green-typewriterz

[green-typewriterz]

Some hurt/comfort with sam please?

When the Sun Hits

Sam Winchester x gn!reader

summary: set in 2001, you and Sam finally get the chance to go to prom together

Ask: Some hurt/comfort with sam please?

Warnings: injury, mention of blood, sam is pining and awkward

Author Notes: thank you for this ask my love! Sorry for disappearing for so long, i got a new hyperfix im sure many of you can understand! Also I took what I had an ran with it so sorry if this wasn’t what you imagined!

word count: 2135

SOMETIME IN 2001 - FEBRUARY

Sam sat across the room from you, his chair far in the back and to the left whereas you sat to the front…you had pulled the short straw. You found yourself turning around every now and then, locking eyes across the room, trying to get him to laugh. He was in one of his bad moods today, hair in front of his eyes and hood up. You and Dean had pretty much accepted the fact that you’d be moving around alot, your families working together as hunters but Sam wasn’t as happy about it. He didn’t want to leave again.

“Y/N,” the teacher began and you spun back around, eyes wide. “Eyes on the front please, Sam doesn’t need you distracting him.” You nodded and got back to work, though you could feel Sam’s gaze burning on the back of your head.

You had known Sam for as long as you could remember, the two of you used to share toys while your parents were out hunting with John. He was always a shy kid, but this year seemed to be the worst of it. Maybe he was going through a phase.

Class finally ended and you packed up your books before heading to the back of the class, kneeling down and leaning against Sam’s desk. He looked up and smiled, muttering a quiet, “hi.” you grinned and grabbed his bag, watching as he pushed the hair away from his eyes (it had been longer than usual lately).

“Are you still upset about moving again?” You asked, walking alongside him, his hand gently holding yours. Sam sighed, shaking his head as you made your way out of the school and toward the same motel you had been staying for the past few months.

He ran his spare hand through his hair. “It’s just…we’ve just got comfortable here. I’ve actually made friends that aren’t you or Dean. I just wish we never-.” He stopped himself short. It was a stupid thing to wish.

“I know,” You replied. He wished his family weren’t hunters. You both stopped in front of his door, staring at each other silently. It wouldn’t be long before Dean got back and started his relentless teasing, so with one final goodbye, you went your separate ways.

That evening was wholly uneventful, an hour or two of homework, some research for your dad then the sweet and familiar feeling of zoning out while listening to Deftones on your hard motel bed. ‘Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want.’ had just faded out when there was a gentle knock on the door, one you recognised. You opened the door and took in the smiling sight of your best friend. He was wearing an oversized tee with a blue dog on it that you had given him and a pair of pyjama bottoms. He looked much more comfortable than he felt.

Sam had been building up his courage since the beginning of the year and, knowing the both of you would still be on the case when it rolled around, he wanted to ask you to prom. Even if it were just as a friend.

“Hey Sammy,” you smiled and stepped to the side to let him in, noticing how he was fiddling with the strings of his pyjamas. He was nervous. “You ok?” It was a simple question, but from the look on his face you would’ve assumed you had asked him to marry you.

He laughed slightly and scratched the back of his neck, replying, “all good, just wanted to come chat!” He smiled awkwardly. God, he thought, he was already blushing. He sat across from you, slightly wet hair brushed to the side and fluttering eyes locked on yours.

You laughed at his nerves but pressed play on your music again, turning the volume down so ‘when the sun hits’ could gently sit underneath your conversation.

“Y’know,” he began, hands fidgeting, “We’re gonna be in Oregon until spring, which means we’ll actually graduate this time.” he spoke, voice soft and wavering. “So um-”

He cut himself off, not knowing how to ask. He had wanted to do something nicer, get you flowers or something, but it hadn’t exactly gone to plan (that and Dean had told him to do it now before he got too nervous). You put your hand on his to stop it from shaking and urged him to keep talking and he smiled so softly you could’ve imagined it.

He breathed out before speaking again, “I was thinking we could go to prom? Together?” You went still. That’s what he had been nervous about.

“As friends?”

He seemed to shrink. “Uhm, yeah, if that’s what you’d want.” Sam was downtrodden, though he had expected you to take it this way, it still stung.

You smiled gently. “I’d love to go with you, but maybe not as just…friends.”

He looked up, confused for a moment. You had said yes. Blush bit at his ears as he fought the urge to get up and physically jump for joy. “I’d like that.” He managed to get out before standing again, you joining him by the door.

“I should probably head back, dad will be wondering where I am.” Though you both knew the statement wasn’t true at all, you agreed and let him walk out the door.

“Sam.”

He spun back around on his heel and you stepped closer, placing a kiss on his cheek. To him, it felt so gentle, like the breeze gently brushing his face, but it still brought up a blush so aggressive it felt like he was on fire.

SOMETIME IN 2001 - PROM

It was a few weeks before graduation, which meant it was prom night. You were sat in your motel room, in the nicest outfit you could find for cheap, waiting for Sam to finish getting ready. Since asking you to prom, the two of you had spent every waking moment together though you weren’t, as Dean would say, official yet (despite being only a label away from it).

Eventually, he walked out of the bathroom in a simple navy suit, one that matched your own outfit almost perfectly. You had both found them by chance in separate thrift stores and found yourself extremely lucky when they not only fit, but matched. “You look so handsome.” you said as he fiddled with his tie, trying to get it to sit right. Eventually, he gave up and gave you a look of desperation, asking you to do it for him with his eyes alone.

His gaze never left you as you fixed the tie, gentle hands righting the knot. Sam had planned tonight out to a tee: Dean was going to drive the both of you in their dad’s impala and then he’d get permission to take three (which was masterfully negotiated down from ten by Sam) photos. Then, he’d link his arm in yours like a gentleman and walk you into the gym. From there, his dancing skills took charge.

Each part of the plan went well and it was the middle of the night before either of you took a break to get a drink. There was a tired flush on both of your faces and a glint in Sam’s eyes you hadn’t seen since you were young. It was there, the two of you were sat when ‘your song’ came on. The song Sam had asked you to prom with (though it was more of a coincidence).

The boy took your hand gently and led you to the dancefloor again, his hands finding a place on your hips. You wrapped your arms around his neck and swayed gently, humming along to the song and staring into Sam’s eyes. The night was perfect.

Or would’ve been.

There was an impossibly loud crash and both you and Sam stared at each other in a split-second of recognition before the gymnasium went dark. Screams erupted from the crowd but the two of you stayed calm, quickly retrieving your respective silver blades that John had forced you to keep that night. Sam was furious. John had promised he would chase the monster in the opposite direction. The man had lied. In the panic, the two of you had been separated and you knew better than to call out for him in the dark school corridor.

You had prepared for this, trained. But you had never actually fought a monster before. Your hands shook from fear and tears glistened on your cheeks as you gingerly made your way down the hall. Your only lightsource was the large, dirty skylight that sat at the far end of the hallway and you found yourself glad - for the first time ever - that it was a full moon. Light trickled through the glass, fragmenting when a crack or some growing mould got in its path.

There was a growl from behind you and you stiffened, chills running down your spine. You turned slowly, eyes shut tight. You weren’t meant to be scared, you had been taught to not be afraid - so why couldn’t you find it in you to be brave. Your eyes opened and locked with the werewolf that was a mere centimetre from you now.

You gripped the blade with a sweaty palm and shoved it forward, piercing through the monster’s heart, though not before it could bring its claws down across your face. You both cried out and fell to the ground, you clutching your face and the werewolf growing still. “Y/N!” Sam called out as he sprinted over. Within a second, his hand was under your head and he was cradling you close to him.

Sam was hurt too, grazes littering his skin and a cut pulling at his lip - though he found that unimportant compared to the overwhelming amount of blood that seeped from your face.

“You’re ok.” He whispered, “You’ll be ok.”

THAT EVENING

You leaned against Sam as he got the first aid kit ready, having previously cleaned his own injuries as quickly as he could. Tears mixed with the blood on your face and Sam had to fight not to cry too, he hated seeing you hurt. “This is going to hurt, Y/n/n,” He began, eyes wrought with sympathy and a dusting of tears, “I’m so sorry.” he whispered and you nodded, preparing yourself. He moved his spare hand to the least injured part of your cheek for both control and comfort then gently let the alcohol John had provided trickle over your injuries.

You let your hand rest on his forearm, his mint breath fanning your face as you held in your tears with sharp breaths. “I killed them.” You whispered and Sam looked at you in empathy. He knew exactly how you felt. He didn’t want to shush you, (he didn’t know why people did that) he knew you needed to cry - but at the same time he didn’t want you to feel guilty.

“He was going to kill you. You did the right thing.”

You sighed, breathing shaky from the tears that stuck in your throat. “It doesn’t feel like that.” Sam stopped what he was doing and pulled away, eyes meeting yours.

He smiled gently. “You saved so many people, Y/n. no one in there would have been as brave as you.” Sam whispered and you nodded, finally finding it in yourself to agree with him. He gave you a break from cleaning the injury for a while and you got a better chance to look at him.

There were rips in his tux, some tinged with deep red stains and his previously white shirt was littered with mud stains. Cuts littered his arms and face while a particularly vicious bruise was slowly forming on his jawline. Despite all of this, he still looked handsome - you found it difficult to look away.

He knew what he was doing well enough, sanitise everything, clean the wound and then pray you didn’t need stitches - still, he couldn’t stop the anxiety from filling his mind. Sam was gentle, it was just who he was. Soft, caring hands worked quickly and lovingly while he muttered words of comfort. You were incredibly lucky, the wound was mostly superficial.

Both you and Sam sighed in relief as he placed the butterfly closure tape to each major point of the scratch mark. “See,” he whispered, “Told you you’d be ok.”

You smiled, careful not to tug at the cuts and leaned in, wrapping your arms around him. Sam’s hands found a home in your hair and he gently ran his hands through it as he sighed in comfort. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/n/n.” he whispered, voice strong, honest. You found it easy to believe him.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #angst #supernatural #sam winchester x y/n #Sam Winchester x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #young sam #young Sam Winchester #pre show Sam Winchester

[green-typewriterz]

i would love literally anything sam winchester related the lack of fics r astounding.. maybe something fluffy?? ive had a bad week would so cheer me up

Best fake-real husband

ASKS ARE OPEN

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: You and Sam go undercover in a small town to find out what's been happening to the disappearing couples.

ASK: above

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, awkward moments, mid season sam (in my mind it’s season 5 so its not following canon plot)

Author notes: Thankyou so much for the ask!!! I hope this is good :))) also Sam is the leader of the Sassy man army and if you don’t think so you can leave. Also thank you to @midsummeranderson for helping me plan <3

word count: 4110

You had always hated suburban houses, they just seemed empty, unforgiving. Though you didn’t have much of a choice. Bobby had a case and you two were to go undercover.

”Husband and wife…” Sam began, a glint in his eyes as he moved around the open plan kitchen, opening the windows to salve the heat that bit at their necks.

You smiled in reply, laying out weapons to move to the spare room. “Not awkward at all.” You replied and he laughed, shrugging his usual flannel onto a chair and digging into his bag.

Sam looked up, smiling, holding two rings in his hand. “Nope. I’m going to be the best fake-real husband ever. Dean thinks I can’t and I’m kinda determined to prove him wrong.” You sigh and shake your head, but there’s no annoyance behind it. Trust Dean to make a game out of it.

A piece of hair fell in front of his eyes - it’s so long now that it reaches his shoulders, princelike. “Well then I guess I’ll have to be a good wife.” He hummed in agreement and you tucked his hair back behind his ear and a smile spread across his face. “Looks like I’m off to a good start, Sam Heathcliff.”

You gently slipped the ring onto your finger, the metal slightly too big for you. It was your grandmothers, a mix of silver and sapphire. Sam places his dad’s wedding band on his own hand, fiddling with it gently. It made you smile softly, how the ring was cold against your skin - your grandmother had always wanted you to wear it.

A knock at the door pulled you out of your memories and the two of you looked to each other with confusion, Dean wasn’t meant to be here until later that evening. You opened the door cautiously, flitting into character when you saw a 57 year old woman holding a large pie in her hands.

