⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

May Masterpost

Happy Birthday Sammy! - by @justwhisperingfantasies

Rating - Explicit

Word Count - 1.3k

Pairing - Gabriel/Sam Winchester/Castiel

Sam gets a special birthday surprise from his 2 favorite angels

Aren't You A Little Short For A Wookie? - by @samanddean76

Rating - Explicit

Word Count - 1.5k

Pairing - Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Dean has a birthday surprise all lined up for Sam.

The One in Which Sam Finds Solace in Gabriel - by @sabriel4evah

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 731

Pairing - Sam Winchester/Gabriel

Every year on Sam's birthday he is always forgotten about, that is, until Gabriel comes along.

I Know - by @copperboom82

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 11.6

Pairing - Dean Winchester/OC

When Sam gets to pick what he wants to do for his 14th birthday, he decides he wants to celebrate May the Fourth at Bobby's, which means Dean gets to spend an unexpected weekend with his girlfriend. Set in May 1997.

🌸Brighter Than the Sun - by @hiighlighterr

Pairing - Gabriel/Sam Winchester

Rating - General Audiences

Word Count - 7.5k

He was meant to adore humanity in the same way God did. Gabriel was destined to meet this soul on those desert nights. He was meant to fall for it, meant to watch it and grieve it and find it again. Fate had strummed out melodies of love and loss in the threads connecting Sam and Gabriel, and now he finally heard them.

🌷Don't Mention It - by @justwhisperingfantasies

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 800

On your way back to Bobby's, you run into a well-known hunter.

🏵 The Story of How the Winchesters Got Their Angels and Team Free Will Got a New Member - by @sabriel4evah

Pairing - Gabriel/Sam Winchester , Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 1.4k

Sam wakes up to Dean as a bunny, and a certain trickster archangel is behind it. Why, you ask? Well...guess you gotta find out.

🪻Here Comes The Sun - by @copperboom82

Pairing - Dean Winchester/Female OC

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 1.9k

Dean and Katrina take a moment to enjoy the day together. Set early season 8 of SPN, and part of the Long Winding Roads collection.

🌼 Spring Equinox - by @gublernatural

Pairing - Sam Winchester/Reader

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 1.7k

Sam’s girl is stuck in Hell for a long, dreadful winter. he is given sunshine, flowers, and a beautiful gift when he makes it to spring.

🌹Solitude - by @samanddean76

Pairing - Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating - Teen and Up Audiences

Word Count - 644

Castiel would always miss the warmth of the sun on his skin. Even if his sun was a person.

🌻 It's a Flemish Giant Rabbit Sam Winchester - by @mulletbro

Pairing - Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester (background)

Rating - General Audiences

Word Count - 10k

Sam is a rabbit, Castiel lied to Dean about it. But that's fine. The two of them can do this on their own. Just Castiel and his best friend. Sam the Rabbit. This was fine.

🪷 Leafy Greens - by @maraudersoup

Pairing - Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating - General Audiences

Word Count - 4.9k

Dean becomes cursed to turn into a bunny a couple of months after everything goes down. (Everybody lives, nobody dies AU after season 15.)

As if to test your claim, his fingers pulled the needle just a little bit tighter—never with the intent of actually hurting you, only to see you squirm and prove your theory wrong.

You could sit in front of him insisting you were fine all you wanted. At the end of the day you were still bleeding heavily, with the color drained from your face and your breathing shallow as if the smallest movement made your whole body ache.

You were having a tough time just sitting on the edge of the motel bed, Sam crouching in front of you. He briefly blinked up at you from between your knees and were it not for the gravity of your situation, you would’ve definitely teased him for the proximity.

“You will be okay,” Sam responded with a short nod. Not so much an agreeing statement as it was a promise. He’d make sure you’d be alright. He always does.

“Just hold still f’me, ‘kay?,” Sam sighed, brows furrowed and concern still swirled into the hazel of his eyes. He soothed over the edge of your fresh stitches after, his thumb barely grazing your bruised, sensitive skin there. Whether or not you usually disliked being treated like some delicate porcelain doll, you were in no position to complain now.

You owed him the chance of tracing your warmth, of reminding himself that you were still here. Hurt, sure. But at least alive.

Silence occupied the room then, Sam’s sole focus on closing the wound, on letting the warmth of his fingers linger against your skin in hopes of magically absorbing some of your pain.

You both knew when to argue and now was not the time.

