pairing: sam x reader
wc: 1.1k
tags: CHEEEEESY cheesy cheesy puppy love, mutual pining, sam is PATHETICALLY down bad, pre-relationship, abigail and sebastian mentioned, friends to lovers
synopsis: if it were up to sam, he'd spend every second of everyday at your side.
a/n: in all of my other sam fics, its reader embarrassingly in love with him...he gets a taste of his own medicine here lol!
With vanilla ice cream melting and dripping down your fingertips, coarse sand underneath you and the salty ocean waves lapping at your feet; you are a child again, sitting with your grandpa at the docks, watching as he reeled in a ‘big one’. Filling his bucket with loads and loads of fish.
Those days are far gone now, but the memory remains, as clear as the day you remember it. The feeling is nostalgic, sleepy in the way your senses are dulled by syrupy thick contentment. Beaches at sunset have that effect on you, you suppose.
“This is fun,” Sam says, tone lacking its boisterous loudness, you almost don’t hear it over the sound of crashing waves. “I had a lot of fun today, farmer.”
Your eyes flicker to him, his green gaze dead-set on the peachy golden sky, the taste of sea salt mingling with sweet ice cream heavy in your tongue. The sea breeze is cold, whipping against your face and running through your hair.
“I did too,” you agree. “Y’know, I don’t get a lot of off time with the farm and stuff. This is a nice change of pace.”
He smiles, that sunshine smile you’ve come to associate with Sam. “I caught you at just the right time then, huh?”
You shrug, your own smile mirroring his. “Auspicious.” He did.
The sun is setting, the day is coming to a close yet Sam wishes it wouldn’t, silently pleading with any higher being to somehow stretch time. He is barely a religious person, but the weight of his want is enough to transcend his own beliefs. Every second with you barely feels like enough; like sand slipping through his fingers.
One thing’s for certain, Sam isn’t going to just let it end here.
“We should hang out like this again,” Sam says, a little hurriedly, captured all in one breath. Shy and tentative, like a bashful child with a school crush. “Uh, I mean, do you? Wanna? Hang out with me?”
You can barely suppress a delighted chuckle from slipping past your lips, your chest warming with fond affection. “I’d be more than happy to. Yoba knows I need a break or two or I’ll actually explode,” you huff while Sam hums in agreement. “We can even invite Abigail and Sebastian… so can demo that new song for me, I see you all working very hard when I visit sometimes.”
He should be happy to hear that; that you’d be more than happy to spend your precious off time with him out of all people. You and him, him and you, Sam and the farmer. Your name connected to his with ‘and’, it makes him giddy, causes his cheeks pinken and pinken.
Just the two of you, though. Sure, he loves his friends, Abby and Seb have been with him since day one. But it feels out of place—
(Sam, Sebastian, Abigail and the farmer doesn’t have that ring to it…)
“Yeah, I—I dunno, it’s just…”
The unfiltered truth is stupid, at least to him. Vincent is far too young for some of the things Sam longs to say. There’s a reason Abby and Seb hang out under his nose, he won’t blame them, they have their own secrets he isn’t privy to—too serious, too dull for him.
(And now with you, he thinks you might just be the one he can share his own secrets with. Because even he has his own serious, dull thoughts. Thoughts that he doesn’t want brushed away with a snarky remark or a sarcastic laugh.)
“I kinda like that it’s just the two of us?”
His voice sounds unsteady, squeaky. Trailing off at the end, lost in the sound of water crashing at your feet. Phrasing his statement into a question that you could deny, that you could easily brush off—because if you did, he would too.
(It would be a bummer if you did though, but Sam is cool with that, chill with any decision you make. Really, he totally is.)
You grin, bumping your shoulder against his, your ice cream is dripping down, down, down your knuckles. Once your skin meets his, you don’t pull away, you press closer and closer to his side. Leaning your head against his sunburnt shoulder—but he barely registers the sting—and your arm against his own. It’s a pleasant weight, having you against him—grounding and tethering him to you.
“I do too. Like it, I mean. I think I get to see so many other sides to you, Sam. Without the others and all that.”
Sam feels his breath hitch, his cheeks flush even pinker even with the sunburns. “Woah, phew, I mean—awesome… When, when do you think we can meet next?”
You tilt your head, running calculations through your mind. You’re very busy on that farm, he knows; but Sam can’t help but keep his hopes up, you’re fun company. Maybe the best he’s had yet.
“I know I won’t have enough time until my melons are ready for harvesting—and don’t you dare try making a joke about that,” you smile, wide and cheeky. Right as Sam readies an innuendo at the tip of his tongue; it makes his blood pump faster and his breathing stutters at the thought of you knowing him so well.
“So how about this?” you propose slowly. “We spend one day every month doing all the stuff we wanna do, together. just you and me—fun right? I’ll even sleep a little earlier the night before.”
Sam bites into his ice cream—chocolate and your treat, at your insistence—though he isn’t quite sure if the immediate smile on his lips is due to its sweetness, or yours.
He leans closer into you, resting his head on top of yours, strands of your hair tickling his lips. Lowering his voice into a whisper so only you can hear.
(The secret is that you make Sam want. Want, want, want like he’ll never get sick of it. He hoards these stolen moments with you so greedily yet wants more.)
“…two days, two days each month.”
He feels your body shake with the strength of your laughter, warmth swirls all throughout his body, tingling wherever your body brushes against his own. Sam finds that he likes the feeling, the buzz of it—it’s addicting.
“Yeah, alright then,” you reply, mirth dripping from each and every word. “two days. We have a deal. Better?”
“Yeah,” he turns back to face the water, the ocean spray misting his face. “Yeah, a lot better. That does sound fun.”
Anything sounds fun when it involves you.
word count: 3.2k
tags: hurt/comfort , family struggles , reader and sam are married , set somewhere in year 2 (kent is back) , oneshot , intimacy
synopsis: Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.
a/n: i love sam but the allure of angst is too hard to resist!!! sorry babe i still love you 😔
Sleep evades you on nights like these, without Sam by your side.
Your feet are bare as you linger at the entrance of your room. The dimmed light of the living room washes away the darkness of the hour. It's late, the air is cool and damp smelling of night dew—you take a deep inhale. It feels thick as you breathe it in, like smoke is clouding around the room, restricting your breaths.
Sleepless nights were not unusual in your household. Before you married Sam, you hardly slept—the satisfying ache of collapsing into your sheets after a day at the mines was an addiction you couldn’t get enough of.
Now, you earn enough to afford coming home before sunset. No longer having to worry about how you’d afford the next day. And if you are being completely honest, evenings spent with Sam are far more addicting than the sting of a day’s work.
The ache is still there. It comes with the profession. Though not anymore the dull humming ache in the muscles and joints of your arms and legs, but a bone deep ache settled deeply curling around your chest.
Somehow, it stings even more.
It is as if it drags over your heart, catching on every ridge and edge of your bones. Daring to fill your lungs with ichor—hardening like stone around your ribs. No amount of stardrop you swallow can ever relieve the stinging soreness.
The cushions of the old second-hand couch groan and squeak as you twist and turn atop of them. Perhaps as restless as you are. The light flickers—on, off, on.
It doesn’t scare you, but it makes you uneasy. You’re long over the notion the farmhouse was haunted, but nights like these make that conviction waver. The nape of your neck prickles—like a person is staring from behind. Sam isn’t here to tease you about ghosts nor curl his arms around you in mock protection.
He hasn’t been here in hours, hasn’t been present in so long. It feels wrong. It feels like an omen. Your fingers find the back of your neck, brushing over the vulnerable skin.
You hold a tassel cushion tightly to your chest. Your knuckles whitening with the strength of your grip on it. The strength of your heartbeat is so loud you’re convinced it would be heard without the pillow to muffle the sound.
Little Vincent is sound asleep, snoring softly away in his dreamland. He looks like the epitome of innocence under the quilted blankets of your bed. It's soft, worn and covered in stitched cartoon-y lions and tigers. A temporary parting gift bundled up in his dinosaur backpack from jodi. Before he came to live with you and his older brother.
The separation was painful. there were tears—for both him and for his mother.
(Sam stood next to you then, gripping at your hand so hard you felt it prickling with numbness. You didn’t dare look up to see the tears you know are there, the crystalline tears dripping down his lash line.
It would’ve made the teardrops in yours fall over too. You’d stay strong for the both of you.)
The entrance door to the farmhouse creaks open and you immediately know it’s him. Relief floods your whole body—to your fingertips to your toes. He's safe, and home at last. You stand up and hurry to him, throwing the pillow to the ground, before the door creaks shut.
The air goes still, calm before the storm. The anticipation before potential terrible news.
(You expect there will be. You can tell by the way Sam slumps, like the weight is physically bearing down on his shoulders.)
Sam is still at the doorway, slumping over you when you wrap your arms around him. He smells of sweat and the cloying scent of rubbing alcohol—something must’ve happened, you think. It smells like the clinic.
The paper bag in his hand loses from his grip, it falls unceremoniously to the ground with a dull thump. You pay it no heed, mentally accounting to pick it up later. Though you note that it lands right over your ‘home sweet home’ doormat. Fitting.
“Sammy.” you greet him with a chaste peck on the cheek. He barely has the energy to hug back, more so stay steadily upright on his feet. you both sway slightly, suspended in the tranquility of the moment.
You try again, slowing the movement of your lips. “Welcome home, my love. you there?”
His lips move against the skin of your neck, a whisper of a greeting. It is enough for you.
Sam retracts his face from your jaw. There are blue-purple eye bags under his eyes, like bruises. The trademark twinkle in his brilliant green irises have dulled to nothingness. He looks so unlike himself like this, older than his years and so unbearably tired.
And you wish, with all your heart, to take his aches away. To wash them away like ink in water.
You pull him into the living room with you, the skin of his wrist enclosed in the firm guiding grip of your fingers. He's fragile like this, this sunshine of a man reduced to a shell of his usual demeanor.
He trails slowly behind you, silent. You say nothing, either; choosing to focus on the rhythmic sounds of your footsteps padding against the floor. In the living room, you dim the lights to a mere whisper of light.
These days, when he comes home, you’ve built some sort of routine.
You drag him down to you, spread lying down on the length of the couch. Your thighs frame his hips as he melts into the warmth of body. He lays on top of you, his cheekbone against your chest. You watch as his eyes flutter shut, as he presses his ear to the epicenter of your chest—the sound of your heartbeat quieting the swirl of thoughts in his mind.
You gently remove the woolen beanie nestled on his head—revealing the stringy oily mess of hair under. A sign of how little care he has been sparing himself after his father’s homecoming. You feel your lips downturn into a frown. He hasn’t even been using that hair gel you like to tease and groan about.
(You lied when you’d say you hated it. You don’t, never did.
You miss it. You miss the things that make him, him.)
You don’t hesitate in running your hands through the softness of his hair. Your fingers scratch gently on his scalp, eliciting a soft sigh from your weary husband. Eyes watch raptly as his shoulders unwind and ripple. The tension in them melts away with the deft caress of your hands.
Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. Like a knife twisting. You love him, you love him.
Moments pass, the silence is almost comfortable when you ask, speaking it to the silence of the room. There’s a wavering lilt in your voice reassuring him. You aren’t going to push him for an answer. He doesn’t need to respond. Him being safe, home and warm in your arms is all you ever want. All you’ll ever need.
“How are they?”
(The first night, you and Sam stayed the night in his family home. squeezed in his twin bed with Vincent curled up by his ribs. The little boy couldn’t bear sleeping alone that night, not with the anxiety of his father being back making him pace a mile a minute.
The air in the household had shifted that day.
In the dead of the night, the fire alarm went off—a blaring loud beeping sound from the kitchen. Totally harmless, a malfunction. A disturbance to sleep more than anything.
Except it was not.
You still remember the blood-curdling scream that came from Jodi and Kent's room. The panicked sobs of Jodi as she tried to calm her terror stricken husband.
You remember the way Vincent clung onto you, like a koala to a tree. You cupped your hands tightly over his ears—he didn’t need to suffer the consequence of it.
Sam removed the fire alarm and Vincent from the house the next morning.)
His voice is hushed when he speaks. A pin could drop and be more clearly heard. “Mom's… getting better.”
Not getting worse than she already is.
You plant a kiss on the crown of his head, lips soft and adoring on his skin. You ache to take his burden, to take his share of suffering.
It hurts sometimes, to be right beside him but feel so faraway. Yet like this, feeling every curve and edge of his body—you can convince yourself that it doesn’t.
“Is Vince asleep?”
“Yes,” you reply, tucking a blond curl behind his ear. His head unconsciously tilts to the room where his younger brother rests. Ever so protective of him even like this.
Continuing you say, “He was looking for you,” you thread your fingers through the short blond strands at his neck. Sam untenses slightly in your arms, his arms going limp at your sides. “He's been fidgety lately. Restless.”
“He usually is.” his feeble attempt at a joke. Though the rasp in his voice only makes it sound resigned. You purse your lips, eyes tracking back to the cedar wood of your bedroom door on the other side of the room—and the sleeping child behind it.
You stroke Sam's hair, thinking. “More so than usual.”
(You know why. He knows too. Kent wasn’t the same when he returned from the war. He was vulnerable, not the fragile type but vulnerable in the way a ignited bomb threatened an explosion.
Vincent wasn’t either—grown much more from that thumb suckling toddler when he left.
“My dad is coming home soon,” Sam confides in you on that day on that day on the beach. Him standing a few feet away from the shore line, and you; next to him.
“This isn’t how I wanted him to grow up,” his voice cracks with vulnerability. “I—I want him to have a better childhood than I did.”
“He will, Sam. He will.” I know you’ll make sure of it.
His eyes are red-rimmed and raw when he looks at you. All you wanted was to wipe that anguished expression off his face.)
He is silent. All is silent. Tranquility is like a honey thick syrup poured over your chest, smeared all over the expanse of your body. The soft sounds of your synchronized breathing is the only sound you can bear to hear. It makes your eyes droop, the lethargic feeling dulling your senses.
Your hand reaches for his, intertwining your palm with his long-fingered one. You relish in the familiar feeling of his calloused fingertips, earned from afternoons spent with his guitar. His skin is warm, warmer than yours. You give his hand a tentative squeeze, he squeezes back.
“Mom told me to say hi to you both for her,” he tells you, his breathing slow and deep. “She misses him, and you. She’s coming to visit as soon as she can.”
“Vince misses her too,” you sigh, craning your head forward to peek at the top of his head. “It's affecting him, I can tell. Penny's getting worried. She tells me he hasn’t been himself at school.”
All that Sam can manage is a deep intake of breath, then a softer resigned exhale. There isn’t much nor enough for him to say. Your free hand goes to smooth down his back. The muscles there are tough—bunched up and tense.
He shifts between your thighs, baring down heavier on your pelvis. Even as tired as he is, Sam is restless. Always has been, whether it be on his skateboard or with his guitar. You ignore the growing ache in your lower back—it is not your moment, but his. The warmth of his weight on top of you overpower any discomfort you have.
Twirling the stray curl at his neck, you finally ask. Fingers featherlight against his shoulder. “How… is he?”
Sam stiffens above you, the lean line of his body rigid. He’s clearly distressed with talking about his father. You suck a breath through your teeth, knocking your leg gently against his, giving your silent push for him to continue.
“I can't even lie,” he squeezes his eyes shut and turns his face away. “It isn't good, Doc Harvey says dad’s got PTSD from the war. It's triggered by loud sounds. Remember the time he woke up because of the fire alarm?”
You nod, curling your fingers around his. You try to provide him any semblance of comfort—to reassure him. You love him, always.
It's painful to see, to watch what he’s going through only by the sidelines.
Sam looks up at you from your chest, eyes blurry with exhaustion. His jaw tensing ever so slightly, you see the patchy blonde stubble starting at the jut of his jaw. The wrinkle in his brow growing more prominent at the mention of his father. It's a fresh type of wound, raw and open. You dance around the topic, like poking a sleeping lion that threatens to attack at any given moment.
“We’ve transferred him to stay in my old room. He’s been holed up there most of the time. The nightmares are keeping mom up. He wakes up screaming most nights." Sam rasps, squeezing your fingers. He speaks lowly against the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, the heat of his body bleeding through it and into you.
His voice dissolves into a pained crack when he speaks. “It sucks.”
“It will get better, we can get through it,” you sit up slightly, elbows bent behind you. Sam's been out the whole day. You assume he must be starving and tired. “Do you need anything?”
Sam doesn’t let you up, though. He tugs you back down under him with the gentle pull of his arm. You still in his arms, looking down at him.
“No,” he pleads. “just… stay with me, okay? Let's stay like this, please.”
You swallow, nodding. “Yes, of course.”
You wish you could ease his worries. You wish you could tell him that it’ll be alright and he would believe it.
You love him, more than life itself. Like you are a planet that orbits around him, the sun. You show him so everyday—and will continue to do so with everyday that will come.
You just wish he’d be more selfish with you.
If he falls, you’ll piece him back together. Glue his bones together with your hands, relying on the familiarity of his being. Anything, you’d do anything.
The matching mermaid pendants resting over his and your collarbone symbolizes that.
“I want to help you, sam. You take all this burden up on your own. please?”
He sits up, back hunched over you. A dim shadow of him filtered over you. You follow him, like you can’t bear to be apart from him.