She grinned cheerily, pushing the dish forward into your hands as she spoke, you didn’t really have another choice but to take it (you’d probably hand it off to Dean later.) “Hi,” the voice sounded fake, satirical. She never met your eyes, she was almost entirely focused on Sam. “I heard there was a new couple in town, thought I’d do the neighbourly thing and say hi.” She began, flicking her hair over her shoulder in a particularly suggestive manner. “We’d love to have you over this weekend, monthly barbeque.”

You looked at Sam, who looked entirely uncomfortable with the attention he was receiving and wrapped your arms around his waist. “We’d love to…” you waited for a name, the woman smiled with annoyance, as if she hated you speaking to her.

“Helen. Watson.”

The two of you introduced yourself and agreed to go, knowing the gathering would be useful to get information. With one last glance at Sam, Helen turned around and left, allowing you to breathe a sigh of relief.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Dean came round that evening, constantly grinning and mocking and (as you had expected) he greeted the pie with open arms. “Look you two,” he began, as if he were an expert on the subject, “You’re practically a couple already, just… act like you’re in your honeymoon phase for the old women.”

He stated this as if it were an obvious fact and you raised your brows at his use of the word ‘honeymoon’. Sam looked away in annoyance (Something Dean found extremely funny). It seemed as though the younger Winchester couldn’t wait to get rid of Dean and so, as soon as he had finished his pie, he was forced out the door and back to the impala. There was a second sigh of relief when the door closed.

Though it had seemed like a smart idea at the time, the two of you were sorely regretting filling the spare room with hunting gear as it had left you with one bedroom. “I’ll take the couch,” Sam said as he gathered some clothes to sleep in, you stood in the doorway, arms folded as you shook your head.

“Not a chance, you’d barely fit on this bed imagine how uncomfortable you'd be downstairs.” You argued and he shook his head, trying to claim that he’d slept worse. Eventually, the two of you came to an agreement. Sam would sleep over the covers, you’d sleep under them (he always got hot at night anyway - especially during the summer).

You excused yourself to the bathroom and by the time you had gotten back Sam was already asleep, long hair falling gently over his eyes. You lay down beside him and got comfortable, though you forgot just how much Sam moved in his sleep. He seemed to subconsciously move closer to you, warm, tan skin flush against yours.

His face was inches from yours, holding a gentle smile as if he were happily dreaming (though that was something that didn’t happen often). You gently moved the hair from his eyes and he moved closer still, broad shoulders brushing against you. You fell asleep in the comfort of his warmth and awoke with his arms wrapped securely around you. He wasn’t awake yet, you always woke up before him.

You eventually found it in yourself to move from his grip and headed downstairs, intending to make breakfast for the two of you. He was downstairs a few moments later, hair a sweet, tousled mess on his head. You smiled sweetly but neither of you spoke - there wasn’t much need to.

The two of you seemed to move around each other as if you had been married for years as you got ready for the barbeque, passing each other what you needed wordlessly. Chalk it up to years of hunting together.

“Todays gonna be entertaining for me.” You stated, a smirk on your face. He tilted his head in confusion as if he were a dog and you smiled, eyes drifting to his shoulders for a moment. “C’mon Sam, it’s a town of 47 year old women who hate their husbands and you’re a - very awkward - 6 '4 man. A handsome one at that.” He blushed and turned away, continuing to get ready.

His hands fiddled with the jacket in front of him. “Yeah, so?” You smiled at him, opening the front door as you spoke again.

“So, it’s gonna be fun watching you squirm.” Your smile turned to a grin and Sam shook his head, following you out the door.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You were right, as expected. Although most were fine, one specific group of women made an exaggerated effort to fan themselves, whispering to each other about Sam. They almost immediately ushered you over. You sent a look to your best friend and headed toward them.

Immediately, they began to gossip, asking you about how you and Sam met and you could barely get a word in edgeways. There were compliments thrown at you too, but you knew they were just to stop you ‘feeling jealous.’

“How did you get so lucky?” One woman, Helen, asked. Her voice was wrought with envy as she stared over at Sam. Part of you understood why they were staring, Sam looked strangely good in the traditional small town husband attire. His white polo had a few buttons undone and the fabric was tight on his arms (Dean had ordered the wrong size) and his long hair was held back from his head by a pair of sunglasses, a few stray pieces falling over his eyes. The only part you weren’t a fan of was the khaki shorts…but it seemed to be the dress code in the town so you brushed it off - you and Dean would probably make fun of him for it later. He felt his gaze on you and turned to meet your eyes, smiling softly and winking. The women around you giggled and you rolled your eyes, to which he laughed.

It turned out that talking to the four women was the best thing for the case, they absolutely adored gossip. “Couples have been going missing, it always starts with the husbands.” Margaret whispered excitedly, “It happened to the couple who were here before you, sweet things.” she continued, sipping on a glass of wine.

You tilted your head, something Sam recognised from a distance, you’d had an idea. “Do they leave anything behind? People can’t just disappear?” You asked, pulling your hand through your hair.

Helen shook her head. “The damn council barely clean out the houses.” You nodded. Bingo. If the house hadn’t been thoroughly cleaned, chances are there’d be evidence. Helen continued to ramble and you were listening intently, until a hand gently slid onto your waist.

You let out a gasp but the strong smell of cedarwood and amber calmed you down. You knew exactly who it was. His grip pulls tighter around you and you lean into him, head resting on his chest. You felt your face flush - something you were praying he didn’t notice.

“How did you two meet?” One woman asked and you looked at each other, making sure without ever even speaking that you had the story right.

Sam leaned his head on yours and sweetly said, “why don’t you take this one, honey.” his eyes sparkled with mischief, he was trying to throw you off and the hand that was massaging your side was proof of that.

You met his eyes with the same excitement, if he wanted to play, you were really going to go for it. “We both worked as government agents, met on the field. Hence all the scars.” The women nodded in realisation, looking at some of the injuries you hadn’t quite managed to hide. “He wasn’t the biggest fan of mine at first but I grew on him, isn’t that right darling?”

Sam nodded, his eyes not leaving yours as he replied, “and now I don’t want to be without her ever again.” He found that sentence to be more true than he thought.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

Sam sent an exasperated look your way as he raked a hand through his hair (and sadly took the glasses off his head). “How were the boys?” you asked with a smile and he turned to make sure no one was watching before dropping the facade.

“I’m actually shocked how much I don’t know about football.” He replied and you both laughed, him leaning into you as he smiled. He looked outside at the group of gossipping women before adding on, “they seemed…friendly.”

You laughed, “to you, sure, but I think it’s because they want you in their bed.” The sentence was blunt and Sam’s eyes widened, cheeks blushing a strong red. You, however, continued as if you had never said anything, “I think it could be witches? We’d have to search for hex bags though.” He nodded, not meeting your eyes (he was slightly flustered).

The two of you eventually said your goodbyes and made your way down the street, Sam looked annoyed with himself. “What’s up?”

He sighed, “this one guy, Glenn, roped me into holding a housewarming party…” You stared at him incredulously, did he not try to say no? Sam recognised the look in your eyes and defended himself, “the man was incredibly persuasive!” You shook your head but knew there was no way out of it. You weren’t the best at party planning.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The long stretch of grocery store met you as you and Sam stood in the doorway. You didn’t often do this as hunters so it was a slightly daunting task. You looked at each other with tired eyes and went your separate ways, deciding to cover ground as if it were a hunt…just for nachos.

You rounded a corner only to see Helen stood there. Not wanting to be stuck in conversation again, you instantly turned on your heel, hiding behind a row of sauces. Though, something caught your eye. In Helen’s basket, clearly hidden just not very well, was a large amount of herbs and salt. What got you interested was the extreme amount of basil and sage.

Witches. Had to be.

Sam approached you, smiling gently. Something about the situation made him look so… domestic. You tried to motion to him what you were thinking but he seemed so fixated on you, his reaching out for yours. “Can you do your job?” you spoke, the words sounding harsher than you had intended. He instantly pulled back, face twisting with annoyance.

“What?”

“Take the hint, Sam. Behind me.”

You continued to whisper back and forth in annoyance, alerting Helen who watched in confusion. You quickly turned to look at her and sighed as she approached, hiding the herbs with the rest of her groceries. “Lovers quarrel?” she joked and the two of you laughed in the same way Bobby would when Dean told another of his bad jokes.

Sam made excuses as you looked at her, trying to see if you could spot any witch runes on her. It seemed as though she was trying to do the same to you. “Well isn’t that tattoo…neat!” She said, trying to hide the venom in her voice as she pointed out the anti-possession tattoo on your collarbone. Great.

You looked at Sam in annoyance and turned back to Helen. “Thanks! I saw it in a magazine!” You tried to explain away but you knew you’d been caught, she had spotted you and you her. Though she was very keen to stay in conversation, Sam made a quick excuse and you both left as soon as you could.

“Told you it was witches.”

Sam didn’t reply. The car journey back was completely silent, an unspoken annoyance building in the both of you. Neither of you said a word until the front door closed. “Nice job letting her see the tattoo.” Sam said annoyedly, turning to look at you.

You sighed and turned away, packing away the groceries. “Maybe if you spent less time flirting and more time actually hunting we’d be done by now! This isn’t exactly a hard case, we don't need more bodies to our name.” The reply was sharp and annoyed.

He suddenly grabbed your wrist so you’d look at him. “I’m doing my job just fine.” His eyes were locked with yours. You stepped closer.

“No, you’re not. You’re distracted.” Sam scoffed, his minty breath fanning against your cheek from how close you were. His hand was still firmly on your wrist.

An annoyed smile spread across his face and a muscle in his neck tensed. “Oh yeah? And why would I be distracted?” You stared directly at him, from his long hair that fell over his unreadable gaze to the smoothness of his bronzed skin.

You found yourself stepping closer again. “You tell me.”

There was a crushing silence, the only sound being your sharp breaths. Suddenly, Sam’s grip on your hand moved to your waist and he pulled you into him, his lips colliding with yours. You leaned into him, hands grabbing his hair harshly. He kissed you as if he were hungry, as if he had been waiting for years - maybe he had. He lifted you easily and sat you on the kitchen counter, leaning back from the kiss for a split second. His chest rose quickly in hot breaths as he kissed you again. You bit his bottom lip - letting blood drip as his hands gripped your skin.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

The party was loud and irritating, there wasn’t a moment where you had time for yourself, not one point where you weren’t ’y/n Heathcliff’. You and Sam had barely talked after the evening before - you didn’t know what to say.

You knew Helen would be at the party, not only would it be good to keep up appearances but she could get her next victim from it. Sam sent you a look and you nodded once, heading toward the spare bedroom in search of weapons, just in case.

A small, easily hidden knife was being placed into your waistband when Sam opened the door, closing it harshly behind him. “Sorry,” he said quietly, “had to get away from Miriam.”

You laughed gently and went back to preparing, not wanting to meet his eyes. “Helen’s here.”

“I know.”

Silence again. You sighed, “and you just left her out there? Alone?” His brows furrowed and he offered a witty remark, starting another hushed argument between the two of you.

On the other side of the door, Miriam and Margaret pressed their ears to the wood, giggling like school children at how the argument sounded to them. Through the muffled walls, all they could hear was gasps and sharp noises - of course they assumed what they wanted.

Sam’s hands pushed through his hair as he sighed, uncertain of what to do, when suddenly the door started opening. He rushed forward and pushed against it, rushing out a quick, “one moment!” All he heard in reply was laughs.

“What do we do?” He asked nervously and you stood still, nervous, until a thought popped into your head. You held your hands out - asking for permission and, once he nodded, you placed your hands gently in his soft hair, ruffling it. It annoyed you how he still managed to look good.

Then, once he had done the same for you, you looked him up and down, deciding his outfit was far too…tidy. First it was one button undone, then another (you unbuttoned a third for personal reasons). A blush rose on the tips of his ears.

He went to open the door when you realised something was still missing and, in a quick moment of panic, you rushed forward and grabbed his face, kissing him harshly on the lips (you were purposely trying to smudge your lipstick onto him). Sam made a noise in shock but found himself leaning into it, eyes lingering closed for a moment longer after you had pulled away.

Shit. He thought. He definitely liked you.

Eventually, the door was opened and Sam met the two women with an awkward smile. “Oh!’ Margaret began, giggling, “I was going to offer a drink, but I see you’re occupied…” The woman looked at one another, laughed again and walked away, leaving Sam blushing with embarrassment. The door was closed once more and when you were both sure they had walked away, laughter spilt into the room.