Sam could’ve easily scolded you for your reckless actions and he’d have every right to be mad at you for risking your life like that. But how could he stay mad at you when your soft fingers curled in his shirt like that? Your grip tightening every time he worked the needle into another stitch through your skin.

The wound was deep, a nasty gash raking across your ribs, stopping just shy of the dip above your hips. The longer he looked at it, even while cleaning and patching you up with utmost care, the harder the realization hit him.

He was mostly done cleaning the cut, but the deep crimson gushing from your injury was ingrained deeply into his mind. Surely it would be for a while.

You’ve seen each other beaten up and bruised and hurt, but tonight—the image of you nearly bleeding out back there was a gut punch like none other.

Sam almost lost you today. For good.

The danger of hunting was always on both your minds, but there’s a difference between knowing something could theoretically happen and something actually happening.

It all transpired so fast, too. A hunt almost gone wrong, that creature slashing you with its claws—if he started thinking about what would’ve happened if any of your vital organs would’ve been hit, if Sam hadn’t taped you up on the spot and rushed back to the motel with you…

“Sam,” your voice, though weary, interrupted the spiral of his mind.

He lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting yours and looking into them as if he wanted to drown in their color. He didn’t even want to think about how close of a call this case was. How that light in your eyes might’ve almost been snuffed out. How that would’ve changed the trajectory of his entire life. Of everything.

“I mean it,” you continued, soft-spoken, apologetic, almost a whisper. One hand of yours gently cupping his jaw. “I’m okay.”

Your hand brushed over the side of his neck, further south across his arm, all the way down to his hand that just finished tying the stitches together. You carefully took the needle from his grip and replaced the object with your own hand, letting it rest in his.

Your other hand found home in the nape of his neck, slowly pulling him closer. Though the frown never disappeared from Sam’s face, he gave in, letting you hold him closer.

Naturally, his arm slipped around your waist, supporting your weight by splaying a large hand across the small of your back. You melted into the touch, like always, letting yourself sink back into the mattress. Though your ministrations were slower than usual, given your battered state. Sam noticed, carefully readjusting your posture until the clench in your jaw softened.

Against his better judgement, he allowed you to pull him on top of you, meeting you halfway by climbing onto the bed and settling between your legs. Though he did his best not to crush you with his weight, not wanting to put any pressure on your fresh bandages, Sam could relate to your need for closeness all too well.

You tangled your limbs with his, clingy as always, though he’d never complain about it.

Except this time—

“You need some rest, sweetheart,” Sam whispered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

His breath was warm and soothing against your skin, and triggering you to pout softly and shake your head.

“Need you, Sammy,” you breathed.

And, God, he needed you too. To feel your pulse quicken under his touch. To feel your pulse at all. To hear your breath hitch when you’d gasp his name. To hear your lungs pumping to begin with.

“I don’t wanna hurt you, baby,” he mumbled.

“You won’t,” you replied, so matter-of-factly, so earnestly, that the blind trust you had in him made him melt.

You leaned forward just a bit, as much as you could, your mouth tickling the corner of his lips. Your fingers slipped under his flannel, peeling the fabric off his shoulders. The newly exposed skin was immediately covered in feather light kisses, down his jaw and neck, to his collarbone.

Sam gently, but firmly took your wrists, pinning them above your head. Not to stop this, just to stop you—from getting ahead of yourself. From forgetting it was supposed to be him taking care of you.

Sam’s lips claimed yours in a deep kiss, tasting the sweetness of your tongue against his, drinking up your small mewls and whimpers. You were impossibly soft and warm, inviting him in even further.

You clung to him as if your life depended on it, pressing your chest up against his with the purpose to transfer the rhythm of your heartbeat.

His ministrations were the perfect blend of careful and firm. He was exploring your body with purpose, holding you close with the intent of not letting go, while making sure not to cause any more damage. He only so much as brushed his fingers across your bruised skin, the ghost of his touch making you shiver nonetheless.

When you flinched ever so slightly, he pressed an apologetic kiss to your shoulder and rubbed soothing circles over your tender sides.

“Almost scared me to death,” he mumbled, deep voice muffled by the warmth of your skin.

“Didn’t mean to, ‘m sorry,” you whispered in breathless fashion and wrapped your legs around him more tightly, wanting to remind you that you were right here with him. Right by his side. Always.