“You are, you always have,” Sam softens, gazing at you so reverently you could sob. He looks at you as one gazes at master paintings, like he is in wordless awe of you.
The room is dark with night. If you strain your ears hard enough, the cooing of the owls filter through the cracks of your windows. The moonlight is scarce, you can barely see the expressions painting his face. Though, you’re sure your expression is as lovesick as his. Practical hearts in your eyes as you stare.
“Looking after Vince is more than I could ever ask for, honey.” he whispers, pinching the hem of your sleep shirt between his thumb and pointer finger.
“No Sam,” you murmur, taking his face into your hands. your hands frame his face, warming the cool skin of his cheeks. Desperation fills every movement in a plea for him to understand. “I meant you.”
You inhale, relishing the smell of sweat, mint and rubbing alcohol on his skin. The scent smells so comforting, and so familiar.
You hope he finds that same solace in you as you do with him.
“I want to take care of you,” you say more firmly, stroking him on the skin of his brow bone. “Won’t you let me?”
He stares at you, enveloping your hands with warmer ones. You sigh contentedly at the feeling. They sear into your skin, warming you with the righteous heat of his devotion.
To you, he is the sun and you have the sun right in the palm of your hands. You know he won’t ever burn you, nor leave your skin red and raw from his intensity. His rays are gentle, a featherlight whisper of a kiss on the expanse of your body.
But the sun never stops shining. It is steadfast in its duty to provide. You worry, will he explode in a grand supernova or crumple into a black hole?
Either way, you will never allow it. You’d rather douse the sun in the water of the ocean to hold him in your arms. Maybe then, he can finally rest soundly.
You feel his thumb rub back and forth on the back of your palm, silent and considering. The brush of it melting you against him like a contented cat. A smile graces your lips, you can wait.
Though you do not need to. Sam turns his head and kisses your wrist. His nose bumping into the crease of your thumb. You feel honeyed warmth drip down your heart, collecting in the cavern of your chest.
That's all the confirmation you need.
(There are some days his words fail him. The days his mind is bursting with ideas, so much so it’s difficult for him to convey a singular thought.
That's alright. Perfect, even. Sam has always been better at expressing himself through actions.)
“I love you,” you kiss his forehead, then over each of his eyelids. You want to kiss every inch of his skin until there is nothing left to cover. “so, so much.”
You press your lips to the corner of his. Opting to speak your promise against his skin, to tattoo your undying love into the smooth expanse of it.
Sam tilts his head, causing his lips to brush completely against yours. He presses them firmer against yours, the taste of spearmint gum heavy on his tongue. You lick the seam of his lips—let me in, let me in.
“I love you too. more than you know,” he gasps, tearing his lips away. His breath puffing warmly against the skin of your cheek. He declares it as if he’s running out of breath, and it is his final words. A willing sailor drowning in the deep ocean that is you. “More than anything, more than life itself.”
You press your forehead against his. Your eyes meet the depthless green of his. The twinkle is there; flickering and faint but present.
Love is what brought him to you. It’s what keeps bringing him home to you every night. You want to be his refuge, his comfort, his partner for life.
Your eyes shut, eyelashes fluttering against your cheekbones. “Share the burden with me, Sammy. I can take it.”
At the end of the day, he is all you want. All that you need. If it takes him time, you won’t mind. even if it takes centuries.
Sam captures your lips again. Murmuring his agreement greedily against you. You love him, you love him and he loves you.
You are the one he comes back to, his spouse. The greatest love of his life. Home isn’t the farmhouse you’ve built a life in—
It’s you, always has been you.
word count: 3.2k
summary: sam’s ten heart event with a twist.
tags: winter, developing relationships, fluff, swearing, cuddling, hiding from his mother in his bed lol
a/n: this spiralled out of my control and into 3k words… enjoy!
it’s cold.
the fleece coat you’ve bundled yourself in cannot protect goosebumps from forming from the biting chill of the valley’s winter nights. your breaths come out in cloudy puffs of air, the heat slowly draining out of every exhale. it’s dark out, poorly spaced lampposts providing the bare minimum amount of light to navigate.
you got sam’s letter earlier, a clumsily written note that was stuffed haphazardly into your farm’s mailbox—the yellow lined paper he used, all crumpled and ripped.
meet me in front of my house! at 8 pm, i’ll be waiting. there’s something i want to tell you.
the ending sentence is somehow even more sloppily written compared to the ones before it. as if he was debating whether or not to add it in, but ultimately decided for it—it’s funny to imagine him hunched over his desk, stressing over what to write to you.
well, you won’t deny feeling excitement over the possibility of whatever sam has to say. if the subtle skip in your step is anything to go by.
you walk through the silent night of the town, it seems like everything’s frozen in place during the colder times of the year—everyone’s safe at home, toasty under their covers and you’d imagine thoroughly enjoying going to bed at 7 pm.
you do too, sometimes. there’s less to do when the ground is too frozen to plant any crop.
there’s a lot more free time out of the farm during the winter. you’ve really started integrating yourself with the townspeople—helping haley find her bracelet, befriending sam’s prickly coworker shane, and even discovering a shadowperson named Krobus in the town sewers. it really is starting to feel like home.
walking, you cut the corner passing by emily and haley’s house—and there he is.
he looks devastatingly handsome all dressed in winter clothing. his regular denim jacket switched out for a dark woolen coat, his pants are unripped and, surprisingly, not smeared with dirt.
though what you like most about his winter attire is his hair. those wild golden locks are laid flat under a woolen beanie—a stark difference from the spiked updo he usually does (though you like that one too). the tips of his hair are slightly curled upwards, revealing that family trait of curly hair.
you creep closer, just watching him wait for you—the way he folds his arms in an attempt to warm up, and the little shuffle he does on his feet. you laugh softly, he must’ve been waiting a while—just like you have for him.
sam turns at the sound of your laugh, his body unconsciously tilting towards you, like a magnet’s uncontrollable attracting to metal. “you made it,” he breathes, his nose, ears and cheeks pinkened by the cold.
you nod, unable to stop a bashful smile from forming on your lips. “i made it.”
a big grin splits his face, mimicking yours. underneath the lone lamplight he looks jaw-droppingly handsome. you feel yourself become warm just in proximity to him.
“i wanted to talk to you in private,” he says. sam’s buzzing with energy, surveying the dark streets before meeting your gaze with his. “it’s kinda cold out here though… i, um—i can sneak you into my room…”
your heart skips a beat, like you’ve skipped a step on a staircase. “what?” you croak.
your eyes catch onto him wringing his fingers, a nervous habit you can’t help but always notice (not because his hands are nice and interesting to look at, not at all).
“you don’t wanna?”
“no!” you inhale, trying to alleviate the twisting sensation in your gut. “i do wanna, ahem, lead the way.”
sam smiles at you, dimples and all. he leads you towards the tiny bedroom window in front of his house. the window is already open—you assume that’s where he jumped out of to meet you.
he climbs through the window with minimal effort, landing on the flooring with a dull thump!
you raise a brow. “have you done this before?”
sam stretches his hand out to you, waiting. his smile turnt sheepish. “i mean, i think we were all rebellious teenagers once.”
you resist the urge to snort—sam’s nervous, you can tell. he doesn’t have his quips and jokes tonight. and he’s shy, but eager. like a puppy, excited and curious about the world.
“o-kay,” you say, one hand in his hand the other set firmly on the windowsill. “make sure i don’t fall please.”
sam nods, eagerly. the curled ends of his hair shake along with the motion as he does.
how endearing.
you tighten your grip on his hand, hauling yourself through the small window, trying your damn best to not make any sudden noise. which is successful for the most part, only a tiny huff of exertion escapes you.
annoying, yes. but the chill of winter burns through any energy you have faster than other seasons.
your feet connect with the wood of his floor, hand still clasped in his and the chill merely at your back. it’s warm inside, with him.
his room is the same as it’s always been when you’d visit before—shelves, band equipment, posters—but the ambiance is different. a little more charged with tension so thick you could cut through it with a knife.
sam does not bother turning on his light, you don’t mind it all that much. but it takes some effort to avoid tumbling over stray objects that clutter his bedroom floor.
“look, I know I’ve been about nothing but the band for a while now…” he starts. “but I don’t want you to think that’s all i’m interested in.”
you chuckle, clasping your fingers behind your back. “it certainly takes up a big chunk of your interests.”
he pouts, literally pouts. it must be the love bug you caught because you think it’s just plain adorable. “i’m really trying over here!”
“sorry!” you grin, “okay, continue.”
“well, um… shoot, this is kinda hard, huh?” he forces an awkward chuckle. “and nerve-wrecking… but what i’m trying to say is…”
“i’m really happy that we’ve grown this close, and well…” sam looks at you, he’s stupidly red—the color spreading all over his face. “i—i’m just wondering, do you think of me as… just a friend?”
your breath stutters, and you feel yourself blushing before you can do anything to stop it. you stare at him as he does with you. the two of you locking eyes for a second, it feels like it’s just you and him in the world.
you feel your shy admittance at the tip of your tongue. no, you’d say, you’re more than that for me, if you want to be.
sam smiles at you, shy but so, so overwhelmingly bright—it’s blinding. your head is running a mile a minute when you finally get the courage—
“sam!” you hear jodi’s groggy voice from outside the door. your stomach drops with dread. “somebody’s at the door! go and check please?”
you lock eyes once again, this time for entirely different reasons, and with entirely different feelings.
“oh my god, sam,” you whisper hurriedly, panic gripping you. “your mom doesn’t know i’m here—what do we do—”
“hold on—” he replies, with the same sense of urgency as you. “okay, okay—i have a plan, just trust me, ‘kay?”
you think you might break out into a cold sweat. you look at him quizzically, “what?”
sam gives you an apologetic smile with that stupid beautiful face of his, he moves forward, grabbing you by your wrists, and moving you with him—towards his bed.
“sam!” you hiss, alarms are blaring in every corner of your mind as sam all but drags you under the toasty covers of his bed. he lifts the blanket and stations you by the edge, covering you in the blanket—which is now a lumpy mess.
this is his childhood bed you’re in, where his mother and brother are just by the door.
and his mother is calling him.
“i’ll get this over with quick,” he says to you, already heading towards the door of his room. “hang on tight, ‘kay?”
you breathe a sound of agreement, way too jittery to formulate any proper response as you quieten under the covers.
though the sheets do feel nice, and smells overwhelmingly of that specific cologne he uses (stolen from joja inventory, he told you once). you will yourself not to relax and melt into the sheets so fast. instead, you listen for each and every sound that may give hint to whatever the hell is happening.
there’s a commotion that you can hear happening, the door swings open, the hinges creaking along with it—this whole surreal experience feels a little like the confrontation part of a horror movie, the helpless victim hiding and the heavy footfalls of the killer.
though in your case, it’s not one set of footsteps, but two.
“what are you two doing here?”
“you’re the one who called us over, remember?” you can recognize the band’s shut-in pianist’s voice from anywhere. “you were all like, stop skipping practice, seb.”
sam’s voice is oddly pitchy when he responds. “…well, tonight’s no good!”
you hear the other person huff, you strain your ears harder to listen. the huffing person clearly fed up with the strange behavior sam’s putting out right now.
“my mom and vincent are asleep,” he adds hurriedly. “they’d wake up—”
you resist the urge to groan, stifling your mouth under a sweaty palm. jodie was just speaking to him minutes ago, there’s no way they’d buy that. he cannot be a more obvious liar.
thankfully they gloss over the fact. “sam, why are you acting so damn weird?” sebastian asks, straightforward as ever.
“yeah,” the other voice adds. feminine but strong. which you now identify as abigail’s, you hear a pinch of impatience in her voice. “and why are you red? did you sit outside in the snow or something—”
sam chokes, which he tries to conceal as an odd sounding cough. abigail pauses mid-sentence. the shift in the atmosphere is palpable. you screw your eyes shut, hearing the rapid rate of your heartbeat. it’s so loud you’re almost convinced the trio can hear the thumping from your hiding spot under the sheets. this is it, they’re going to discover you.
“oh, oh i see,” abigail grins. “on second thought, i wouldn't risk catching all those germs. i’m feeling starved, let’s hit the saloon, seb.”
the aforementioned man grumbles, seemingly puzzled by the sudden switch in abigail’s attitude. “huh… why?” abigail must have whispered something to him—you can barely hear over the muffle of sam’s blanket comforters. “ugh, alright. fine. you owe us one, sam.”
“oh, of course! mhm, yup,” you cringe at the immense awkwardness of sam’s response, feeling the overwhelming urge to pull out your own hair. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? now shoo! wouldn’t wanna get you both sick or somethin’…”
“huh?” sebastian replies, rightfully puzzled as they’re forcefully pushed out of the room. “why would we see you tomorrow if you’re sick—”
“well seb,” abigail says smugly. “let’s just say sammy here is taking care of some important business—”
“okay, bye!” you hear the door click shut. to your utter bewilderment, sam shut the door in their faces.
the room is deathly quiet, the air is stagnant and stuffy. once you feel it safe enough, you crane your neck out of the blankets to check over him. to trace any lingering feeling the sudden visit might’ve given him. sam’s got his back rested against the wood of his door, his back slumped.
“i—i wasn’t expecting that,” you say quietly from your hiding spot on his bed. peeking the top half of your face, watching the door carefully. “kinda nerve-wracking.”
and embarrassing.
“i know—i’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “i didn’t expect them coming over.”
“sebastian said you invited them for practice, though.” you point out.
“maybe i did,” he admits, creeping closer to you on the bed, even if he’s guilty and embarrassed. “i totally forgot—i mean, i was really nervous! my mind blanks when i get nervous…”
sam stops right by the side of the bed, as if he’s waiting for your permission to get in with you—in his own bed. and to be perfectly honest, you really want him to.
“kinda ruined the atmosphere too,” he looks away from you, eyes downcast and melancholy. “i had this whole thing planned too, and i, just… ugh…”
your eyes soften. “sam, it’s really fine. okay, maybe a little shocking but you know it’s not enough to scare me away.”
he looks down at you, worried. his eyebrows are ever so slightly pinched—you wish you could run your fingers over it, and smooth it out yourself.
“plus,” you murmur, reaching over the small amount of space between the two of you to clasp his wrist. “i’m not just gonna leave… just tell me what you were going to say—before the… interruption.”
that gives you the final push to gather your courage to tug him into bed with you. sam follows, flopping onto the empty bedding next to you without a fight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you, side by side, slowly huddling closer and closer for warmth.
and sam is warm. he’s practically radiating comfy heat you wish to burrow into—or wrap yourself around. the perfect bed-partner for winter nights like these.
you find yourself becoming addicted to the feeling.
sam angles his body towards you. you on your back and him on his side, it feels intimate and special. and for some reason, it feels familiar—like you’ve always belonged by his side.
“i think you know already,” he tells you, his eyes are not clear in the dim light but you know, there are practically hearts in them. “that i like you.”
you giggle softly. “and i think you know the same about me.”
sam tentatively grasps your hand, the freezing fingertips thawing under his careful touch. the caress of his hand on yours sends tingling electricity down your spine, your whole body feels alert—alive.
he speaks again, but this time his tone is a whisper of what it usually is. “stay awhile?”
“yeah,” you swallow, squeezing his hand in your grip. a small smile on your lips. “yes, i want to.”
“good,” he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the edges so softly and the dimples on his cheeks deepen. there really is no one else who can compare for you. “hey, you’re really cold… let me warm you up?”
you turn to your side, facing him. at this angle, your faces are mere inches apart. you can trace every dip, line and curve of his face, and he yours. your hand tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach for him and squeeze.
“it is cold,” you agree. “i’d very much like that.”
“phew,” he softly sighs. sam drags his fingers up your arm, stopping at your elbow. wherever he touches, a whisper of him lingers on your skin—a bone deep imprint you yearn for him to spread all across your skin.
you roll into him with little to no effort at all. sam drags you to his chest, your ear perched right above his heart, you can hear the steady thump! of his heartbeat from underneath. sam winds his arms around you, intensifying the heat you feel by tenfold—it’s not uncomfortable at all, though. you like it.
your bodies fit perfectly together, just like puzzle pieces. a mess of limbs tangling together. the warmth of him making you shudder in honey-like delight. it feels syrupy and soft and warm wrapped in his arms.
his hand at your back travels downwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake you feel even through the thickness of the fabric separating the skin of your back and his fingertips. his hands feel rough and calloused at the small of your back—from playing guitar and his skateboarding incidents—but you enjoy the feeling.
you trail your fingers under the thick fabric of his jacket and shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath—the action has no deeper meaning than you wanting to feel.
sam’s uncharacteristically quiet. his breaths are slow and long, like he’s on the verge of sleep. yet his arms are wound tight around you—like he never wants to let go of you. your nerves make you feel like a slow simmering soup. warm and slowly cooking over the fire.
you two stay entangled for a while, in comfortable silence. sometime during the night you’ve matched your breathing to his, and he pulled you somehow even closer to his body.
but, a thump comes from his window, a light tapping sound. soft but persistent. the two of you opt to ignore it, in favor of snuggling closer to each other. yet the taps continue, and become louder and faster.
disrupted by the noise, sam mournfully throws the covers from over him to check, untangling himself from your grip. leaving a very him-shaped indent on the bed left in his wake. you groan, sticking your bottom lip out, you miss the warmth of him already.
