I’m kinda curious, in the bugs episode in early season 1, when Dean told Sam that John went by Stanford whenever he could, I’m wondering if it was really Dean going by Stanford to check on Sam.
Genuinely I don’t see John doing that. Especially now that I’ve ventured further into the show; that’s just not at all John’s character. It’s more deans to have been the one doing it but telling Sam that it was John just to save his face.
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Your sorority house is bright, crowded, and covered in pink decorations. Once Rafe steps into the Valentine’s Day themed party, he realizes just how stupid it is to be here. But after a month of replaying that conversation in the parking lot, a month of silence between you since then, he couldn’t turn down the opportunity to see you again.
You had real feelings. You admitted to regretting hurting him. To liking him. It’s why he’s here, stubbornly hopeful that you’ll find that spark again, because what you two had after you gave up on your stupid bets was too good for him to forget about.
He moves deeper into the house with Mac and Cooper, scanning the crowds. A few nights ago, he’d had too much to drink, and he didn't tell them everything, nothing about your bet, but he did admit to them that he actually liked you.
It was awkward. Mac slapped his shoulder, told him he’d get over it. Cooper made a joke, teased that the whole point of the bet was to not catch feelings. It was the typical response he’s used to, being told to man up. All he had left to do was pretend it didn’t hurt.
They find a pocket of space and Rafe leans against his wall, trying to ground himself, when he sees you. You’re near the kitchen doorway, laughing with someone, unbothered and looking impossibly beautiful in a short white dress. His fingers curl against his palm.
Mac notices him zoning out. He follows Rafe’s eye line, then huffs a quiet laugh when he sees who Rafe’s staring at.
“Bro, there’s a million other girls,” Mac says. “At least fifty in this house. You gotta quit acting like she’s the only one.”
“She’s got you whipped,” Cooper adds, grinning.
Rafe ignores the pain in his stomach, the anger rushing into him, and just laughs it off, the way he’s supposed to, the way he’s expected to.
“Shut up, man,” Rafe scoffs. “I’m good.”
Mac shifts his weight, glancing between Rafe and you across the room.
“It’s really over over, huh?” Mac asks.
Rafe knows he’s asking if he should try again, if there’s something left to salvage. But they don’t know all of it. And then, he remembers Mac’s voice from the start of the bet. She hates you.
“You were right,” Rafe says, keeping his tone light. “She hates me. So, who you gonna strike out with tonight?”
Mac shoves him and Rafe laughs, relieved the attention is off of him, glad that he can still fake being okay when he needs to.
・・・・・
“I just heard some gossip about you,” Jada says quietly, approaching you as the crowd shifts around her.
Her words make your stomach tighten. It hits the same nerve Rafe pressed when he told you what people say about you, how you don’t have feelings.
“I don’t want to know,” you laugh, but it comes out thin.
“I was eavesdropping over there.”
She tilts her head toward the front of the house. You follow her gaze.
Rafe is leaning against the wall, standing with the same two guys he’d told you had bet him to sleep with you. You’ve felt his eyes on you all night. You’ve been drawn to him since the moment he walked in, but you’ve refused to give in. You’ve never had to have this much self-control over a guy before.
“His friend said he’s whipped for you,” Jada murmurs.
“Hm,” you say flatly.
It’s clear that Jada knows you’re only acting like you don’t care. After everything you told her, every late night where you sat on the edge of your bed, frustrated and hurt, asking her to physically take your phone away from you so you wouldn’t text Rafe, she can read you easily.
And funny enough, despite how messy the situation was, she roots for you two. She said that it was obvious something real had begun between you, that sometimes two wrongs do kind of make a right.
“And then that other guy was like, is it really over?” she continues. “And Rafe said it is because you hate him.”
You shrug, taking a sip of your drink.
“Do you?” she asks, her brows raised.
“He’s still hanging around the same guys who made a bet on me,” you reply.
“Don’t you still hang out with the friends who made the bet on him?” she asks.
“Can we not do this?” you laugh, used to her stubborn optimism.
Your eyes drift over to Rafe. You don’t hate him. You hate what you did to each other.
Admittedly, you were thinking about approaching him tonight. Even after everything, part of you still wants him anyway. At a safe distance.
Impulse has never been your strong suit, and when it comes to Rafe, it’s even worse.
・・・・・
As the night drags on, you eventually cross paths in the crowd. Rafe’s close enough that you can smell his cologne, close enough that you don’t want to pretend you don’t feel the pull.
Without thinking, in your tipsy state, you tug lightly at the sleeve of his dark blue t-shirt. He looks over, his expression losing its tension, and he leans down to hear you over the music and the crowd, dipping his head closer.
“You didn’t even try,” you say, looking up at him.
“Huh?” he murmurs, a tiny smirk pulling on his lips, heart pounding now that you’re talking to him.
You look stunning, but all he can think about is how much he prefers to see you like he did the night he came over, when you were barefaced and wearing nothing but a t-shirt. There’s something different about your beauty then, when you’re comfortable and unguarded.
“You didn’t even try,” you repeat, and gesture around at the pink, red, and white decorations scattered across the house. “There’s a theme.”
The tension between you is so thick and so familiar, the kind of heaviness that can only come from two people who admitted they had feelings for each other and then gave up anyway.
Rafe licks his lips, shaking his head just slightly, accepting the fact that even after a month of no contact, you pull him in effortlessly.
“You look…” he starts, voice low.
His gaze drifts over you slowly, and suddenly, it makes you feel exposed. He’s looking at you like he’s thinking about everything you admitted to, and it’s instinct to pull away when you feel this vulnerable.
“I know,” you say self-assuredly. Then, you pace past him, deeper into the crowd, slipping back into how it was before, when you kept him at arm’s length.
There’s a sharp twist in your chest as you walk away, because no matter how many hard feelings you still carry, the gravity between you and Rafe hasn’t gone anywhere.
You can feel it. You’re sure he can, too.
・・・・・
It’s a Friday in mid‑March, and the air is cooling, the tide rolling over the sand as the sun sets.
You and your friends spread your blankets out in a circle. You're glad you came home for Spring Break, even though you’ve spent the whole week noticing that Rafe hasn’t been around.
He must’ve gone far away. You shouldn’t care, shouldn’t wonder if he’s talking to someone else. You’ve never felt jealousy like this before, but that’s just more proof of how he’s completely changed things.
・・・・・
The beach is nearly full when Rafe gets there with his friends. He stands apart from them as they sit down, staring out at the water.
He almost didn’t answer when his mom called yesterday. He thought of what you’d told him, that someone who can leave their family doesn’t deserve a space in their life. But he picked up. And she told him she’ll come back to the island soon for his birthday. Just to see him and his sisters.
It’s been haunting him. And as if he doesn’t have enough on his mind, he hears you before he sees you, that genuine laugh of yours that used to love. He scans the crowd ahead until he finds you sitting with your friends.
It feels like it used to, back when you silently circled each other around Kildare, oblivious to how easy things would be if you just had a genuine conversation. If things were different, if you’d just started this organically, you’d learn just how much you have in common, how joking and talking together can last hours but feel like minutes.
He hates this. The one time he felt a girl could actually understand him, she was only with him to hurt him.
He wasn’t harsh enough with you for what you did to him, but he couldn’t let his temper snap the way it usually does.
Normally, he’d lose it, scream at someone for doing something like that to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to raise his voice at you. Because there’s something about you that softens him. And he hates how powerless he is to it.
・・・・・
As night falls, the tide keeps pushing everyone back, higher and higher up the beach. The sand is crowded now, bodies everywhere, music thumping.
You and Rafe end up shifting into the same open patch of sand. He’s sitting, but you’re standing, and he sees you rub your bare arms, the wind colder now that the sun is gone.
He hasn’t spoken to you since Valentine’s Day. You told him this was over before that, and he decided that if you wanted him, you’d come to him like you did at that party. He swore he wouldn’t go out on a limb again. But then he sees you cold, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t care.
Everyone around both of you is talking and laughing. No one is looking. And he lets himself listen to his instinct, once again losing control when it comes to you.
Rafe stands up and steps toward you. His button-up is loose over his t-shirt, and he pulls it off.
You finally see him standing beside you, towering over you. He holds the overshirt out, his hand brushing your arm.
With everyone drunk and distracted, it feels like the whole party disappears, like it’s just you two, the tide pushing you into the same space. Like this, like you and him, are inevitable.
“Here,” he murmurs.
The reflex to protect yourself and shut him out crashes into you. You almost say you don’t need it, but the feeling of looking in those blue eyes again cracks you open. It’s something you’ve been starving for.
“Returning the favor?” you say softly, reminding him of the night you offered your sweater to clean him up after that fight.
A small smirk tugs at Rafe’s lips, like he’s reminiscing about it too, about everything that came before. The expression fades as quickly as it came.
You take his shirt, and even though it’s thin, when you pull it over your arms, it offers you a familiar warmth.
“You wanna…?” Rafe murmurs, nodding behind you, toward the dunes. You nod at the invitation to find privacy and slip away with him, the cool night air carrying the salty smell of the ocean, your shoes sinking into the sand.
・・・・・
Seconds later, you settle in the cool sand, sitting side-by-side, half-hidden by the dunes.
The distant party thunders ahead. Rafe notices how good it feels to see his shirt on you, to know you’re more comfortable now. He always liked this feeling, of taking care of someone. He’s spent most of his life feeling replaceable. This gives him value.
“How are you?” he asks.
“It’s been a quiet week,” you say. He can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “You?”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Where’d you go for the break?”
“No where. Just stayed at school.”
“Oh.” You’d been so sure he’d escaped somewhere far away. “Makes sense, I guess.”
Rafe just looks at you, waiting for you to continue. And for a second it’s like you forget that you have so much history between you. His eyes look so soft, his lips so inviting. But you don’t give in. You can’t.
“I mean, you do kind of hate it here, don’t you?” you add.
He rubs his hand over his mouth, gaze turning towards the dark water. Being home always drags him back into the parts of himself he’d rather outrun, to the memory of his mother leaving, and the fact she’ll be here again in a couple of weeks.
“What?” you say when he doesn’t answer.
Rafe doesn’t see why he’d open up to you when you rarely open up back. Sitting here with you feels good in the moment, but you’ll just walk away again, and he’ll be left with nothing but a hollow feeling.
He’s not even sure why he pulled you away. Except he is. It’s because you’re a habit he can’t break.
He exhales, eyes flicking to his shirt on you.
“You look better in it than I do,” he murmurs, changing the subject.
“Does that mean I can keep it?”
“You want to?”
It’s a simple question, but it’s not at the same time. You know he’s asking about whether you want to keep a reminder of him. And you don’t know how to answer that without giving yourself away.
“If I look good in it, then yes,” you say, trying to play it off.
Rafe breathes a half-hearted chuckle, his expression dimming with disappointment. You hate that it gets under your skin. So, you swallow hard, and let yourself be honest.
“Hey, I… I don’t hate you,” you say. “I heard that you think that. But it’s not true.”