Sam eagerly soaked up your unspoken promise, accepting your vow by sliding his palms over your thighs, sealing the promise with hot open-mouthed kisses across your collarbone. He spread you open, placing a pillow under you as if to say ‘Sit back and let me handle this.’

You didn’t even have to lift a finger, let alone your hips. Not that the iron grip he had on your hips would’ve granted you much movement anyway. He pulled you closer, peeling off the rest of your clothes and worshipping every newly exposed inch of skin with his tongue.

You squirmed under him, barely, triggering him to hold you down even more as his kisses carved a path down your body. Over the swell of your chest, further south to your navel. Sam’s strength had you arch instinctively, like you could let yourself fall into his arms.

“Stay still f’me, baby,” he repeated under a rasp, repeating his earlier command.

You threw your head back into the pillows with a whine, giving in only reluctantly. He was asking the impossible, basically. So, if only out of habit, both of your hands reached out to him, settling on your lower stomach.

Sam understood immediately, shifting slightly between your trembling thighs. One of his hands grasped both of yours, tightly, long fingers wrapping around your soft ones as if swallowing them. His other hand teased your inner thigh, coaxing you open even more.

“Please,” you whimpered, only for him to gently push your form further into the mattress, preventing you from squirming too much.

Sam’s teeth grazed over the apex of your thigh, darkened eyes glued to your reactions. His fingers curled around your leg, fingers digging into the plush of your flesh. Usually he’d take his time with you more, teasing you as much as he can—not tonight.

Squeezing your hands to ground you, his tongue dove into your folds. His mouth spread you open like you were a flower with honey beneath its petals. You sure tasted just as sweet, so how could he not dig in deeper?

The gasps and moans falling from your lips were just as delicious, spurring him on until the sharp of his nose pressed against your sensitive clit.

“So wet for me,” he purred, the vibrations of his voice directly on your core, earning him a shudder.

While Sam did not waste any time taking you apart, he did take his time worshipping you thoroughly. One of his long fingers joined his tongue, circling your entrance before pushing in. A second followed, both of them curling inside of you expertly.

“Sam—”

Your soft cries indicated your nearing orgasm.

Sam did not let up, licking slow circles over your bundle of nerves and steadily pumping his digits. Your thighs tensed around his head, jaw falling open without any sound making it past your throat. If anything, a broken gasp rattled you—somehow both soft and intense at the same time.

A wave of white crashed through you as you fell and shattered, your first climax rushing over you like a tidal wave. Sam continued eating you out like a man starved, eagerly lapping up all you had to offer. Even when you were nothing but a twitching, sensitive mess at his mercy, he kept you close, mouth relentless and grip unyielding.

When he granted you only a second to catch your breath before diving back in, you knew you had a long night ahead of you.

Ever the man with a plan, Sam knew he wanted to show you just how much he needed you—how upset the sheer thought of losing you made him. He’d mend your pain in any way he could, letting the pleasure overshadow it entirely. Stitch for stitch, orgasm for orgasm, until both of you’d be convinced that you were safe, protected, and taken care of in his embrace.

📚 Sam Winchester Taglist:

@figurantedefilme @s7nburn @spn-reader @ladykitana90 @missus-ackles

dean side-eyed him the entire way to your town. sam was waiting for dean to get mad, scream, turn up the radio, anything. the silence was letting dean fester. letting him sit in all the hurt and regret he had been running from for so long.

he didn’t blame you. not really. how could he when he knew you made your decision in his own best interest? dean knew when the door closed behind you, and he was left waiting for john to return, again, that he should’ve followed you out. he should’ve chased you, pulled you into him, and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, and he should’ve meant it.

over time, dean had realized that it wasn’t even really the hunting that made you leave. you never knew the full extent of what he did, just that he often had to disappear with his father. he knew he made that mistake with cassie and blew whatever chance he had at a semi-normal life with her, and he was not going to make that mistake again.

dean put in the effort to make the time he was there with you count, and to assure that even when he was away, you were on his mind. on one of the nights where dean laid awake, doing what he does best; hating himself, he realized that you left because of him. because of the way he allowed himself to be treated.

you had offered an escape. many times, actually. you cried, like really cried, begging to dean to get away from john. to stay with you and stop putting up with the abuse. that he didn’t need his father and that you two would figure it out. and you were halfway right. he didn’t need his father, but his father sure as hell needed him.