“oh shit.”
the expletive makes you sit up in his bed, the comforter draping off your middle. you can make out the shape of him even with the dimness of the light—sam’s back is towards you, and if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks like he’s shrinking into himself a tiny bit.
“what is it?” you whisper-shout to him.
he slowly turns to you, wide eyed, his shoulders stiff. sort of resembling a kicked-dog. sam bows down his head—with what you think is shame, for what reason, you can’t tell. rubbing your eyes of sleep, you furrow your brow, craning your neck to look out the window behind him.
abigail and sebastian are there, waving wildly at you. your eyes widen. abigail and sebastian are waving at you with smug smiles plastered on their faces.
your stomach drops for the umpteenth time that night. you honestly feel too horrified to speak.
you bury yourself under the sheets, a feeble attempt to conceal your mortification. so that’s why abigail was playing along with sam’s urgent ramblings—she knew (not that sam was any good at keeping a cool facade, he is totally incapable of lying smoothly). you groan, you feel like a rebellious teenager again, only the part where you get caught and utterly humiliated.
outside, you can hear the loud roaring laughter of the duo through the glass, alongside the awkward, embarrassed chatter of your newly-minted boyfriend. (not technically official, but the title succeeds to relieve your horror by the tiniest bit)
still, you stay put. through the mortification and embarrassment you still stick yourself to sam’s side, or more literally, on his bed—because you know, there’s no other place you’d rather be.
you spare another glance out of the covers at the trio—to your surprise, sam’s beat you to it. looking at you with heart eyes and the most lovesick expression (you’re pretty sure yours looks the same).
you know there’s going to be a lot more explaining to do in the morning. but it doesn’t matter to you, not right now when you’re in sam’s bed on the verge of sleep.
not when you feel so warm.
a/n: shoutout to the ass trio for making an appearance in the fic! i love you abby and seb.
word count: 3.2k
summary: sam’s ten heart event with a twist.
tags: winter, developing relationships, fluff, swearing, cuddling, hiding from his mother in his bed lol
a/n: this spiralled out of my control and into 3k words… enjoy!
it’s cold.
the fleece coat you’ve bundled yourself in cannot protect goosebumps from forming from the biting chill of the valley’s winter nights. your breaths come out in cloudy puffs of air, the heat slowly draining out of every exhale. it’s dark out, poorly spaced lampposts providing the bare minimum amount of light to navigate.
you got sam’s letter earlier, a clumsily written note that was stuffed haphazardly into your farm’s mailbox—the yellow lined paper he used, all crumpled and ripped.
meet me in front of my house! at 8 pm, i’ll be waiting. there’s something i want to tell you.
the ending sentence is somehow even more sloppily written compared to the ones before it. as if he was debating whether or not to add it in, but ultimately decided for it—it’s funny to imagine him hunched over his desk, stressing over what to write to you.
well, you won’t deny feeling excitement over the possibility of whatever sam has to say. if the subtle skip in your step is anything to go by.
you walk through the silent night of the town, it seems like everything’s frozen in place during the colder times of the year—everyone’s safe at home, toasty under their covers and you’d imagine thoroughly enjoying going to bed at 7 pm.
you do too, sometimes. there’s less to do when the ground is too frozen to plant any crop.
there’s a lot more free time out of the farm during the winter. you’ve really started integrating yourself with the townspeople—helping haley find her bracelet, befriending sam’s prickly coworker shane, and even discovering a shadowperson named Krobus in the town sewers. it really is starting to feel like home.
walking, you cut the corner passing by emily and haley’s house—and there he is.
he looks devastatingly handsome all dressed in winter clothing. his regular denim jacket switched out for a dark woolen coat, his pants are unripped and, surprisingly, not smeared with dirt.
though what you like most about his winter attire is his hair. those wild golden locks are laid flat under a woolen beanie—a stark difference from the spiked updo he usually does (though you like that one too). the tips of his hair are slightly curled upwards, revealing that family trait of curly hair.
you creep closer, just watching him wait for you—the way he folds his arms in an attempt to warm up, and the little shuffle he does on his feet. you laugh softly, he must’ve been waiting a while—just like you have for him.
sam turns at the sound of your laugh, his body unconsciously tilting towards you, like a magnet’s uncontrollable attracting to metal. “you made it,” he breathes, his nose, ears and cheeks pinkened by the cold.
you nod, unable to stop a bashful smile from forming on your lips. “i made it.”
a big grin splits his face, mimicking yours. underneath the lone lamplight he looks jaw-droppingly handsome. you feel yourself become warm just in proximity to him.
“i wanted to talk to you in private,” he says. sam’s buzzing with energy, surveying the dark streets before meeting your gaze with his. “it’s kinda cold out here though… i, um—i can sneak you into my room…”
your heart skips a beat, like you’ve skipped a step on a staircase. “what?” you croak.
your eyes catch onto him wringing his fingers, a nervous habit you can’t help but always notice (not because his hands are nice and interesting to look at, not at all).
“you don’t wanna?”
“no!” you inhale, trying to alleviate the twisting sensation in your gut. “i do wanna, ahem, lead the way.”
sam smiles at you, dimples and all. he leads you towards the tiny bedroom window in front of his house. the window is already open—you assume that’s where he jumped out of to meet you.
he climbs through the window with minimal effort, landing on the flooring with a dull thump!
you raise a brow. “have you done this before?”
sam stretches his hand out to you, waiting. his smile turnt sheepish. “i mean, i think we were all rebellious teenagers once.”
you resist the urge to snort—sam’s nervous, you can tell. he doesn’t have his quips and jokes tonight. and he’s shy, but eager. like a puppy, excited and curious about the world.
“o-kay,” you say, one hand in his hand the other set firmly on the windowsill. “make sure i don’t fall please.”
sam nods, eagerly. the curled ends of his hair shake along with the motion as he does.
how endearing.
you tighten your grip on his hand, hauling yourself through the small window, trying your damn best to not make any sudden noise. which is successful for the most part, only a tiny huff of exertion escapes you.
annoying, yes. but the chill of winter burns through any energy you have faster than other seasons.
your feet connect with the wood of his floor, hand still clasped in his and the chill merely at your back. it’s warm inside, with him.
his room is the same as it’s always been when you’d visit before—shelves, band equipment, posters—but the ambiance is different. a little more charged with tension so thick you could cut through it with a knife.
sam does not bother turning on his light, you don’t mind it all that much. but it takes some effort to avoid tumbling over stray objects that clutter his bedroom floor.
“look, I know I’ve been about nothing but the band for a while now…” he starts. “but I don’t want you to think that’s all i’m interested in.”
you chuckle, clasping your fingers behind your back. “it certainly takes up a big chunk of your interests.”
he pouts, literally pouts. it must be the love bug you caught because you think it’s just plain adorable. “i’m really trying over here!”
“sorry!” you grin, “okay, continue.”
“well, um… shoot, this is kinda hard, huh?” he forces an awkward chuckle. “and nerve-wrecking… but what i’m trying to say is…”
“i’m really happy that we’ve grown this close, and well…” sam looks at you, he’s stupidly red—the color spreading all over his face. “i—i’m just wondering, do you think of me as… just a friend?”
your breath stutters, and you feel yourself blushing before you can do anything to stop it. you stare at him as he does with you. the two of you locking eyes for a second, it feels like it’s just you and him in the world.
you feel your shy admittance at the tip of your tongue. no, you’d say, you’re more than that for me, if you want to be.
sam smiles at you, shy but so, so overwhelmingly bright—it’s blinding. your head is running a mile a minute when you finally get the courage—
“sam!” you hear jodi’s groggy voice from outside the door. your stomach drops with dread. “somebody’s at the door! go and check please?”
you lock eyes once again, this time for entirely different reasons, and with entirely different feelings.
“oh my god, sam,” you whisper hurriedly, panic gripping you. “your mom doesn’t know i’m here—what do we do—”
“hold on—” he replies, with the same sense of urgency as you. “okay, okay—i have a plan, just trust me, ‘kay?”
you think you might break out into a cold sweat. you look at him quizzically, “what?”
sam gives you an apologetic smile with that stupid beautiful face of his, he moves forward, grabbing you by your wrists, and moving you with him—towards his bed.
“sam!” you hiss, alarms are blaring in every corner of your mind as sam all but drags you under the toasty covers of his bed. he lifts the blanket and stations you by the edge, covering you in the blanket—which is now a lumpy mess.
this is his childhood bed you’re in, where his mother and brother are just by the door.
and his mother is calling him.
“i’ll get this over with quick,” he says to you, already heading towards the door of his room. “hang on tight, ‘kay?”
you breathe a sound of agreement, way too jittery to formulate any proper response as you quieten under the covers.
though the sheets do feel nice, and smells overwhelmingly of that specific cologne he uses (stolen from joja inventory, he told you once). you will yourself not to relax and melt into the sheets so fast. instead, you listen for each and every sound that may give hint to whatever the hell is happening.
there’s a commotion that you can hear happening, the door swings open, the hinges creaking along with it—this whole surreal experience feels a little like the confrontation part of a horror movie, the helpless victim hiding and the heavy footfalls of the killer.
though in your case, it’s not one set of footsteps, but two.
“what are you two doing here?”
“you’re the one who called us over, remember?” you can recognize the band’s shut-in pianist’s voice from anywhere. “you were all like, stop skipping practice, seb.”
sam’s voice is oddly pitchy when he responds. “…well, tonight’s no good!”
you hear the other person huff, you strain your ears harder to listen. the huffing person clearly fed up with the strange behavior sam’s putting out right now.
“my mom and vincent are asleep,” he adds hurriedly. “they’d wake up—”
you resist the urge to groan, stifling your mouth under a sweaty palm. jodie was just speaking to him minutes ago, there’s no way they’d buy that. he cannot be a more obvious liar.
thankfully they gloss over the fact. “sam, why are you acting so damn weird?” sebastian asks, straightforward as ever.
“yeah,” the other voice adds. feminine but strong. which you now identify as abigail’s, you hear a pinch of impatience in her voice. “and why are you red? did you sit outside in the snow or something—”
sam chokes, which he tries to conceal as an odd sounding cough. abigail pauses mid-sentence. the shift in the atmosphere is palpable. you screw your eyes shut, hearing the rapid rate of your heartbeat. it’s so loud you’re almost convinced the trio can hear the thumping from your hiding spot under the sheets. this is it, they’re going to discover you.
“oh, oh i see,” abigail grins. “on second thought, i wouldn't risk catching all those germs. i’m feeling starved, let’s hit the saloon, seb.”
the aforementioned man grumbles, seemingly puzzled by the sudden switch in abigail’s attitude. “huh… why?” abigail must have whispered something to him—you can barely hear over the muffle of sam’s blanket comforters. “ugh, alright. fine. you owe us one, sam.”
“oh, of course! mhm, yup,” you cringe at the immense awkwardness of sam’s response, feeling the overwhelming urge to pull out your own hair. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? now shoo! wouldn’t wanna get you both sick or somethin’…”
“huh?” sebastian replies, rightfully puzzled as they’re forcefully pushed out of the room. “why would we see you tomorrow if you’re sick—”
“well seb,” abigail says smugly. “let’s just say sammy here is taking care of some important business—”
“okay, bye!” you hear the door click shut. to your utter bewilderment, sam shut the door in their faces.
the room is deathly quiet, the air is stagnant and stuffy. once you feel it safe enough, you crane your neck out of the blankets to check over him. to trace any lingering feeling the sudden visit might’ve given him. sam’s got his back rested against the wood of his door, his back slumped.
“i—i wasn’t expecting that,” you say quietly from your hiding spot on his bed. peeking the top half of your face, watching the door carefully. “kinda nerve-wracking.”
and embarrassing.
“i know—i’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “i didn’t expect them coming over.”
“sebastian said you invited them for practice, though.” you point out.
“maybe i did,” he admits, creeping closer to you on the bed, even if he’s guilty and embarrassed. “i totally forgot—i mean, i was really nervous! my mind blanks when i get nervous…”
sam stops right by the side of the bed, as if he’s waiting for your permission to get in with you—in his own bed. and to be perfectly honest, you really want him to.
“kinda ruined the atmosphere too,” he looks away from you, eyes downcast and melancholy. “i had this whole thing planned too, and i, just… ugh…”
your eyes soften. “sam, it’s really fine. okay, maybe a little shocking but you know it’s not enough to scare me away.”
he looks down at you, worried. his eyebrows are ever so slightly pinched—you wish you could run your fingers over it, and smooth it out yourself.
“plus,” you murmur, reaching over the small amount of space between the two of you to clasp his wrist. “i’m not just gonna leave… just tell me what you were going to say—before the… interruption.”
that gives you the final push to gather your courage to tug him into bed with you. sam follows, flopping onto the empty bedding next to you without a fight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you, side by side, slowly huddling closer and closer for warmth.
and sam is warm. he’s practically radiating comfy heat you wish to burrow into—or wrap yourself around. the perfect bed-partner for winter nights like these.
you find yourself becoming addicted to the feeling.
sam angles his body towards you. you on your back and him on his side, it feels intimate and special. and for some reason, it feels familiar—like you’ve always belonged by his side.
“i think you know already,” he tells you, his eyes are not clear in the dim light but you know, there are practically hearts in them. “that i like you.”
you giggle softly. “and i think you know the same about me.”
sam tentatively grasps your hand, the freezing fingertips thawing under his careful touch. the caress of his hand on yours sends tingling electricity down your spine, your whole body feels alert—alive.
he speaks again, but this time his tone is a whisper of what it usually is. “stay awhile?”
“yeah,” you swallow, squeezing his hand in your grip. a small smile on your lips. “yes, i want to.”
“good,” he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the edges so softly and the dimples on his cheeks deepen. there really is no one else who can compare for you. “hey, you’re really cold… let me warm you up?”
you turn to your side, facing him. at this angle, your faces are mere inches apart. you can trace every dip, line and curve of his face, and he yours. your hand tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach for him and squeeze.
“it is cold,” you agree. “i’d very much like that.”
“phew,” he softly sighs. sam drags his fingers up your arm, stopping at your elbow. wherever he touches, a whisper of him lingers on your skin—a bone deep imprint you yearn for him to spread all across your skin.
you roll into him with little to no effort at all. sam drags you to his chest, your ear perched right above his heart, you can hear the steady thump! of his heartbeat from underneath. sam winds his arms around you, intensifying the heat you feel by tenfold—it’s not uncomfortable at all, though. you like it.
your bodies fit perfectly together, just like puzzle pieces. a mess of limbs tangling together. the warmth of him making you shudder in honey-like delight. it feels syrupy and soft and warm wrapped in his arms.
his hand at your back travels downwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake you feel even through the thickness of the fabric separating the skin of your back and his fingertips. his hands feel rough and calloused at the small of your back—from playing guitar and his skateboarding incidents—but you enjoy the feeling.
you trail your fingers under the thick fabric of his jacket and shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath—the action has no deeper meaning than you wanting to feel.
sam’s uncharacteristically quiet. his breaths are slow and long, like he’s on the verge of sleep. yet his arms are wound tight around you—like he never wants to let go of you. your nerves make you feel like a slow simmering soup. warm and slowly cooking over the fire.
you two stay entangled for a while, in comfortable silence. sometime during the night you’ve matched your breathing to his, and he pulled you somehow even closer to his body.
but, a thump comes from his window, a light tapping sound. soft but persistent. the two of you opt to ignore it, in favor of snuggling closer to each other. yet the taps continue, and become louder and faster.
disrupted by the noise, sam mournfully throws the covers from over him to check, untangling himself from your grip. leaving a very him-shaped indent on the bed left in his wake. you groan, sticking your bottom lip out, you miss the warmth of him already.
“oh shit.”
the expletive makes you sit up in his bed, the comforter draping off your middle. you can make out the shape of him even with the dimness of the light—sam’s back is towards you, and if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks like he’s shrinking into himself a tiny bit.
