in the back of his mind, that this wasn’t going to be the last time he'll find himself tangled up with you.

author’s message: OKAY just to clear up a few things. sam has a bike, but since rich girl!reader doesn’t like it, he’ll end up borrowing Baby from dean a lot because he doesn’t wanna upset his pretty little princess. AND ALSO YES, this is very much inspired by haleb & spoby from PLL, and a lil bit by the notebook (2004). i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it because this is seriously one of my favorite tropes of all time. also the cigarette bit may or may not have been inspired by real life events

ALSO HAPPY PRIDE MONTH MY BABIES!! this is a hetero ass story but im just too hyped up abt this fic mb

BDILH tag list: @sacr1ficialang3l @saltcxrcle @h8aaz @littleladydemon @starzify @that-stanford-girlie @spnrelic @maneaterarabella @adv3rs1ty @piertomaximoffsgirl @kiabugg @garfieldhollander @myceliumsunshine

general tag list: @veeweepeeknee

if you'd like to be added to the series' or everything tag list, please don't hesitate to let me know! :)

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cumulo-stratus · 3 months ago

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sam winchester hair appreciation (3x14)

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cumulo-stratus · 3 months ago

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Spencer Reid in every episode of Criminal Minds:

Season 6, Episode 1, ‘The Longest Night’

Masterlist ✰

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cumulo-stratus · 3 months ago

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anyone: do u take constructive criticism

me, already sobbing: sure go ahead

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cumulo-stratus · 3 months ago

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Our boy🥰🥰🥰🥰

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cumulo-stratus · 3 months ago

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𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ RAIN: IN THE QUIET HOURS─── SAM WINCHESTER

──── 𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ sleepy rain!sam winchester x gn!reader

summary.ᐟ.ᐟ ── A late-night storm stirs you awake in the bunker. Wrapped in warmth and sleepy affection, you and Sam find quiet comfort in each other’s arms—sharing tea, old memories, and the kind of softness you both forgot you deserved. Wrapped in blankets and rainlight, you settle into a peaceful rhythm that feels like something close to forever.

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ ── no smut

𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ word count: 1.3k

notes.ᐟ.ᐟ ── There’s just something so Sam about rainy nights and soft love. I wanted to write something quiet and tender, where love doesn’t have to be loud—it’s just there, steady, like the rain itself. This one’s for anyone who’s ever wanted to stay wrapped in someone’s arms while the world hushes outside. Cuddle up and enjoy.

The storm had crept in like a secret.

Outside, the sky had slipped into a sleepy navy blue, and fat raindrops were already rolling in steady rhythms down the windows. You’d half-woken from a dream you couldn’t quite remember, lulled instead by the hush of the rain and the soft, warm pressure of Sam’s arm looped protectively around your middle.

You didn’t move. Not at first. Just lay there, listening.

The sound of the rain tapping the bunker roof. The gentle rise and fall of Sam’s chest. The quiet, safe cocoon of the room that belonged to the two of you.

When you finally shifted, pressing your back closer into his chest, Sam made a low sound—somewhere between a hum and a sigh—and his arm tightened just slightly.

“Mm,” he mumbled. “You okay?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you whispered.

He kissed your shoulder without opening his eyes. “Too much tea?”

“Maybe. Or maybe the rain wanted a cuddle.”

That made him huff a sleepy laugh. He nuzzled into your neck, lips brushing skin as he spoke.

“Then it came to the right place.”

Eventually, you both wandered out of bed, wrapped in blankets and half-sleepy smiles. The war room felt cooler than your bedroom, the stone walls chilled from the rain, but the low lamplight made it feel softer. Safer.

Sam made you both a fresh mug of tea—chamomile with honey—and draped the giant blanket over your shoulders before sitting down beside you on the couch, pulling you into his lap like it was second nature.

It kind of was.

You sat there in silence for a while, his arms looped around your waist, your fingers tracing little lines along the seam of his shirt. The rain hadn’t stopped—it danced across the heavy iron of the bunker doors like a lullaby. Steady and kind.

“I love this,” you said softly. “Nights like this.”

“Me too,” he murmured against your shoulder. “It’s like… the world slows down for a minute. Lets us breathe.”

You turned your head to look at him. His face was softer here, in this quiet light—like all the sharp edges of the world had dulled. Hair falling into his eyes. Lips parted slightly. His thumb was rubbing slow circles into your hip.

You leaned up and kissed him.

Slow. Unhurried. Like the rain outside. Like time didn’t matter.

He kissed you back the same way.

“Tell me a memory,” you said after a while, curled deeper into his chest.

“Hmm?”

“From when you were little. Something rainy.”

He smiled against your hair. “Okay. Uh… One time, Dean and I were stuck in a motel off the interstate in Missouri. Dad was off hunting. It rained for two whole days. No cable, no food except for peanut butter packets and saltines.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed.

“We made boats out of paper and raced them in the parking lot puddles.”

You blinked. “That’s actually adorable.”