Rafe’s jaw tightens. He wants to ask where you heard, then decides against it. It doesn’t matter. He misses you, and it’s good to hear you don’t hate him, but it hurts just as bad to know you could never love him, either.
He only nods and doesn’t meet your eyes. The ache in your chest deepens. Even though what he did hurt you, you think you hurt him more.
You wonder if he still wants something real with you. After what you did, maybe he doesn’t. But either way, you know you can’t give him that.
Your father leaving ripped something out of you. It left you trapped, gave you a fear of being seen for who you are and of being abandoned for it. You wish you could fix it, but what if you can’t, and what if Rafe ends up being the one who pays for it?
You exhale, and you reach for the only escape you know. Distraction.
“When are people going to realize we don’t need three different songs playing at the same time?” you say, shaking your head as the music overlaps at the party ahead.
Silhouettes move in clusters in the sand under the night sky. It’s a representation of exactly what your life here has always been: surrounded by other Kooks who have nothing to do but party.
Rafe can’t help but smirk when he recognizes that annoyed look on your face, the adorable way your eyes narrow.
He wants to say how pretty you are, but he wouldn’t be able to take the rejection, so he says, “You sure you’re not the one who hates it here?”
You catch yourself scowling and laugh. And Rafe revels in it. He should be used to it, being the exception for the girl who’s known as cold, for making her laugh when she usually only offers glares, but it still feels so good. It always will.
As you continue to talk and make jokes, it starts to feel like the dynamic you once had. It’s an easy back‑and‑forth that you only get with him.
Eventually, you realize you’ve been gone far too long. Your friends will wonder where you disappeared to, but most of all, you can’t let yourself get too comfortable here.
You pull off the overshirt and hand it back to Rafe. It felt so good, letting him take care of you, being so close to him again, but it’ll all just make you want him more, miss him more. And you can’t want him, because you’ve spent years building walls you don’t know how to take down.
It feels cruel to let him believe in something you’re still afraid of. The guilt settles in your chest. He deserves more than your uncertainty.
“I should get back,” you say. “My friends are gonna start worrying.”
Rafe takes the shirt, fingers brushing yours, watching you stand and dust sand off your shorts.
“What’d you tell them?” he murmurs.
You meet his eyes in the dark, and you realize he’s asking what you told them about your bet. About his. It used to annoy you, the way he’d pry, but now you can see he’s just trying to understand you.
“That I didn’t go through with it,” you admit, gazing at him as he sits under the moonlight, the wind stirring his hair, brushing it across his forehead. “That things just… fizzled out.”
You pause and look away, still not used to this kind of vulnerability. But there’s something too special between you to let him believe a lie, to let him think you’re as emotionless as pretend you are.
“I didn’t want to admit that I got hurt,” you say, voice thinning out.
That’s when Rafe gets that it’s not just him you keep at a distance. It’s everyone.
He watches you leave, the sound of the waves filling the silence you left behind.
・・・・・
It’s the first weekend of April, only an hour into the frat party, and you’re already exhausted. Studying for finals has taken a toll on you. You don’t want to ruin your friends’ fun, so you let them know you’re going home and rush away before they can protest.
The main reason you came was because you knew Rafe would probably be here. It’s his frat’s party, after all. You can admit you miss him. He gives you a feeling nobody ever has.
But you haven’t seen him. And maybe that’s for the best.
You slip out the front door, the same doorstep where he spilled his drink on you that night in October. The memory flashes through your mind, how angry you were, especially once he asked if you were always so sensitive. It’s ironic, because he’s the one who’s shown just how deeply he can feel.
You recognize his baseball hat first. Rafe’s sitting on the top step of the porch, broad back to the door, elbows on his knees, a beer bottle dangling from one hand.
Now that you see him, you tell yourself you should just walk past him. Mostly because you know his birthday was a few days ago. It came up in one of your many conversations a while back, and you haven’t forgotten the date.
You almost want to avoid him, because you feel bad for not sending him a happy birthday text. But it felt too weird and sentimental and vulnerable to do it.
As you stare at him now, though, feeling just how much your chest warms simply from being a few feet away from him, you don’t think you can ignore what’s been tugging at you any longer.
Before Rafe, you were used to living with an emptiness inside of you. It was tolerable, but impossible to escape. And then this temperamental, funny, frustrating, complex man made you actually want to put your guard down. He’s shown you what life can look like when you let someone in, even just a little.
Giving into this feeling goes against every instinct you have, but standing here now, you know you’d rather feel something, even if it’s pain, than nothing at all.
Rafe feels the step shift beside him, and he turns his head right away, and when he sees you sit next to him, it’s like his heart stops.
You look so pretty. It's insane how it’s been weeks and he can’t stop thinking about you. He keeps telling himself to move on from the girl who told him whatever this is was over, but something's clearly wrong with him.
He first sat here with a hollow feeling in his chest, but it’s gone now that you’re here.
“Is this a new habit?” you ask over the sound of the muffled bass, over the groups of students chattering as they walk down the street.
Rafe looks at you, the planes of his face sharp in the porch light.
“Bailing on parties to just… sit somewhere?” you add.
His dimples flash as he huffs a quiet laugh.
“What, you keepin’ tabs on me?” he teases.
“It’s hard not to when you’re out here looking so lonely," you play along.
It stings him a little to hear that, but it also makes him feel kind of wanted that you noticed.
“I’m good,” Rafe says, because admitting the truth is admitting that he wants you, and the last time he did that, you told him you don’t want him back.
You interlace your fingers in your lap, steadying yourself, deciding to finally say it out loud, to show him you care.
“How was your birthday?” you ask.
Rafe’s head lifts. He wasn’t expecting you to remember. What happened that day has been sitting heavy on him, mostly because he let himself hope it would be different this time. He feels stupid for it.
He looks at you, at the way you’re actually listening, and he answers honestly because if anyone would understand this kind of disappointment, it’s you.
“My mom was supposed to visit,” he says.
A pang sinks into your heart. Clearly, she didn’t show up.
“Why didn’t she?” you ask.
He shrugs.
“Said she couldn’t make the timing work.”
He hates that he’s still hurting over this. He should be used to people not showing up for him by now. And it’s fucking with him how before his mom hung up to tell him she wasn’t coming, she told him she missed him. If she really did, then where the hell was she?
But he keeps that part to himself. Because he remembers that night in the poolhouse, how coldly you asked if he expected you to feel sorry for him, and even though you’re looking at him with so much compassion right now, your eyes softened, he can’t say it.
You nod slowly, feeling the sadness he’s trying to swallow like it’s your own. You realize you’d take your dad’s silence over the kind of hope his mom gives him any day. At least you know not to expect anything.
“That’s a bad excuse,” you reply.
Rafe shakes his head, rubs his thumb over his knee.
“I shouldn’t give a shit,” he says with a humorless laugh, then takes a swig of his beer.
Your lips twist. You’ve spent so long hiding from feelings, but now, you can understand that bravery isn’t shutting emotions out. It’s letting them in. He’s shown you that.
“Caring isn’t a bad thing,” you say quietly.
Rafe’s eyes harden a little. You’re being kind, but only from a distance, because you’re always at a distance, and knowing that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
“It is to you,” he replies, his temper slipping through.
You inhale and look away. His truthful words dig into your heart.
For a second, Rafe thinks you’re going to leave. The thought is bittersweet, because he loves how it feels to be near you, but he knows the ache that will come later, just like the one you left after you walked away from him on the beach.
“Because I’m…” you begin, forcing a weak smile. “I’m messed up.”
It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting it, that you’re so emotionally shut out because you’re convinced something is broken inside of you.
“So what?” he responds. “So am I.”
You like that he doesn’t try to prove you wrong. He’s seen the ugly parts of you, and he knows better than to pretend they aren’t there. It’s something you appreciate about him. There’s no sugarcoating.
“You have it in you to still try to trust people,” you say, meeting his gaze. “I don’t.”
His eyes search yours, and it’s almost unbearable how exposed and bare you feel right now.
“Why not?” he scoffs, sharp, like he still believes this is fixable. Like you’re fixable.
“Why do you want to know so bad?” you reply with the same tone.
“Why don’t you let me?”
“Because I think you think you like me,” you say. “But if you really got to know me…”
You swallow down the threat of tears. The painfully honest words feel wrong in your mouth and every instinct tells you to leave, but Rafe is your weakness. You’ve accepted that now.
He squints in disbelief. He never imagined that what held you back wasn’t him, but you. The realization hits hard, that maybe it was never his fault for not getting through, but yours for never letting him. And that’s crazy. Can’t you see how happy he is when he’s with you?
He remembers you telling him it was when he came to your room after that phone call with your mom that you chose to let the bet go. From that moment on, whatever was between you wasn’t an act.
“You forgot about it after that day in your room, yeah?” he asks, brows furrowing.
The memory turns in your mind. He didn’t say the word bet, and you’re thankful for it. Hearing it now would hurt too much.
You nod, remembering that cloudy Sunday morning, remembering staring at him as he sat on your bed and making the decision that you weren’t going to try to break his heart anymore.
“You weren’t faking anything after that,” he mutters, eyes locked on you. “I know you weren’t. I did know you. I do. And I still…”
He huffs, looking down at his beer, jaw tightening. You watch his hard profile, your pulse pounding in your ears.
“You still…?” you breathe.
“You already know,” he says, resigned.
And you do. He still wants you.
And that’s all you needed to hear.
Something breaks open inside of you, every remaining bit of control you had shattering and falling away. You lean in and guide him closer, your fingers brushing over his jaw. He doesn’t fight it, his head turning towards yours beneath your touch, letting you press an impulsive kiss to his lips.
Rafe kisses you back, hard, his beer bottle landing on the concrete with a dull thump, his hands finding your face, feeling himself grimace with relief, with pain. Your mouth is soft on his, your skin warm, the sounds of your breath so utterly perfect. Everything about you is so damn perfect.
You pull back, gazing at him, your hands slowly dragging down to his shoulders.
This all started with a ridiculous bet that was never supposed to mean anything. But why should that matter now? You’re always looking for excuses, always finding reasons to run. And that makes you just like your father, just like everyone who’s ever walked away. Selfish, hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it.
You take a breath, realizing how many times Rafe’s been the one to open up first, to tell the truth, to risk something. Even after everything, he still wants you. And you still want him.
You don’t want to live in the past anymore, expecting pain and abandonment. You need to take a risk. And he’s worth it.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying not to care,” you tell him, his hands still cradling your face, steadying you. “It’s always been so much easier to pretend I don’t feel anything. And it got to a point where I really didn’t. But then, I met you.”
Rafe takes you in, takes in how even the small things about you undo him. His pulse is thundering, hope blooming as you speak.
“I hate how this started and how we lied to each other,” you say, “but I’m still glad it happened.”
He sees your lip tremble and his hands shift to take yours, resting on your lap. He’s used to you looking confident and unbothered and untouchable, but now, he sees total uncertainty.
“I want to be with you,” you confess. “I don’t know how to do this, but I… want to try. Do you?”
