Supernatural Imagines 2

{59} Sam Winchester

Requested By: SummerBlondie

Imagine: Sam x Reader; Smut with a Daddy Kink

You let out a small sigh as you downed another shot of whiskey, the brown liquid sliding down your throat and filling your stomach with a warm feeling. How many was that now? Five? More? You didn't keep track anymore. You just kept drinking until you couldn't or until you were passed out at the bar with Sam and Dean coming to pick you up.

Sam and Dean. The Winchesters. They were your best friends in the whole world. You had all known each other since you were kids and you protected each other, you helped each other, and no matter what the problem was, you faced it together. That was the way it always was.

But that all changed when you lost your sister in a werewolf hunt gone bad. Since then, you've barely spoken to Sam or Dean. It wasn't their fault, hell, they weren't even there. But you already knew what they were going to say. Dean would tell you that they've had their fair share of losses and even though it sucks, you have to keep your head up and keep swinging. Then there was Sam. Sam was, in your opinion, the most oblivious person alive.

You have had a crush on Sam for as long as you could remember and you've always been very obvious with it. At first, you thought that Sam didn't like you in that way, that he didn't care about you like that. But you knew that wasn't true from the way he would flirt back with you. But for some reason, he never did anything about his or your feelings. You never understood why but you also never brought it up for fear of ruining your friendship with him.

But, nevertheless, Sam knew you better than anyone. Sam would sit there and hold you tight, pressing your head against his solid chest and wrapping you in his warm arms, stroking your hair and reassuring you that there was nothing you could have done. It would help you feel better, for sure. But, at this point, you weren't sure that you wanted to feel better.

It had been your fault, after all. At least that was what you kept repeating in your head. You were with your older sister, hunting. You had found a werewolf case in a nearly forgotten town in Montana. You begged your sister to go with you and she agreed. But, when you had gotten there, it wasn't one werewolf. It was a pack of them. You and your sister were good, but you weren't that good.

You both fought valiantly but to no avail and soon you were both close to the brink of death, having no fight left in you. That's when Sam and Dean showed up to save the day. They always ended up saving the day. They finished off the remainder of the werewolves and you all began to leave the house where the massacre took place.

But, the second you turned your back, a werewolf that had been hiding jumped out and lunged at your sister, clawing into her stomach. In an instant, Dean shot the werewolf as you ran to your sister's side, tears streaming down your face, pleading for her to stay with you.

Within minutes, she was dead. Why? Because you failed to do the research correctly. If you had looked into the case more carefully. If you had made a better plan or scoped out the area a little more. If you hadn't asked her to come. If you had done any or all of those things, she would still be with you.

So, you went to the bar every night. You felt worthless, like you didn't even deserve to have anyone around you, to have anyone care about you. And you drank every night. Drinking away your sorrows, drinking away the pain. And without fail, every night Sam and Dean came to your rescue and brought you back to the Bunker, taking care of you until you left for the bar the next day.

You glanced at the slightly broken clock on the old, wooden wall of the bar. 11:58PM. "Sam and Dean will be here any second," you muttered to yourself watching the door. As if on cue, the door swung open and you saw Sam's tall, large frame walk through the door. You smirked to yourself for timing that perfectly before grabbing your money and placing it on the bar table.