He shook his head and smiled, stepping closer to you. “Close one.” You smiled gently, staring into his eyes (the light was hitting them perfectly). There was silence again - neither of you knew what to do.

”Are we ever going to talk about last night?” You asked, thinking about how his hands felt on your skin. His features turned more serious as he sat down on the bed.

He stared at you, lipstick still in a smudge on his face. “I’m not sure what to say about it.” You neared him, hands trailing over his shoulders. Then, slowly, you leaned into him, lifting his chin with your finger as you felt his soft lips against yours. There was something impossibly gentle about it and you weren’t sure anyone had kissed you that softly before.

”Maybe we don’t need to say anything.”

He smiled. You kissed the corner of his grin and headed back downstairs, attempting to fix your hair as you went. You were met with stares as you entered the kitchen - Miriam had most definitely told everyone… at least it sold the cover.

Time passed with an almost excruciating level of slowness and Sam not making a re-entrance back downstairs wasn’t helping either (you had no one to distract you). Eventually, the party cleared out yet Sam was nowhere to be seen - now you began to panic.

You said goodbye to the final few neighbours and headed back upstairs, calling Sam’s name. The lack of response worried you. The first door by the stairs - the one that unfortunately led to your weapons room - was ajar, scratches around the lock. You pulled the dagger from your waistband and slowly opened the door, sighing as you saw the bloodstain on the floor. You had a feeling you knew who had taken him and where he had gone.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You had managed to track him to Helen’s house, hiding around the back to get a good view through the sliding glass doors. Sat, tied to a chair in the middle of the main room, was Sam. His face was bruised and bloody and his expression looked annoyed, chest heaving with sharp breaths. Helen, Miriam and Margaret circled around him, playing with his hair and gathering items they needed for the spell.

”Poor Sam,” Helen began - you assumed she was the leader, “you’d think you’d be able to fight back against three 57 year olds.” Miriam headed into the kitchen as Margaret laughed, they almost reminded you of the witches from Macbeth.

”You’d also think, considering she’s a hunter, that your ‘wife’ would be better at hiding.” Suddenly, a surprisingly strong pair of hands grabbed you, pushing you against the wall.

You struggled against the grip but it was no use, your hands being painfully tied behind your back. Miriam ushered you into the living room, retiring you to a chair beside Sam. You met his eyes with an apologetic gaze and he returned it.

It was your turn to feel the bunt of the witches’ fun now, knives sliced at your skin and hair was cut from your head, you knew they’d done it somewhere visible on purpose. They grabbed at your face, nails digging into flesh and smiling as Sam protested.

Eventually, the three left the room and you and Sam began planning. You shuffled your chair toward him, trying to see if he could reach the dagger you always hid in your shoe. His hand brushed over your shin but he couldn’t reach any further.

With one final attempt, Sam tried to lean on the chair to reach, which ended with him toppling both chairs. He landed on top of you, his chest flush against yours. “Sorry.” He spoke, words hoarse from lack of breath.

Luckily for you, the fall had broken the ropes around your ankles and - though it hurt like hell - you manoeuvred your leg just enough to read the blade. Sam's hair tickled against your face and his lips tickled your neck - but that was something you’d have to think about later.

“Nice try you two.” Helen spoke as she waltzed back in. You hid the blade in your sleeve as your chair was fixed once more and while the three were busy working, you managed to slice through the ropes. you waited patiently, watching with a newfound confidence. Luckily for you, Maragaret was the type of witch to intimidate - her favourite tactic being getting as close as she could.

You took the opportunity and thrust the blade forward, stabbing through her throat. She screamed out and you stood up making your way over to the other two to fight. You took a fair few punches, but it was nothing new and soon enough the two others were on the floor too, holding onto the last of their life.

The large salt circle was immediately broken and Sam was freed, you apolising every time you accidentally touched any of his injuries. “That was badass.” Sam complimented and you laughed, leaning your hair back tiredly.

You turned away, starting to destroy the spell further as you spoke, “Ready to finally stop being husband and wife?” You asked and a small smirk rose on his face, hands snaking back over your waist again.

With sudden passion, he spun you back around, his eyes glinting. “Not really.”

With that, Sam lifted you off the ground, hands securely gripping your thighs as he kissed your neck. You had your back pushed against the wall as he moved to kiss your lips, your hands pulling at the back of his hair. He sighed and went to kiss you again when the front door swung open, revealing a disgusted (but slightly relieved) Bobby and a grinning Dean.

”We can explain?” Sam offered, gently lowering you back to the ground. You couldn’t look at one another.

Dean shook his head, smiling like a madman. “I don’t know Sammy, seems pretty obvious to me.” Then, with the same giddy happiness he turned to Bobby, who had since fished a ten dollar bill out of his pocket.

Typical. You and Sam shared an annoyed look as The other two hunters headed back out the door. ‘“C’mon you lovebirds,” Bobby began, “There’s a vamp nest in Chicago.”

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester #fluff #Injury #witches #supernatural #supernatural fic #Sam Winchester the sass queen #sam winchester x fem!reader

[green-typewriterz]

Fic coming soon I promise I see all the asks I’m just incredible at procrastinating!!! It’s nearly done I promise

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #I’m so good at procrastinating #it’s crazy #why do i procrastinate so much

[green-typewriterz]

sam fic...

new fic coming today or tomorrow i think... depends on if I finish this by midnight lmao

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader

[green-typewriterz]

Should I attempt an actually happy Sam fic for once???? Is it even possible ???

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #sam winchester x you

[green-typewriterz]

Some Kind of Animal, Cannibal

Sam Winchester x gn!reader

Summary: You and Sam get lucky when trying to find the missing people…the luck being you both get taken too.

ASK: N/A

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, illness, injury, refusing to eat, kidnapping, cannibalism, talks of feeling sick, it’s basically all angst, early seasons Sam (3-4)

Author notes: VERY INSPIRED by Possibly in Michigan - Animal Cannibal, Reader is smart and took criminology in college. loosely based off of season one episode fifteen, I thought of this when talking to myself at 12:03 am as any good fic writer does.

word count: 4012

The three of you had been in the small town of Bayfield, Wisconsin for almost a week now and still barely anything had come up about the seven missing people. From what you had figured out, there was a sort of pattern; they were always taken at night and it was always in pairs.

Dean assumed it was a demon, but something didn’t feel right to you. Demon’s were vicious, masochistic, it didn’t make sense for them to take a person and not parade the kill about the town for all to see. Sam thought it could be a vamp, maybe even a rugaru, but you weren’t sure.

”How’s the research goin?” Dean asked nonchalantly as he walked back into the damp motel room, a bag of beers and snacks in his hand. You looked up from your uncomfortable position on the bed with an exasperated look and Sam leaned back on his chair. That was all the answer he needed. “So we’ve still got no clue at all?” He continued, turning to look at you, “and you’re sure it’s not a demon.”

You shook your head, “not completely, but it just doesn’t make sense for the profile.” Sam smiled slightly as you spoke; you could’ve been an FBI agent (meaning you probably would’ve ended up crossing paths anyway) but instead you chose the hunting life. Despite this, the criminologist in you snuck out sometimes, something very useful to the two. “If it were a demon, it would be an outlier, one who had either devolved or worked differently.”

There was silence for a while and Sam sighed, pulling his hands through his hair. It was getting longer now, the tips of it tickling his jawline  every so often. “What if they’re human?” He began, “nothing about this screams monster.” Sam turned to look at you, wanting your input.

”Well what would you prefer, a monster who we know how to kill, doing something we’d expect, or a human, who may be completely insane, doing this purely because they can.” Somehow the second option seemed scarier to the three of you.

Time passed the three of you in comfortable silence, interrupted only by the low humming of MTV reruns coming from the TV Dean had put on. Sam was the first to fall asleep, leaning his head gently against his book. Dean followed soon after, his ability to fall asleep pretty much anywhere was something you had always envied. This left you in a half-awake stupor, trying to get some last few moments of research in before falling asleep like the two boys in front of you.

Eventually, you called it quits and closed your book, heading over to Sam to do the same for him. You gently replaced John’s diary with a small pillow and were placing Sam’s coat over his shoulders when you heard a crash outside. This area was known for raccoons but the noise sounded too loud to be an animal. You shook Sam awake and pulled the knife from your waistband, preparing for whatever might be outside.

Sam blearily looked over at you, standing up quickly despite the tiredness that clung to him when he saw the look in your eyes. He followed soon after, his gun firmly in his grip as the two of you walked out the door.

It was almost impossibly cold outside, the mist of the early morning clinging to your clothes. You pulled your jacket closer to you and turned round the corner into the alley, both of you with weapons raised. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a drunk guy?” Sam asked tiredly as he slowly lowered his gun. You shook your head in confusion and turned round to face him.

”It could’ve been, but something just…felt off.” You replied. It had always been impressive, your intuition - Dean had called it witch-adjacent. Neither of you were concentrating on your surroundings, talking quietly between yourself when Sam’s eyes widened and he went to raise his gun again. Though, you didn’t get a chance to fight back as pain bled through your skull. You fell to the floor as the sharp crack of Sam’s gun went off and the final thing you saw before darkness clouded over your eyes was Sam’s unconscious figure beside you. 

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

This is where you are now, waking to an unbearable pain, cold metal stinging against your skin as you come to your senses, your body racked with shivers. You sit up slowly, trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. The only light that streams through was from a dirty, mould ridden window that tints the area with a sickly green. You can hear the sharp breaths of another person from across the room and small, pained cries echo across the dark every so often. “Y/n.” The voice whispers, out of breath and harsh. You move slowly, eyes flitting across the darkness to find the source of the voice.

Sam sits in a cage of his own, hands harsh against the iron bars. His hair is damp and slick against the side of his face, face hollow and pinched from the fug of the basement. “What the hell is going on?” You reply, voice sharp from sleep.

You can see the surroundings through the thin strips of light, sun warping itself around cracked glass - it was day. “I don’t know. You’ve been asleep for a while, maybe three days. God, I thought you were dead.”

Silence spreads like a cancer. It’s been three days. Where was Dean? Did he know you were both gone? Did he care? Of course he did. You push the thought from your mind and move across the cage, hands clasping cold metal. The area wasn’t tall by any regard and you had to crouch to walk across - you felt bad for how uncomfortable Sam must be.

Eventually, you reach the other side where Sam was sitting and look at him with the same, unnatural quiet. He reaches a shaking hand across the space and clasps it over your own. He is cold, hands sweaty - though you find that you don’t care. You and Sam had always been close, leaning against one another during research or allowing him to plait your hair (and you to him if he was stressed). You run your hands over his in repetitive, soothing motions and lean your head against the rusty metal.

Sam sighs, though you aren’t sure of the emotion behind it. His hands work over your knuckles, almost as if he was massaging them, though he moves away quickly when a door opens at the top of the stairs. It shines a new light in, one that’s warm and forgiving - it feels like a new world.

Eager heeled footsteps click down the endless stairs and come to rest by a third cage, her hands laying on the side as if it were simply a wall. “Thank goodness, I was wondering when you’d wake!” She speaks cheerily, hands now clasped together. The caged woman edges closer to the light, you can see a shining, silver cross necklace resting against her chest, the metal contrasting against her dirtied skin.

There’s an almost silent click and the door in front of you swings open, creaking and worn. Sam is first to exit, his hands being chained to a small lead she holds in her palm. You felt like a dog, some kind of rabid animal she was trying to tame. She leads the three of you up the stairs, metal chains clinking miserably against your wrist.

The two of you look around your surroundings, surveying every corner, crack and door with a pinprick precision. You can see Sam’s hand instinctively move to his waistband - though you know there’d be nothing there. The three of you are led into a small dining area, lit with the homely glow of candles. You could almost laugh at the difference.

Lori, as she had introduced herself, sits you down with a smile and places a plate in front of you. It’s warm and suddenly reminds you that you haven't eaten in a while. You share a wary look with Sam and lean back in your chair, you’re not an idiot.

The girl opposite you, a tangle of sinew and bone, eats silently, hair withered and face gaunt - God knows how long she’s been here.

She’s pretty, she would’ve been. The girl has a sharp hooked nose and deep brown eyes, skin dark and warm. But she’s lost her hope, and with hope goes will, strength and livelihood. Though beauty seems to have stayed.