For a second, Rafe can’t breathe. Hearing you say those words makes the ache that’s lived in him for so long soften.
And for the first time, he feels wanted, chosen, and it’s by a girl who sees him in ways no one else ever has. He always thought he was too soft, pretending he didn’t care just like you always did, but you saw it all, every part of him, and you still want him anyway. You still want to take this risk, even though you’re terrified.
And this is something he’s been waiting his whole life to feel. For once, he doesn’t have to be tough or loud or anything forced.
He leans in. This kiss is different. It feels like both of you let go of the tension that’s been holding you apart as your lips meet. It’s slow, gentle, like you’ve reached the end of a race and both made it.
You pull away, eyes meeting his, your thumb tracing the edge of his hand. You can feel the pulse in his wrist. It’s going just as fast as yours.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, and it makes you laugh, because the way he just kissed you was more than enough of a confirmation that he wants this, too.
You share a smile. This still feels scary, but you’ve spent so long bracing for disappointment, and now, you know this is the start of something you can have hope in.
・・・・・
The early evening sunlight filters through your bedroom window as you get ready for Rafe’s house party.
Ivy’s sprawled across your bed, scrolling on her phone, already ready, while Alayna touches up her makeup at your vanity. You’re standing at your closet when your phone loudly buzzes on your dresser.
You cross the room to check who texted you.
You almost here? so boring without you.
You grin at Rafe’s message before you can stop yourself.
“I wonder who that is,” Ivy teases.
You look over at your friends, caught smiling, and roll your eyes.
“Whatever happened to I’m not interested?” Alayna adds, an obvious callback to what you said months ago, when you’d sworn Rafe wasn’t your type.
“Enough,” you laugh, waving them away. You’ve gotten used to their teasing. It’s all still new to you, liking a guy this much, and being committed to him.
After that night on the porch, you and Rafe have been inseparable. You stayed out there talking for so long that your sorority sisters eventually left the party and walked right past you. Once Jada saw you, she had a big smile on her face when she said, “Thought you were going home?”
Later on, you told her, and eventually Ivy and Alayna, all about how this thing with Rafe turned into something you never saw coming.
Now that you’ve finished the school year and reached summer, you’re back in Kildare, but it feels like you returned as a different person.
・・・・・
Rafe’s out back, leaning against the railing, the breeze lacing through his hair. His home’s main-floor deck faces the beach, and he’s laughing with his buddies, but his eyes keep flicking toward his house. You’d texted that you were on your way a few minutes ago, and he’s been distracted since.
His friends knew better than to give him shit when he told them he’s with you. He could tell they were surprised, but smart enough not to say much about him being with the girl with your reputation.
He spots you the second you step out onto the deck through the open doors with your friends, and your eyes find his.
Rafe closes the distance between you. He knows not to be too touchy in front of people. In the month you’ve been his girlfriend, he’s seen the way affection in public makes you stiffen. So, all he does is pull you into a quick, easy hug, then he steps back again.
“Hey,” he says, voice low. The warm smile you give him makes his chest tighten.
“Just steal her already,” Ivy sighs.
You chuckle at your friend’s comment. They’ve all gotten used to it, the way you and Rafe tend to disappear at these gatherings, and eventually come back again. There’s no bitterness behind it. They like seeing you happy.
You gesture towards the house and tell him, “Are you not going to offer me a drink?”
“So demanding,” Rafe teases, but his gaze is full of affection. You chuckle and as you walk in with him, his hand brushes yours.
・・・・・
Like always, time with Rafe slips away. The minutes blur in the packed house as you lean against a wall together, tucked away in your own private world.
As you talk, your eyes drift up the wall along the staircase. Family photos are in neat square frames, representing his and his sisters’ lives growing up here. You’ve been in Rafe’s home before for parties, but never got close enough to study the photos. You never cared to.
Now you do. Now you want to know everything about him.
In one of your late night conversations, he’d told you about his dad, about how he never felt good enough for the man. And even though Rafe is so much bigger and taller and stronger than you, you’ve developed a fierce protectiveness over him. It’s like you wish you could save him from every time he was told he was too sensitive.
The protectiveness flares when someone drunkenly bumps into him, hard enough that if Rafe’s drink was still full, it would’ve spilled.
“Watch where you’re going,” you snap before Rafe can even react.
“Sorry,” the guy responds, hands up in the air as he stumbles away.
Rafe looks down at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He kind of loves seeing you mad. It’s a reminder that you don’t let anyone get away with anything, that you’re sharp with every other guy, but not him. Most of the time.
“You’re not going to kick him out for that?” you half-joke.
“You looked like you were about to take him,” he says.
“I probably could,” you reply, eyes following the guy as he disappears into the crowd. When you look up at Rafe again, you notice that intense look of his, the one that looks like he’s trying to figure you out, the one you’ve grown to love.
“What is it now?” you sigh playfully, used to his staring.
Rafe licks his lips and looks down. He’d kiss you right now if he could, but the last time he tried that in public, he felt you tense up.
It’s hard not to take it personally. But he knows there’s more to it, because there’s always been so much more to you than you let on.
“Too many people around for me to kiss you, huh?” he says, because like always, he can’t stop himself from saying what’s on his mind to you.
You still, then shake your head with a sympathetic smile. He nods like he understands, but you can see the hurt anyway.
Sometimes, it scares you. Rafe eases into affection, while your instinct is to guard yourself. It’s not natural for you to be openly affectionate. You’ve spent years being the girl no one can get close to because softness is something you never want people to see in you.
“It’s just not my thing,” you explain.
“I get it,” he says, eyes dropping to your empty cup. “You want another?”
You appreciate him trying to play it off. That’s one of the things you like about Rafe, that even with all his intensity, he’s never been forceful with you. He can be overwhelming. Everyone knows that about him. But he gives you space.
You gaze up at him as he towers over you, waiting for your answer, your heart knocking against your ribs, the crowd’s noise thudding around you. You do want him to kiss you. Just not here.
“Actually, let’s go upstairs,” you say. “I want to see your room.”
Rafe’s expression softens, and when he leads you up the stairs, you slip your hand into his. It catches him off guard, especially after you’d just pulled back from affection, but mostly, it just fills him with a warmth nobody else can give him.
・・・・・
Rafe’s bedroom at home is like what you saw in his dorm room. It’s lived in, but neat.
Your breath steadies after the long walk upstairs as he shuts the door behind you. Through the cracked open window, you can hear the slow, rhythmic hush of waves rolling in and pulling back again.
You turn to face him, standing in the middle of his room, watching him as he steps towards you.
“It’s just new to me,” you murmur as he stops inches away from you, the mix of cologne and detergent and beer drifting off of him. “Being a girlfriend.”
Rafe sees that concerned look on your face. You used to be impossible to read, but now he can really see you and he’s grateful for it.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he says with a teasing lilt. “You’re doin’ great.”
You nudge his shoulder and he chuckles, pulling even closer to press a kiss on your lips. He pulls back an inch, his gaze searching yours.
“I can tell you want me to be more…” you begin, then shrug. “I wish I could kiss you in front of people without feeling awkward about it. It’s just hard being so… open.”
Rafe’s forehead creases. He likes these moments, the ones where you share a piece of yourself.
“I don’t need that,” he tells you, voice low.
“You want it, though,” you reply.
His gaze softens, the tension in his jaw easing as he brings his hands up to cradle your face.
“I already got what I want right here,” he rasps.
Your heart twists in the gentlest way. It’s still unfamiliar having someone treat you with such tenderness, reassuring you.
It’s why you haven’t gone past kissing since that night on the porch, when you decided to try for a relationship. The thought of sex with him, with someone you really care about, with someone who could break your heart, has been intimidating.
But as you stand here, held by him, heat curling in your stomach, there’s nothing else you’d rather do.
Rafe’s knees weaken a bit when you cup the back of his neck to pull him closer for another kiss. The second he tastes your tongue, his muscles tense with arousal, with desire, with a heat he’s never felt with anyone else.
His blood burns when your hands move lower, your fingertips dipping below the hem of his t-shirt, your warm palms dragging up his stomach. You start to push up the fabric, and he does the rest, tugging the shirt off, guiding you backwards the second it hits the floor.
You meet eyes when you pull back and reach his bed, gazes locked as you shift to lie down on your back. Rafe’s stare is heavy, lustful, but most of all, there’s a desire in it that almost overwhelms you. He wants you so badly.
He’s already drunk off pleasure when he watches you start to pull off your top. He takes the cue to help you, tossing it away, lowering onto the bed.
Your bodies press together, skin on skin, heat on heat, kissing again, deeper and harder. He’s been waiting for this for so long, giving you the distance you needed, and now, the elation of feeling you pull him in with such impatient desire consumes him.
Your hands trail down his firm back as you shift to spread your legs, giving him the access to grind against you. You breathe into each other’s mouths once you feel each other, his hardness, your warmth.
He moves to his knees to give himself space to pull down your skirt. You tilt up your hips so he can slip it down your legs, leaving you in your bra and panties. He pulls off his pants, eager to put his weight on you again.
Rafe’s lips are on your neck once he’s down to his boxers, mouth hot and wet and sucking, as you lace your fingers through his hair, tightening your legs around him.
You writhe against him when he peels off your bra, his mouth dropping to your breasts, kissing and teasing, leaving your chest wet from his tongue, leaving you feeling utterly worshipped.
You push down the band of his boxers, but you can’t reach low enough to pull them down.
“Off,” you whisper impatiently. Rafe smirks against your skin, then nods.
Finally, you see all of him when he peels the boxers off, your breath quickening. His eyes are on yours as he shifts to open his nightstand, the wrapper of the condom crinkling. With only your panties left between you, he presses his fingers to your heat as he hovers over you, nose nudging yours.
“You want it?” he rasps, needing to hear you say it.
“Yes,” you breathe, back arching. He rubs circles, teasing you, before he finally pulls down your panties.
He takes a few seconds to just stare at you, absorbing every beautiful part of you, before he holds himself at his base to pull the condom on. He shifts to lie over you again, propped up on his knees, kissing you softly.
This is how it should be. How it should always be. Wrapped up in Rafe, enveloped in sheets that smell like him, listening to his breath and yours. Nothing has ever felt so right before.
Rafe is slow when he enters, stretching you out with hard, but mindblowing pressure, guiding himself in until he’s completely inside you.
He stays like this for a moment, because he can’t remember if he’s ever felt this complete before. He loves you, he’s known that for a while now, and feeling you so tight and hot around him, like you were made for him and he was made for you, makes him certain if he wasn’t already that anything in this world, anyone in this world, is nothing compared to you.
He pulls his hips back slowly, starts to drive in and out, earning your soft moans and the feeling of your nails digging into his back. You wrap your legs around him, hooking your ankles, feeling him hit that spot over and over and over again, the bed creaking, your groans interlacing.
You hold each other like you might lose each other, but within this moment, you’re not worried about that, about not being enough, about being left behind. Because this is unlike anything you’ve felt before. This isn’t just physical, and you know that for sure when Rafe pulls back to look at you with pure adoration.