“what is it?” you whisper-shout to him.
he slowly turns to you, wide eyed, his shoulders stiff. sort of resembling a kicked-dog. sam bows down his head—with what you think is shame, for what reason, you can’t tell. rubbing your eyes of sleep, you furrow your brow, craning your neck to look out the window behind him.
abigail and sebastian are there, waving wildly at you. your eyes widen. abigail and sebastian are waving at you with smug smiles plastered on their faces.
your stomach drops for the umpteenth time that night. you honestly feel too horrified to speak.
you bury yourself under the sheets, a feeble attempt to conceal your mortification. so that’s why abigail was playing along with sam’s urgent ramblings—she knew (not that sam was any good at keeping a cool facade, he is totally incapable of lying smoothly). you groan, you feel like a rebellious teenager again, only the part where you get caught and utterly humiliated.
outside, you can hear the loud roaring laughter of the duo through the glass, alongside the awkward, embarrassed chatter of your newly-minted boyfriend. (not technically official, but the title succeeds to relieve your horror by the tiniest bit)
still, you stay put. through the mortification and embarrassment you still stick yourself to sam’s side, or more literally, on his bed—because you know, there’s no other place you’d rather be.
you spare another glance out of the covers at the trio—to your surprise, sam’s beat you to it. looking at you with heart eyes and the most lovesick expression (you’re pretty sure yours looks the same).
you know there’s going to be a lot more explaining to do in the morning. but it doesn’t matter to you, not right now when you’re in sam’s bed on the verge of sleep.
not when you feel so warm.
a/n: shoutout to the ass trio for making an appearance in the fic! i love you abby and seb.
word count: 3.2k
summary: sam’s ten heart event with a twist.
tags: winter, developing relationships, fluff, swearing, cuddling, hiding from his mother in his bed lol
a/n: this spiralled out of my control and into 3k words… enjoy!
it’s cold.
the fleece coat you’ve bundled yourself in cannot protect goosebumps from forming from the biting chill of the valley’s winter nights. your breaths come out in cloudy puffs of air, the heat slowly draining out of every exhale. it’s dark out, poorly spaced lampposts providing the bare minimum amount of light to navigate.
you got sam’s letter earlier, a clumsily written note that was stuffed haphazardly into your farm’s mailbox—the yellow lined paper he used, all crumpled and ripped.
meet me in front of my house! at 8 pm, i’ll be waiting. there’s something i want to tell you.
the ending sentence is somehow even more sloppily written compared to the ones before it. as if he was debating whether or not to add it in, but ultimately decided for it—it’s funny to imagine him hunched over his desk, stressing over what to write to you.
well, you won’t deny feeling excitement over the possibility of whatever sam has to say. if the subtle skip in your step is anything to go by.
you walk through the silent night of the town, it seems like everything’s frozen in place during the colder times of the year—everyone’s safe at home, toasty under their covers and you’d imagine thoroughly enjoying going to bed at 7 pm.
you do too, sometimes. there’s less to do when the ground is too frozen to plant any crop.
there’s a lot more free time out of the farm during the winter. you’ve really started integrating yourself with the townspeople—helping haley find her bracelet, befriending sam’s prickly coworker shane, and even discovering a shadowperson named Krobus in the town sewers. it really is starting to feel like home.
walking, you cut the corner passing by emily and haley’s house—and there he is.
he looks devastatingly handsome all dressed in winter clothing. his regular denim jacket switched out for a dark woolen coat, his pants are unripped and, surprisingly, not smeared with dirt.
though what you like most about his winter attire is his hair. those wild golden locks are laid flat under a woolen beanie—a stark difference from the spiked updo he usually does (though you like that one too). the tips of his hair are slightly curled upwards, revealing that family trait of curly hair.
you creep closer, just watching him wait for you—the way he folds his arms in an attempt to warm up, and the little shuffle he does on his feet. you laugh softly, he must’ve been waiting a while—just like you have for him.
sam turns at the sound of your laugh, his body unconsciously tilting towards you, like a magnet’s uncontrollable attracting to metal. “you made it,” he breathes, his nose, ears and cheeks pinkened by the cold.
you nod, unable to stop a bashful smile from forming on your lips. “i made it.”
a big grin splits his face, mimicking yours. underneath the lone lamplight he looks jaw-droppingly handsome. you feel yourself become warm just in proximity to him.
“i wanted to talk to you in private,” he says. sam’s buzzing with energy, surveying the dark streets before meeting your gaze with his. “it’s kinda cold out here though… i, um—i can sneak you into my room…”
your heart skips a beat, like you’ve skipped a step on a staircase. “what?” you croak.
your eyes catch onto him wringing his fingers, a nervous habit you can’t help but always notice (not because his hands are nice and interesting to look at, not at all).
“you don’t wanna?”
“no!” you inhale, trying to alleviate the twisting sensation in your gut. “i do wanna, ahem, lead the way.”
sam smiles at you, dimples and all. he leads you towards the tiny bedroom window in front of his house. the window is already open—you assume that’s where he jumped out of to meet you.
he climbs through the window with minimal effort, landing on the flooring with a dull thump!
you raise a brow. “have you done this before?”
sam stretches his hand out to you, waiting. his smile turnt sheepish. “i mean, i think we were all rebellious teenagers once.”
you resist the urge to snort—sam’s nervous, you can tell. he doesn’t have his quips and jokes tonight. and he’s shy, but eager. like a puppy, excited and curious about the world.
“o-kay,” you say, one hand in his hand the other set firmly on the windowsill. “make sure i don’t fall please.”
sam nods, eagerly. the curled ends of his hair shake along with the motion as he does.
how endearing.
you tighten your grip on his hand, hauling yourself through the small window, trying your damn best to not make any sudden noise. which is successful for the most part, only a tiny huff of exertion escapes you.
annoying, yes. but the chill of winter burns through any energy you have faster than other seasons.
your feet connect with the wood of his floor, hand still clasped in his and the chill merely at your back. it’s warm inside, with him.
his room is the same as it’s always been when you’d visit before—shelves, band equipment, posters—but the ambiance is different. a little more charged with tension so thick you could cut through it with a knife.
sam does not bother turning on his light, you don’t mind it all that much. but it takes some effort to avoid tumbling over stray objects that clutter his bedroom floor.
“look, I know I’ve been about nothing but the band for a while now…” he starts. “but I don’t want you to think that’s all i’m interested in.”
you chuckle, clasping your fingers behind your back. “it certainly takes up a big chunk of your interests.”
he pouts, literally pouts. it must be the love bug you caught because you think it’s just plain adorable. “i’m really trying over here!”
“sorry!” you grin, “okay, continue.”
“well, um… shoot, this is kinda hard, huh?” he forces an awkward chuckle. “and nerve-wrecking… but what i’m trying to say is…”
“i’m really happy that we’ve grown this close, and well…” sam looks at you, he’s stupidly red—the color spreading all over his face. “i—i’m just wondering, do you think of me as… just a friend?”
your breath stutters, and you feel yourself blushing before you can do anything to stop it. you stare at him as he does with you. the two of you locking eyes for a second, it feels like it’s just you and him in the world.
you feel your shy admittance at the tip of your tongue. no, you’d say, you’re more than that for me, if you want to be.
sam smiles at you, shy but so, so overwhelmingly bright—it’s blinding. your head is running a mile a minute when you finally get the courage—
“sam!” you hear jodi’s groggy voice from outside the door. your stomach drops with dread. “somebody’s at the door! go and check please?”
you lock eyes once again, this time for entirely different reasons, and with entirely different feelings.
“oh my god, sam,” you whisper hurriedly, panic gripping you. “your mom doesn’t know i’m here—what do we do—”
“hold on—” he replies, with the same sense of urgency as you. “okay, okay—i have a plan, just trust me, ‘kay?”
you think you might break out into a cold sweat. you look at him quizzically, “what?”
sam gives you an apologetic smile with that stupid beautiful face of his, he moves forward, grabbing you by your wrists, and moving you with him—towards his bed.
“sam!” you hiss, alarms are blaring in every corner of your mind as sam all but drags you under the toasty covers of his bed. he lifts the blanket and stations you by the edge, covering you in the blanket—which is now a lumpy mess.
this is his childhood bed you’re in, where his mother and brother are just by the door.
and his mother is calling him.
“i’ll get this over with quick,” he says to you, already heading towards the door of his room. “hang on tight, ‘kay?”
you breathe a sound of agreement, way too jittery to formulate any proper response as you quieten under the covers.
though the sheets do feel nice, and smells overwhelmingly of that specific cologne he uses (stolen from joja inventory, he told you once). you will yourself not to relax and melt into the sheets so fast. instead, you listen for each and every sound that may give hint to whatever the hell is happening.
there’s a commotion that you can hear happening, the door swings open, the hinges creaking along with it—this whole surreal experience feels a little like the confrontation part of a horror movie, the helpless victim hiding and the heavy footfalls of the killer.
though in your case, it’s not one set of footsteps, but two.
“what are you two doing here?”
“you’re the one who called us over, remember?” you can recognize the band’s shut-in pianist’s voice from anywhere. “you were all like, stop skipping practice, seb.”
sam’s voice is oddly pitchy when he responds. “…well, tonight’s no good!”
you hear the other person huff, you strain your ears harder to listen. the huffing person clearly fed up with the strange behavior sam’s putting out right now.
“my mom and vincent are asleep,” he adds hurriedly. “they’d wake up—”
you resist the urge to groan, stifling your mouth under a sweaty palm. jodie was just speaking to him minutes ago, there’s no way they’d buy that. he cannot be a more obvious liar.
thankfully they gloss over the fact. “sam, why are you acting so damn weird?” sebastian asks, straightforward as ever.
“yeah,” the other voice adds. feminine but strong. which you now identify as abigail’s, you hear a pinch of impatience in her voice. “and why are you red? did you sit outside in the snow or something—”
sam chokes, which he tries to conceal as an odd sounding cough. abigail pauses mid-sentence. the shift in the atmosphere is palpable. you screw your eyes shut, hearing the rapid rate of your heartbeat. it’s so loud you’re almost convinced the trio can hear the thumping from your hiding spot under the sheets. this is it, they’re going to discover you.
“oh, oh i see,” abigail grins. “on second thought, i wouldn't risk catching all those germs. i’m feeling starved, let’s hit the saloon, seb.”
the aforementioned man grumbles, seemingly puzzled by the sudden switch in abigail’s attitude. “huh… why?” abigail must have whispered something to him—you can barely hear over the muffle of sam’s blanket comforters. “ugh, alright. fine. you owe us one, sam.”
“oh, of course! mhm, yup,” you cringe at the immense awkwardness of sam’s response, feeling the overwhelming urge to pull out your own hair. “i’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? now shoo! wouldn’t wanna get you both sick or somethin’…”
“huh?” sebastian replies, rightfully puzzled as they’re forcefully pushed out of the room. “why would we see you tomorrow if you’re sick—”
“well seb,” abigail says smugly. “let’s just say sammy here is taking care of some important business—”
“okay, bye!” you hear the door click shut. to your utter bewilderment, sam shut the door in their faces.
the room is deathly quiet, the air is stagnant and stuffy. once you feel it safe enough, you crane your neck out of the blankets to check over him. to trace any lingering feeling the sudden visit might’ve given him. sam’s got his back rested against the wood of his door, his back slumped.
“i—i wasn’t expecting that,” you say quietly from your hiding spot on his bed. peeking the top half of your face, watching the door carefully. “kinda nerve-wracking.”
and embarrassing.
“i know—i’m sorry,” he sighs, rubbing his temples. “i didn’t expect them coming over.”
“sebastian said you invited them for practice, though.” you point out.
“maybe i did,” he admits, creeping closer to you on the bed, even if he’s guilty and embarrassed. “i totally forgot—i mean, i was really nervous! my mind blanks when i get nervous…”
sam stops right by the side of the bed, as if he’s waiting for your permission to get in with you—in his own bed. and to be perfectly honest, you really want him to.
“kinda ruined the atmosphere too,” he looks away from you, eyes downcast and melancholy. “i had this whole thing planned too, and i, just… ugh…”
your eyes soften. “sam, it’s really fine. okay, maybe a little shocking but you know it’s not enough to scare me away.”
he looks down at you, worried. his eyebrows are ever so slightly pinched—you wish you could run your fingers over it, and smooth it out yourself.
“plus,” you murmur, reaching over the small amount of space between the two of you to clasp his wrist. “i’m not just gonna leave… just tell me what you were going to say—before the… interruption.”
that gives you the final push to gather your courage to tug him into bed with you. sam follows, flopping onto the empty bedding next to you without a fight. for a moment, it’s just the two of you, side by side, slowly huddling closer and closer for warmth.
and sam is warm. he’s practically radiating comfy heat you wish to burrow into—or wrap yourself around. the perfect bed-partner for winter nights like these.
you find yourself becoming addicted to the feeling.
sam angles his body towards you. you on your back and him on his side, it feels intimate and special. and for some reason, it feels familiar—like you’ve always belonged by his side.
“i think you know already,” he tells you, his eyes are not clear in the dim light but you know, there are practically hearts in them. “that i like you.”
you giggle softly. “and i think you know the same about me.”
sam tentatively grasps your hand, the freezing fingertips thawing under his careful touch. the caress of his hand on yours sends tingling electricity down your spine, your whole body feels alert—alive.
he speaks again, but this time his tone is a whisper of what it usually is. “stay awhile?”
“yeah,” you swallow, squeezing his hand in your grip. a small smile on your lips. “yes, i want to.”
“good,” he smiles, his eyes crinkle at the edges so softly and the dimples on his cheeks deepen. there really is no one else who can compare for you. “hey, you’re really cold… let me warm you up?”
you turn to your side, facing him. at this angle, your faces are mere inches apart. you can trace every dip, line and curve of his face, and he yours. your hand tingles with the overwhelming urge to reach for him and squeeze.
“it is cold,” you agree. “i’d very much like that.”
“phew,” he softly sighs. sam drags his fingers up your arm, stopping at your elbow. wherever he touches, a whisper of him lingers on your skin—a bone deep imprint you yearn for him to spread all across your skin.
you roll into him with little to no effort at all. sam drags you to his chest, your ear perched right above his heart, you can hear the steady thump! of his heartbeat from underneath. sam winds his arms around you, intensifying the heat you feel by tenfold—it’s not uncomfortable at all, though. you like it.
your bodies fit perfectly together, just like puzzle pieces. a mess of limbs tangling together. the warmth of him making you shudder in honey-like delight. it feels syrupy and soft and warm wrapped in his arms.
his hand at your back travels downwards, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake you feel even through the thickness of the fabric separating the skin of your back and his fingertips. his hands feel rough and calloused at the small of your back—from playing guitar and his skateboarding incidents—but you enjoy the feeling.
you trail your fingers under the thick fabric of his jacket and shirt, feeling the smooth skin underneath—the action has no deeper meaning than you wanting to feel.
sam’s uncharacteristically quiet. his breaths are slow and long, like he’s on the verge of sleep. yet his arms are wound tight around you—like he never wants to let go of you. your nerves make you feel like a slow simmering soup. warm and slowly cooking over the fire.
you two stay entangled for a while, in comfortable silence. sometime during the night you’ve matched your breathing to his, and he pulled you somehow even closer to his body.
but, a thump comes from his window, a light tapping sound. soft but persistent. the two of you opt to ignore it, in favor of snuggling closer to each other. yet the taps continue, and become louder and faster.
disrupted by the noise, sam mournfully throws the covers from over him to check, untangling himself from your grip. leaving a very him-shaped indent on the bed left in his wake. you groan, sticking your bottom lip out, you miss the warmth of him already.
“oh shit.”
the expletive makes you sit up in his bed, the comforter draping off your middle. you can make out the shape of him even with the dimness of the light—sam’s back is towards you, and if your eyes dare deceive you, he looks like he’s shrinking into himself a tiny bit.
“what is it?” you whisper-shout to him.
he slowly turns to you, wide eyed, his shoulders stiff. sort of resembling a kicked-dog. sam bows down his head—with what you think is shame, for what reason, you can’t tell. rubbing your eyes of sleep, you furrow your brow, craning your neck to look out the window behind him.
abigail and sebastian are there, waving wildly at you. your eyes widen. abigail and sebastian are waving at you with smug smiles plastered on their faces.
your stomach drops for the umpteenth time that night. you honestly feel too horrified to speak.
you bury yourself under the sheets, a feeble attempt to conceal your mortification. so that’s why abigail was playing along with sam’s urgent ramblings—she knew (not that sam was any good at keeping a cool facade, he is totally incapable of lying smoothly). you groan, you feel like a rebellious teenager again, only the part where you get caught and utterly humiliated.
outside, you can hear the loud roaring laughter of the duo through the glass, alongside the awkward, embarrassed chatter of your newly-minted boyfriend. (not technically official, but the title succeeds to relieve your horror by the tiniest bit)
still, you stay put. through the mortification and embarrassment you still stick yourself to sam’s side, or more literally, on his bed—because you know, there’s no other place you’d rather be.
you spare another glance out of the covers at the trio—to your surprise, sam’s beat you to it. looking at you with heart eyes and the most lovesick expression (you’re pretty sure yours looks the same).
you know there’s going to be a lot more explaining to do in the morning. but it doesn’t matter to you, not right now when you’re in sam’s bed on the verge of sleep.
not when you feel so warm.
a/n: shoutout to the ass trio for making an appearance in the fic! i love you abby and seb.
sweet like
word count: 1.5 k
synopsis: love confessions are not easy, having nosy neighbours isn’t either—but loving sam is different, it’s as easy as breathing.
a/n: samson my beloved, youre allergic to pollen but accepted my bouquet anyway. 😔❤️
edit: sweet like is now on ao3! here
today’s the day, you’re really going to do it. no ifs or buts.
you swear you will, but damn if it isn’t messing with your head. it’s definitely the nervousness or heat stroke symptoms causing the overly-conscious way you regard all other shoppers in pierre’s general store. you feel the uneven, erratic thrum of your pulse underneath your skin.
your hands are cold and clammy and disgustingly sweaty as a bright bouquet of tulips, poppies, sweet peas and fairy roses is unceremoniously slid across the store counter and bundled into your arms. the smell is dizzyingly perfumed. pierre doesn’t bat an eye though the knowing glint just tells you that he knows.
you and sam have been friends for as long as you started living in the valley. he’s a literal ball of sunshine compacted into a 5’10 body, and he’s sweet—maybe at times a little sloppy and forgetful but those quirks make him all the more lovable—to you.
and you admit yes, you did have a crush on him—and after watching his band’s performance in zuzu city, it got even worse. suddenly the ignition jump started the thrum of your heart—beating at race car speeds at the mere mention of his name. restless and anxious
so, here you are, buying a bouquet (one you could surely make yourself, but according to abigail buying this exact one is town tradition) at 10 am in the morning, in front of all your nosy neighbours.
you clutch the flowers tighter to your chest as caroline cranes her neck to take a peek. slowing down as she restocks the shelves. shameless, these people are sharks to blood when it comes to gossip.
you shoot her a wary glare, lips pursed together. pushing open the door to the shop, the little entrance bell rings with your exit.
after your realization, you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, the skies seem brighter and clearer, with soft fluffy clouds suspended in them. the breeze is soft and refreshing, while the sun is a comforting warmth at your back.
not even a few steps past the stardrop saloon do you feel any different.
adrenaline pumps through your veins as you see a flash of familiar spiked-up golden hair in your periphery. you feel your breath stutter as you reflexively stuff the delicate bouquet in your pack and snap it shut.
you turn your back, clutching a hand to your chest—you feel your heart racing underneath your fingertips as well as the heat rising up your skin. it’s fine, you reason, you’ll play it off as sunburn.
you slap at your cheeks, encouragingly.
the aforementioned man, skates towards you, calling your attention. turning, you nod your head in greeting, offering him a less than wobbly smile.
you wait until the skateboard skids to a stop, sam stops a few feet from you. his breaths slightly labored from the effort, he’s still as bright and cheery as ever
“sam,” you cringe as your voice cracks into an awkward pitch. he perks up at the mention of his name, giving you an enthusiastic wave. you swallow the lump forming in your throat.