even when he would leave dean alone for weeks on end without so much as a phone call, john needed him. john needed dean as a reason to return home, as a reason to stay angry at yellow eyes, as a reason to keep going when all he wanted to do was give up.

even if he didn’t treat dean like he was worth holding on for.

dean wished he could turn back time, tell you that he finally sees, really sees, what you did. he can recognize now how john had hurt him, physically, mentally, and emotionally. yet, he still didn’t love himself enough to care. he didn’t love himself to condemn john’s actions. in dean’s eyes, he did what he had to. he taught dean the important stuff, and thats what mattered. he taught dean how to hunt and how important it was to take care of sammy. the two things that gave him his drive, his sense of purpose, his everything.

you were once a part of that list, but that was then and this is now.  

now, you were a part of list of things that john winchester had ruined for his sons.

“are we going to talk about it?” sam broke the silence, aggravated with way dean was stewing his own hurt and confusion. 

“there’s nothing to talk about,” dean shrugged, brushing sam off in a way sam was all too familiar with.

“dean,” sam huffed, growing more frustrated, “she called me.” he stressed. sam was away when dean had his chance with you, at stanford, living the life dean swore he had no interest in.

“only because i didn’t answer,” dean informed. sam was shocked, pausing momentarily to figure out how to reply. sam always assumed that if you called, dean would be there. there would be no hesitation, dean would be out the door and in the impala before sam could ask where he was going. sam had wished that would happen, briefly in the past.

but, clearly, he was wrong.

“why?” sam asked with that confused scowl he got when dean was being a difficult pain in the ass. dean shrugged, finally reaching forward to turn on the radio.

when they arrived at your home, dean couldn’t bring his legs to move. he wasn’t sure how long he sat in the front seat staring at your dainty apartment building. he wished he had a cover to use. he wished you were a stranger and he could play fbi and pretend there was no history here, no words unspoken. no regrets.

sam turned back to the car from where he was standing at the door to the building, glaring at dean. dean hadn’t noticed him leave the car, honestly.

despite this, dean huffed, pulling himself from the driver’s seat and pretended like each step towards you didn’t send a stabbing pain up his leg, settling into a ball of uncertainty and anxiety at the base of his back.

sam stood in front of dean, knocking delicately on your door. they’d arrived quite late. dean found solace in sam going in first, as if sam was protecting him for once.

the door creeped open slowly, and dean was glad you were careful about it. “sam,” you smiled up at him, letting your eyes soak in the way he’d aged over the years. you’d never seen him in person, but he still looked like the little boy dean would show you pictures of as he reminisced about being in locked in crappy motels and eating dry cereal three times a day. despite the fondness in dean’s voice as he would recall these moments, they always left a sour taste in your mouth. once again displaying the neglect they’d each received from their father. you hated the man, and that was ultimately drove dean away. 

“hi,” sam smiled as he said your name, filled with glee to be meeting you for the first time. he truly hoped this would be good for dean. you were the only person dean had ever truly loved outside of his family, in sam’s opinion. the only partner he would ever talk about with a smile on his face, and a miniscule of regret in his tone.

your smile faltered, but your eyes had a small gleam in them as you turned your attention to dean. “hi, dean,” you pretty much whispered, further opening the door to let them in, but never really looking dean in the face. dean pressed his lips together and turned up the corners of them, in what he would call a smile, but anyone else would roll their eyes at the attempt.

“i didn’t mean to bother you guys,” you started as everyone settled into the living room. you were in your reading chair and the brothers took up your couch. you couldn’t help but wish this view was more familiar.

“i used to think you were crazy,” sam chuckled as you gestured to dean, “i mean, whispering to john about ghosts and werewolves and such on the phone. i was never sure to make of it, i chocked it up to some weirdo piece of media you guys were wayyy too involved with,” dean knew you were masking something with humor. a skill you both used in situations where you were uncomfortable, one he’d helped you master.

that was even more apparent when you shifted your gaze downwards and wiggled a little in your seat, “but i saw one. i think i saw one, i mean. it was odd,” you trailed off as you brought your gaze back up, meeting dean’s eyes for the first time since he’d arrived.

“what happened?” and he speaks, you thought. you chose to ignore the protective edge to dean’s voice and pulled your gaze away from him. he was here to help you and your friend, nothing more, nothing less.