Your gazes are locked, and they stay that way until you both reach your climax, consumed by euphoria, by happiness, by peace.
・・・・・
You don’t bother getting dressed. You slip under Rafe’s sheets. He returns from his ensuite wearing his boxers, and he smiles when his eyes land on you.
His skin is still flushed as he settles next to you under the sheets, resting his head on the same pillow. You lie on your sides, facing each other, a shared blissful daze heavy in your gazes.
And you get it. Doing this with emotion attached is different. It’s better. Even with the vulnerability that comes with it. You’ve never been the type to cuddle, but the mere thought of not having Rafe like this pains you.
You reach forward to rest your palm on his cheek, to rub your thumb over his skin, and he can’t help but close his eyes. You might not always be affectionate, but when you are, it’s like a drug.
“Kind of sucks that I’ve been missing out on that for so long,” you murmur.
Rafe’s lips stretch into a grin, dimples dipping into his cheeks.
You realize that you’d once said that as a part of the bet, lied to him about wishing you’d spoken sooner. At that point, you didn’t think you could ever like him for real. Now, you’re falling.
“Only kind of?” he says, lids slowly lifting. He shifts closer to you, his arm on your waist.
“I’m trying to keep you humble,” you reply playfully.
“Well, stop,” he says.
“Fine,” you laugh. “I’ve really been missing out. It actually pisses me off.”
Rafe’s chuckle warms you from the inside out. His fingers trace up your spine, then he splays his hand over your back and pulls you in even tighter, until you can’t possibly get any closer together.
“Me, too,” he tells you. “Thanks for giving me a shot.”
You tuck your head under his neck, cheek against his shoulder.
“Thanks for wanting one,” you respond quietly.
He can’t fathom you thinking he wouldn’t want you. But he knows now how hard it is for you to accept someone choosing you. Someone staying. And he gets it because he’s lived in that same place for a long time, too.
Rafe kisses the top of your head, and then, his words slip out.
“I love you.”
You shift to lift your head and look at him, your heart skipping. And you realize right now, fully and entirely, you trust him. You trust that he means that. That he’ll stay. That even though he has all the power to break you, he won’t.
“I love you, too,” you tell him. It’s crazy how easy it is for you to say.
Rafe kisses you again and you feel so free, as if all the ways you used to guard yourself to have control actually controlled you, and they’re gone now.
You’ve never been so happy that both of you decided to accept a silly bet, because ultimately, thankfully, this is where it led you.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader - formerly Sam Winchester x reader
Summary: you and Dean get a little closer, hidden feelings come to light.
An: finally something for my Dean. I’m in a bit of a Dean phase rn I can’t even lie, like I’ve been absorbing so much Dean content as of late so here’s to that. Definitely gonna do a part three where they finally… yk.
wc: 1.9k - Dean Masterlist - part 1
You left home.
The change had been simple at first. You had cut Sam from your life in the ways that mattered. That was every way.
You supposed it was because you had accepted a long time ago that you and Sam weren't meant to be. That maybe the budding feelings you've had for his brother was the universes fucked up way of ruining the small family you had.
It hadn't. It had just opened your eyes to the bigger picture.
You were at a park, sitting on a bench watching the lives of men, women, and children who hadn't been tainted with the knowledge of too much.
You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest, praying that the approaching footsteps weren't who you thought they were.
"You ever plan on comin home?" Said a familiar voice that you had come to miss. You shrugged your shoulders. "Didn't know if I was still welcome." You replied.
Dean takes a seat next to you. You can feel the warmth of his body even through the layers of clothing he insists looked sexy.
He snorts "please. Sam and I say worse things to each other on a daily basis" he tries to comfort. You knew he wasn't truly aware of your inner turmoil.
You shook your head, looking at him, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping, and drinking too much, even for him. "I meant what I said Dean. Sam and I… were done. I think we have been for a long time and just refused to accept it."
Deans eyes connect with yours, his eyebrows were drawn and the frown on his face deepened. "Sam loves you"
You laughed bitterly "he left me Dean. Over and over. Would you do that to… someone?" 'To me' is what you meant, but you couldn't say it.
Deans expression didn't waver, but his anwser came immediately "I'd take myself out before I willingly leave… someone I love" 'before I willingly leave you' is what he meant but couldn't say. "I'd- I'd like to say Sam would do the same… but-" he couldn't finish his sentence as if finally accepting what you already had.
You swallowed harshly, understanding perfectly "right"
"Right"
You went home with him. Against your better judgment you did.
You looked around the bunker cautiously, not ready to face Sam and the final acceptance that comes with it.
Dean noticed the caution on your face "He's not here. Left out this morning for a hunt. Shouldn't be back for a few days."
Your body visibly relaxed. What Dean refrained from telling you, was that he made Sam go because he knew you were less likely to come home if he was there.
You looked at Dean, who looked just a few pounds lighter. "Thank you for bringing me home" you said, giving him a soft smile before taking off to your room.
You spent the rest of the day there.
You were in the middle of making your bed when a knock sounded at your cracked door. You looked over and it was Dean, pushing the door open further, his apron on and a plate in his hand.
You raised your eyebrows, he cleared his throat "I uh- figured you were-" he gestured at your new change of clothes "decent, since your door was open" his ears reddened
You smiled "lucky you" you mused.
He gave a small smile, "yeah… well I made you dinner. Know you like my burgers so I fired up the grill" he held out the plate to you.
You walked towards him, grabbing the plate noticing how he kept the burger meat seperate from the bun and all of the toppings to the side because you hated soggy burger buns.
"Thank you Dean." You said, the smile on your face growing. "I- did you already eat? Or can I join you?"
"Uh no, I was gonna watch a movie in the Dean cave, you can join if you want." He offered.
You nodded "yeah of course"
That's how you spent the night, Dean, a snack bowl he had prepared (with the hopes of you joining him) and a cowboy movie.
You spent half of it giggling at deans dramatic but accurate reinactions of the movie.
The next half you spent asleep, head in deans lap. He had moved you because your head kept slipping from his shoulder.
His heart sank and soared at the sight of you in his lap. On one hand, the guilt from the feelings that had been eating him alive for years was gnawing at him more than ever. Sam's his brother, he'd do anything for him.
But in the other hand he couldn’t deny that his brother didn't deserve you. The woman that picked him up after every fight, the one who stayed beside him even after he'd done something to humiliate her (yet again) the woman he kept proving would never be the one for him.
Dean couldn't fault you for leaving Sam. Hell he'd prayed for the day that you realized he wasn't it for you. Selfishly he prayed for the day that you looked towards him with eyes that looked at him like he hung the stars and moon for you. Because he would.
Of all the things in the world Dean would do anything for you. Anything. Even if it came down to it- betraying his brother.
He tuned out the galloping sounds coming from the tv, focus set solely on you. His thumb caressed your jaw, holding back from saying everything his heart pleaded of him.
Three words and eight letters. Except he couldn't say them, not out loud. Not to you.
You woke up in your bed, your mind immediately reminded you of last night. You smiled to yourself at the content you felt.
It had been a long time since you felt that. Content. Not worrying yourself to the ground wondering if the man you loved truly loved you back. Now it didn't matter.
You slipped out of bed, quietly making your way to the kitchen to put coffee on. Your foot tapped impatiently, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing before realizing you needed a mug.
You moved towards the cabinet where the mugs were kept, groaning in irritation when you noticed the mugs far too out of your reach. "Seriously?" You muttered.
"Need a hand?" Deans voice infiltrated your ears. You turned around, eyes locking with Dean who looked at you with raised eyebrows.
You nod, stepping back. Dean brushed past you, effortlessly grabbing a mug and placing it in your hand. He glances as the coffee maker "enough for me?" He asks. You nod, he turns to grab one for himself.
"You always bring me back." you spill randomly.
He looks at you, confused and intrigued "what do you mean" his eyes narrow in the way they always did when he was trying to decipher something.
His gaze was heavy on you, like you could physically feel the weight of it. It made your heart flutter, the familiarity of it.
You turned away from him, opting to pour your coffee than watch his reaction to the words about to spill from your mouth. "When Sam messes up. Or when he decides that I'm no longer needed in the next chapter of his life. It's never him to come pick up the pieces" you explain as the coffee fills the cup.
Dean was caught off guard. Of course he knew that. Because something in him. Some sick and twisted part of him kept hoping that one day its be him that you come home to.
"Why?" You asked
'I'd be better for you. I bring you back because even with Sam I can't do this without you. I don't wanna. I want you to hurt anymore but I can't sit and watch you go.' It's what his heart said.
"Because you deserve better" was what slipped out. His gaze stayed heavy on your back, the weight almost felt like a plea. For everything and nothing at the same time.
Please let me down easy.
Please give yourself to me.
You placed the mug down on the counter, letting out a breath "I need more than that Dean. Tell me the truth." You knew there was more. You felt it and you knew he did too.
"I- look at me. Please" Dean softly demanded. You turned to him, his eyes were softer, shoulders sagging, body looking like it was half in, half out.
He moved closer to you, "I- I bring you back because I need you here." His hands grab yours " even if I can never have you, even if you're Sam's-"
"I'm not"
"Doesn't matter. You were and I can't have you because of it. But I'd rather have you around than not at all."
Your vision blurs, tears filling your waterline. "You can have me. For once be selfish." You pleaded with him. Dean closed his eyes, forehead leaning against yours "you still love Sam" he tells you.
You shake your head ready to object but he cuts you off "and even if you don't. You're off limits to me."
"I don't have to be" you muttered "he's your brother, but where was he when you were In purgatory? While I spent night and day trying to find you? In bed with another woman. One he loved."
Dean pulled away from you, he looked shocked. As if you had burned him. "You looked for me?" He asked breathlessly.
"I never stopped."
In the blink of an eye he was on you. His lips pressed against yours and for the first time ever your world seemed at peace. You moaned into his kiss, your hand moving to the back of his head and tangling in his hair.
"Thought you forgot about me" he muttered against your lips. You whined in response because how could he possibly think that? "I could never." You promised.
Deans tongue danced with yours, both of your breathing harsh and heavy against the others skin. It was so wrong, but it felt so right.
Dean grabbed your hips, pulling you as flush with him as possible. He pulled away from the kiss, his lust blown eyes connecting with your own "I need you to be mine now" he said. His eyebrows were pulled together and he looked two seconds from dropping to his knees.
He wasn't going to beg you. Not verbally. And even if he did, you didn't need to. The second you realized that Dean was the one, months before he'd returned from purgatory, you knew.
Your lips brushed against his, "I've been yours" you whispered back. Dean smiled, connecting your lips once again he pulled you tighter "damn right"
You could feel his touch travel through your bloodstream, it sparked feelings in you that you didn't know where possible. The touch, smell, and feeling of him made you feel like you were floating.
However, that all came crashing down when the sound of a clearing throat interrupted you. You killed away from Dean, looking towards the sound.