“hey farmer,” he smiles, sam sets one of his feet down from on his skateboard. “it’s really bright out today. what’cha up to?”
“i was looking for you, actually.”
“and i’m here!” he replies before sheepishly adding. “that’s a coincidence. i was going to go visit you—well, before i forgot.”
“really,” your stomach traitorously flutters. “what for?”
“to give you something,” he says breezily, sam digs around in his pant pockets, seemingly looking for something. “i swear i have the thingy in here somewhere..”
you watch as he fumbles around looking for the thingy. Your mind drifts to the scrunched up bouquet sitting in your pack. you hadn’t expected running into him so soon—
maybe, you think. you aren’t as ready as you think.
“ahh, here it is!”
sam fishes out a rectangular shaped object from his back pocket, its slim and clear. you tilt your head in curiosity and he smiles wider.
“a cassette of the band’s song,” he tells you, grabbing your limp hand to stuff it into your palm. “listen to it! you have a cassette player on your farm, right?”
the momental brush of his hand against yours has you stumbling over your mess of thoughts and feelings. it is a little pathetic, to be acting like a lovesick teenager again—you groan to yourself. “yeah, i do.”
the cassette is light in your palm, the hard plastic case is covered in sharpied lightning bolts and smiley faces—along with the careful engraving of your name. the hand drawn designs are wonky and childlike (you suspect he asked vincent to draw them), but it’s yours.
he made this for you.
you feel the giddy warmth spread all throughout your body—concentrated in your chest and stomach which twists with some emotion you’re too confused to name.
“i couldn’t find you after the performance,” he confesses. you peek up from the cassette at his face—his cheeks are bright pink with bashfulness. “it was too crowded, i wanted to give you the first sample recording.”
standing on willow street in front of his family house with the sun beating down on you, sweat dripping down your temple, flowers haphazardly stuffed into your backpack. you’re literally buzzing with energy—the warmth, inside and out, is making your head spin.
you feel your mouth moving before you can even register what you’re saying, feverish words tumble out.
voice a tad strangled, you rasp. “sam.”
he looks down at his skateboard, his attention; short and slipping away. “yeah?”
“be my boyfriend.”
“sure!” he pauses, processing what you said, his eyes whip back up to stare into yours—wide and so, so blue. “waaait.. wuuh—”
“i was—uh, do you want to know why i wanted to visit you today?” you ramble on, tracing the cassette case edges with sweaty fingers. the beat of your heart is a resounding thumping sound in your eardrums. “actually, this is not how i planned things, but got nervous, you make me nervous.”
you shrug off your backpack, the heavy weight of it that once was grounding you groaned as it hit the ground. you open the flap and produce the now crumpled flowers—stems bent and broken, petals missing but the smell is still overwhelmingly sweet. you hold out the bouquet to him with shaky fingers, the cassette held in your other hand clasped behind your back.
“—i wanted to make this a little more special…” you sigh nervously, eyes squeezed shut while your bottom lip is chewed between worrying teeth. “it’s all crumpled, sorry…”
“i think this is plenty special already.”
you feel as he moves closer, plucking the flowers out of your hands. now, there’s barely any space between the both of you. your eyes snap open, mouth slightly gaping as he takes a long sniff full of flowers.
your heart sings for joy as he does—but the concerningly wet sneeze he lets out makes you furrow your brow in realization.
he’s goddamn allergic.
your eyes widen, reaching for the flowers. “sam, you’re allergic to pollen!”
your fingers barely brush the stems when he pull the flowers away from you. sam laughs, bright and pure—one that sounds like it came deep from his gut. you flush deeper in embarrassment, and a little in confusion.
“so? you gave me these. i like them!”
“i can’t believe it slipped my mind,” you cringe. “don’t keep them! the stems are all twisted and broken anyway.”
he sneezes again, shaking his head petulantly, his nose pinkened with irritation, a small sound of mortification exits your mouth. how can you be so forgetful?
digging through your backpack, you grab the small pack of tissues you usually use to dab off sweat easily. you take one out of the pack and stretch it out towards him.
instead of your offered tissue, sam grabs you by the wrist, tugging you to him. you follow with not much of a fight, a confusing mixture of nervous and giddy energy you’ve become. he holds you still against him, his arms coming behind you to wrap the both of you together tightly.
you go limp against him, head buried his shoulder. you think, you fit together perfectly.
“by the way, i like you too.” he murmurs into your hair. “a lot more than you think i do.”
“even if i forgot you were allergic to flowers?”
he snorts, leaving a chaste peck on your forehead, you feel your cheeks flush. “especially because you forgot, it was kinda funny.”
your head shoots up, nearly bumping his chin. “sam!”
he laughs and you can’t help but smile in return. your gaze returns to the sky, and suddenly you can’t quite recall what you were so worried about. really, life in stardew valley has never been so bright.
(and if you see some of your neighbors watching at the corner of your eye, you shut your eyes to ignore them.)
sweet like
word count: 1.5 k
synopsis: love confessions are not easy, having nosy neighbours isn’t either—but loving sam is different, it’s as easy as breathing.
a/n: samson my beloved, youre allergic to pollen but accepted my bouquet anyway. 😔❤️
edit: sweet like is now on ao3! here
today’s the day, you’re really going to do it. no ifs or buts.
you swear you will, but damn if it isn’t messing with your head. it’s definitely the nervousness or heat stroke symptoms causing the overly-conscious way you regard all other shoppers in pierre’s general store. you feel the uneven, erratic thrum of your pulse underneath your skin.
your hands are cold and clammy and disgustingly sweaty as a bright bouquet of tulips, poppies, sweet peas and fairy roses is unceremoniously slid across the store counter and bundled into your arms. the smell is dizzyingly perfumed. pierre doesn’t bat an eye though the knowing glint just tells you that he knows.
you and sam have been friends for as long as you started living in the valley. he’s a literal ball of sunshine compacted into a 5’10 body, and he’s sweet—maybe at times a little sloppy and forgetful but those quirks make him all the more lovable—to you.
and you admit yes, you did have a crush on him—and after watching his band’s performance in zuzu city, it got even worse. suddenly the ignition jump started the thrum of your heart—beating at race car speeds at the mere mention of his name. restless and anxious
so, here you are, buying a bouquet (one you could surely make yourself, but according to abigail buying this exact one is town tradition) at 10 am in the morning, in front of all your nosy neighbours.
you clutch the flowers tighter to your chest as caroline cranes her neck to take a peek. slowing down as she restocks the shelves. shameless, these people are sharks to blood when it comes to gossip.
you shoot her a wary glare, lips pursed together. pushing open the door to the shop, the little entrance bell rings with your exit.
after your realization, you see the world through rose-tinted glasses, the skies seem brighter and clearer, with soft fluffy clouds suspended in them. the breeze is soft and refreshing, while the sun is a comforting warmth at your back.
not even a few steps past the stardrop saloon do you feel any different.
adrenaline pumps through your veins as you see a flash of familiar spiked-up golden hair in your periphery. you feel your breath stutter as you reflexively stuff the delicate bouquet in your pack and snap it shut.
you turn your back, clutching a hand to your chest—you feel your heart racing underneath your fingertips as well as the heat rising up your skin. it’s fine, you reason, you’ll play it off as sunburn.
you slap at your cheeks, encouragingly.
the aforementioned man, skates towards you, calling your attention. turning, you nod your head in greeting, offering him a less than wobbly smile.
you wait until the skateboard skids to a stop, sam stops a few feet from you. his breaths slightly labored from the effort, he’s still as bright and cheery as ever
“sam,” you cringe as your voice cracks into an awkward pitch. he perks up at the mention of his name, giving you an enthusiastic wave. you swallow the lump forming in your throat.
“hey farmer,” he smiles, sam sets one of his feet down from on his skateboard. “it’s really bright out today. what’cha up to?”
“i was looking for you, actually.”
“and i’m here!” he replies before sheepishly adding. “that’s a coincidence. i was going to go visit you—well, before i forgot.”
“really,” your stomach traitorously flutters. “what for?”
“to give you something,” he says breezily, sam digs around in his pant pockets, seemingly looking for something. “i swear i have the thingy in here somewhere..”
you watch as he fumbles around looking for the thingy. Your mind drifts to the scrunched up bouquet sitting in your pack. you hadn’t expected running into him so soon—
maybe, you think. you aren’t as ready as you think.
“ahh, here it is!”
sam fishes out a rectangular shaped object from his back pocket, its slim and clear. you tilt your head in curiosity and he smiles wider.
“a cassette of the band’s song,” he tells you, grabbing your limp hand to stuff it into your palm. “listen to it! you have a cassette player on your farm, right?”
the momental brush of his hand against yours has you stumbling over your mess of thoughts and feelings. it is a little pathetic, to be acting like a lovesick teenager again—you groan to yourself. “yeah, i do.”
the cassette is light in your palm, the hard plastic case is covered in sharpied lightning bolts and smiley faces—along with the careful engraving of your name. the hand drawn designs are wonky and childlike (you suspect he asked vincent to draw them), but it’s yours.
he made this for you.
you feel the giddy warmth spread all throughout your body—concentrated in your chest and stomach which twists with some emotion you’re too confused to name.
“i couldn’t find you after the performance,” he confesses. you peek up from the cassette at his face—his cheeks are bright pink with bashfulness. “it was too crowded, i wanted to give you the first sample recording.”
standing on willow street in front of his family house with the sun beating down on you, sweat dripping down your temple, flowers haphazardly stuffed into your backpack. you’re literally buzzing with energy—the warmth, inside and out, is making your head spin.
you feel your mouth moving before you can even register what you’re saying, feverish words tumble out.
voice a tad strangled, you rasp. “sam.”
he looks down at his skateboard, his attention; short and slipping away. “yeah?”
“be my boyfriend.”
“sure!” he pauses, processing what you said, his eyes whip back up to stare into yours—wide and so, so blue. “waaait.. wuuh—”
“i was—uh, do you want to know why i wanted to visit you today?” you ramble on, tracing the cassette case edges with sweaty fingers. the beat of your heart is a resounding thumping sound in your eardrums. “actually, this is not how i planned things, but got nervous, you make me nervous.”
you shrug off your backpack, the heavy weight of it that once was grounding you groaned as it hit the ground. you open the flap and produce the now crumpled flowers—stems bent and broken, petals missing but the smell is still overwhelmingly sweet. you hold out the bouquet to him with shaky fingers, the cassette held in your other hand clasped behind your back.
“—i wanted to make this a little more special…” you sigh nervously, eyes squeezed shut while your bottom lip is chewed between worrying teeth. “it’s all crumpled, sorry…”
“i think this is plenty special already.”
you feel as he moves closer, plucking the flowers out of your hands. now, there’s barely any space between the both of you. your eyes snap open, mouth slightly gaping as he takes a long sniff full of flowers.
your heart sings for joy as he does—but the concerningly wet sneeze he lets out makes you furrow your brow in realization.
he’s goddamn allergic.
your eyes widen, reaching for the flowers. “sam, you’re allergic to pollen!”
your fingers barely brush the stems when he pull the flowers away from you. sam laughs, bright and pure—one that sounds like it came deep from his gut. you flush deeper in embarrassment, and a little in confusion.
“so? you gave me these. i like them!”
“i can’t believe it slipped my mind,” you cringe. “don’t keep them! the stems are all twisted and broken anyway.”
he sneezes again, shaking his head petulantly, his nose pinkened with irritation, a small sound of mortification exits your mouth. how can you be so forgetful?
digging through your backpack, you grab the small pack of tissues you usually use to dab off sweat easily. you take one out of the pack and stretch it out towards him.
instead of your offered tissue, sam grabs you by the wrist, tugging you to him. you follow with not much of a fight, a confusing mixture of nervous and giddy energy you’ve become. he holds you still against him, his arms coming behind you to wrap the both of you together tightly.
you go limp against him, head buried his shoulder. you think, you fit together perfectly.
“by the way, i like you too.” he murmurs into your hair. “a lot more than you think i do.”
“even if i forgot you were allergic to flowers?”
he snorts, leaving a chaste peck on your forehead, you feel your cheeks flush. “especially because you forgot, it was kinda funny.”
your head shoots up, nearly bumping his chin. “sam!”
he laughs and you can’t help but smile in return. your gaze returns to the sky, and suddenly you can’t quite recall what you were so worried about. really, life in stardew valley has never been so bright.
(and if you see some of your neighbors watching at the corner of your eye, you shut your eyes to ignore them.)
he helps you clear the farm of leaves during fall but what he doesn’t tell you is that he hides those leaves in the back to burn when you set up the bonfire later
you best believe sam is throwing random shit into the bonfire to watch it burn
what was supposed to be a 15 minute to-and-from errand has gone out control and morphed into some how-to farming class, and honestly sam doesn’t mind at all. he wasn’t planning on staying long, really.
but you’re kind and patient, directing him where to scoop mulch and pack it tight. his attention has never been a stationary thing, everything about your farm (and you) is captivating and new and interesting.
wiping the swear dripping down his temple, sam watches you prune your melons. the rhythmic motion of your wrists as you take gardening shears to unruly buds and leaves feels like a formation of a melody in real time.
surely this is why he came over to your farm, to watch you make music with the sway and jerk of your limbs as you tend to crops or how easy you make conversation… and if there was something he was supposed to come for, he bets your beaming smile and singing crops will welcome him again tomorrow.
Sam who gets sent by his mom to go and pick up some produce from the farm while she brings Vincent for a check-up but ends up getting distracted by the farmer themselves
Summary: The boys help shop for all you feminine products while you are away
Word count: 0.6k
A/n: I really just needed to write, so, please injoy :)
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The buggy’s front wheel spun in quick circles, the squeaking irritating Dean the deeper into the store he went. Sam had two hands on the handle bar, leading them down various isles as he grabbed what was on the grocery list.
“Did you get the milk?” He asked, glancing at his brother as he placed a bag of chips into the buggy.
“No.”
“Why not? We were just at the dairy isle.”
Dean shrugged his shoulders eyes glazing across the chips. “I thought you grabbed it.”
A huff left Sam’s lips. “Yes, because I’d grab the milk after I told you to do it.”
“I’ll get it later, ok.” Dean told him, snatching the grocery list from his brothers hands. “What do we need to grab next?”
“Tampons and a couple pads.” Sam answered, having memorized the list already.
“Tampons and pads? I thought she had that.”
“No, Dean.” Sam muttered leading him and his brother to the feminine isle. “If she had it we wouldn’t need to get more.”
Cas made his way towards the brothers a case of beer in hand as he placed it into the cart. “All they had was light beer, so I hope that’s alright.” He told them, trailing next to the buggy.
“That’s fine, Cas.” Sam told the angel.
“Yeah, for you.” Dean mumbled, shooting a small glare at the alcohol.
Taking another turn, the three wandered down the isle stacked full of female products. Each stoping beside one another as they took in all of the many items that filled the shelves.
You’d asked Sam specifically to grab your feminine items, seeing as he’s the only one who’d lived with a woman before. It would have been a whole lot easier than asking Dean or Cas to do it.
“So,” Dean began arms crossing over one another as he stood before the various pads and tampons. “What does she need? Yellow? Green? Purple?”
Sam glanced up from the list to look at his brother. “What are you talking about? Why are you naming colors?”
He nodded towards a tampon box. “They all have different colors, Sam, kinda like fruits.”
Cas wondered over to Deans side, his eyebrows furrowing. “These things have taste?” He asked, picking up a box to look at it more closely.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Sam shot a glare at his older brother. “What?” Dean asked.
“Why would it be flavored?” He asked trying to reason with the man.
Dean shrugged his shoulders, taking the box back from Cas and placing it back in the shelf. “Some guys like that kind of stuff, Sam.”
Sam scrunched his nose in disgust. “That’s disgusting.”
“But it’s not flavored, Cas,” Dean began, turning towards the angel. “Because it’s scented.”