“We were soaked. Mud everywhere. Dean lost a boot in the drainage ditch. We got in so much trouble.” He paused, then added, “But it was the first time in a long time it felt like we were just kids. No monsters. Just rain.”

You leaned your forehead against his collarbone. “Thank you for telling me.”

He kissed the top of your head. “You make it easy to remember the good stuff.”

By the time you both drifted back to bed, the storm had softened into a misty drizzle.

You laid back down, this time with Sam’s chest pressed to your back, his hand resting gently over your heart. His voice was low and warm in your ear.

“I hope we get a thousand nights like this,” he said. “A thousand mornings too.”

You smiled in the dark. “We will.”

And for once, Sam believed it.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆Thank you for reading𓂃 !

If this made your heart soft or your soul ache (in the best way), let me know in the tags or send an ask. Your feedback means the world—and yes, Dean knows he’s pretty. You don’t have to tell him again… but you totally can.

˖ ⸝⸝ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! 𖦁ׅ ࣪ ׂ library

requests!: open ! ۪ ୧

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cumulo-stratus · 3 months ago

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Mum I love you

Info: y/n has been part of the supernatural cast from the beginning as the youngest Winchester. She recently lost her mum from cancer and it’s her first convention since the loss, leading to questions being asked.

Relationship: Supernatural cast x platonic reader

Warnings: Mention of loss of parent, cancer, grief

Y/n lay on her hotel bed, staring at the wall in front of her as she lay on her side. Thoughts of her mum were evident in her mind, the last moments she had with her and the duration of her life with her. y/m/n had just lost her battle with cancer, and at the young age of 21 y/n was completely lost without her. She still remembered getting the call from her father, telling her to come to the hospice because her mother was asking for her. She remembered her dad meeting her at the entrance, him pulling her into a hug and kissing her head, before she walked into her mums room, crouching down to hug her tightly as she whispered her sorries and I love yous.

The funeral had a big turn out, y/m/n was the type that everyone loved for. Among those that turned up for y/n, were Jared and Jensen, along with cast and crew of Supernatural. They had been on a break from filming, and y/n had been at home when she was told her mother unfortunately wasn’t going to win her battle. Jensen remembers y/n calling him in the middle of the night, crying after receiving the news. Their time zone was different, and y/ didn’t think about what time it was, wanting to rant to someone. He was straight on the first flight when she told him her mother had passed, calling Jared on the way, and arrived on her doorstep, confusing her father. It was no secret that y/n had a close relationship with her co-stars, but Jensen and y/n were like the father daughter duo on set. So when the duo turned up, y/f/n just showed them to her room and left them alone. Y/n had been distraught, starring at the wall, wrapped in her mother’s dressing gown that she wore all the time. She refused to acknowledge the two lads at the start, but once she felt Jensen’s hand on her back, she broke down, and she screamed as she clung to him, Jared holding her hand over his shoulder.

---

The hall where the convention was taking place was packed. Crowds of supernatural fans had came, wanting to catch a glimpse of the three Winchesters. Dean, Sam & Isla were fan favorites, and the relationship between the three actors were something people loved to see. When they heard that y/n was returning to conventions after a long personal break, fans went wild, and y/n could feel the energy from back stage. She pulled her top over her hands as she flapped them about, before gasping in shock when arms wrapped around her from behind.

“Please welcome the Winchester clan, Jensen Ackles, Jared Padalaecki and the lovely, y/n l/n.” Was heard over the speaker before y/n moved away from Jensen as they walked up the steps.

“I’m with you if you need me.” Jensen’s voice came over her shoulder before kissing her cheek.

“Yea.” Y/n spoke softly, leaning back on him, smiling at Jared as he came to them, doing their handshake.

Y/n giggled a little as Jared jokingly slipped on the last step before waving to the crowd while Jensen messed with Jared in picking him up and making sure he’s ok. Y/n rolled her eyes at their antics before sitting on the middle seat, waiting for the guys to sit down before shaking her head. She tried to keep a smile on her face as the Q&A begun.

Y/n smiled out to the crowd as the crowd settled down from the comedic start, waving at some of the phones that were evidently recording. Jensen couldn’t help but watch y/n for a moment with a slight smile before turning his attention back to the fans as the questions begun. Y/n was relieved that most questions were upbeat.

“Are you alright Jared?” Y/n asked, placing a hand on Jared’s arm in comfort.

“I don’t know, that was a big fall.” Jared stated, pouting a bit.

“Well with your height I’m not surprised.” Y/n teased him, and he gasped in mock hurt as laughs were heard.

“Why I never.” Jared stated.

“She’s back.” Jensen smiled to the crowd, holding a hand to y/n as Jared moved away from y/n.

“My question is for Jensen and Jared.” A woman around the lads age spoke out.

“That’s exclusion.” Y/n piped out, pointing at the woman who looked down.

“Now y/n, let’s not be rude and let the nice lady ask her question.” Jensen scolded y/n jokingly, causing y/n to hang her head in shame.