There he was, back two days early from his trip. Sam stood in the doorway, looking between you and Dean who made no effort to separate further than you already had.
Sam's jaw clenched "you weren't kidding" he said.
You shook your head "nope. How does it feel?" Your expression cold and hardened. You stepped towards him "I hope it hurts. I hope it shatters you. Maybe then- you will know a fraction of that hurt you caused me. Over and over again."
Sam's looked utterly crushed. His eyes connected with deans who's expression was as unreadable as it always was.
He looked back at you there were now tears in his eyes.
I’m such a harsh gatekeeper, my family and I were playing “guess the show by the theme song” and I was winning (duh). But supernatural came on and I literally shrank into my seat because the words almost spilled out.
Question! If I posted my Klaus mikaelson x OC here would you guys read it? She’s a black girl so heads up there 🤭, but I’ve been kind of wondering if anybody here would read?!????
I WILL keep it out of the x reader tag im just spreading the word as of right now…
Yes or no
Yes
No
Voting ended on54m
If so put your @ in comments and I will tag you in all future chapters ;)
Summary: Finals are approaching, which means so are the end of semester frat parties—and for the first time ever, you were invited by a frat bro himself. The only problem? You’ve never even been kissed.
CW: None! “Practice kiss” trope, friends to… more, mutual pining, Sam being a jealous, cheeky sweetheart, readers nervous but Sam makes it better (as she stresses him out real bad)
WC: 4.3K
Based on this request!
The highlighter in your hand hasn’t moved in at least five minutes.
Its tip sits idly against the smooth paper of your notebook, bright yellow ink bleeding into the next page. Your hand smudges the pen beneath it, ink staining the heel of your palm as it rests over the same sentence you’d abandoned moments ago, before your attention drifted somewhere else entirely.
To someone else.
Sam is sprawled sideways across the plush covers of his bed, one knee bent awkwardly to the side, the other long leg of his hanging half off the edge. He twirls his pencil loosely between two fingers, The Stanford Daily crossword spread open across his thighs, covered in partially finished answers and soft graphite smudges. His fingers tap absentmindedly to the beat of some catchy rock song humming from the radio, his foot bouncing right along with it.
You’d shown up to his dorm to study. And, to be fair, you had been studying. It’s not out of the ordinary for you to swing by his room when the library gets a little too loud—the calm, warm sanctuary of your best friend’s space becoming one of your own. It’s cozy. Comfortable. Watching him do little mundane tasks while you fry your brain with chemical reactions and nuclear physics equations has become, funny enough, one of your most savoured pastimes.
And usually, it works. Keeps you grounded from the mental cyclone that is university. Especially when the pressure of finals is weighing on your shoulders so physically, that you’re pretty sure you’re developing a bit of a hunch. Your chemistry exam certainly isn’t about to write itself, no matter how much time you spend in the lab, and if you don’t get your head wrapped around the concept of chemoselectivity within the next fourty-eight hours, you can practically kiss your entire degree goodbye.
Metaphorically, of course.
But it’s hard to keep your brain focused on chemical reagents when Sam’s right there, worrying his lip between his teeth, wearing the world’s sweetest thinking face, and blissfully oblivious to the chaos silently unfolding in your head. A chaos that currently consists 40% of organic chemistry, and 60% oh my God, his mouth.
“Hey.” His eyes shift to yours, pencil pausing mid-spin. “What’s an eight letter word for ‘emphasized’?”
The question, breaking the silence, makes you raise your brows. Your highlighter finally slips from your loose grasp, rolling between the pages of your open notebook, leaving behind a wobbly, bright yellow line behind that you’ll probably complain about later.
“Uh,” you buffer, blinking at him. “Asserted?”
He makes an affirming sound, one that makes your heart flutter far more than it probably should, before he shakes his head.
“Mmm… should start with an S.” He scribbles it out quickly, his eraser moving in slow, lazy strokes. The radio crackles on the mellow chord of a guitar intro, the beginnings of something by Nirvana, but it only catches your attention for a second before your focus drifts back to Sam. Sam, twirling that pencil that looks so tiny in his unfairly large hands, staring intensely at the crossword like solving it will reveal the secrets of the universe.
He chews on the inside of his lip as he thinks, pulling the corner on sharp canines, and for a second too long, you can’t tug your gaze away. You trace the moles dotting his face, the shape of his mouth, the soft bow of his lips, the pink hue highlighted by the warm lamp light…
And by the time you snap out of it, he’s already looking back at you. Not just glancing this time, but holding the contact. His messy hair falls over his forehead, casting a soft shadow over his sweet face, while the lamp’s glow catches in his dark pupils. He blinks slowly, tilting his head slightly, the same way a dog might when they hear something strange, before he speaks gently.
“…You okay?”
Caught.
You freeze for a suspiciously long beat, staring at him with an, admittedly, pretty dumb expression; but he doesn’t press. You purse your lips, debating, before you’re shifting your notebook off your lap, and crossing the small room in two short strides.
You sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed, facing him, both of your hands falling into your lap, threading your fingers together as you give them a small, reassuring squeeze.
“Actually, I… there’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” you say quickly. “You heard of that party tomorrow night after the football game, yeah? Tom’s frat?”
Sam’s brows furrow for a blink, before he softens. He lowers the newspaper slowly, setting it to the blanket beside him without looking away. His eyes turn full on attentive, damn him, the same look he wears when you ramble about something stupid, or ask him a million questions after lectures. The one that really means I’m listening, even though you’re definitely distracting me.
“Yeah?” he says simply, voice low and steady.
You swallow, gaze dropping to your hands as you squeeze them together, Sam’s eyes following suit. He saw that. He always does.
“Well… Chris from physics asked me to go,” you tell him quietly. “With him.”
Sam doesn’t move. Not a muscle. Not even that little crease between his brows that always forms when he’s processing something tough, or that tick in his jaw that always shows when he’s frustrated. Just… nothing.
“And… I dunno, I’m just—nervous? I guess?”
For the first time since Sam’s met you, the girl who borrows his hoodies without asking, who falls asleep against his shoulder during late night study sessions, whose laugh makes him stupidly giddy—he feels something cold and unfamiliar coil in his chest. Your words play on repeat in his head like a scratched record, one that’s too loud, too wrong, but is too out of control to shut off.
But he doesn’t say that. He never would.
Instead, he swallows, nods, and schools his expression into something carefully neutral.
“Okay, and… you’re going?” His voice comes out impossibly softer than usual, but in an almost manufactured, forced way. Careful-soft, the kind of tone people only use when they’re hiding something. You try not to dwell on it.
“I mean, I think so? Maybe?” you explain, an uncomfortable frown pulling at your lips. One of his own follows.
“You don’t have to. Don’t let him pressure you.”
Your jaw tightens as you shake your head, and your fingers tense hard enough to ache. Squeeze.
“No, no he’s not—that’s not what this is.” You laugh awkwardly, but it dies as quickly as it slips out. “He’s nice enough for… y’know. A frat boy. He’s just, bold, and I…”
You trail off, teeth pinching down on the inside of your cheek. Because God, why was this so damn embarrassing? It really shouldn’t be, because Christ, this is Sam. But it feels a little like beginning a presentation in front of an entire lecture hall, then realizing you forgot your notecards at your seat.
Your eyes flick back up to Sam’s, and something flashes across his face. Something too quick for you to decipher, gone far too fast for you to name. But if there’s one thing it does well, it’s make your words tumble out before you can catch them.
“Sam, I’ve never even kissed anyone.” Heat rushes to your face instantly. “What if I’m, like, awful?”
The room goes strangely quiet.
The radio keeps playing somewhere in the background, guitar humming softly through the speakers, but you become hyper-aware of everything else. Like the sound your palms make when they slide against each other. The slow exhale of Sam’s breath. The warm scent of his shampoo lingering in the room. The way he’s looking at you.
Or, the way he’s staring at you.
Because of all the things he expected you to say, that wasn’t even in the top ten. Nope—wasn’t even in the ballpark. Completely left field. Not about the party, or Chris, or his boldness. He knows all about that. But the sinking, twisting feeling in his gut was bracing for something else. For you to tell him that you liked Chris. Really liked Chris. That this conversation would shift to how excited you are. That he’d have to smile and nod as you gush, pretending that it doesn’t feel like a knife was jammed between his ribs.
But instead, you say that, staring at him like he’s the only person who can ease your nerves, and that? That just makes his chest ache in a whole new way. Because oh, oh fuck, he just hates how much the selfish, guilty part of him likes it.
His gaze softens, just a fraction. Not into something you can pick apart, not yet anyway, but some of that tension leaves his shoulders. Slowly, carefully, he turns to face you more fully, reaching his hand out to nudge your clenched fingers with his own, forcing them to relax.
“Oh, c’mon,” he tries, voice coming out lighter than his chest feels. “You won’t be awful.”
At that, your face does something a little stupid. Your nose scrunches up like you’ve just smelt something terrible, your hands lifting to scrape dramatically over your face, a whiny, pathetic sound slipping from your lips. Peering through the spaces between your fingers, you catch Sam’s expression cracking. Something like warm, fond amusement breaking through the mask in a dimpled grin.
“Everyone I know has said their first kiss sucked,” you deadpan. “I mean, you told me yours was barely a peck, and then you spilled soda everywhere!”
He cringes at the memory, before leaning forward slightly. Not enough to invade your space, not without asking, but enough to rest his elbow on his knee, cheeks slightly pink from mild embarrassment creeping up his neck.
“Okay, maybe mine sucked,” he admits with a shrug, and a sweet laugh. “But, y’know. Just keep your elbows away from soda cans, and you’ll be just fine—”
“Shut up, Sam.”
You roll your eyes, raising two hands to plant firmly on his shoulders. Those broad, muscled shoulders, that you have to pretend not to stare (read: ogle) at. His eyes widen at the contact, his body going a little stiff, before relaxing into the touch. “This is serious,” you complain, giving him a shake, and he sways like the jostling does anything. It doesn’t, not really. He just lets you believe it does.
He’s holding back a laugh, and you can tell. To his credit, he does an alright job, but there’s really no denying the way he’s biting the hell out of his tongue.
“I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to not freak out, okay? Just, think about it. Please.” His face sobers up immediately, shifting into something almost concerned, which really, really doesn’t help the nerves licking up your spine. “I wanted to, um. Ask if you’d, uh… teach me.”
You swallow.
“Y’know. How to kiss.”
You’re almost sure Sam stops breathing for a second.
His eyes don’t widen. His lips don’t part. In fact, absolutely nothing happens to that usually very expressive face of his, which is infinitely more terrifying. It’s like every neuron in his genius brain fired at once, sent a thousand signals in every direction, before crapping out entirely.
“Sam.” You shake his shoulders again, and this time, he forgets to sway. Your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders, leaving dimples in the soft cotton of his tee shirt. “Say something.”
He blinks, once, twice, before coming back to it. Mostly.
“…What?”
Your stomach drops like a rock in water.