From her, you come to the conclusion that the food wasn’t poisoned, but you don’t want to test it anyway - you won’t accept food from someone who kidnapped you.

The room is quiet, the only sound being the crackle of candles and the repeated scrape of a fork on a plate. 

It’s a winding path to sleep, something Sam doesn’t seem to be blessed with any more. His hands shake in yours, his eyes screwed shut. This is you, sitting, waiting for the path to end, withering resolve and aching eyes. This is you, standing on the shoreline as Hero - a goddess' daughter - as your Leander’s searchlight dims. This is you, letting time slip from your fingertips like golden blood.

The routine continues like a paper mobius strip, one that’s tearing. There’s an end, you can see it carving itself into marble - but it’s an ending you do not want for Sam.

It’s in this routine now, that you wake, hold a slowly succumbing hand in yours, refuse to eat and you hold Sam’s hand once more. It’s made you think more than you’d like, about time. About stories. Sam shivers, almost like clockwork now. His shirt is baggy against hollow bones and the tattoo on his breast seems wilted, like it won’t offer protection. He whispers too, short sentences you can never grasp.

The only word you’ve ever understood is a drawn out, yearning, “Please.”

There had been an offer of treatment, of safety. But Sam had seen to have found a sanctity in his suffering, he tells himself it’s a blessing, reminding him his limbs still ached, his body still yearned. Sam spits at the feet of his saviour and is rewarded with a harsh whip-like slap across his cheek.

He crumbles, rocks slipping from a cliff face, and grows still. “Sam?” You whisper, afraid. You were afraid most days now. 

There’s a moment, then a breath and you lean forward to brush the hair from his eyes. Dean would know what to do - he had always known. Instead you hold his hand again, there’s not much else you can do.

The woman in the corner weeps. It had been the first time she had dared to make a sound, perhaps the violence had scared her.

“Oh, my dear.” Lori speaks soothingly, smiling with bared teeth of mock sympathy. “Come along, let’s calm you down.”

The words feel like an attempt to cajole a scared kitten, but the glint in her eyes shines radiant in the dark. You and Sam don’t see the woman again.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

“Where do you think he is?” Sam asks, leaning against the bars. A welt has risen on his face and a large cut streaks across his angled cheek from Lori’s ring. He looks like a corpse, a victim of an illness that never stops taking.

You don’t reply, he nods. Every so often, Sam holds your hand, rubbing your palm with his thumb, and you’d be Hero once more, seeing Leander for the first time at the festival. Though, he lets go eventually (he always did) and as he pulls away, his livelihood drowns - searchlight fading.

In the evening, careful hands guid you up the stairs once more, careful not to touch the raw skin around the handcuffs. Hunger picks at you, stretching your skin over your bones. You look at Sam, allowing a mournful sigh to escape from you. The both of you are dying, it’s something you have accepted, but you can’t bear the thought that he’ll die before you.

You’ve listed every single thing that changed in your mind, every time he shivers, every time the bags under his eyes darken. Maybe it’s become a way to cope. The both of you sit and Sam’s near shoulder length hair falls in front of his eyes - it was an indication of how much time has passed. The both of you have no choice tonight, you have to eat.

This was the choice. You sit, silent, and know that you are giving in to the final piece of defiance you have. You watch while self-loathing washes over Sam’s face as he too is forced to make the same choice, his body weaker than his mind. This is the choice; let go of your morals. Or die.

It’s almost funny how quickly morals leave you in the face of death.

You find there’s no way to delay it either. You have already analysed every movement of Lori’s. Every breath is calculated, every smile is vicious and hungry. So, with one final look toward your closest friend, you bite into the grey meat, the taste of something akin to pork overwhelming you. It’s stringy, but it still tastes like the best thing you had ever eaten - perhaps it was the amount of time you had had in between meals. You take a bite of the mash on the side and feel something cold and metallic in your mouth.

You breathe in sharply and sit in place, slowly moving your hand toward your mouth. There’s a moment of emptiness before your realisation, a stillness as you hope the silver cross necklace you had pulled from your teeth did not mean what you thought it did. You release a shaky breath and hold a hand to your mouth, feeling sick to your stomach.

You had eaten her.

“Sam.”

The whisper is almost inaudible. You’d never spoken at the table before and, though it was allowed, you feel as though you’re breaking a rule. He looks up and his eyes widen, seeing how quickly your face has paled. You look down at the plate, then back at him, shaking your head in a warning motion.

It’s only now he sees the necklace in your palm, pieces of dried blood sticking to it. Lori hadn’t even bothered to clean it - she had probably meant to throw it away. You lean back in your chair, looking out the window to your left and seeing how the trees stretch for miles past it, leaves heavy with snow. You weren’t sure when it had snowed. You try not to cry.

“Are you alright dear?” Lori asks, tension cutting across the room. Your head turns slowly, tears falling down your cheeks like hot tar, eyes wide, sucking in quick breaths. Sam seems scared - you look animalistic.

You hold up the necklace. “Did you make us eat her?” Your voice is unnatural, toneless and uncaring - a stark difference to the look on your face. Lori smiles. All she ever fucking does is smile.

You stare silently, face set with fear as she approaches, placing a manicured and veiny hand on your shallow cheek. You turn your head to the side, but her hand never leaves your face.

“Did you enjoy it?” It almost wasn’t a question - not when she knew the answer. You turn back to face her and her hand moves across your face, coming to rest by the corner of your mouth.

If you were to be treated like some kind of animal, that’s what she’d receive. You bite down hard, ignoring the scream as your teeth carve through her finger. You get to bone and pull, degloving the skin and muscle from her finger and holding it in your mouth like a dog. Then, just as she looks back to you, you spit it onto your plate with an almost smile.

Sam looks at you with an unreadable expression. You meet his eyes, ignore the feeling that settles in your stomach and simply reply, “We’re done with our meal.”

Lori pushes you down the staircase and into one singular cage, being in too much pain to open each individually. This is your plan. She closes the doors and snaps the keys. This is your plan.

Sam is withering, flu-like and scared. “Why?” he asks quietly, moving from your arms. “Why would you do that?” his eyes are wide, begging. Tears litter his cheeks. He’s given up thinking there’s a way to be saved. He’s grown accustomed to dying behind rusted metal bars.

You don’t reply and with blood stained lips you kiss him, trying to offer reassurance. He returns your kiss with a sigh, his pained fever making his skin hot to touch. He leans into you, hands holding your waist as if you’d disappear. You pull away and cradle him, gently brushing shaking hands through his hair. You kiss his forehead every now and then, staining his skin with darkening red.

Everything about you is strangely calm. You don’t fear Lori, not now you have seen her bleed. She could die. She would. You fall asleep almost smiling; she would, she would.

Lori wakes you in the early morning, hand bandaged and face stern. There’s no more smiling. Thank God. Your confidence chipped at her, annoyed her. It’s your turn to smile now. She unlocks the cage to move you to your own - you knew she’d had a spare key, she loved theatrics. As soon as you stand to move to your own cage you sprint, knocking her to the floor.

You knew you would’ve won, but weak monsters always bring a weapon when they feared the Hero the most. Though, you refuse to be Hero. There is no Leander, there is no searchlight. It’s you and Sam: wild eyes, knotted hair and blood stains. 

A knife pushes you off of her, sinking itself into your abdomen with aim and anger. Lori had known you’d bite again.

Your breath escapes you, blood seeping from your sullen skin. You fall into the agony, screaming out to the sky. It’s not the single cut that would’ve killed you, it's the anger. Lori stands now, placing a foot against your throat. “A rabid dog bites three times before it’s greeted with death's hands, a rabid human? They get one chance.” She whispers, her words distant.

Behind the both of you, Sam slowly rises, hands clenched in fists, teeth baring. Her head hits the floor first, a horrible crack echoing in the basement. Screams had a way of sinking into you, biting at your heart, but these made you strong. You stand beside Sam as he hits her, ripping the fabric of your large jacket to tie around your wound.

You let him kill her.

Sam lifts you up the stairs and you help him walk through the cold, each taking turns to keep the other alive. You walk through the snow, damp and ripped clothes doing nothing to keep you warm. It feels as though it’s been hours and eventually, Sam collapses into you, the both of you falling to the soft snow. 

He kneels forward into you and you hold his face gently. The image was almost too familiar; Sam falling into the arms of someone he loves, face slick with tears and body weak. He had died too much already, you wouldn’t let it happen again.

You kiss his jawline so softly it might’ve been a snowflake landing on his bruised skin and he lifts his head. “Sorry.” he mutters repeatedly, a slurry of vowels and tears. You don’t dare to shush him, it wouldn’t help anything, it wouldn’t stop him. “I’m so sorry.”

You kiss him again. “None of this was ever your fault,” You whisper, voice tired and teeth stained. After a while, you try to move again, stumbling over only the iced floor. There’s a cough from Sam that pushes blood to his mouth, then he’s losing his footing again and falling into you, his hand pressing into the wound on your abdomen. You cry out, collapsing to the floor, spilling red on the pure white snow.

It’s his turn to hold you now, muttering endless apologies and ripping his own clothes to rebandage you; his skin is pale, a majority of his muscle eaten away by time and hunger. He looked like a corpse. You lie there, cold and silent as his hands shake, tying knots as though it’s routine. He pushes past his own pain, placing a blood stained hand on your cheek and whispering to you. You shiver under his touch and it shocks you how much you’ve missed being near him. You smile gently, and bury your head into his shoulder. The both of you sit there for a while, slowly freezing and holding each other with a softness you hadn’t felt in a while.

Eventually, you reach the road and lean against a barrier, slowly, softly. He kisses your collarbone as he leans into you and you both wait to die.

“I love you.” You whisper, ready to close your eyes and not open them again. He sighs almost contently, his lips finding your skin again. Your fingers were red and sore, blood picking at the frost.

“I love you,” he replies.

Just as the two of you close your eyes with a sad acceptance, there’s a roar of an engine you recognise. The wheels screech, a voice yells, but neither of you respond. Sam’s fallen asleep now and you don’t have the energy to speak. Hands grip your shoulders, press down to stop the flow of blood, scream your name. You can see him in a blur, but there’s not enough in you to react. Your eyes close and it’s something you’re ok with.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You wake up slowly, bleach biting at your nose. The room is stark white and clean - beeping rings in your ears. You’re alone. You climb out of the hospital bed and wince, the wound clean, but still painful. It didn’t take you long for you to find Dean, his voice loud against the hush of the ward. He turns, eyes locking onto you and grins, running over and leaving the doctor he was talking to behind. His arms wrap around you, soft and welcoming. “Thought the both of you had left me. Took me a month and a bit to find you.” He pulls away, smiling, “You’re both too strong, found your own way out.” He’s happy, Sam’s alive.

He sees the look in your eyes, he knows. “He’s inside, not awake yet.” He replies, voice softer now. You spare one more, thankful glance at your best friend and make your way to Sam’s room.

Sam lies there, still and peaceful. His cheeks are brighter and his bones hidden by strength once more. You sit by his side, eyes tired, and wait for him to wake up. He will, he has to. Eventually, sleep takes you and you lean against his bed, head resting on his chest to feel the gentle rise and fall. Your hand holds his, there’s not much else you can do.

“Aren’t you meant to be in your own bed?” A voice asks and your eyes open to see him smiling at you. His hair is brushed back and his skin is clean of dirt. He sounds okay.

You laugh slightly, smiling for the first time in a month and reply, “I had better things to do.” You lean forward, kissing his lips softly, careful not to hurt either of you. He returns the sentiment, hand tying itself into your hair. You hold his face, thumb tracing his jawline, and smile as you pull away.

He stays there, noses touching slightly. You’re centimetres apart. “You’re lucky I’m not infectious.” He whispers. You laugh again and move your hands to gently clasp the back of his neck.

“I wouldn’t care anyway.”

Sam kisses you again.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #angst #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #dean winchester x friend!reader #whump #gore #cannibal #supernatural

[green-typewriterz]

Sam Winchester x reader

Me writing a Sam Winchester fic? It’s more likely than you’d think, here’s a short preview!!

He crumbled, rocks slipping from a cliff face, and grew still. “Sam?” You whispered, afraid. You were afraid most days now.

There was a moment, then a breath and you leaned forward to brush the hair from his eyes. Dean would know what to do - he had always known. Instead you hold his hand again, there’s not much else you can do.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #angst #sam winchester x fem!reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x you #Sam Winchester x reader #Sam Winchester fic #Sam Winchester one shot

[green-typewriterz]

You Owe Me.