“I have grown to feel like I have watched y/n grow up on screen, and I find it emotional watching her character evolve from the little scared girl to the young independent woman, and I was wondering how does it feel to watch y/n grow from the little 7 year old girl to this young 21 year old woman we see in front of us today.” The woman spoke, and y/n blushed as she looked down.

“Well I for one am personally incredibly honored to have had the chance to be around y/n since she was so young, you know. It’s not something that typically happens in our line of work, you know, working for 13, 14 years together. You generally don’t get that opportunity a lot of the time.” Jensen spoke, using his hands to express himself.

“Most of the time children don’t last very long on a show, they just don’t have the attention span. So when I first seen that there was going to be a little girl or boy, we didn’t know at the time whether or not Dean and Sam were going to have a little brother or sister, I was a little taken aback. Because the hours we do are so demanding and obviously you can’t have a child on set for 13 14 hours a day, you know, it’s not realistic. But y/n, you know, the moment we done auditions with her, we automatically knew that she was a good match for us.” Jared explained, smiling at the memory of their first meeting.

“Y/n was this shy little girl when she came in and as soon as Bobby called action she just turned like that “ Jensen clicked his fingers together, “She was amazing, and I mean you guys seen on the show how great she was.” Jensen bragged, causing cheers to abrupt from the crowds.

“Alright alright.” y/n spoke, using her hands to tell them to pip down.

“No but honestly, this woman. She really is something else. I mean watching her grow up, I have enjoyed it. I still remember her clinging to me on set every day for the first few months of filming. She would refuse to leave my side if she could.” Jensen smiled softly, placing a hand on y/n’s shoulder.

“Yea she took to you really quickly, which kinda hurt I won’t lie.” Jared joked at the end, making y/n smile sadly at him. “Nah, but she has truly become family, and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do for this kid.” Jared spoke proudly, taking y/n’s hand in his to give it a squeeze.

“I still remember when she was young she came to these conventions and mostly stayed behind, but every now and then she would run on stage, if the guys were playing she would dance with the beat until myself or Jared would take her. She would just sit there with her goofy little smile, poking us with her little fingers until we would jokingly bite them.” Jensen spoke with a laugh, causing y/n to giggle slightly.

“Now she hurts with her words so I guess some things never change.” Jared joked causing y/n’s jaw to drop in mock shock.

“She has grown so much more confident in herself which I love to see. I’m like a proud father I have to say.” Jensen spoke with a smile, causing the crowd to awe as y/n leaned her head on Jensen's shoulder.

“Thank you for your question.” Jared smiled at the woman before they moved onto a younger girl.

Moving to the corner of the stage, y/n kneeled down as she watched the girl rush towards her. Tears built in y/n’s eyes as he wrapped her arms around the girl who was close in age to her, breathing out heavily as she controlled her emotions before speaking.

“Hey guys, my name’s Amelia.” The girl spoke softly.

“Hi Amelia.” Y/n smiled at the girl who was close to y/n’s age.

“Who’s your question for Amelia?” Jared asked.

“ My questions for y/n.” She spoke hesitantly.

“Yes.” Y/n celebrated, smiling widely at the girl.

“I don’t want to thread on your emotions and I know this is a little personally, but as we all know you just lost your mum to cancer.” The girl spoke timidly, and y/n’s breath hitched a little as she nodded, “ And well, I recently just got told that my mum hasn’t got that long left so I was just wondering, how do you deal with that news?”

Jensen and Jared looked at y/n with sad smiles, not knowing how she would react or what to say.

“Can you come closer, because firstly I want to give you a hug.” Y/n spoke with a cough, and she dropped the mike on the chair as she got up.

Y/n smiled a watery smile as she felt the tears begin to fall. Quickly wiping them she stood back up from her position and headed back to where Jensen and Jared were watching the scene with sad smiles. Jared placed a hand on her back as she grabbed her mike and sat back down before Jensen took her hand, squeezing it.

“You make your mum proud, I can tell how much she means to you. My mum meant a lot to me too,, still does. But you have to brave for her which isn’t easy. Watching her go from the strong woman you know to someone who relies on you for everything isn’t easy. I’ve been there, it’s not nice. But you can’ show her how you feel. If she sees you smile, she’ll be happy. And that’s all that matters.” YY/n whispered to her, not breaking the hug.

“I’m scared of life without her.” The girl sobbed.

“I know you are, I was too. I still am, just remember the good times. And remember, there are people around you who are there for you. I’m here for you. Never forget that.” Y/n whispered before kissing the girls cheek and moving apart from her.

“Thank you.” The girl stated softly, wiping her cheeks.

“It doesn’t matter who you are or what age you are, grief is always tough. It comes in waves. But it hits different when you’ve been told your going to lose someone close to you, and you have to grieve them while they’re right in front of you. You grieve the times you had before and the times you’ll never have. But what never changes, is the love you have for them.” Y/n spoke with shaky breathes, and the crowd smiled weakly at her. “I love you mum.” Y/n spoke softly into the mike, and Jensen pulled her into a hug as the tears began to fall.

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