“i was, um,” you shifted uncomfortably, again, “at my friend’s house. her brother had passed recently. i thought i was dreaming or something the first we saw him. he was normal, like he had been right before he passed. my friend thought it was cool, i mean, she had her brother back. but last time, just a few nights ago, it was different.”

“how?” dean’s deep voice carried, already knowing where this was going. spirits that stick around get angry. that’s a simple fact.

“he was like, mean, i guess? like things were being thrown at us and he screamed. it was so odd.”

“and you didn’t think something was wrong when you started seeing her dead brother?” sam deadpanned, asking the million dollar question. dean glared at him, not liking the tone he was speaking to you with. “c’mon man, if someone we cared about’s ghost started popping up, salting and burning their bones might not be the first thing on our minds, either,” dean hushed him.

your eyebrows furrowed, “what?” sam hit dean with a head tilt, one that said nice going, dude, without having to say anything. 

“when there’s a spirit they’re usually attached to something that’s keep them from, um, moving on,” sam explained. “commonly, it is their bones. was your friend’s brother buried?” you shook your head, “they cremated him.”

“does your friend have something of his? something he cared about?” dean asked. “yeah, she kept a couple of his little league trophies. and his journal, even though she swore she’d never read it.”

sam and dean engaged in another non-verbal conversation before shifting their attention back to you. sam was the one who spoke, “i think we’re gonna need that journal.”

you weren’t sure exactly what went down in your friend’s bedroom while sam and dean were in there and you and her were sitting comfortably in the impala. you’d seen this beautiful car every time john would pull up to pick up dean, but had never seen the inside of it. it was nicer than you had pictured. 

“you should be all set,” sam informed your friend, walking her back into her house. you leaned against the driver side door, pressing your arms to your side, drawing in all of the warmth you could.

dean, who was standing a respectable amount of steps away from you, also leaning against the side of the car, noticed your slight shiver. he moved without thinking, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. you glanced at him, puzzled by his action, but putting it on regardless. no words were exchanged. 

you tried to ignore how comforting his scent was.

“let’s get you home,” dean mumbled as sam approached the car. you nodded, moving to climb in behind him. 

“i’m gonna grab some food,” sam smiled at dean, pointing at the flickering lights of the diner a short walk away from where dean parked in front of your building. dean just nodded. then, he sped up his steps so he could catch up to you and walk you to your apartment.  

“thank you,” you smiled at dean for the first time in years as you leaned against your door frame. dean shrugged, “it’s what we do.”

you nodded and a beat of silence passed between the two of you. it was comfortable, just for a moment. then, you remembered how sam was the one who answered your call.

“you ignored my call,” you observed, sadly. after everything, you had still thought dean would care about you, worry about you, even.

“yeah, i,” dean cleared his throat, contemplating what excuse to come up with. if he went with one, it would be the first time he ever truly lied to you. sure, he’d withheld information, but he had never flat out lied to you. so, he decided to go with the truth, “i was scared.”

dean winchester, admitting he was scared. someone call the presses. a world-changing admission had just been spoken.

“of?” you pressed, knowing you were towing the line. dean didn’t answer, just met your gaze with a stone-cold stare. one that told you everything you needed to know. he was scared those feelings hadn’t gone away. that he hadn’t buried them with the worst memories of his dad, his mother’s death, and his time spent in hell. he was scared that he couldn’t run from his past anymore, that he’d be slapped in face with what ifs and could’ve beens.

and, rightfully so. 

dean could feel every fiber of his being screaming, no, crying out for you. crying out for you to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him all of the things he’d been through were over and done with and he is safe and he is home. all he wanted was to stay here with you. to be selfish for once in his fucking life and just stay. even if it was for just a night. 

you were the one who cleared his throat, “it’s late, dean” please stay, it’s not smart to drive tired, he wished you’d add.

“yeah, i should go,” dean nodded, but made no effort to make his way to the stairs of your building.

after an intense battle in your mind, one between your rational side and your emotional side, one that you’d been fighting since you found dean’s phone number on a crusty sticky note in your desk drawer, you said, “you guys could stay here, the couch is pretty comfortable and it’s been a long night.”

dean’s eyes shifted to his shoes, a small smile crossing his face at your offer. everything he wanted and everything he knew he couldn’t have in one sentence. “no, we should get back.” he responded, nodding in the direction of his car. “more ghosts to get rid of.”

you nodded, “goodnight, dean.” he didn’t answer, just sent you a sad smile before turning towards the stairs.