Matt Murdock x fem!reader

Summary: Matt’s used to you showing up in his apartment, but something feels different this time. 

ASK: N/A

Warnings: injury, blood, descriptions of gore

Author notes: You are a vigilante in this fic named ‘Viper’ !!! viper is very based off of catwoman and was an old discontinued DC OC of mine! 

word count: 1058

Matt was used to you breaking in. Sure, the first time it had happened he tried to fight back, but you had made it clear you weren’t there to fight. You had found out his identity just three days before and you were far too curious to not come and say hi. He knew you were his enemy…technically…but you hadn’t tried to attack him yet, nor had you attempted to poison him as you had done to others in the past, so he found himself letting you stay. Sometimes he even kept the window unlatched just to make it easier for you.

It was a well known fact about you that you could move silently and, though you’d never fooled him yet, he often had to listen closely to tell when you had walked in. “How did you even find out who I was anyway,” he spoke, seemingly to himself as he put his coat on the rack. You moved out of the shadows, still in your vigilante uniform.

“Wasn’t exactly hard, Daredevil and Matthew Murdock move in very similar circles…one’s just holding a cane.” You replied nonchalantly. He smiled to himself as you got comfortable on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other in a polite fashion (though you knew he wouldn’t see it).

He continued to unwind as if you weren’t there, just letting you observe him. Finally, once his tie was loose around his neck, he spoke again, “Will I ever know who you are?” He asked, taking his place in the chair beside you. You leaned forward, placing your chin in your palm and sighed.

“No. I’m a secretive person.”

It was certain, almost like a promise. Matt would never know, not if you could help it. He seemed to inch closer to you, a smile budding on his lips. “Is that why you’re still wearing your mask?”

You weren’t sure how he knew, maybe there was a difference in how you moved or acted when you wore it. There was a long pause, silence blooming in answer to Matt’s question, then, as if he had begged you, you took the mask off.

You placed it in his hands, skin never coming in contact, “Who said I was?” He smiled to himself now, feeling the texture of the snakeskin mask. It was smooth, leathery and there was a large scratch down the middle of the left eye. Though he couldn’t see you, he seemed to look into your eyes, a glint hidden in his that you couldn’t understand. “If you’re satisfied, I’d like my snakeskin back.” You said nonchalantly, as if the vulnerability of being without your mask didn’t scare you.

Matt waited for a moment, then handed it back. You headed for the window, thinking. “Oh and Matt,” You turned on your heel, “I took my mask off for you. You owe me.”

“No thanks.”

You slinked out of the window before he could speak again, latching it shut as you had so many times before. Locking it was supposed to mean, ‘don’t let me in again.’ but he always unlocked it anyway. It was almost like he wanted you there.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

He was waiting for you, that much he had admitted to himself. Matt sat idly in the same seat, head turned toward the open window to listen for you. You were late. From the first time you had shown up, you’d always climbed through the window at 11:00 on the dot, no later, no earlier. It was now 11:35.

Eventually, you practically fell through the threshold of the window, breath rapid and heartbeat fast. “Are you alright?” Was the first question that left his lips as you corrected yourself. You leaned against the doorframe as you usually did, though this time you clutched a large wound on your side.

“Never better.” You replied as you pulled the mask from your face, feeling as though you could finally breathe again. You pulled your hand away slightly, wincing at the sight of the blood. There was far too much. “Sorry I’m late, I had a run in with a man, a dog, a knife and a particularly vicious chain link fence.” You joked, breathing in sharply when the motion pulled at your skin.

He moved closer. “How badly are you hurt?” He asked. You motioned for him to drop it and a moment passed. “I can’t see you, remember. I’ll ask again, how badly are you hurt?”

You sighed and placed the mask on the cluttered side table. He could smell strong metal, something recognisable to him. It seemed to weep from you, joined by the faint and slowing heartbeat that tapped gently every so often. It was like Matt was drawn to you, the metal scent pulling him closer. Close enough that you gave in. You let go of a sharp breath and tumbled forward, collapsing into his arms like a falling leaf. Matt tried not to laugh at your gracefulness even in your worst moments.

Matt carried you to the sofa, placing you down as gently as he could and apologising quietly as he searched for the wound. He cut part of your uniform from your body in a neat square and delicately traced his fingers along your skin, feeling the tackiness of the blood coat his fingertips.

Eventually, his hands reached the wound and he got to work, bandaging you as softly as he could. Each movement was deliberate, and laced with worry. He wanted you to keep climbing through his window, just not like this.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖ng 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙

You woke up a day later, side stinging and body heavy. You felt stronger, well rested (that was something new for you). You looked down to your stomach and saw a neat row of bandages, completely clean. Matt had been changing them every few hours - what a gentleman. You sat up with effort and grabbed the mask he had placed by your feet. The apartment was eerily empty, no sound of his gentle breaths. All that lingered was his soft cologne.

He had gone to work, leaving nothing but a note on the table. ‘You owe me - DD’ the words were simple, printed out from a computer in a clean and simple font. You smiled and grabbed a pen from the side, scrawling your own message before heading out of the window.

‘No thanks - V.'

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #hurt/comfort #injury #whump #matt murdock #matt Murdock #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #gore #Violence #Superhero #marvel #marvel fic

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I love ending a chapter dramatically like save me ambiguous and angsty evil ending.

An example:

He didn’t bother asking if she still did now. He knew what the answer would be.

#fic #fanfic #writing #angst #it’s just so fun #I love writing angst #writing meme

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Please.

Kaz Brekker x gn!reader

Summary: Kaz struggles with affection and touch, but he has to do something to stop you from going on a heist that could possibly kill you. 

ASK: N/A

Warnings: Kaz being Kaz, maybe slightly ooc Kaz as its my first time writing, injury, talks of death, slight ptsd

word count: 1171

Kaz sat in his office with the door closed, not a single sound escaping from under the crack. It was something you and the Crows were used to but it didn’t stop you from wondering if he was ok. While you and Jesper worked the bar - chatting happily with the pigeons that you liked to call your regulars, Wylan and Nina sat in the corner of the room, drawing out plans, Matthias had just gone outside to follow after someone who hadn’t paid and Inej was probably somewhere near - you just couldn’t see her.

The next heist was days away and both yours and Inej’s talents with staying quiet would come in handy. Though you weren’t a master spy like your Suli friend, nor could you fight in the same acrobatic way as she, you were nimble and silent, an intimidating quiet in a room full of leaders. That and you were amazing with knives. However, there was one flaw in every plan the group came up with, one that could prove to be life or death for you and Inej. The guards were never off duty and they always had guns. You’d have to fight to get past them.

It eventually got to two in the morning and the Crow Club was finally closing, yet there hadn’t even been the sound of Kaz’s uneven footsteps creaking across the floor. You sat on the other side of the bar as Jesper cleaned glasses, annoyed look in his eyes.

Eventually he turned to you. “I could use some help, you know?” Jesper spoke in mock annoyance, but any joking emotions on his face dropped when he saw the worry in your eyes. “Look, y/n, if you’re that worried about him, then go up there. Bring him tea or something.” You met his eyes and sighed, nodded slowly as you headed to the kitchens to make him a drink and some sort of food.

You headed up to his office with a hot cup of tea and a few pastries you had found in the pantry. You gently pushed open the door and the slithers of light from the hallway seeped into the room. Kaz sat at his desk, face lit only by a singular lamp that cast sickly shadows on his sharpened features. He looked tired. He glanced up as you stepped further inside, a tired frown on his features.

“Y/n, I’m busy,” he muttered quietly, head falling gently over his eyes. His attention returned to the plans in front of him. You placed down the plate and mug on the table and smiled softly.

He looked at the plate in confusion as you spoke, “I brought you some food, and a drink.” He didn’t respond so you sat down in the chair opposite him. “You’ve been here for hours, Kaz. You need to take a break.”

He put a gloved hand against his temple and sighed, “There’s no time for breaks. Every detail needs to be perfect, this has to go smoothly for us.”

You nodded in understanding, this was a difficult thing for any person, let alone a group of teenagers. “I know, Kaz. we’re all working hard.” Kaz finally looked up at you for more than three seconds and his eyes narrowed into an unreadable expression.

“You and Inej are crucial to this plan, it wouldn’t be possible without you. But-” He cut himself off, breath catching in his throat. His next words were a whisper, “But I don’t want you to go.” Your brows furrowed in confusion, why was he changing his mind now, so soon before the heist?

You sat for a while, not knowing what to say, eventually, you assumed it was him not wanting to lose his two best ‘spies’ in one go. “Kaz, we’ve done this hundreds of times, Inej and I are fully prepared for whatever happens. You don’t have to worry.”

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping across the floor, scratching over the previous marks in the wood. His eyes seemed to hold a fervour to them you had never seen before. “It’s more than just the heist, Y/N. This job is dangerous. I can’t afford to lose anyone. I can’t afford to lose…you.”

You blinked a few times in confusion, not understanding where his sincerity had come from. He breathed out slowly and, almost as if it were against his human nature to do so, gingerly stepped forward, his eyes glued to your hands. “You’re important to me, Y/N.” His gaze flitted up to meet yours and his brows furrowed in what looked like pain as he stepped closer still. “Promise me you’ll get out if things get too dangerous.”

A sigh escaped your lips and you shook your head, “I’m not a child, Kaz. I’ve gone through worse, multiple times. You can’t expect me to stop now because you suddenly gained the ability to feel empathy.” You whispered. You hadn’t meant it to sound harsh, but the words sliced through him and his gaze lowered. Turning to the door, you began to walk away, aiming to get a semblance of a good night's sleep before the manic day of final planning began tomorrow.

Despite this aim, you only got part way toward the door when you felt cool leather grip your wrist. You gasped at the sensation and turned to see Kaz holding you in place. He breathed out shakily and his eyes closed for a moment, almost as if he were trying to calm himself. You gave him time. “Please.”

It was one word, barely a whisper above the sounds of Ketterdam from Kaz’s open window, yet it felt like a stone wall he had spent years building with his own scarred hands had come crumbling down. Heavy rocks he had cemented together with avoidance and fear fell onto his feet, pushing themselves against his chest and Jordie’s pained body lay on the other side. He withered there for a moment, trying to calm himself. He could feel the warmth of your hands through his gloves - the sensation blurring the memories of the cold bodies beneath him. He breathed in once more, eyes still shut.

“Please.”

You found yourself unable to breathe, not knowing how to deal with his vulnerability, it wasn’t something the Crows were known for. “Kaz…” You trailed off, moving closer and readjusting to hold his hand in both of yours. You worked slowly, trying to keep the both of you as calm as possible. His hand shook under yours and you released slightly, the ghost of your hand still gently touching his. “I can’t leave Inej to go alone.”

He met your eyes and nodded. He knew it would be how you'd reply. You were too good to all the people around him, too good for him. Eventually, Kaz pulled his hand away, the feeling of another person that close to him becoming too much. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, “I shouldn’t have asked that of you.”

He let you leave.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #writing #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #kaz is vulnerable for once #angst #a little angst never hurt anyone right #can i write a happy fic? its yet to happen

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LILACS AND FORGET ME NOTS

Pt TWO

PART ONE

Harry Styles x Queen!reader

Summary: its been a few years since your wedding to harry and you couldnt be happier

ASK: Could you write a prince Harry Styles/ princess reader. It can be an idea of your choosing PART TWO TO PREVIOUS ASK

Warnings: talks of battle, death of mother, mentions of scars, misogyny if u squint (mediaeval era)

word count: 1295

Three years had passed since the wedding and both you and Harry were the happiest you could be together. However, despite the connection between the two allied families, war was still building in the west and there was no way to avoid it. Your father had abdicated the throne two years ago and it was your job as Queen to assure your people would not feel the effects of the storms raging in other places.

Harry stuck by your side, an innocence to war that you envied. He was a good fighter, skilled in combat, but he had never fought in battle, you weren’t sure if he was prepared. You had chipped away at his rough personality for years and made him a kind, generous king, but it was up to you to fight now - something he didn’t agree with. You both sat at the large birch table in the dining hall, hands intertwined tightly.