“Please don’t make me say it again,” you croak, words catching in your throat like you’ve swallowed thick, sticky syrup. Your brain spirals—he’s too stiff. Too silent. What if you ruined things? What if he kicks you out? Oh God, what if he never speaks to you again? “I… I’m sorry. I know that’s—you don’t have to, I mean, I’d never—”
“Okay.”
You pause, choking on your words. “…Okay?”
Sam nods slowly, his face still really not giving you a whole lot to work with, and that only makes you spiral.
“Just—just okay?” you sputter, your hands dropping from his thick shoulders to grip the fabric of your pants. Squeeze. Your heart picks up a frantic, erratic drum solo against your ribs. “Nothing else? Y’just blank, and then ‘okay’?”
He blinks, the neutral mask finally shattering into something else, something almost defensive. But it’s the Sam-version of defensive, which as it turns out, is a whole lot cuter than it is intimidating. His brows pinch together, forming a sharp crease between them, his nose scrunching as he pulls up his hands in mock-surrender. “Well, y’know, I… you told me to think about it!”
“Yeah, well, not like that!” you shoot back, the strange mix of nerves, frustration, and sticky-sweet affection making your pitch pick up a fraction.
He winces, something like guilt painting his features. “Okay, okay, sorry. Uh.” He lets out a long, shaky exhale, and you feel it fan over your cheeks. When did he get so close? His shoulders drop with some sort of forced-calm, as his eyes search yours with a sudden, almost startling vulnerability.
“…Yeah,” he murmurs, the word soft, barely above a breath. “Yeah, of course. I mean, if that’s what you want. Really want.” He pauses. “I mean. It’s just… practice, right?”
You nod, but your throat feels too tight to speak. Right. What you really want. Practice. The words spin and dance around in your head for a moment, echoing on repeat, and there’s something about the smooth, comforting rumble of his voice that settles your spiraling anxiety into something shallower. Calmer.
“…Yeah. Practice.”
Sam shifts, closing just a bit of remaining distance between you. His movements are agonizingly slow, giving you every opportunity to pull away, to laugh it off, to change your mind. When you don’t, his hand comes up. Those long, warm, graphite-tinted fingers gently take your hand, flipping it over to brush a soothing circle over your whitened knuckles. The touch sends a fresh, electric wave of heat rushing to your face. Damn him.
“We can stop whenever you want,” he whispers, his gaze dropping to your mouth before flicking back up to your eyes. “Okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe out, your voice coming out far quieter than you’d intended, and he smiles. It’s small, a subtle tug of his lips, but dimples dent his pink-tinted cheeks in a way that makes your stomach flip.
“Relax for me,” he instructs. “Just a peck first, yeah? Test the waters. Then tell me how you feel.”
He waits for you to nod, then leans in, and nothing could pull you away from him then, not even your pulse threatening to pound straight out your chest. His eyes flutter closed, and it takes you a moment to realize that oh yeah, yours probably should too, and then they do, and then he’s kissing you.
It’s just a peck. Barely there, exactly like he said.
It’s not like the movies, where there’s a dramatic swell of music, or fireworks exploding somewhere in the distance. It’s just Sam. It’s the familiar, comforting scent of his laundry detergent and the faint, sweet trace of the coffee he’d abandoned on his desk earlier. It’s the soft, hesitant press of his lips against yours.
But it’s enough to make your entire world feel like it’s tilted on its axis.
His lips are softer than you’d imagined. And that only makes you think holy shit, have I imagined this before?, and that’s a whole new can of worms you’re not quite willing to open up yet. Not when he pulls away, far sooner than you’d like, and you find yourself wishing he’d lingered.
He doesn’t go far. Your eyes take a second too long to blink back open, and when they do, he’s already looking at you. Those soft, hazel depths swirling with something so warm that you have to fight the urge to squirm.
“See? Not awful,” he teases, his big hand squeezing yours where his fingers are still cradling your wrist. “…Feelin’ okay?”
“Uh-huh, yes. Okay.” You nod, a too-fast, jerky movement, and his eyebrow raises, a laugh huffing from his chest.
“Right,” he snickers, and then his other hand is moving. Still slow, still careful, but when it lands on your cheek, you have to fight every urge to lean right into it. But that sounds very non-platonic, and this is normal, friends-teaching-friends, thank you very much, so you resist. “…I’m gonna do it again. Just a little more. And you tell me if it’s too much, too fast.”
You nod, and then he’s closing the space again—but your palm lands flat on his chest, and he pauses. Confusion clouds his face, then concern, a question forming on his tongue, but you’re faster. “What—what do I do with my hands?”
The brief flash of worry melts, puddles into warmth right along with your heart, as his expression fades back into fond amusement. A faint dusting of pink blooms across his cheeks, across the gorgeous slope of his nose, and he lets out a quiet, breathy laugh, dipping his head.
“Whatever you want,” he says, his voice a low, raspy hum that vibrates straight through your palm still resting on his chest. He glances at your hand, then back to your eyes, tilting his head. “Or stay right there. I don’t mind.”
When you don’t say anything right away, a shuddering breath flowing from your parted lips, he softens. Completely.
“Hey,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek gently. “How about… you just keep ‘em where they are. Just like that. And then… just follow whatever feels right. Yeah?”
A smile tugs at your lips. “Okay. Yeah.”
This time, when he closes the distance, it’s not as hesitant. He tilts his head slightly, his warm palm gently guiding yours to do the same, and when his lips brush yours, the kiss is different entirely. It’s no longer a testing, fleeting peck.
His lips part slightly against yours, soft and yielding, and for one terrifying, wonderful second, the world narrows down to nothing but the heat of his mouth and the gentle, grounding pressure of his hand cupping your jaw. He has to duck his head to reach you, so you let yours fall back just slightly—it should be awkward, cramped, but God, it’s really not. He hums, a sound that feels a little like approval (and Christ you hope it was), and then his hand in yours slides away.
Not quickly, or harshly, only the opposite. It never leaves you completely, trailing warm, teddy-bear soft fingertips along your forearm until they dip, circling your waist. Now it’s your turn to hum, and he responds by adding just a little more pressure against your lips. Tilting your face a little further to align with his. Your body sings with the touch, head going all airy, mouth tingling, pulse fluttering, and holy shit, you’re really kissing someone.
You’re really kissing Sam.
Inevitably, your mind starts to reel. How do you breathe? Do you pull back? Is that rude?—but Sam must feel it in the way a shaky exhale warms his cheek, because his lips part from yours just long enough to drag a breath into your abused lungs. Then he’s right back on you all over again.
Yes, your body soars, a dumb, happy sound tumbling into his parted lips, high-pitched and giddy. His thumb dimples into the plush flesh of your hip, his lips popping off of yours. He chuckles, sneaking one more kiss to your cheek.
“Awh,” he coos, heat climbing up your neck. “That was cute.”
You don’t quite have the capacity to tell him to shut his trap, considering that you’re pretty sure your brain tapped out two Sam-kisses ago, but your body moves of its own accord. The arm that isn’t smushed between your chests slings around his neck, fingers threading into the messy hair at his nape, and then you’re pulling him in.
The enthusiasm at which he reciprocates pushes your body back, but oh, he catches you, strong arm still circling your waist, fingers pressing into your skin. He feels impossibly bigger that way, half-looming over you, broad and steady, never imposing. His neck is fever-hot beneath your fingertips, and you can feel the rapid, fluttering pulse pattering a frantic rhythm at his throat.
He’s feeling it too.
And that, that alone, has a fresh wave of electricity buzzing through your veins. Your mouth parts, instinct taking over, as he swipes his hot tongue along your lower lip. He doesn’t push through the seam, not even if your body was begging for it—not yet, anyway—but that little taste has your fingers tugging softly in his hair. Your body screams closer, closer, closer, your chest pushing against his, all that Sam-warmth of his a very welcome comfort.
“Don’t know what you were s’worried about,” he hums, breath hot against your lips. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”
The words do something to your stomach, something gooey, something gratifying, a strange mix of heated flush and goosebumps rising on your skin.
“Yeah?” you purr, Sam responding by pulling you in further, shifting you up-right, letting both hands settle at your waist. Your body smushes so close to his, that you may as well be straddling those tree trunk-thick thighs of his.
In an utterly, completely platonic way, of course.
As it turns out, once you begin kissing Sam, it’s just about impossible to stop. You alternate between pecks and deep, long kisses. It’s not as sloppy as you imagined, and maybe less… wet, but that could just be him. Sam kisses with a force that could be mistaken for passion, or even reverence, sweet and gentle and fuck, the back of your mind just keeps rattling about how right it feels.
“You taste so good,” he breathes, and you mmm-hmm your agreement, unwilling to part too long, just as his tongue swipes across your lip again. Fucking-fuck.
“You planned this, didn’t you? Taste—tastin’ like heaven.” You don’t have time to fluster, not with how he mouths at you. All you can do is whine. “S’that strawberry, honey?”
You don’t have the breath to deny it, not when his mouth continues moving against yours with just devastating, sweet enthusiasm. He kisses you like he’s been waiting months, years to do it, and maybe, just maybe, he has. One hand slides up your back, slipping into your hair, tangling with the locks and holding you flush against him as the kiss deepens. It turns heavy, all consuming as you melt into him, a soft, breathy sound escaping your lips. And oh, Sam’s done.
His tongue finally, finally slips past your lips, tasting of black coffee and the sweet berry chapstick that’s smudged against his own mouth. It’s intoxicating.
Your brain croons, because this, this is it, you realize. It settles that Sam’s kisses are the best you’ll ever have, and you’ll just have to live with that forever.
Screw Chris.
The grip on your waist tightens as he angles his head, deepening the kiss until your mind goes entirely, blissfully blank. You can forget forming thoughts, your brain all gooey and useless in such a perfect way, something you weren’t even sure was possible. It’s heated, slightly messy in the best way, and you’re pretty sure he’s stolen your ability to breathe entirely.
It’s right in the middle of one of those searing, mind-numbing kisses when your brain, the torturous, unorganized organ that it is, suddenly misfires entirely. A synaptic impulse jumps the gap, and your eyes fly open.
You pull back abruptly, your hands falling to grip his shoulders again as if to steady yourself. You’re panting, lips tingling, face so hot you feel as though you could melt like ice cream in the middle of summer.
Sam blinks, dazed, those sweet, hazel puppy eyes blown wide. “What? What is it? Did I—”
“Stressed,” you blurt, breathless, voice carrying just a little too loud through the heavy air of the dorm room.
Sam freezes. His face falls. Hazy warmth clears the way for sharp, genuine concern. Both hands drop from your waist as though he was burned, cupping your cheeks instead, his thumbs brushing below your eyes as he scans your face for any sign of a spiral. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes. His voice drops into that protective, heart-breaking register he uses when you’re on the verge of a panic attack, or sobbing over some organic chemistry lab. “Breathe f’me, okay? I’m sorry, we can stop, I shouldn’t have pushed—”
“No, no, Sam, listen,” you interrupt, grabbing his wrists to still his frantic, stupidly-comforting motions. “The crossword. Eight letters. Starts with S.”