“Scented?”
“Dear god.” Sam mumbled to himself, running a hand across his face.
Dean nodded, gesturing to the rows of boxes. “Of course they’re scented. Because blood has smell, and so girls have to cover it up with a better smell.” He snapped his fingers, an example coming to mind. “Like perfume.”
Cas let out a small hum, his attention returning back to the products. Dean glanced over at his brother, his voice dropping down to a whisper. “It’s scented… right?”
Sam shook his head.
A small ‘oh’ fell from the older man’s lips, face ever so slightly heating up on how wrong he truly was. Facing the shelves one last time Dean had begun to pluck and pull a good many boxes from their previous spots. “We’ll just get one of everything,” he told the others, placing the items into the cart. “Better safe than sorry.”
A sigh fell from Sam’s lips as he watched both Dean and Cas place multiple box’s into the buggy, before wandering away to the desserts isle. Leaving the poor man with the over loaded cart full of felmine products.
“I’ll handle it, y/n,” he mumbled to himself, trailing after his brother and angelic friend. “I know what to get you, trust me.” Sam leaned his upper body against the handle bar, glancing over all the items that they’d gathered. “We won’t need to get more for another year or so now.”
Summary: You start to get upset when Dean decides to shave off his beard
Word count: 0.5k
A/n: Live. Laugh. Love. Bearded Jensen.
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Your hands gently moved through Deans beard, the small hairs causing you fingers to tingle from the sensation. His own hands rested on your thighs, holding you gently as you sat on top of the bathroom counter.
“Princess?” He called, watching as your eyes drifted from the hair on his face to his relaxed ones. “Are you gonna start or are you gonna wait for it to grow longer?”
A small pout found its way onto your mouth, “I don’t want to get rid of your beard.” You whined, having half the mindset to hide the razor from the taller man. “I’d rather watch it grow.”
Dean mirrored your pout, albeit mockingly. “Well, it’s starting to get on my nerves, princess. It has to go.”
“Ok. But what if we just leave a bit of stubble instead?”
“No.”
“But, it’s attractive.” You told him, hoping that’d he change his mind and keep it for just a little longer.
“To bad.” He replied, stepping from between your legs. Taking a bottle of shaving cream and the razor from your grasp. “It’s starting to itch.”
You let out a small huff, slightly mesmerized at how he gently applied the shaving cream to the lower portion of his face. The fluffy white sudes mixing into the small strands thickly and throughly
Dean wetted the blade beneath the warm faucet, giving it a good shake to take off all excess water. Fingers gently pressed against his chin, he began to shave against the grain of his beard. You felt your stomach drop as you watched the foam disappear and just the smooth skin left in its place.
“What if you just keep a mustache?” You asked, leg coming up to your chest as you rested your chin on top.
Dean stopped his movements, glancing at you through the mirror. “Absolutely not.”
A scoff came from your mouth. “Why not? Do you think you’d look like hitler or something?”
“I wasn’t thinking that, but now I am.” He told you, continuing to shave away at his facial hair.
“So, no?”
“No.”
You shook your head, sliding off the counter as you made your way behind the older man. Placing both arms around his torso you rested your cheek against his back, listening for his heartbeat through the back of his shirt.
“Princess,” Dean called, not stopping his movements. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t watch you ruin your face.” You told him bluntly, turning your face to bury it in his shirt.
A chuckle left his lips, giving a smile glance over his shoulder to look at you. “Ruining my face, huh?” You nodded. “You know it’ll grow back, just like last time and the time before that.”
“But it’s torture.” You wined. “It’s like I’m dating a child when your done.”
Dean gave a small nod of his head, knowing that you’d either be talking about his childish behaviors or the baby face he’d get after shaving. Though it could just be both. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Will it make you feel better if next time I let you shave me?” He asked, dragging the blade over the last strip of foam from his face.
You nodded you head just a tad, “A little, yes.”
“Okay, princess.” He wiped any remaining shaving cream from his face before turning around and wrapping his arms around you. “We’ll do that.”
you trying to distract the vampire from the fact that Sam and Dean are killing the rest of its nest: So… does menstrual blood taste any different than vein blood?
the vampire who’s been listening to you for the past half hour: Please. For the love of God. SHUT UP!
the vamp:
Summary: Dean had started to invade your privacy more often after a hunt
Word count: 0.8k
A/n: I had some fun writing protective Dean in this one
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The last hunt was too much of a close call for Dean.
It’s been a simple vampire case, a in and out kind of deal. But, when you slipped up a little and were almost a vamps blood bag, he felt a need to protect you immediately afterwards. The thought of you ending up dead while on a hunt with him caused an itch in the back of his brain. Something he needed to get rid of or at least settle down.
So, he began to follow you around.
It started out simple enough, sitting on the same booth as you at a restaurant, watching you through the rear view mirror on a long drive. And, recently making you share the same bed as he did. The feeling of your body safely tucked against his calmed him.
But, then the more hunts you went the more worried he got.
The feeling that something would happen to you if he wasn’t around caused him to panic and start to hang around you more than ever.
What started as a simple watching you from the corner of his eye quickly turning into needing to be right next to you 24/7. He’d follow you around like a lost puppy, eyes darting around to find any potential danger.
You’d spoken to Sam about Deans behavior, and he had agreed that it was new and different than what he normally is. But, according to Sam, Dean is naturally a protector at heart. Probably coming from being the oldest and having to take care of his little brother all the time.
But, still, you appreciated Dean trying to protect you, but he had started to invade you privacy.
Often not leaving you alone when you’d really need to be. Kinda like right now. You were taking a shower in the motels bathroom, the water cascading down your body when Deans humming kept on bringing you out of your peaceful state.
You didn’t really know when he entered the bathroom, but when he did you know it was no use in trying to kick him out. He sat patiently on the toilet, the lid down so that he wouldn’t ache from sitting in the same spot for twenty minutes.
A small magazine rested in his hands, the sound of the turning papers mixing with his humming caused you to finally stick your head past the shower curtain.
“Dean.” You called, in the nicest voice you could muster. Slowly growing tired of his protective attitude.
“Yes, princess?” He asked, the magazine he’d been reading tossed onto the counter as he focused solely in you.
Pasting a quick smile on your face, you pulled the curtain closer to your naked body. “Could I have just a couple minutes to myself in here?”
Dean furrowed his brows. “Why?”
“Because, it’s kinda weird how I’m naked in here while your out there fully clothed and humming a rock song.” You stated, hoping that telling him you were slightly uncomfortable with the situation would be enough for him to leave the bathroom.
“Would you like me to join you then, so you’d feel less weird about this?” He asked, standing from the toilet seat and making his way towards you, his flannel quickly coming off and into the piles of clothes you’d already made.
“No! No, Dean.” You started to shout, more than likely grabbing both your neighbors and Sam’s attention whilst doing so. “Put the flannel back on and get out!”
“Why?” He asked confused. “I’d have my back turned the entire time, or if you want I could even help you shower-“
Dean stopped talking when a soft but wet object connected with his face. “Did- did you throw a loofah at me?”
“Yes, and I’ll throw something harder next time if you don’t get out of here!” Your face was hot, and not just from the boiling shower you were taking but because Dean freaking Winchester was trying to hope in the shower with you like it was a normal thing.
He held up his hands, reluctantly making his way to the bathroom door. “Look I get that it’s weird, but it’ll help protect you.”
“Dean, I’m not going to die in the freaking shower.”
“Who knows, it’s a strange world, but I’ll be here if it happens and I’ll be able to-“ His eyes widened as you made an attempt to throw your soap bar at him, missing him by a hair and sending him running out of the bathroom.
A breathy laugh came from one of the beds, facing the noise he saw his brother with newspaper articles and his computer laid out in front of him. “I told you she would not have appreciated you going in there.” Sam told his older brother, a smug smile playing in his lips as he watched Dean taking a seat at the small table.
“Shut up.” He told him, now waiting for you to leave the bathroom so that he could be glued to your hip once more. “She’s gonna thank me one day.”
“Yeah, but definitely not any time soon.”
Summary: Dean isn’t too keen on how close you and a stray have been getting lately
Word count: 0.6k
A/n: NO HATE AGAINST ANY DOGS!!! We love dogs, and Dean loves dogs, just not the one you’ve been getting close to
A/a/n: Y’all I just got done with the first set of workouts this summer, for school. And OMG it literally killed me, I don’t know if I can do this all summer.
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Dean had always loved dogs. Ever since he was a little boy all the way to the burly man that he currently was, his heart had always had a special spot for the canines.
Until, you had rescued one from a hunt.
A week. Minimum. That’s how long you and the brothers had agreed to keep the animal until you found a rightful shelter. Seven days with man’s best friend, living and traveling in the back of the impala with them.
A simple week, Dean would’ve loved that.
Yes, he would’ve loved it, if all your attention hadn’t stayed solely on the dog.
It was everyday that you’d get up early and walk the animal, Sam often joining in his jogs before he would take a different route. And, Dean was fine with you getting the dog some exercise, what he didn’t like was you leaving the warmth of the motel bed to do so. Leaving Dean yearning for the feel of your body in the early mornings.
And it wasn’t even just that. No, no, no. You’d had given the dog your leftovers one afternoon. Right in front of Dean too. Knowing well enough that whatever you didn’t eat, you’d always hand over to Dean.
But, it shouldn’t bother him, no. Dean could go with out your morning embrace, your leftover Chinese that Dean tried his hardest not to tell you that he was waiting patiently for.
No, what really bothered him more than anything, was when you called that dog your ‘pretty boy’.
Dean was your pretty boy. It was the nickname that you’d donned him with, he loved that special little name that you’d picked out for him.
And out of all the names that’s what you’d called that slobbery animal, that’s what you called him. That dog, who’d slowly been taking you away from Dean ever since he was found out in the streets. Who’d been stealing you away from him for the past few days right under his nose the whole time.
Dean couldn’t prove it, but he knew that the dog was doing it on purpose.
He knew that the dog would give him a satisfied smirk, every time he’d turn his back on you and the animal. He knew what he was doing and he was playing you like a damn fiddle.
You currently sat on your and Deans motel bed, an old hay brush passing through the dogs tangled fur as you gave him sweet praises. Dean sat behind you against the headboard, muttering under his breath all the things you’d say in a mocking tone.
Not that he was trying to mock you, but you’d fallen so easily in the dogs trap that you could no longer get out. It was kinda hard not to.
“Good boy.” You whispered to the dog, placing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “The goodest boy.”
Dean could see his tail wagging from his position, body moving with each sharp wag.
Suck up. Dean wanted to say to the dog, not that he won’t when you leave the room. But, for now he’s happy with the one sided argument that he’s winning against an animal.
You then placed the hairbrush on the side of the bed, hands coming to pet the dogs now soft fur. Gentle praises leaving your mouth as you then began to scratch behind his ears.
Dean stared at the sight before him, wishing that he’d be the one that you’d run your fingers through his hair. Telling him how pretty and handsome he was. “You never do that to me.” Dean muttered softly.
“What?” Thankfully, what he said never truly meeting your ears.
“I said he’s very obidient.” Dean replied louder, watching as a small smile formed on your face as you agreed. Your attention returning back to the animal, completely missing the sour look he gave the dog.
God, he couldn’t wait til this dog was gone.
Summary: Dean and you discuss what the best Horror film is
Word count: 0.5k
A/n: In your opinion, what’s the best slasher movie?
A/a/n: Y’all please ignore the graphics on this one, I literally didn’t sleep at all last night because I was finishing a book. So please just ignore it. Thank you!
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“No,no,no,no,no.” You quickly spoke, the bucket of popcorn jumbling around in your lap. “Carrie, only killed everyone because she was made fun of on the best day of her life. If she weren’t then everyone would still be alive.”
“But that doesn’t make her movie the best horror film.” Dean accused, mouth filled with half eaten popcorn as he did so.
You rolled you eyes, “I never said Carrie was the best horror film, I was just trying to make a valid point.”
“And it was a valid point, but that still doesn’t answer the main question.”
“Does it really matter?” Sam asked, trying his hardest to focus on the slasher film both you and Dean forced him to watch.
“Yes.” You both said in unison.
Facing you again, Dean began to make his own point. “Friday the 13th, is by far the best horror film.” He told you grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bucket before popping it in his mouth. “Because it has all the right things a good slasher would need, a great backstory, a power hungry killer and most importantly tits.”
“Ok, one,” you began, holding up a single digit. “The first movie sucked, the second was the best of the franchise. Two, Jason was not power hungry, he was a man with severe mommy issues. And, three, all 70’s to early 90’s slasher has a girl showing her tits.”
“Not all of them.” Dean muttered.
“And besides, all the girls that ended up flashing the camera were dead by the end. That’s Scream, 101. Which I think is the best slasher.”
Dean let out a chuckle, “And why would Scream be better that Friday the 13th?”
“The Ghostfacers are hot.” You told him bluntly, taking a quick sip of your beer.
“They’re hot?” He said, almost as to see if he was hearing you right. “That’s why you think it’s the best horror film.”
“Yes.”
Dean looked over at his brother, trying to see if he was agreeing with you or not. Even though Sam had stopped listening to either of you a good couple of minutes ago. Glancing back over at you again, he squinted his eyes ever so slightly. “What other slashers do you find hot?”
You looked up at the ceiling, hand coming up in front of you as you began to start counting on your fingers. “The ghostfacers, with or without the masks, Micheal Myers, Jason, that Tiffany girl-“
“Tiffany is a doll.” Dean stated.
“And?” You then continued. “That dude from fear street, that had the potato sack over his head, he was really hot then. And, the guy from the black phone.”
Dean furrowed his eyebrows, “I thought the guy from Black Phone was gay.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Y/n, he kidnapped little boys and watched them while they slept. He isn’t just gay, he is also a pedophile.” He told you, pointing an accusing hand over at the TV as if it were the moving playing.
“Ok, so, he might be gay. Big deal. But, Ethan Hawke had some great tits in that movie.”
Dean gave you a funny look, “Why were you staring at his tits?”
“The same reason you do, Dean.” You told him placing a couple pieces of buttered popcorn on you tounge. “The same exact reason you do.”
— Sam and Dean have to watch their best friend die over and over again everyday.
Tell me a story
— Dean has trouble sleeping at night
My wife, even better
— Dean can’t stop talking about you, his wife.
Better than nothing
— You and Castiel work together to help make Deans birthday cake.
Strange human emotions
— Castiel has been experiencing some rather strange emotions, especially ones that revolve around you.
Said, I was sorry
— You’re pissed at Dean, and Sam and Bobby find it amusing.
Five more minutes
— Dean gets to spend the morning with you
It’s a scream, baby
— Dean and you discuss what the best Horror film is
Privacy privilege
— Dean had started to invade your privacy more often after a hunt
Baby face
— You start to get upset when Dean decides to shave off his beard
It’s scented… right?
— The boys help shop for all you feminine products while you are away
Summary: Dean gets to spend the morning with you
Word count: 0.4k
A/n: Lowkey, I love this one, hope you guys enjoy ;)
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Sun filtered through the cheap motel curtains, filling the room with its earthy glow. Dean had been up for hours. Basking in the feel of your body pulled tightly against his own. It was almost heavenly.
God, you were so pretty. He would think to himself, arms ever so slightly tightening themselves around your waist. You looked so young when you were relaxed, so innocent. It made Dean just want to protect you from the outside world.
But he knew he couldn’t do that. He knew that when you’d wake up, you’d go back to be in the badass hunter that you were. The one who pretended to not be afraid of anything and tried to protect the ones you loved.
And Dean loved that side of you, he’d cherish it every time he saw it. But, when you relax and let the world and all its bullshit problems escape from you, that’s when Dean would step in. That’s when Dean would protect you like he does Sam, he would worry and shield you away from danger if he could. If that meant you would be sweet and innocent as you were now.
He lifted a hand, tugging it up to pull a few pieces of stray hairs from your face. Fingers gracing the your soft skin gently before he retracted his hand. You slowly rustled against his touch, eyes squinting against the gently lit room before nuzzling back into your previous position.
The sound of his brother slowly waking caught his attention, Dean knew that he’d have to wake you up as well. Force you out of bed and out into the world of hunting. So, he pulled you closer, his head coming to rest on top of yours as he just listened to you breath for now.
Happy and content that you were at peace for just a little while longer. That he would get to have this moment with you for just a couple more seconds.
“Dean?” Sam’s voice called from his bed, voice groggy and ruff from just waking up.
“Yeah?”
“We gotta get up.” He told him, the sound of covers being thrown meeting Deans ears.
He just hummed in acknowledgment, allowing him a few more seconds to soak in your unaware presence. The smell of your body wash and old perfume, consuming his senses as he laid there. “Just give me five more minutes.”
Five more minutes, to take in the feel of your skin against his own.
Five more minutes, to bask in your beauty.
Five more minutes, to feel like he can actually protect you from the world that they live in.
Five more minutes, to for him to realize that he can’t live without you beside him.
Five more minutes, to realize just how much he truly loved you.
Summary: You’re pissed at Dean, and Sam and Bobby find it amusing.
Word count: 0.9k
A/n: Once more not my favorite, but still hope you guys enjoy :)
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The silence you gave off aggravated Dean to a higher level. And he didn’t know how to fix it. He’d apologized, tried to cheer you up with a slice of pie, he even listened to both Sam and Bobby on how he could make it up to you.