“The Western armies are approaching quickly, Y/N. I’m sure you realise I am expected to fight?” Harry spoke softly, not taking his eyes off of his beloved wife. You nodded slowly, understanding what had to be done.

You put down your glass and took both of his hands in your own, talking quietly, “you must understand that I am to fight as well.” His eyes widened, shocked into a silence that you spoke into, “I am nothing if not my mother. I must lead her army the same way she had.”

You barely spoke of your mother, but a portrait of her hung in nearly every room, watching like some kind of goddess. Harry found himself staring at the paintings for hours, wondering about the shine in her eyes and the scars on her face. He had never seen the same determined glint of battle in your eyes, so your confession scared him.

“You can't. You aren’t prepared, my love.” He replied, worry spreading through him like fire. You spared a short glance with your maid and she nodded silently, leaving the room. This was a private matter and Tilly understood that. “I don’t know how I’d live if you were to be injured.”

You sighed and let go of his hands. “You don’t think I feel the same? You are strong, Harry, I know this. But you’ve never fought!” He stared at you for a moment. Then, so quietly you weren’t sure he had ever spoken, he whispered:

“How can you feel the same?” You questioned his words in confusion, barely understanding what he meant. He spoke loudly now, “You may be Queen, but you are no warrior either. I don’t have a choice, Y/N. I have to fight. You don’t.”

You scoffed and stood, heading over to the large fire and staring at the dwindling embers. “I find, what makes a good ruler is their ambition, their willingness to die for their people. Don’t you?” You heard a scrape behind you and after a moment, felt Harry’s strong hands gently clasp your waist. He rested his head on your shoulder, breathing in the smell of your perfume. You leaned backward into him.

The fire burned low, the room’s coldness forcing the flames away. “Promise me you won’t go.” He whispered, begging. You didn’t turn to look at him, knowing you would not be able to give your reply to his face. His breathing was calm against your neck, blowing small strands of hair away from your skin.

“I promise.”

What a solemn lie it was.

——

You woke in the early morning, the sun casting a golden hue over the room. You had written a letter in haste, the parchment creased from the amount of times you had folded and unfolded it to check the wording. Once you were certain it was perfect, you got ready, putting on a simple tunic and trousers. Your horse was waiting in the crisp morning air, its armour already placed and secured. You spent a moment calming her and placed your head against hers, whispering a silent plea to any sort of spiritual being that was listening for her safety, then set off, heading to the large open field where the battle was to take place.

Your horse slowed as it reached the main knight’s grounds and you felt the stares of Harry’s army on your back. They most likely didn’t expect any women to be on the battlefield. Your own army arrived moments later, clad in their glinting silver armour. You were handed a chest plate and chainmail of your own and quickly got prepared, your fingers gently grazing over the forget me nots branded onto the front. This was your mother’s armour, your mother’s weaponry and you wore it with pride.

You stood in the main tent, strategising with your Countess Marshal, when Harry stormed in, clad in his own armour. “You left, not only without me, but after you had promised to stay behind!” He shouted and the knight excused herself with a knowing smile toward you, she had known this was coming.

“There is no time for this Harry, there is a war.” You spoke back, writing notes quickly on a bit of parchment. He walked closer and took both of your hands, stopping you from working. His eyes blazed with anger and worry, but you could tell any anger was not aimed toward you, yet to himself for not keeping you safe. “This is my country's tradition.”

He stood there, still clasping your hands. “What do you mean by tradition? There is no tradition here; it is a battlefield.”

You sighed and let go, fixing your armour tighter to you. “I am very aware of where we are situated, Harry. Don’t be fooled by my apparent femininity, I am not naive to what a knight looks like. Did you think the scars on my mother’s portrait were from sewing? The women here fight, just the same as your men do. I am trained for this, as are my girls. Don’t you worry about some futile argument of whether or not I can when I clearly already have before under my mother’s guidance.”

Harry had never seen this side of you before, the ambition, the strength. You seemed like some sort of warrior queen he had only heard of in legend. He smiled and stood closer, taking your chin in his hand. “Well, let’s agree to let one another fight. Though, you cannot stop me from worrying about you.” You nodded and he leant forward, your lips connecting in a sweet kiss.

“Milady- oh.” Your Countess Marshall, Lilibet walked into the tent, stopping in her tracks as she saw the two of you kissing. Her face tinted red. “My apologies to your highnesses, but we are all prepared.”

You laughed and pulled away from the kiss, leaving a lingering longing in Harry’s heart for something more than what had been given. “My bow, Lili.” She grinned and handed it to you swiftly. Your fingers traced over the engravings in a soothing pattern as you made your way out of the tent, sparing one last glance at your husband. You placed your sword into its hilt and headed for your horse, brushing its main gently.

“My love!” Harry called out and you turned to see him running toward you. He placed a strong kiss to your lips and lifted you into his arms, the momentum spinning the both of you around. “A goodbye kiss” He whispered as you pulled apart.

The both of you smiled and you smoothed his mess of waves as you replied, “Stay true, fight honourably.” You climbed onto your horse and rode away, preparing your bow. Harry watched you leave with a kind, loving smile. He knew you’d fight. And he knew you’d win.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #prince harry x princess reader #king harry styles x you #king Harry styles x queen reader #queen reader #royal au #writing #text post

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Lilacs and Forget me nots

Part two

Harry Styles x princess!reader

Summary: Crown Prince Harry Styles is quiet, secluded and most of all, an asshole. No one would ever want to marry him. Unfortunately for you, you don’t get a choice

ASK: Could you write a prince Harry Styles/ princess reader. It can be an idea of your choosing but ideas are 1. they get engaged without their knowledge (something basic) I‘m really not that good at improvising so I‘ll let you decide on what to write and I‘m sure I‘ll love it! Thank you!!!

Warnings: none???

word count: 1645

“Engaged?” You practically screamed at your father, your face red from anger. He sat in his favourite armchair in his room, the work in front of him now discarded. You could barely believe the words that had just left his mouth - this definitely wasn’t something you were ready for.

He eventually looked up at you, his kind eyes tired. “I’m sorry Y/N, this is our only option. We need allies, Queen Anne’s kingdom can provide that.” He looked back down again, picking up a large weathered paper and beginning to read it.

You thought for a moment, realising who exactly he meant. Queen Anne had two kids and one of them was unavailable, leaving Harry. You sat down on the end of your father’s bed, tugging on your hair as you tried to wrap your head around it. “Harry? Is the allieship really worth me marrying an ass?” Your father tried not to laugh, trying to keep the situation serious.

“You will meet with him this evening, you will get along and unfortunately for you… you will marry him.” He replied, there was no room for argument and you knew that this was the end of the conversation. You left the room soon after, going to get prepared for the guests.

Harry sat beside his mother, idly fiddling with his shoulder length hair as the rest of his family spoke with the King and Queen. He did not want to be here and he could not be bothered to hide that. The girl he was supposed to marry hadn’t even bothered to show up yet and he felt as though he had wasted his best suit on this meeting.

After a while, the group sitting in the dining hall heard gentle laughter echo through the large corridor beside it and your mother smiled as she saw you enter the room, making small talk with one of the cooks. Harry turned to look at you, studying your face. Your E/C eyes were bright and, when they weren’t attentively watching the person talking, they were creased in a smile, your H/C hair was elegantly styled and your simple dress was shining in the candlelight.

He was ready to admit to himself that you were beautiful, but it didn’t change his mind. He did not want to marry. You sat in the seat beside him (one that you could tell was specifically placed for you and said your thanks to Poppy, the young cook you were good friends with before turning toward the conversation in front of you.

“Queen Anne, I’m sorry for my lateness, I simply lost track of time.” You spoke calmly, bowing your head. Harry scoffed and you turned to look at him, for a moment, not saying a word. Harry leaned back in his chair and began speaking with Gemma, who was on the other side of him.

You were ready to admit to yourself that he was handsome, but a handsome bastard is still a bastard - no matter how dazzling their emerald eyes were. You listened politely to conversation, nodding every now and then to assure them you were listening but in reality you couldn’t concentrate. You could feel Harry’s stare on you and it was obvious that he wasn’t even attempting to join in on this conversation. He was judging, cold and you couldn’t bear to be near him.

The meal ended after what was four arduous hours and you excused yourself from the table, heading back to your room. It only took a moment for Harry to follow after, stopping you in the middle of the hallway by grabbing your wrist. “Y/N.” You turned to look at him, taking him in fully for the first time. His ringed hand was still gripping your wrist, his body moving closer to yours to speak more quietly. “It’s clear that neither of us want to marry the other.” You sigh in relief as he spoke again, “So, we have the ceremony and we don’t talk again.”

You shook your head, moving closer to him to argue back. “I want to marry for love. If I wed some bastard that wouldn’t care if I died, I'd never be able to marry a person who I truly want to spend my life with.” You pulled your wrist from his grasp, frustration circling like a cloud in your mind. “I refuse to marry you, even for the sake of an allyship.”

He scoffed, “If we are speaking our minds then let me make it plain. I don’t wish to wed you either, the difference between us here is that I’m not a childish girl.”

“Aren’t you?” Harry never moved from his spot and, though you wanted to, you found yourself unable to move anyway. You could feel his breath, sharp against your cheek and his hands, that were mere inches away from yours, repeatedly clenched, his fingers brushing against yours every few moments.

There was a tension. It settled in the hallway like the remnants of an echo. Harry’s eyes lost their fury, softening under your gaze. You stood your ground, not understanding how to feel as your lips parted to sigh gently. You could feel yourself inch closer. He did the same. It was only when his eyes closed that you pulled away. Not uttering another word to the prince.

---

Harry’s family had had residence in your palace grounds for the past few weeks - the guest chambers available to them until the wedding. Everybody in the palace was busy, decorations were being placed and final adjustments to be made. It was in your Kingdom’s best interest that as many royals attend as possible, the allyship between you and Harry creating many opportunities for many people. You sat in the middle of your room, wearing nothing but your white boned corset and a long, sheer underskirt.

“I just find it unfair that I have to wear this torture and he gets to wear nothing but a suit.” You refused to even say his name and hadn’t done so since that evening. Your maid, Tilly, laughed gently, muttering to herself about your repetitive complaints. You huffed as she stood you back up and continued to tighten your corset as there was a knock at the door.

Neither of you had a chance to answer as it swung open, revealing Harry stood there in his suit. You quickly attempted to cover yourself with your hands as he walked in, speaking furiously. “Please tell me it was not you that invited that Duke.” The look on his face told you who was talking about, “I feel as though the both of us are already uncomfortable enough with this wedding and having him in attendance won’t make the situation any less easy.”

“That’s not the only reason she may be uncomfortable, m’lord.” Tilly spoke quickly, a sharp, motherly tone in her voice. He turned to look at the two of you, eyes widening as he realised the situation. Harry swiftly spun around, turning to face the door. His cheeks flushed red.

He pulled at his hair, fiddling with one of the plaits that had been braided into it. “I was just wondering if I had the permission to politely escort him from the grounds.”

You shook your head, arms still covering your body. “I don’t think that wise, Harry,” Then you smiled to yourself, tilting your head down so he wouldn’t see you laugh, “It’s also not wise to pretend you’re not looking at me while intensely watching me through the mirror as you have been doing since you turned away.”

You could see the blush on his face through the mirror and attempted to stifle a laugh as he coughed awkwardly, leaving the room once more without a goodbye. Tilly scoffed and began to get to work again, listing endless complaints about the boy who had just intruded. Your mind was clouded, you didn’t know what to think anymore.

---

Harry stood nervously at the altar, these last few weeks having given him time to think. His hair had been fixed for the fifth time now as his shaking hands kept stressfully removing the braids (much to the hairstylists chagrin). Y/N was meant to arrive any moment now and, as he stood in the wood, looking at all of the lights that the designers had hidden in the trees and waited, palms oddly sweaty.

Then, as if you had read his mind, you stood at the end of the aisle. Your dress was impossibly beautiful. The corset section was almost similar to armour, with lilac flowers embroidered onto the bone, the flower of his kingdom. The gentle lace at the top of the corset was a light purple, and the silk, off-the-shoulder sleeves seemed perfectly placed. The skirt was clean and white, the length of it trailing behind you. The bottom of the dress slowly became tulle (almost like a fabric gradient) and eventually made it look as though a trial of lilacs was following behind you. Harry’s white suit perfectly matched yours, though the embroidery on his was that of forget-me-nots, the flower that was on the front of your family's crest, chosen by your family to represent devotion, loyalty and true love.