He stares at you. Pauses. Then, slowly, the pieces click into place.
The concern in his eyes dissolves completely, into something so profoundly fond, so overwhelmingly soft, that it almost hurts your chest to see. A slow, dimpled grin spreads across his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, as a disbelieving laugh tumbles from his lips, and his forehead drops against yours.
“Oh my God,” he whispers, the vibration of his chuckle buzzing against your skin. “You, Jesus, I have my tongue in your mouth, and you’re thinking ‘bout the crossword?”
“It—it was bugging me!” you defend weakly, though a smile is already beginning to tug at your own lips. You can still feel the tingle of his. “And, y’know, it fits!”
“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping back to your mouth. The fondness in his eyes darkens, slow and languid, slipping into something more heated. His thumb traces the curve of your jaw one last time. “Yeah. It does, sweetheart.”
Before you can say another word, long before you can register his big man-paws sliding back down to cradle your waist, he closes the distance. He shuts you up completely, mouth crashing against yours in a kiss that doesn’t feel platonic—and sure as hell doesn’t feel like practice.
Not at all.
AN: Okay sooo, got side tracked by this adorable ask, oops! Have some sweet, fluffy Stanford Sam (who, I’ve come to realize that you guys absolutely adore. Me too, my friends).
Anyways, should be returning to my roots, writing absolute filth soon, I promise! I just have absolutely no focusing ability recently, lol. Also, side note, the chemistry stuff in here is just stuff I vaguely remember, so it’s probably definitely wrong.
This might just be the MOST ADORABLE FIC IVE EVER READ OH MY GOD!!! I DON’T EVEN HAVE WORDS IM JUST LIKE… INJECT IT INTO MY VEINS- FEED IT TO ME FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH, AND DINNER!!
Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader - formerly Sam Winchester x reader
Summary: you and Dean get a little closer, hidden feelings come to light.
An: finally something for my Dean. I’m in a bit of a Dean phase rn I can’t even lie, like I’ve been absorbing so much Dean content as of late so here’s to that. Definitely gonna do a part three where they finally… yk.
wc: 1.9k - Dean Masterlist - part 1
You left home.
The change had been simple at first. You had cut Sam from your life in the ways that mattered. That was every way.
You supposed it was because you had accepted a long time ago that you and Sam weren't meant to be. That maybe the budding feelings you've had for his brother was the universes fucked up way of ruining the small family you had.
It hadn't. It had just opened your eyes to the bigger picture.
You were at a park, sitting on a bench watching the lives of men, women, and children who hadn't been tainted with the knowledge of too much.
You sighed, pulling your knees to your chest, praying that the approaching footsteps weren't who you thought they were.
"You ever plan on comin home?" Said a familiar voice that you had come to miss. You shrugged your shoulders. "Didn't know if I was still welcome." You replied.
Dean takes a seat next to you. You can feel the warmth of his body even through the layers of clothing he insists looked sexy.
He snorts "please. Sam and I say worse things to each other on a daily basis" he tries to comfort. You knew he wasn't truly aware of your inner turmoil.
You shook your head, looking at him, he looked like he hadn't been sleeping, and drinking too much, even for him. "I meant what I said Dean. Sam and I… were done. I think we have been for a long time and just refused to accept it."
Deans eyes connect with yours, his eyebrows were drawn and the frown on his face deepened. "Sam loves you"
You laughed bitterly "he left me Dean. Over and over. Would you do that to… someone?" 'To me' is what you meant, but you couldn't say it.
Deans expression didn't waver, but his anwser came immediately "I'd take myself out before I willingly leave… someone I love" 'before I willingly leave you' is what he meant but couldn't say. "I'd- I'd like to say Sam would do the same… but-" he couldn't finish his sentence as if finally accepting what you already had.
You swallowed harshly, understanding perfectly "right"
"Right"
You went home with him. Against your better judgment you did.
You looked around the bunker cautiously, not ready to face Sam and the final acceptance that comes with it.
Dean noticed the caution on your face "He's not here. Left out this morning for a hunt. Shouldn't be back for a few days."
Your body visibly relaxed. What Dean refrained from telling you, was that he made Sam go because he knew you were less likely to come home if he was there.
You looked at Dean, who looked just a few pounds lighter. "Thank you for bringing me home" you said, giving him a soft smile before taking off to your room.
You spent the rest of the day there.
You were in the middle of making your bed when a knock sounded at your cracked door. You looked over and it was Dean, pushing the door open further, his apron on and a plate in his hand.
You raised your eyebrows, he cleared his throat "I uh- figured you were-" he gestured at your new change of clothes "decent, since your door was open" his ears reddened
You smiled "lucky you" you mused.
He gave a small smile, "yeah… well I made you dinner. Know you like my burgers so I fired up the grill" he held out the plate to you.
You walked towards him, grabbing the plate noticing how he kept the burger meat seperate from the bun and all of the toppings to the side because you hated soggy burger buns.
"Thank you Dean." You said, the smile on your face growing. "I- did you already eat? Or can I join you?"
"Uh no, I was gonna watch a movie in the Dean cave, you can join if you want." He offered.
You nodded "yeah of course"
That's how you spent the night, Dean, a snack bowl he had prepared (with the hopes of you joining him) and a cowboy movie.
You spent half of it giggling at deans dramatic but accurate reinactions of the movie.
The next half you spent asleep, head in deans lap. He had moved you because your head kept slipping from his shoulder.
His heart sank and soared at the sight of you in his lap. On one hand, the guilt from the feelings that had been eating him alive for years was gnawing at him more than ever. Sam's his brother, he'd do anything for him.
But in the other hand he couldn’t deny that his brother didn't deserve you. The woman that picked him up after every fight, the one who stayed beside him even after he'd done something to humiliate her (yet again) the woman he kept proving would never be the one for him.
Dean couldn't fault you for leaving Sam. Hell he'd prayed for the day that you realized he wasn't it for you. Selfishly he prayed for the day that you looked towards him with eyes that looked at him like he hung the stars and moon for you. Because he would.
Of all the things in the world Dean would do anything for you. Anything. Even if it came down to it- betraying his brother.
He tuned out the galloping sounds coming from the tv, focus set solely on you. His thumb caressed your jaw, holding back from saying everything his heart pleaded of him.
Three words and eight letters. Except he couldn't say them, not out loud. Not to you.
You woke up in your bed, your mind immediately reminded you of last night. You smiled to yourself at the content you felt.
It had been a long time since you felt that. Content. Not worrying yourself to the ground wondering if the man you loved truly loved you back. Now it didn't matter.
You slipped out of bed, quietly making your way to the kitchen to put coffee on. Your foot tapped impatiently, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing before realizing you needed a mug.
You moved towards the cabinet where the mugs were kept, groaning in irritation when you noticed the mugs far too out of your reach. "Seriously?" You muttered.
"Need a hand?" Deans voice infiltrated your ears. You turned around, eyes locking with Dean who looked at you with raised eyebrows.
You nod, stepping back. Dean brushed past you, effortlessly grabbing a mug and placing it in your hand. He glances as the coffee maker "enough for me?" He asks. You nod, he turns to grab one for himself.
"You always bring me back." you spill randomly.
He looks at you, confused and intrigued "what do you mean" his eyes narrow in the way they always did when he was trying to decipher something.
His gaze was heavy on you, like you could physically feel the weight of it. It made your heart flutter, the familiarity of it.
You turned away from him, opting to pour your coffee than watch his reaction to the words about to spill from your mouth. "When Sam messes up. Or when he decides that I'm no longer needed in the next chapter of his life. It's never him to come pick up the pieces" you explain as the coffee fills the cup.
Dean was caught off guard. Of course he knew that. Because something in him. Some sick and twisted part of him kept hoping that one day its be him that you come home to.
"Why?" You asked
'I'd be better for you. I bring you back because even with Sam I can't do this without you. I don't wanna. I want you to hurt anymore but I can't sit and watch you go.' It's what his heart said.
"Because you deserve better" was what slipped out. His gaze stayed heavy on your back, the weight almost felt like a plea. For everything and nothing at the same time.
Please let me down easy.
Please give yourself to me.
You placed the mug down on the counter, letting out a breath "I need more than that Dean. Tell me the truth." You knew there was more. You felt it and you knew he did too.
"I- look at me. Please" Dean softly demanded. You turned to him, his eyes were softer, shoulders sagging, body looking like it was half in, half out.
He moved closer to you, "I- I bring you back because I need you here." His hands grab yours " even if I can never have you, even if you're Sam's-"
"I'm not"
"Doesn't matter. You were and I can't have you because of it. But I'd rather have you around than not at all."
Your vision blurs, tears filling your waterline. "You can have me. For once be selfish." You pleaded with him. Dean closed his eyes, forehead leaning against yours "you still love Sam" he tells you.
You shake your head ready to object but he cuts you off "and even if you don't. You're off limits to me."
"I don't have to be" you muttered "he's your brother, but where was he when you were In purgatory? While I spent night and day trying to find you? In bed with another woman. One he loved."
Dean pulled away from you, he looked shocked. As if you had burned him. "You looked for me?" He asked breathlessly.
"I never stopped."
In the blink of an eye he was on you. His lips pressed against yours and for the first time ever your world seemed at peace. You moaned into his kiss, your hand moving to the back of his head and tangling in his hair.
"Thought you forgot about me" he muttered against your lips. You whined in response because how could he possibly think that? "I could never." You promised.
Deans tongue danced with yours, both of your breathing harsh and heavy against the others skin. It was so wrong, but it felt so right.
Dean grabbed your hips, pulling you as flush with him as possible. He pulled away from the kiss, his lust blown eyes connecting with your own "I need you to be mine now" he said. His eyebrows were pulled together and he looked two seconds from dropping to his knees.
He wasn't going to beg you. Not verbally. And even if he did, you didn't need to. The second you realized that Dean was the one, months before he'd returned from purgatory, you knew.
Your lips brushed against his, "I've been yours" you whispered back. Dean smiled, connecting your lips once again he pulled you tighter "damn right"
You could feel his touch travel through your bloodstream, it sparked feelings in you that you didn't know where possible. The touch, smell, and feeling of him made you feel like you were floating.
However, that all came crashing down when the sound of a clearing throat interrupted you. You killed away from Dean, looking towards the sound.
There he was, back two days early from his trip. Sam stood in the doorway, looking between you and Dean who made no effort to separate further than you already had.
Sam's jaw clenched "you weren't kidding" he said.
You shook your head "nope. How does it feel?" Your expression cold and hardened. You stepped towards him "I hope it hurts. I hope it shatters you. Maybe then- you will know a fraction of that hurt you caused me. Over and over again."
Sam's looked utterly crushed. His eyes connected with deans who's expression was as unreadable as it always was.
He looked back at you there were now tears in his eyes.
I saw this edit and it makes me think that they should make a movie or tv show about two young women who befriend each other and find out they are both being courted by charming vampires until they realize the vampires in question really are dangerous and violent monsters, so they team up to take them down and become vampire huntresses together (+ they fall in love).