But to no avail, you barely spoke to the poor man.
He knew it was his fault, anyone could have told him that. In fact you reminded him plenty of times on the ride back from the case. God, that ride back to Bobby’s was dreadful, you made Sam sit in the backseat and wouldn’t even let Dean turn his music up all the way either.
But, he would take that as punishment, if that would mean you would speak to him again.
“So,” Bobby started, voice low as he watched you leave the small library of his. “What did you do to her?”
Sam bit back a laugh, hand coming up to his his smile from his brother. “Shut up.” Dean told him, hands coming up to rub his face. The long quiet drive back having drained his battery. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Bobby leaned against the desk, arms crossed over the other as he stared at the younger man. “What do you mean, ‘I don’t want to talk about it’? She’s barley looked or even spoken to you since you’ve been here. Now, what the hell did you do?”
“I- I messed up on the hunt, ok.” He finally told him, head hanging low for a second before meeting the man’s eyes again. “We were hunting the shapeshifter, and we were lead to an old drinking well out at a farm.”
Dean let out a deep sigh before continuing, “And you know Sam and I were to big and too heavy to go down the well, so Y/n had to do it.”
“So you, what? Forced her down the well, threw her down?”
“No.” Dean muttered, slowly pacing the small library. “No, we tied a rope around her and we hoisted her up and over into the well, and-“
“We?” Sam asked, a playful smile dancing across his lips. “I think I went back to the farm house and tried to find the shapeshifter.”
“Ok, then, I hoisted her up and into the well.” He corrected, shooting an annoyed look at his brother. “And it was going great, I had a firm grip on the rope, she didn’t slip. But…”
Bobby quirked an eyebrow, “But?”
“But, we found the rope in an old shed, and as I was lowering her down the well, I saw- I felt a uh.” Dean lowered his voice, embarrassment seeping its way into his body. “A spider.”
“A what?”
“A spider.” Dean told him a bit louder.
Bobby looked between both Dean and his brother, taking in the shame one had and the other trying to hold in his laughter. “Dean, what did you do?”
“I let go of the rope, by accident.”
A chuckle forced its way past his lips, a hand coming up to hide his ever growing smile. “So, what your telling me is that you dropped Y/n down a water well, because you saw a spider?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Dean tried to defend himself, his tone rising as both Sam and Bobby erupted into fits of laughter. “It crawled up my hands, got under my shirt. It was gonna bite me.”
“She had to ride the whole way here in soggy clothes, because we didn’t bring any dry clothes with us.” Sam told Bobby,
Bobby laughed a bit more at the younger man actions, a hand coming up to wipe away at his eyes. “Look kid, just be nice to her, she’ll have to forgive you sooner or later.” He told Dean, keeping his voice low as he heard you make your way back to them.
You came back with three beers in hand, passing two off to both Sam and Bobby before opening your own. Dean held out his hand expecting you to place a glass bottle in it for him, but just watched as you sit behind the desk taking slow deliberate sips of your drink.
“I would like a beer.” Dean told you, hand coming back down to rest by his side.
“Ran out.” You told him bluntly, flicking through a book that sat on top the desk.
Dean pulled his lips into a thin line, dodging both Sam and Bobby’s eyes. “What do we have?” He asked, needing something to quench his thirst.
You looked up at the older man, pretending to ponder the question. “We have water.”
“Then can I have water?” A cough came from his side, glancing over he caught Bobby and Sam giving him a look. “Please?”
A sigh left your lips before you got up once more, disappearing past the doorway and into the kitchen. “See,” Bobby told him, taking a quick sip of his beer. “Just be a little nice and she’ll forgive you in no time.”
You retured quickly, placing a cup onto the bookshelf next to Dean. Reaching over he picked up the cup, twisting it in front of him, a small scowl resting on his face as he faced you. “This is ice, Y/n.”
“Yep.” You told him, returning to your seat.
“I asked for water.”
“You can wait.”
Dean let out a sigh, placing the cup back onto the bookshelf, “I can wait.”
Summary: You and Castiel work together to help make Deans birthday cake.
Word count: 1.1k
A/n: Not my favorite but I just needed something to work on. ENJOY :)
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“So how do we do this?” Cas asked, the dough laid out flatly on the counter, three eggs rested on top of the mushy substance.
Glancing over your shoulder from the mixing batter, you checked to see if the angel was correctly following your instructions. “Cassie, when you fold the eggs into the dough, you have to crack them.”
Cas furrowed his brows, facing the counter in front of him once more. “But, I don’t understand, you said we had to fold the eggs inside, you said nothing about cracking the eggs open.”
“Yes, I did tell you that, but we can’t eat eggshells, Cas.”
“Why not? Eggs are full of protein and nutrients for the human body.” He told you, slowly cracking each egg into the dough.
You let out a sigh, wondering how your life had come to you teaching an angel of the Lord how to make a hand made birthday cake. “Cassie.” You mumbled, setting down your mixing bowl and making your way to the angel. “The chicken and the yolk have the protein, the shell just protects them.”
Cas let out a quiet hum, watching the way the yolk broke up into the sticky dough. Mixing into the other ingredients slowly, his hands continued to stick to the batter. “When would I know to stop mixing?” He asked, blue eyes meeting yours as he continued to mix.
“When you can’t see the eggs by themselves anymore.”
He nodded slowly, hands kneading the dough until the eggs were deeply embedded into the batter. “What do we do with it now?”
“Now,” you began, quickly bringing over a pan to hold the cakes structure. “We place the dough in the pan, and let it bake for ‘bout thirty minutes.”
Cas lightly picked up the dough, placing it in the pan you held out for him. After that you placed it in the preheated oven, gently closing the door before setting the over timer. “What do we do while it’s baking?” He asked you, wiping his hands on his trench coat, any of the dough that stuck to his hands coming off on the poor jacket.
“Well,” you began, making your way back to the mixing bowl, the whisk sitting upright in the homemade frosting. “I need to add the finishing touches to the frosting, but we do need to clean up the kitchen before the boys come back.”
“Right.” Cas muttered, picking up all the empty measuring cup that was laying around and placing them in the sink. “Would we also need to sweep up the flour on the floor?”
“Yes, Cassie, that would be just fine.”
As Cas cleaned the kitchen, you finished up the icing, placing it onto the countertop and helping out the angel with washing the dishes as he sweeps.
Ding
“Y/n, I think the cake is done baking.” Cas told you bluntly, crouching down to sweep his dust pile into the dust pan.
“I think your right, Cas.” You told him, wiping your wet hands onto a nearby rag as you went to retrieve the finished cake.
The heat from the oven graced your face, the top layer of the cake a nice and warm bronze. “Perfect.” You hummed to yourself, using the rag to take the hot metal pan from the oven.
“Hey, Cas?” You asked the angel, placing the pan on the counter to cool down. “Do you wanna swap? Me clean the rest and you ice the cake.”
Cas gave you a quick nod, swapping places with him, you watch out of the corner of your eye as the angel spread the blue icing across the now cooled down cake. Bits of the cake coming up with the small spatula he was using, an annoyed expression playing on his face the longer he tried to get the icing to stick.
“Do you think Dean will like this?” He asked placing the spatula down and admiring yours and his work. “Because it looks a little…”
You walked over to his side, the rag you’d been using tossed over your shoulder as you looked over the cake. It was a dark blue, slight holes from where the icing wouldn’t fully cover the it, it also leaned on its right side. Though it shouldn’t since it was baked in a straight circle pan.
“Funky looking?” You finished for him, both your and the angels head cocked to the side as you took in the celebratory dessert.
The sound of doors opening suddenly caught your attention, “We’re back!” Sam called from the top of the stairwell, Dean behind him as he tried to look for any form of surprises for his birthday.
“We’re in the kitchen!” You called back, placing one or two more dishes in the sink before you were met with the sight of the two Winchester boys.
“Happy birthday.” You and Cas told Dean, bodies hiding the jacked up cake from the older man. “Why don’t you sit at the table and we will get started?”
Dean gave you and Cas a quick thank you before following your instructions, Sam made his way over to you. A shopping bag held tightly in both hands. He stopped momentarily in front of the cake, placing the bags onto the counter before facing you completely.
“I thought you said, you and Cas were gonna make a pie?” Sam whispered to you, eyeing the lop-sided cake with curiosity.
“We were,” you whispered back, placing a couple of candles on the cake. “But then we realized half way through that we didn’t know how to make a pie.”
Sam hummed at that, leaning over the counter as he slowly lifted the cake up and towards the table. “And clearly the cake looked a whole lot better than the pie.”
“Better than nothing.”
Making your way to the kitchen table, you placed a small party hat on Deans head. Ruffling his hair briefly before taking a seat, Cas and Sam joining you after lighting the cake.
“Well isn’t that a pretty cake.” Dean joked, swiping a bit of icing onto his finger and in his mouth. “Delicious too.”
“Yeah, well, it was either this or a box of Mac and cheese we’d be singing you happy birthday to.” You told him, swatting his hand back as he tries to get another taste.
“It’s perfect.” He told you, giving a quick thanks to each of you as you all started to sing happy birthday to the older man.
This is what he needed for his birthday, not a big party with some random people he barley knew. No, instead for his birthday he got a cake that was made by the people he loves and a day out with his brother, as Dean just pointed and said he wanted ‘this or that’ for his birthday.
It was truly a day he would remember, for the rest of his life. How ever long or short that may be.
Summary: Dean can’t stop talking about you, his wife.
Word count: 0.5k
A/n: Not really any use of Y/n, but it is pretty cheesy. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. ;)
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“And she has theses eyes, wow.” Dean let out a sigh, his own eyes practically in the shape of hearts as he continued to talk to the bartender. “I mean, look, if you’ve ever seen them, then you could see all these different shades mixed into one. It’s awesome.”
The bartender just nodded her head, the damp rag moving quickly back and forth on the counter tip. “Mhm.” She hummed, not even listening to what the love struck man was even saying.
“Plus, the way she talks is so beautiful, if I were to listen to one sound the rest of my life it would be her voice.”
“Yep.”
The bartender then turned her back to the man, trying to focus on her work and not on the man that had been rambling on about you since he sat down. With nothing else to do Dean just let his eyes wander through the bar, catching his brother and you talking to a few people about the case that you were working on.
Dean played with his empty beer bottle, watching as the light reflected off the glass. His thoughts wandered over to you, not that they weren’t on you to begin with. But, he thought of how just days ago you were his simple girlfriend, how you and him used to tease and flirt with one another before you were officially together.
And now, now you were Deans forever. Til death do you part, in both sickness and in health. You were his wife, and he was your husband. The thought made a smile drift onto his face and warmth creep up the back of his neck.
“Hey,” You suddenly said from behind the man, dragging him out of his thoughts. “Sam and I have some intel on the case.”
Dean quickly turned back to the bartender in front of him, who had her hands busy with cleaning the glasses and counter for the night. “What did I tell you?” He asked her, dragging her away from her work. “The voice of an angel.”
The bartender gave a quick nod before getting back to work, not even sparring the two a second glance as she walked away. You hit Dean with the back of your hand, not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough to let him know that he needed to focus.
“I told you to stop that.” You gently scolded, your ears slightly turning pink. “Nobody wants to listen to you talk like that.”
“But, I want to.”
“And that’s amazing, D.” You pulled his hand in yours, giving it a tight squeeze. “But, not everyone wants to hear about our marriage.”
“But, how could I not tell the world about you?”
You gave him a light peck on the cheek, pulling him off the bar stool and towards the exit. “Do you know how cheesy you sound?”
“Very, but I love you.” Dean quietly told you, leaning down to give you a kiss on the lips. “And I want the world know that, my beautiful wife.”
“And I love you, my gorgeous husband.”
Summary: Dean has trouble sleeping at night
Word count: 0.5k
A/n: I don’t use Y/n at all in this fic, and I am just trying to practice writing. So leave criticism if you want :)
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He felt restless.
He was always moving, always hunting, always fixing something in this messed up world that he lived in. And boy did it tire him out.
Dean was currently sitting in the ‘Dean cave’, an old Adam Sandler movie playing in the background as he tried to doze off. But sleep seemed to drift away from him every time he came close to the internal peace.
He didn’t know what it was that kept him from this nights sleep. He tried all the tricks in the book to help him; warm milk, reading for five minutes an hour, and even shutting off all electronics so that his eyes wouldn’t burn from the blue light. But none of it seemed to work.
Glancing at his watch, he read the time. 2:47am. “God.” Dean muttered to himself, he’d been trying to sleep since 10, and now four hours later he had yet to even come close to sleeping.
A small knock came from the entrance to the cave, facing the noise he saw you standing beside the door frame. An old band T-shirt of Deans and a pair of your shorts were used for your PJs tonight, you rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you slowly walked into the room.
“Dean?” You questioned, coming to stand in front of him as he never once moved from his spot on the couch.
“Yes, princess?” He asked, sitting up. The blanket he had been using sliding down to the floor, chills slowly creeping up the back of his neck.
“Why are you still up?”
Dean didn’t know if he should sugarcoat his answer or just tell you flat out, because either way he’d know that you’d ask questions either way. He let out a tired sigh, his hand rubbing his face before he answered you. “I couldn’t sleep, haven’t been able to for a couple of hours.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, you’d seen him go to bed hours ago. You’d honestly thought he was well into sleep by the time you had retired to your own room. You’d only been up because you were thirsty, and when you walked past the ‘Dean cave’ you were confused why the TV was on.
Looking over your shoulder at the TV, you saw Happy Gilmore playing. The volume down low enough to not bother the only other sleeping resident in the bunker. You then faced Dean again a tired pout gracing your lips as you stepped in between Deans legs. Both your hands coming to rest in his hair.
“Can I watch the movie with you?” You asked, giving him the best puppy eyes that you could muster.
Dean let out a breathy laugh, his own hands coming to rest on your waist as he pulled you closer to him. “Course, princess.”
Laying back down on the couch, Dean pulled you on top of him, your head resting on his chest as you listened to his steady heart breathing. A deep sigh fell from Deans lips as he pulled you closer to his body, if possible.
With the warm body now on top of him, and light chatter from the TV, Dean slowly felt sleep seeping into his body. That’s all he needed, Dean thought to himself as he listened to your slow breathing. He didn’t need warm milk, or a book to help him fall asleep.
Instead all he needed was his favorite movie and his favorite girl to do the trick.
Summary: Sam and Dean have to watch their best friend die over and over again everyday.
Word count: 4.7k
A/N: I tried to not use Y/n a whole bunch in this story, mainly because I realized not a whole lot of people like that. But it is steal in the story. Also I did base this off of @jasmines-library story called GROUNDHOG DAY, y'all should go read it it’s really good. But please enjoy.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
‘Heat of the moment’
Sam woke up with a start, the music dragging him from his short slumber. Rising to sit up in his bed the small digital alarm blaring through the small motel room. Bring a hand up to his face he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.
Sam glanced over to his side slightly surprised to see that his brother was already up and moving about, considering that he would be the one to stay in bed throughout the day if he could.
Dean sat on his side of the bed, one leg pulled towards his chest as he tied his shoelaces together. “Rise and shine, Sammy.” He shouted over the music, tossing both feet on the ground once he was done.
“Dude,” Sam said with a small chuckle. “Asia?”
A groan came from Deans bed, the sight of the motel pillow being flipped over a tired head caused a smile to lift onto Sam’s face. “Turn it down.” You muttered beneath the pillow, tugging it closer towards your face.
Dean leaned over towards the nightstand, turning up the volume on the digital clock. “Suck it up, buttercup. This is y’all’s wake up call.”
You sat up in the bed, purposely swatting Dean in the back with your pillow before hauling yourself up. Sam let out a breathy laugh at his brother’s expression, tossing the sheets off his body to start getting ready for the day.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
You stood beside Sam, patiently waiting in the door way for Dean to finish going through his bags to retrieve his pistol. Stopping his movements the older man lifted a bra by his finger, meeting Sam’s eyes as he gestured to the garment. “This yours?”
Sam gave his brother an annoyed look, in return Dean laughed in his face.
“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” You told him, slightly curious if the bra Dean was holding was yours or from the last couple that occupied the room.
“Relax,” Dean told you, digging deeper into his bag before he pulled out his gun. “So am I.”
The drive to the diner was short and the parking lot was vaguely packed. Walking through the door, the bell chimed above as Dean lead them to an empty table.
“Hey, Tuesday.” Dean said pointing at the ‘specials’ board above the counter. “Pig in a poke.”
“Do you even know what that is?” Sam asked, eyeing the older man.
Dean opened his mouth to answer, but whatever he was about to say died in his throat. Sam gave him a very smug smile as the waiter came up to their table. “Now what can I get y’all started with?”
“Think I’ll have the chocolate pancakes with the strawberry toppings.” You told the lady, handing over your menu as you did so.
“You’re gonna get sick.” Sam told you after he and Dean had ordered their own breakfast.
You simply shrugged your shoulders. “Then I’ll get sick, Sam, and hopefully have the day off afterwards.”
“Nah,” Dean told you, his arm resting behind your seat. “We’ll still make you work anyway.”
You slung Deans arm off before facing Sam again, “What exactly are we searching here for, Sam?”
“Nothing, that’s what we’re searching for.” Dean said for Sam, purposely ignoring the look the taller man gave him.