At that moment, it was as though a switch had flipped. Harry’s throat went dry, his eyes taking you in as if he might never see you again. When you reached his side, he leant forward, whispering into your ear, “Any cruel word ever uttered from my lips toward you hurts me to remember. I regret every cold moment that could’ve been spent relishing in your elegance. I am truly sorry if I have harmed you.” He leaned away again, a genuine smile on his face.

You met his eyes and raised your hands to take his. “All is forgiven, my prince.”

#fic #fanfic #one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #prince harry #prince hair harry felt fitting for this #prince hair harry #prince harry x princess reader #prince harry styles #prince harry styles x reader

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Hi! If you're accepting requests for Supernatural, could you write a Sam Winchester x-reader based on season one? Maybe Y/N gets hurt, or she is taken? I've been rewatching the show lately, and I forget how much I love the first season. And you decide if it's angst fluff ;) Thank you!!

Vamp Bites

Sam Winchester x gn!reader

Summary: Season One: You are on a hunt with Sam and Dean and one particular Vamp won’t go down without a fight.

Warnings: injury, blood, gore warning, needle mention

word count: 1055 words

Sorry this took so long to post lovely!! I had fun writing it and hope you love it! I took a small hiatus for college reasons so any other requests will come soon!!!

GIF BY ME

You had arrived at a small dingy house around fifteen minutes ago and the three of you had just managed to unlock the rotting wooden doors, expecting to be met with an overwhelming number of vampires. Instead, there was an eerie silence, it lingered against damp walls and followed the dripping water that fell from the ceiling. Dean had got the first two vampires that were waiting outside, so you were expecting more of a fight from their family.

Sam signalled for you to follow him down one of the corridors while Dean scoped the wider area, knuckles white from his grip on the machete. Sam’s head scraped against the low ceiling, his hand out in front of him to stop any cobwebs from hitting his face.

You trailed behind, a slightly old machete in your hand as you checked every nook and cranny that Sam may have missed. He suddenly sped forward, hearing a bang in the distance and called after you to follow him - not turning to see if you had due to his urgency. You attempted to head through the door he had sped through when you felt a pain spread through the back of your head like fire. Suddenly the lights were too bright yet sounds seemed impossibly muffled, as if you had just fallen underwater. Your head hit the ground before you could attempt to fight back.

---

You woke up with a start, your hand reaching for the machete you had dropped but it was nowhere to be seen. You heard a laugh and looked up to see a teenager, one that only looked to be seventeen, stalk toward you. There was a glint in her eye and she was holding your weapon in her hand.

“Your boys won’t find you, I’ve got you hidden away.” She spoke with a snarl. If you strained your hearing you could hear muffled yells of your name, Sam’s voice calling out for you in the old house. She took the machete and brought it to your throat, pulling your hair with her spare hand. The side of the blade pushed harshly against your neck, the silver slicing small cuts into your skin. You hissed in pain, knowing if you screamed it would only make everything worse. So, you held the vamps gaze, showing it you weren’t scared of some spotty seventeen year old with gross fangs.

The weapon finally moved away from your neck when she realised you weren’t intimidated and so instead decided to try a new tactic. She swung her arm up and brought it down with a slash, the metal far enough away that it didn’t slice through your skin fully, but enough that it caught against your forearms, slicing against them in repeated motions. Now, you screamed.

The sound seemed to reverberate through the building and Sam attempted to follow the noise as the screams continued. He reached a large locked door and put his ear against it, the sound of your voice having disappeared moments before. He listened for shuffling inside, straining to even get a sense that you were in there.

You tried to stifle your cries, not realising that Sam was on the other side of the door, so instead you watched as the vamp put the machete on the floor, stalking towards you with her teeth bared. Then she dug her teeth into your throat and you yelled out once more.

The door began to rattle and, after a moment, it crashed to the floor revealing a furious Sam, his hair falling in front of his eyes as he approached. There was malice in his gaze as he separated the vampire’s head from her body but his eyes instantly softened as soon as he looked towards you.

“Y/N?” He began, moving toward you quickly, his hands gently taking yours as he helped you to stand. “Are you ok?” You nodded and brushed him off, not wanting to make a big deal out of something you should’ve been able to handle. He stepped back, but still kept his eyes on you, making sure you weren’t going to collapse.

You headed back to the hotel room and lay on the uncomfortable bed, trying not to touch any of the cuts against the fabric for fear it would sting. There was a knock at the door and you sighed as Sam walked in, eyes full of sympathy.

He sat next to you and put a small bag beside him. “I brought some medical supplies.” He smiled awkwardly and you sat up.

“Sam, I’ll be fine, I can do this later.”

His smile dropped for a moment and he stepped closer. He gently grazed the tips of his fingers over each cut, trying hard to not cause you too much pain, “or you can let me help you.” He spoke quietly, his voice soft in the silence of the room.

Sam’s hands worked delicately and with such care it would seem as though your skin was fine china. The tips of his fingers danced around the injuries and his brows furrowed in concentration, eyes widening in apology if he accidentally touched any of the cuts.

Your neck hurt the most, an ache settling deep in it as though you had been injected by a needle. You tried to move it gently, to wring out the feeling, but Sam gently held your cheek, stopping your movements. “Don’t.” He said gently, but the way it sounded stopped you in your tracks.

Sam attempted to clean the wound, but the pain that swept through you was too much to bear. You cried gently and Sam immediately stopped, pressing his forehead to yours as he gently shushed you, his hand brushing your hair in soothing motions. “Let me know when you need a break, ok?” He whispered and you nodded, breath shaking. After a while of work, the wound was clean and he gently put a plaster over it.

Your eyes were red from tears and his own gaze was misted, him not being able to bear seeing you cry. “Thank you.” You whispered as he gently brought you in for a hug, feeling as though he were cradling you. The both of you stayed here a while, comfortable in the knowledge that you both had each other should you get hurt.

[green-typewriterz]

Iron burns

King!Harry Styles x gn!reader

Summary: fantasy AU - you are a cook in the castle kitchens and are delivering food to your King, but the pan is slightly too hot.

Warnings: injury, burns, Harry is smitten

Prompt: “You don’t need to do this.” “I want to.”

word count: 1K

GIF BY ME

The food had to be perfect. Everything had to be perfect. You had been working in the castle kitchens since you were old enough to walk, having taken over from your mother and her mother before her. Your family were trusted within the castle walls, and you were the one to prepare the most excellent meals whenever King Harry had guests over. The food that you had to prepare tonight wasn’t particularly interesting, just a meat stew of some kind, but even then you felt as if you had an expectation to be perfect.

You lifted the large metal pot with both hands, making sure you had a firm grip on it as you made your way from the kitchens and up the large stone stairs. Your feet echoed as you walked, your eyes firmly on the food so none of it would spill. You reached the dining hall and the doors swung open, Harry’s eyes flitting over as you hurried toward the table. Just as you reached it, an untied lace on your boot trapped itself under your foot and you tripped forward, spilling some of the stew onto your hands. You quickly placed the pot down on the table to stop any further accidents before clutching your hands together.

Harry rushed over from the head of the table and took your hands gently. “Y/N” He began, his eyes begging you to meet his gaze. You kept your eyes on the floor and bowed lowly, biting your lip so you wouldn’t cry. “Are you alright?” He asked and you looked up at him, face flushed in embarrassment.

“I am greatly sorry M’lord, I will clean this mess and then I will excuse myself.” You spoke and Harry seemed almost shocked at the thought that you assumed he would remove you from the castle staff. He took a cold pitcher of water from the table and gently traced his fingers over your hand, making sure you wouldn’t leave his side as he did. Then, with a small, worried smile he poured the water over your hand, frowning as you winced in pain. He caught the water on a cloth under your hand, which he then wrung back into the pitcher, before repeating the process until the water ran out. He knew this wasn’t the cleanest way, but it would soothe the pain.

You felt so embarrassed that the king had to deal with this and whispered (almost silently), “You don’t need to do this.” Your hands shook as you spoke and you couldn’t bear to look at him, or even near him. There was an emotion you couldn’t describe that almost radiated from him, the way he watched and cared for your injuries.

“I want to.” He replied softly, care laced in his tone. You looked up at him. Neat brown curls fell gently over his eyes and the small scar under his chin that you could see when he looked up. He kept his hands near you at all times, assuring you that you would be okay with small whispers. Harry was a caring king, this was a fact known across the kingdom, but you had never seen him acting like this, not in your years of working for him. He pulled out a chair and guided you to it, helping you to sit as if it were your legs that were burnt and not your hands. He sat down next to you and signalled to a knight to get the doctor. Though you tried not to, the pain from the burns was too harsh and a few tears fell from your eyes.

He gently took your chin in his hand and wiped the tear from your cheek, beginning to hum a song you had never heard in an attempt to soothe you. Eventually, the doctor arrived and you were ushered out of the dining hall, away from Harry’s worried gaze.

;༊

Days later, you were walking through the corridor of the castle when Harry along with his advisor and a few people whom you assumed were friends passed you. You quickly went into a bow until they had passed by, but heard the echoing footsteps stop as Harry spoke, “Pauli, keep going, I’ll follow after in a moment.” You looked up to see  Harry still standing there, a gentle smile on his face.

“How are your hands?” He asked, taking them in his own. The long sleeves of his cloak brush gently against your fingertips as he looks at the residual markings from where you burnt yourself. Harry’s hands seemed like an impossible combination of soft and coarse, his hands worn from battles gone by but there was a softness to his fingertips, one that sent a shiver down your spine.

You smiled gratefully, “Much better Your Highness, there is no pain thanks to your kindness.” He smiled as you bowed again in thanks. He gently took your chin as he had all those days ago and lifted you back to meet his eyes. There was emotion and meaning behind every movement the king had and you felt as though every time his skin touched you there was some kind of electric shock travelling through your body.

“Please,” He began, holding one hand to his chest as if he was the one who should be thankful, “Call me Harry. Your family has been loyal for generations, it’s only fair I show the same neverending respect you show me.” Harry’s lips slowly curved into a smile and eventually, the brightness behind his eyes made you smile in return.

Neither of you spoke for a while, simply watching each other in silence, your hands still holding each other. There was a fire in his eyes, it shone in a glint that looked like stars. It almost felt as if he were moving closer to you, his gaze moving down to your lips for a split second.

“Harry!” a voice spoke and you both looked over to see one of the Lords the king was speaking to earlier. He backed away quickly, coughing as if that would knock him from his trance. He looked back at you for a moment before moving away and toward his friend.

Shivers spread through your body as he turned to look at you just before he turned the corner, his eyes shining with want. As much as you wished for it, you knew nothing more could ever happen. He was the king, you were nothing but a cook.

#fic #fanfic #one shot #harry styles x reader #Royal harry styles #harry styles x you #king harry styles x you #fantasy #medieval #fantasy au

[green-typewriterz]

finnick odair horse riding fic. put that man in a polo shirt put that man on the beach with a pony

The sand was never real but we pretended it was

Finnick Odair x gn!reader Summary: you and Finnick spend time together before the 75th games are announced, going horseriding and trying to stay away from the cameras Warnings: fluff. Pretty much pure fluff word count: 762

its like 3 words squared but here u go slay enjoy ur man on a horse

Finnick often reminisced to you about the white sand beaches in District Four and how he could swim every morning without pathetic prying eyes and you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. Having won your games at eighteen, you had had the chance to have most of a reasonable childhood over in District Seven, keeping the people around you safe and gardening until your hands were sore, but Finnick didn’t get that luxury.

So, one morning - after weeks of meticulous planning - you had managed to convince Finnick to go on a quiet walk with you around the capitol. You had secretly packed him a pair of navy blue board shorts and a matching blue costume for you. When you got near the destination, you put your hands over his eyes and led him toward the makeshift beach that you had begged a particularly rich District One victor to help you make.

“Y/N/N? What’s going on?” He asked with excitement in his voice. He gasped in shock when his feet sunk into the memorable feeling of sand and he removed your hands from his eyes to see a small beach next to the coast of the Capitol. He turned to you with a giddy smile. “You did all of this for me?” He asked, pulling you into a hug.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around him as you spoke, “You said you missed the beach so I got my hands dirty.” He laughed and picked you up, spinning you in his arms and whispering ‘I love you’ into your ear as many times as he could. You both sat in the sand for a while, blissful, but not ignorant to the cameras that were inevitably watching and - though you couldn’t be quite as close as you had aimed - you both had the best time you had had for a long while.