Does this make me weird 😓? It’s giving demon Dean and soulless Sam and I’m here for it in the best ways
I can't view them BC I don't have Instagram and it keeps redirecting me to the app store but I'm pretty sure I know what you're talking about and the predator/prey stuff isn't really my thing but...this is kinda hot.
Explicit/16+ - predator/prey, hunting, free use - gn!reader
I feel like they wouldn't do the whole dressing up thing naturally but would 100% hunt you down if they couldn't find you one day, then when you tell them you're into it, they go all out.
They get the gear, they "release" you into the forest somewhere in the middle of Oregon where no one will find you and get to work.
They split up and make it a competition, whoever finds you first gets to fuck you. And if they can keep you quiet, they can keep you, but if you're too loud, the other one will find you and they'll both use you however they like.
When they're like this, they're ruthless fucking killers and they will stop at nothing.
They'll keep you in the forest for as long as you can stand, not caring about creature comforts, only wanting to fuck you until you break.
wordcount: 1622
summary: having to do a presentation in front of a classroom full of teenagers feels a lot less terrifying when there's a six foot four moose standing beside you, willing to do anything and everything to make it easier for you.
warnings: fluff, deer!reader (fem), moose!sammy, idiots in love figuring out n being oblivious, highschool life is Hell, reader implied to have social anxiety, sammy is a sweetheart, dean teasing because he’s a through n through messy older brother– think that’s all for now !!!
The announcement should've come with a warning. A waiver or something, maybe a small note explaining exactly why high school teachers enjoyed inflicting psychological warfare upon their students. Because standing in front of a classroom full of teenagers and willingly drawing attention to yourself? Sounded suspiciously similar to public execution. Unfortunately, your teacher seemed to disagree. "Project presentations will be worth thirty percent of your grade for this semester" The collective groan that swept through the classroom felt somewhat validating. Good. At least everyone else understood how shitty the situation was. "You guys can choose your own partners"
The room immediately erupted into movement– chairs scraped, people called out to friends, someone nearly tripped over a backpack. Meanwhile, you simply turned your head and Sam was already looking at you.
"Hm?" He tilts his head in a silent question.
You barely had to reply, simply nodding with a soft: "Mhm"
That settled that.
Throughout the morning, working with Sam was surprisingly easy. You'd expected at least one argument, one disagreement or at least one moment where you had to remind him that not every project required the same level of dedication as a NASA launch. Instead, the two of you easily slipped into a rhythm– research during lunch, planning during free periods, library sessions after school.
Sam handled information like he was born for it. Facts, sources, organization. Meanwhile, your contributions mostly consisted of listening to him ramble on and on about different concepts. In your defense, it was mesmerizing. He put such dedication and care into learning, explaining everything to you– not to make you feel bad about not knowing it already, but to let you into his little world of knowledge. "You color coded the concepts?"
He glanced up from his notebook, wide hazel eyes meeting yours through the messy locks or brown hair falling over his face. "Mhm?"
"Sammy" You can’t help but chuckle softly, disbelievingly fond at his logic.
"What?"
"People don’t usually do that"
His eyebrows pulled together in that confused-puppy look he got all the time. "How else would you organize it?"
You stared at him, lips slowly pulling into a soft smile, shrugging. “Fair enough” Sure, organizing the necessary points by red-orange-green depending on importance wasn’t the usual way of going about it, but it wasn’t like either one of you were normal in any other way so whatever.
His boyish grin arrived immediately, dimples and all. God those pretty dimples.
The first main problem appeared once y’all started practicing the speaking part of the presentation. Not the project itself, not the information, not even the note cards. The actual standing-up-in-front-of-people part.
Sam finished his section without issue. Despite being fairly quiet in class and soft spoken overall, it was fairly easy for him to openly talk about the stuff that he likes. The awkward six foot four nerd turns into a calm professor-level presenter with big words and hand gestures.
Then it was your turn. You stood, looked down at your notes, and started reading. You got a good three sentences in, maybe four before every word started tangling together. Your mouth felt wrong, the library felt too warm, too quiet, too– "Sorry" You immediately sat back down, heat creeping into your face. Embarrassing. Pathetic. Ridiculous. Oh my God you were gonna look so stupid– Sam was going to do an amazing presentation and you’d just make it look awful with your trembling words and dodgy eyes.
Across the table, Sam frowned– not judgmental, just concerned. "You okay?"
The answer came automatically. "Yeah"
His expression didn't change, which was unfortunate because by now he knew you pretty darn well. And apparently? That meant he knew when you weren’t being fully honest either.
Presentation day arrived far too quickly for your liking. You spent most of the first period considering your options, they included:
A) running away
B) faking your own death
C) running away after faking your own death
None of them seemed realistic. (Unfortunately) By the time you reached your locker, Sam was already there, waiting for you like always. "Hey"
"Hi" He handed you a stack of note cards, you blinked while looking over them. Then blinked again. "...Sam?"
"What?"
You flipped through them. Most of the presentation had been rearranged– the longer sections, the introductions, the parts involving speaking in front of everyone… They were all his now. Your eyes lifted to meet his warm, expectant gaze. "You changed it"
He shifts on his feet, awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck as if it weren’t a huge deal for you. "A little"
"Sammy"
His huge shoulders hunching slightly into himself– making himself smaller like he always does. "You looked nervous" The words were simple, matter-of-fact– not pity, not judgment. Just an honest observation. The way someone might mention it was raining outside instead of confessing the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for you without even having to ask. You stared at him, then down at the cards and then back at him. Your chest felt weirdly tight– not the bad kind of tight, like when trying to speak in front of the class. Tight in the ‘oh my God you’re such a sweetheart’ kind of way.
"Oh"
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "If that's okay, I mean… I don’t want to be overbearing or just assume anything or whatever–"
You laughed softly. Because somehow he'd spent hours reorganizing an entire presentation and still looked worried you'd be upset. "Yeah" A pause, you smile softly up at him. "That's okay" The relief on his face was immediate.
After that, y’all walk together to class just like every other day. There were a couple other groups that went before you, but eventually the inevitable came– standing in front of the class still sucked. For the record, it sucked tremendously. (No amount of preparation could change that) Your heart hammered against your ribs, your body felt hot, the room felt too big, too loud, too everything. You glanced sideways, Sammy stood beside you– calm, steady, ready. From the outside? It must’ve looked a bit ridiculous, the towering wall of floppy brown hair shielding your smaller, skittish frame from the class’ searing gaze. When Sam noticed you looking, he offered a small smile, the kind meant only for you. Somehow, your breathing evened out, even if it was just a little.
The presentation began– whenever you stuttered, he picked up the thread. Whenever you hesitated, he gave you a second to recover without making a big deal out of it. Never interrupting, never taking over, just...being there, beside you like always.
The presentation was done before you knew it, over much faster than you’d made yourself think it would last. Relief had already started settling into your bones by the moment y’all sat back down.
A couple hours later, the final bell rang. Students flooded into the hallway while you and Sam lingered behind, gathering your stuff with all the time and peace y’all used to have around each other. For a moment, it was just the two of you. "Pretty sure you carried that entire presentation" You hummed softly, glancing over at him from the notes you were stuffing into your backpack.
Sam looked up, confused like the idea had never occurred to him. "You did all of the slides"
"Still"
He shrugged, simple and easy. The answer was obvious in his mind. "That's what partners are for" Something warm settled quietly inside your chest– comfortable, familiar, safe. Like finding shelter beneath the branches of a tree you'd known for what felt like forever but never fully trusted you could use. For a second, you wondered if maybe the guide on the field trip had been right, animals did seek familiar environments during periods of stress. For you? That had slowly become Sam Winchester.
When Sam got back home, the front door had barely closed behind him when Dean's voice drifted lazily from the couch. "So…"
The younger brother immediately groaned. "Dude, don’t"
Dean grinned without even looking away from the TV (Something western and probably older than both of them playing on the screen) "Didn't say anything."
"You were going to" He huffs, kicking off his shoes and walking into the living room.
The blonde shrugs shamelessly. "I was"
Sam plopped down onto the couch next to him. "Don't"
Dean finally looked over, a teasing glint to his eyes. Of course he had to tease him! It was his duty as an older brother. "How'd the presentation go with your deer?"
The tips of Sam's ears immediately turned pink. "She's not my deer"
"Good" He nodded faux solemnity. "Glad to hear the six hours you spent reorganizing that presentation paid off"
Sam froze. "...What?"
"Dude" Dean scoffs, glancing over at his brother. "We share a room" A pause for dramatism because of course he does. "You were up until like one in the morning, ‘course I noticed the scribbling n’light on"
Sam groans in embarrassment, rubbing his hands over his face. "I was just helping"
The blonde barks out a laugh. "Right"
"I was" Sam doubles down, glaring at his older brother.
"Sammy"
"What?"
"You completely rewrote some crappy project ‘cause you saw she was nervous" The moose shifted awkwardly, back of his neck suddenly becoming very interesting to touch. Dean pointed at him. "See?"
"What?"
He scoffs, gesturing vaguely at him. "That"
"Dude what?"
"That thing you do"
Sam frowned with puppy-like confusion, head tilting to the side. "I don't know what you're talking about"
Dean looked toward the ceiling like he was searching for strength from someone up above. "Man, you got it bad"
Requests are closed for the first time EVER 🤯 I love you guys’s requests but because I took a week or so from writing they’ve managed to pile up. I love conversations with you guys and your requests are always so good! I’ve made a few new friends since I’ve started writing more but I would like to start shifting focus back to my stories.
Twisted luck - Sam Winchester rewrite
HNTRZ - band Sam x Fem!reader
SERENDEPITY - Klaus mikaelson x fem reader
Winters heart - Bucky Barnes x fem!reader marvel rewrite (unreleased)
SOUL-TIED - Klaus mikaelson a fem!reader tvd rewrite. (Unreleased)
There’s so much unfinished with these stories and ideas have been coming to me like crazy, there’s nothing I want more than to continue these stories. Now requests won’t be closed permanently, mostly until I clear my inbox, but they may take a bit longer for me to get to as they won’t be my main focus. If you don’t mind feel free to send them in once they’re open again :)
I have a very serious question to ask, and it may be difficult to answer.
What's your favourite animal?
I've come to the realization that I only know three of my mutuals' favourite animals and I wanna bring back 6 year old me's favourite question and throw it at some people, it's surprisingly useful information to have if you're a odd person lol
Mine's dogs bc I love mine to tears but I also adore cats and some other, less common cute ones like otters, raccoons, dikdiks, quokkas and many more <3
Oh this is easy.
I’ve had a fascination with wolves since I was a kid. It’s never changed just wolves. I had a project in second grade and I did a huge diorama on it and got first place because it was a hyper fixation I already had all the info I needed. I still to this day actively seek out wolf documentaries (there aren’t very many) when I’m trying to sleep.
But it makes sense my top 5 fave characters includes Klaus mikaelson.
I also have ZERO clue about the last two animals you named.