It had reached midday when your friend arrived with the next present. “You mentioned you know how to horse ride.” You spoke and Finnick's eyes widened.

He walked toward the large brown horse and began to stroke its mane gently, smiling at how much effort you put into today. “Correction, knew,” he replied and turned to face with an amused look in his eye. “But I’m sure it’s just like riding a bike.” You laughed as he climbed up onto the horse.

He had surprisingly done pretty well, having not fallen once yet - you assumed it was the calm temperament of the horse. He rode for a long while and you joined him every now and then, him coaxing you up onto the steed so he could show you the reigns, but you both eventually agreed that it wasn’t really your thing.

You watched in awe as his blonde hair ruffled gently in the wind and how effortlessly perfect he looked. It was as if he was always meant to be there. Now in his board shorts, you couldn’t help but admire his perfect body, his skin sunkissed and slightly freckled. He never was a fan of the scars that hid there, but you always assured him they were beautiful and showed that he was strong. He was perfect up there. Well, until he fell off. You instantly ran over to check on him and found him pretty much face down on the floor. You shook him but he didn’t respond, until he rolled over onto his back, roaring with laughter. You hit his shoulder gently, not in annoyance but more in relief - you weren’t sure how to describe it.

He took you by your waist and pulled you on top of him, the both of you comfortable against the warm sand of the beach. He kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips repeatedly, his hands gently caressing your waist. Then, without warning, you rolled over so he knelt over you and tackled him to the ground, starting an impromptu wrestling match that quickly ended when you kissed his neck in an attempt to distract him (which worked perfectly).

You both watched the sunset on the beach, hands holding one another as the brilliant amber hues shone in the sky. Though you had to be reasonably discrete so Capitolites wouldn’t catch you, today had been the perfect blend of relaxation and fun, something you had a feeling you weren’t going to feel again for a long while. You sighed in contentment as the stars began to shine, knowing that - no matter what - you would fight to spend every day with Finnick, for the rest of your life.

#finnick x y/n #finnick odair #finnick x you #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x yn #finnick odair x you #fic #fanfic #one shot #fan fic #wiritng #hunger games

[green-typewriterz]

Can you write some angsty stuff followed by fluff. Something with Harry styles.

Basically reader being heavier and insecure had no male attention all her life. She is a big time introvert and opens up after a lot of struggle. But her life changes when Harry makes an entry.

Until I Found You - Harry Styles

Harry Styles x fem!reader Summary: You’ve never been overly confident, but then someone comes along and makes you feel things you’ve never felt Warnings: angst to fluff, body insecurity, Harry being perfect as per usual Word count: 1K words

I hope this is what you were looking for lovely! Thank you so much for requesting!

You were no stranger to the judging stares that came with the industry you were in, fashion was a tough career as it is without everyone thinking you couldn’t be fashionable just because you weren’t thin. It’s not like you could escape it either, the main part of your job being styling overly self-obsessed celebrities who think they’re perfect and everyone else is ugly. You always tried to stay confident, posting outfit of the days and filtering out hate comments for your own mental health, but somehow some always got through and you would be lying if you said it never affected you.

You assumed this would be the same, some singer you didn’t really care enough about judging you and shitting on your outfit choices even though most of the time you put them in their own wardrobe and they were too stupid to realise they picked the clothes themselves. You walked into the dressing room to see this one particular celebrity talking with your PA who was helping him pick from the sequins you would later have to meticulously embroider.

“You must be Harry,” you spoke, walking over with your hand outstretched for him to shake, “I’m Y/N, I'm your designer!” He took your hand immediately, shaking it without breaking eye contact. He was wearing a simple short-sleeved t-shirt with a pair of ripped jeans. His hair was pushed back away from his face with a pair of brown Gucci sunglasses and he wore two necklaces, one made of pearl and the other a cross.

He smiled warmly before replying, “I know who you are. The famous Y/N Y/L/N? C’mon, you’re renowned. Thank you for taking the time to come and help me.” His voice was soft and genuine (which you will admit created butterflies in your stomach) then you quickly got to work on creating the outfit that he would wear to the Grammys. He pointed at crystals every now and then, commenting on how they’d match his shoes or his nails - which he planned to paint pink. At this current moment, they were a deep shade of blue, almost the same colour as his navy Adidas gazelles. 

You had just assumed that Harry was just being nice but - though he was being polite - he found himself unable to take his eyes off of you. He had heard about you through the endless attack of hate that you got just for looking how you look. Harry never understood it, he thought you were beautiful, often seeing photos of you and thinking of Italian Renaissance statues.

The day ended quickly and for that, you couldn’t be happier. You got in your car and cried, tears hot against your cheeks as you thought back to how you felt that day. Harry didn’t stop staring at you, at your body. You knew that most people didn’t like how you looked, but the fact that he looked at you for so long. It made you want to shrink into the floor. You were still in your car, having just stopped crying when you reached the impulsive part of your breakdowns so you got out your phone and sent a tweet.

Y/N

So fucking sick of all this body hatred in my line of work. My body is beautiful purely because it is mine and it exists, get over it.

You immediately closed your phone, knowing you wouldn’t feel regret until the inevitable negative comments came a few hours later. You drove home and collapsed onto your sofa, feeling overly proud of yourself for what you had tweeted. Well, that was until you got a text message from Harry asking if the tweet was about him. You weren’t sure how to respond, not wanting to face the problem head-on this early. But, deciding it could only get worse, you replied.

Y/N

So?

There was no reply for a while, then:

Harry

We need to talk this through in person. Meet me in St James’ Park. Please. - H

You froze. No one had ever done this before. You knew that it was getting late, but something was drawing you there so you grabbed your coat and a pair of gloves before rushing out the door, the park only being a five-minute walk from you.

You debated walking up to him, standing there hoping he would keep his eyes on the sunset so you could just turn around and go. Of course that didn’t happen. “Y/N. I wanted to apologise for today. I sincerely promise I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” 

You crossed your arms, staring into his bright eyes. “Cut the shit. I have gotten the same treatment from every other celebrity I’ve worked with Harry. Each one thinks they're better than me because they have every person's dream body.” You spoke, your words creating a mist in the cold.

He shook his head and stepped closer. “I promise you. That’s not what I was thinking.”

You scoffed, looking away from him as you unfolded your arms. You didn’t believe him even though deep down you wanted to. He took your hands suddenly and you met his gaze again, his eyes filled with an emotion you’d never seen before. 

“Is it so hard to believe that I find you intoxicatingly beautiful?” He asked, brows furrowed in confusion. He stepped closer again. “Everything about you, call me corny but I feel like i haven’t seen beauty like yours since I saw the statues in Rome.”

You blushed as he slowly moved his hands from your hands to your waist, his soft grip settling there as if it were the place it was destined to be. You stared at his lips, seeing them curve into a soft smile full of adoration. He leaned in slowly, making sure you wanted the same as him. You met his lips in the cold, the taste of his mint gum lingering on his lips.

“I’ve always been crazy about you, Y/N.” He whispered as you pulled away. You rested your foreheads against one another, hands still on each other's waists. This was something you never wanted to end.

The sun had set a long while ago, but the two of you were still in the park, quietly talking as you held hands, looking at the stars from an old rickety bench. Harry liked you for both your body and your heart and that was something you thought you’d never get.

#harry styles x reader #one shot #fic #fanfic #harry styles #angst #fluff #writing #harry styles x you

[green-typewriterz]

Lip Balm on Papercuts - Sam Winchester

sam winchester x fem!reader

Summary: you and Sam are researching for a hunt with particularly old books Warnings: fluff, cute yet awkward Sam, season two Word count: 1k words

Dean had left you and Sam alone in the motel room roughly five minutes ago, claiming that he had to ‘pick up some items for the journey’. You assumed he just wanted to get out of research. The two of you sat at the small round table flipping through pages in hopes of finding answers about this ghost. It was meant to just be a simple salt and burn, but of course, it was never that easy. You looked over at Sam every now and then, smiling at how his hair gently fell over his eyes when he looked down at the book in his lap or how the screen gently lit up his pointed features. 

He could tell you were staring but he’d never quite catch your eye, You were too quick for him but he swore that in the gentle light coming from the lamp in the corner, he could see a faint blush on your cheeks. You flipped a page of the old book you had brought back from the local library and hissed when it sliced your finger, giving you a rather harsh paper cut. Sam looked up at you worriedly, laughing to himself when he saw you gently cradling your pointer finger with your other hand as if it were a hurt baby. 

He leaned over. “Another paper cut?” He asked, sighing when you nodded. Sam looked over to the open draw and saw that they didn’t have a single plaster left in sight - they had been used up by the amount of research the two had done. 

“I just don’t understand how, after all of the hunting we’ve done, a papercut is still the most painful thing in the world.” You complained and Sam smiled, the dimples in his cheeks making you look away from him. You looked out the window to distract yourself from him, gently blowing on your finger to attempt to stop the pain - you never really knew why you did this with small superficial cuts but it always seemed to help.

“I’ve heard lip balm can help soothe it,” Sam spoke and you looked back over to see him smiling gently before sticking his hands into his coat pockets. He frowned when he came out empty-handed. 

You watched him as he searched around for the lip balm, not really focusing on the injury anymore but rather on how sweet it was that he was doing this for you. Sam turned to face you again looking defeated. “It’s fine Sam, it doesn’t hurt that much anymore.” He shook his head, determined. 

Sam took your hand and inspected the tiny cut and you laughed at how he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Then, rather unexpectedly, he softly brought his lips to your finger and kissed the papercut. Your brows raised as heat turned your ears red. He pulled back and you noticed that he too was blushing. He scratched the back of his neck and laughed awkwardly as sank in what he had done. “I had some lip balm on…so.” He almost immediately got back to work, typing on his laptop as you stared at him, noticing the small awkward smile that played on his lips. He stood up after a minute or so and went to grab another book from his bag. When he leant over, a few things fell out of his jacket pockets and you immediately bent down to help him. Sam’s eyes widened in embarrassment as you picked up a strawberry lip balm and realised he was lying. “Uh,” He began awkwardly, “Maybe I did have some.” He attempted, but the blush on his cheeks gave him away. 

You smiled and walked over, handing it back to him, “If you wanted to kiss me you could’ve just said so, Sam.” You spoke and he blushed even harder, quickly putting everything back into his pockets. You stepped closer, suddenly feeling a wave of confidence as you realised he felt the same for you. 

You both stood in silence for a moment, both trying to think of what to say until you got an idea. “Sam, I’ve got another papercut,” you began and he looked into your eyes with confusion, “it’s in an odd place though. I fell asleep on my book so I’ve got a small cut on my lip, do you think you could use the lip balm to soothe it?” 

Eventually, he put two and two together, smiling at your request before replying, “I would, but I can’t seem to find it.” He inched closer, “But… I am wearing some if you wouldn’t mind?”

You grinned and closed the gap, pressing your lips to his with a gentle smile. His lips were soft and tasted very softly of the strawberry chapstick that he had ‘lost’. He placed his hand on the back of your neck and deepened the kiss, his other hand sliding over your waist. You doubted that either of you would’ve pulled away anytime soon had Dean not walked in singing some Guns N’ Roses song.

He stopped in his tracks, nearly dropping his groceries as a smile spread over his features. “Nice lipstick, Sammy.” He mocked and Sam looked into the window of the motel to see your shimmery lipgloss smudged onto his face. He looked at you and smiled awkwardly before looking back at Dean. Neither of you really knew what to say and the older hunter's almost giddy grin became increasingly annoying. Eventually, you decided to call it a night and headed to your room, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket as you sat down on your bed.

Sam: If you ever get a papercut on your lip again, I’m always here :]

You grinned at his response but didn’t reply, feeling too giddy to type. So instead you fell back onto your bed, smiling to yourself at how the evening had gone. Dean would most definitely lecture the both of you individually in the morning (well less of a lecture and more of a congratulations) but you brushed that off, falling asleep in the hope that you would dream about kissing Sam again.

#sam winchester x reader #one shot #fic #sam winchester is awkward #season two spn #supernatural #sam winchester #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x fem!reader #fem!reader