“Well Dean, what do you think we should be doing then?”
“Searching for Bela, getting the colt back, Sam. Not sitting here and working a simple disappearance case.”
“I agree with Dean,” you told Sam, leaning forward onto the table in case anyone were to eavesdrop. “We can’t close up Hell with out the colt.”
“I know that, Y/n.” Sam told you, a deep sigh falling from his lips as he looked around the small diner. “But we don’t even know where she is. And in the meantime we have this.” He pulled a couple of news clipping articles from his jacket and placed them onto the table.
As the three of you discussed the disappearance of the local professor, the waitress gave each of you y’all’s breakfast. Your chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and chopped strawberries made your stomach rumble, giving a quick thank you before pouring syrup on top.
A loud smash lifted you from the sugary dessert, both brothers staring down at the smashed bottle of hot sauce on the floor. “Crap.” The waitress muttered to herself, before rushing off to grab something to clean the spill.
After she left, you talked briefly about the professor, Sam making a small point about how he was last scene at the local Mystery Spot. A place ‘Where the laws of physics have no meaning!”
“Alright then,” You said, pulling out your wallet to leave a small tip for the waitress. “Let’s head to the Mystery Spot.”
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
The said Mystery Spot lived up to its name, tables stuck to the ceiling, the hallways were painted to give off a hypnotic appeal. If it weren’t for the fact that the place was completely pitch black and that the magical effect it was supposed to have wasn’t in full effect. It would honestly be something that you would like to go and see when your not on the job.
“Huh,” You muttered, shinning a flashlight at one of the strange objects in the room. “Do you think this guy actually gets money off this place.”
“Are you kidding? I’m surprised if this guy could even keep the place open.” Dean responded eyeing the same piece that you were.
Moving the flashlight away from the object and towards the younger Winchester, you flashed it at the EMF in his hand. “What’s your reading?”
Sam just shook his head.
“Do you even know what you’re looking for?” Dean asked, aggravation slowly seeping into his tone.
“Yeah…” Sam gave a small shrug, though his response was clearly unsure of him self. He noticed the look both his brother and you were giving him. “No.” He finally admitted.
You gave a small nod, your lips pulled into a tight line as you moved on through the room. “Lovely.”
Click
“What the hell are you doing here.” A voiced called out, causing you and the brothers to instantly draw your guns and aim at the person.
You recognized him as the owner of the Mystery Spot, and so did the boys because they both held up their guns in the air to not show that they were not any danger. Though by the looks of it all the three of them were far from innocent in the eyes of the owner.
“Woah, hey look, we can explain.” Dean said, eyeing the weapon with worry, seeing as he can’t defend themselves as much since they are the ones that broke into his building.
The owner waved his gun between the three of them, uncertain if he should pull the trigger or not. “You robbing me?”
“No sir,” You told the man, moving towards the nearby table to place your gun in his eye of sight, trying to prove that you weren’t about to harm him. “No sir, we aren’t stealing from you.”
“Don’t move!” He shouted, the barrel of the gun pointed at your chest. “Don’t.”
“I’m just putting gun away.” You tried to reassure the man.
Bang
The noise came loud and sudden, causing you to fall backwards upon impact.
“Y/n!”
Sam quickly fell to the ground, placing both hands over the hole in your chest. “Oh my God.” He muttered tears slowly collecting at his water line, he looked over at his older brother for help, unsure of what to do.
“Call 911.” Dean told the man, coming to sit beside you, eyes darting between your wound and the pained expression on your face.
“I-I didn’t mean t-“
“Call them, now!” He shouted, placing a hand near the seeping hole. Praying that it’ll disappear once he lifts it.
Though like all his prayers they go unheard as blood continued to pour from the wound. You let out a pained moan, with either of the boys putting pressure on it, it caused pain to shoot through your body. But, you felt to numb to tell them off about that.
Sam tugged you up into his arms, feeling as your body starts to relax the longer you laid there. Once more he looked at Dean, desperation in his eyes as he didn’t want to loose you like this.
Dean lightly tapped the side of your face, watching as your eyes drooped behind your eyelids. “Please, buttercup,” he whispered, voice slowly cracking as the weight of the situation suddenly fell on him. “Just stay awake for a little while, ok? C-can you do that for me?”
You began to see spots in your vision, sounds had started to mix in with one another and you could taste the blood filling your mouth. And above all filling your lungs, slowly choking on copper liquid.
“J-just a little longer.” Dean whispered, bringing your head to him to place a kiss on your hairline. “You can do it, me and Sammy know you can.”
Sam felt his heart stop when he noticed your eyes wouldn’t open back up, when your chest stopped rising and falling, how your arms just dangled. A choked sob left his mouth, and Dean just held your head closer to him, muttering quiet prayers for you to stay with them.
But they knew it was too late, they knew that the ambulance would never make it on time. You were dead.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
‘Heat of the moment’
Sam woke up with a start, panic deeply embedded in his mind as he slowly processed what exactly had happened. But, looking around it appeared as if nothing had happened and that it was a strange dream.
Dean sat in his bed, leg pulled towards his chest, shoelaces tightly gripped in each hand as he appeared to have the same thoughts racing through his mind just like his brother. “Rise and shine, Sammy.”
Sam had heard that before, the same line ringing through his mind like a signal. He’s heard that before, he’s heard this song before, almost like he had already lived this day before.
A groan came from Deans bed, immediately both brothers looked over at the noise. And both felt their heart stop in their chest at what they saw.
It was you.
And you had just pulled your pillow over your head like from a distant memory of theirs.
“Y/n?” Dean asked, forgetting his shoe completely and reaching over to lightly shake you. Almost as to see if you were real. “Y/n?”
“Cut it out.” You told him, taking the pillow and hitting him in the chest.
Dean turned to his brother, disbelief and shock written all over his face as he tried to find an answer from his smart little brother. But, Sam just slowly shook his head, he didn’t know why or how you were back, but you were.
And neither boys knew if they should be thankful or concerned for that.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
Everything was the same. That the boys figured out the longer the day passed, from you doing the same morning routine as before, all the way to the people in the diner talking and acting as if they’ve done this before.
It was almost as if it was rehearsed.
Sam and Dean knew something was happening but they just didn’t know how to voice it. You were acting as if nothing had happened, as if you didn’t die in their arms from a gun shot. And maybe it didn’t happen.
“Hey, Dean,” you said, sitting down in the inside of the booth. “Tuesdays pig in a poke.”
Sam gave you a funny look, eyebrows pinched together as he glanced at his brother real quick. “It’s Tuesday?”
You looked at the menu, not even bothering to met Sam’s eye as you spoke. “Yep, just like yesterday was Monday, and the day before was Sun-“
“We get it.” Dean interrupted you, his arm slung behind your back at he glanced around the restaurant. An unnerving feeling creeping up the back of his mind.
Eyeing both boys, you could tell that something was the matter. They’ve been acting strange ever since they woke up this morning, but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why. “Are you guys ok?”
“Yep.”
“Never better.”
You could tell they were lying, even through they were physically fine, deep down you knew something was wrong mentally. “Ok.” You replied going back to the menu, eyeing the many types of pancakes they had. “Think I’ll have chocolate pancakes with strawberry toppings.”
“Do you… Do you not remember any of this?” Sam asked, knowing now that this had happened before.
“… no?”
The waitress came over taking both yours and deans order, whom went with the special. Once she left, you turned you attention back to the boys. “What exactly should I be remembering?”
“This, today. Like it’s happened before.”
You pulled your lips into a tight line, mind racing to think if you’d actually remember this. “No, but maybe yall are experiencing Deja vu.” You told them, pretty certain that that’s all that was happening to them.
“No, not Deja vu.” Sam told you, rubbing the sides of his head. “But it’s like this day has happened already, like we are reliving the yesterday.”
You glanced at each Winchester, concern etching to the front of your mind. “So… Deja vu?”
“No it’s-“ Dean rubbed his face, unsure of how to tell you that they’d already been through this day before.
The waitress came back stack of chocolate chip pancakes, the whipped cream smothered in sliced strawberries. She also placed Deans pig in a poke onto the table, the smell of the breakfast gave off caused your stomach to rumble as your began to pour syrup on top the fruity food.
“And here’s your hot sauc- crap!” The hot sauce on the platter tipped over falling towards the ground, though almost as a reflex Sam caught it, surprise etched on his face at what he’d done. “Thanks.” The waitress told him, walking away with the empty platter.
“Wow.” You told the younger man. “We got our very own Spider-Man.”
After breakfast the boys seemed to try and explain the whole situation to you, though they tried their hardest to leave out the part where you got blown away by the owner of the mystery spot.
The Mystery Spot.
That’s where you died and that’s also when you came back and everything was practically normal. The brothers knew they had to go back there and find some answers, but not at night. That’s what they told you when you brought up going at night, they knew that if they could prevent the inedible then they would.
Tires screeched from the road, trying to stop itself before it connected with your body. You were thrown across the road, your body broken and bloody from the impact. Once the brothers reached your side they knew it was too late, you were far to gone for them so save.
‘Heat of the moment’
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
Day after day, song after song, the Winchester boys had to watch you die in both gruesome and unrealistic ways. And every single time there was no way to save you.
They were starting to get desperate, everyday they had explained to you what had happened and every time you ended up dead in one way or another. Right now they were back in the diner, you were quietly munching on your stack of waffles while the boys had the computer and newspaper articles scattered around the table.
“So…” you began trying to figure out how exactly to word your next sentence. “”I’ve been killed every day and neither of y’all can figure out how?”
“Well not exactly but I think we are getting close.” Sam told you, glancing up from behind the computer screen.
“Yeah, see we thought I was the mystery spot, but after we tor down the walls and you got an axe to the head.” Dean told you, ignoring the way you stopped eating at that. “We thought maybe it wasn’t the place, but the things around it.”
“So then the town?”
“Exactly.”
“Well,” you began picking out the strawberries and eating them alone. “Have y'all tried leaving this place?”
“Yes”
“And?”
“And we got T-boned” Sam told you, finger clicking against the keyboard.
”Oh… and I take it I didn’t make it.”
“No. No your neck broke on impact. “
“Oh” you didn’t really feel like eating after that. Clearing your throat and pushing your plate away you leaned forward to see what they were working on. “So what exactly have you guys gotten from all this.”
“It’s not that clear but, this Dexter Hasselback had put a lot of places like the Mystery Spot out of business.” Sam told you flipping the papers in your direction. “So we may think that I has to do something with him.”
“Yeah, but, we don’t know where Hasselback is.” Dean added on. “So we’re thinking that if we find him, we find out what going on.”
You nodded along with the information given, “Sounds great. Should we go ahead and look for Hasselback then?”
Dean gave a quick nod, hurriedly packing all the newspapers clippings into the small back that Sam had brought with him. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a man from the counter get up to leave.
Sam glanced at where the man once sat, and he seem to freeze at what he saw. The pink sticky syrup next to the plate covered in leftovers of the man’s breakfast. “Dean,” he said not once taking his eyes off the syrup. “Look at the counter.”
“What about it?” You asked, even though Sam didn’t call for you.
“That man has maple syrup for the last 100 Tuesdays, now all of the sudden he has strawberries?” He said eyeing the man as he walked out of the restaurant.
“Can’t blame ‘em.” You told Sam, picking up your own strawberry at that. “It’s earths one weakness.”
“Nothing changes, not the people and especially what they do. Except for us.” Dean muttered catching onto Sam’s ranting.
And by tomorrow they would know exactly what to do to stop this.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
Neither Sam nor Dean spoke a word to you the next day, they let you get your pancakes and listened to the words you seemed forced to say all while never taking their eyes off the man at the counter.
“You know if you keep on being rude, the lady is gonna spit in my food.” You told them playing with a sugar packet as you waited on your food to come.
They knew you were right, when the waitress came by, they were the ones to tell them what you wanted. And when they did it was very curt and off handed, almost like they were too focused on something else to care about how they acted.
“You’ll live.” Dean told you, eyes glued to the man.
“You two are dicks when your hungry.” You muttered under your breath, although they still heard what you said, but that was the least of their concerns.
The waitress came back with your pancakes before leaving again, and as she left the man at the counter suddenly stood up. He cleaned his mouth with a napkin, pulled out some money from his pocket and headed for the door.
Sam and Dean shared a quick look, waiting til he was outside before getting up themselves. You stared confusedly as they walked out the diner, completely leaving you in the booth were you sat.
“Are you seriously making me pay?” You called after them, though they were already out the door before you could argue any further. Plucking a small strawberry off the whipped cream, you threw down some money and hurried after the boys, not wanting to be left behind.
The boys followed the man to the parking lot, though they refused to let him go any further as Sam slammed the man up against the fence.
“Sam! What the hell?” You asked, coming up beside the taller man. But, your confusion went from one brother to the next as Dean pulled out a stake, the end dipped in blood. He pressed it up against the man’s throat silencing his yelling momentarily, the threat of being stabbed causing him to let out pleads to the two men.
“We know who you are.” Dean told him pushing the piece of wood deeper into his neck. “Or what you are.”
“Oh my God.” The man looked between the three, eyes landing on you as you were the only one currently not posing as a threat to him. “Please don’t kill me.”
“It took us a hell of long time, but we figured it out.” Sam said, adding onto Dean explanation. “It was your M.O. that gave it away.”
“Yeah, going after jerks, giving them their just deserts. You kind loves that, don’t they?” Dean continued to taunt, not once letting his gripped slip up.
The man looked like he was ready to start screaming again, eyes glancing between the weapon to the boys. “Yeah, sure. Ok! Just put the stake down!”
“Guys, maybe y’all should-“ you tried to reason with either of the brothers before they interrupted you.
“No!” Dean pressed the stake further into the man’s neck. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing.” The man let out a pained groan. “Making reality out of nothing, sticking people into time-loops.”
“You’d have to be a God.” Sam finished, grip ever so slightly tightening on the man’s collar. “You’d have to be a trickster.”
“Sam…”
The man began to panic even more, a light sheen of sweat covering his face as he tried his hardest to lean away from the weapon. “Misters… my name is Ed Coleman. My wife is Amelia- I’ve got two kids!” He then stared right at the boys, “I sell add space for Christs sake.”
“Boys, I don’t think you should be doing this.” You tried once more, but all that came from your mouth just fell on deaf ears.
“Don’t lie!” Sam suddenly shouted. “We know what you are, we killed your kind before.”
A beat of silence passed, no one seemed to move or even breath as they waited for something to happen. And right before their eyes the man’s face seemed to shift, his hair changing colors, eyes ever so slightly distancing themselves and his skin ridded itself of wrinkles.
The man before you had shifted into an all to familiar face.
“Actually,” The trickster began, a smug smirk plastered on his lips. “You didn’t.”
“Why are you doing this?” Dean asked first, the initial shock slowly fading as he came back to the current situation. “Why Y/n?”
“Are you kidding me? All three of you tried to kill me last time.” The trickster told you all, pointing an acusase finger as he did so. “Why wouldn’t I do this? Why not make each of you suffer?”
“So this is funny to you?” Sam asked, pushing the smaller man further into the fence. “Killing her over and over again, you find joy in that?”
“I’ve been getting killed?” You asked, confused and slightly shocked at what Sam had confessed.
“Oh,” the trickster said, fake sincerity lacing his voice. “Did they forget to tell you today?”
“Shut up! Answer the question.” Dean shouted, the stake being pushed deeper into his throat as he did so.
“Ok, ok! Yes it is fun.” The trickster confessed, trying to present a small laugh to ease the situation. Though it’s far from working. “But, this is so not about killing Y/n.”
The boys give one another a look of confusion. “What do you mean?”
“The joke is on the both of you. I mean… come on.” He gave a small roll of his eyes. “How great is it to watch your best friend die, day after day? Death after death? Forever.”
“Screw you.” Sam muttered.
The trickster gave a small scoff, “Oh, yeah, way to go Sam. Way to keep it PG. But seriously how long will it take you two to realize you can’t save everyone? No matter how hard you try.”
“Yeah? We stick this stake in you right now, it ends for good.” Dean taunted pressing deeper with the wood.
“Ok. Ok!” The trickster held up both hands. “You can’t take a joke? Fine, you’re out of it. You wake up tomorrow and it’ll be Wednesday.”
“And if you’re lying?”
“Then you know where to find me. At the diner having pancakes.” He then snapped his fingers and everything went dark.
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
Sam woke up with a start, the music blared through the small digital clock on the bedside table. He tried to rub the sticky from the back of his eyes, but the song of choice caused him to awaken even more. Glancing over at the table he ignored the time, seemingly staring at the date.
“Wednesday.” He muttered to himself. “It’s Wednesday.”
“Yeah,” you called out from the bathroom, ringing out your hair into the motels shower as you did. “Like how yesterday was Tuesday and the day before was Monday. And can you turn that down, please? I don’t want to get a complaint from the neighbors.”
“No, are you kidding?” Dean asked you, deeply relieved that he didn’t have to listen to Asia again this morning. “Is this not the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard?”
You glance between both brothers, stopping your movements momentarily. “I’ve heard better.” You then went back to drying your hair. “How many Tuesdays did you two have exactly.”
“Too many.” Sam told you, tossing His bed sheets away from him as he got out of bed. “Wait… what do you remember?”
“Well you two were being real dicks at breakfast yesterday, then you threatened to stab a guy in the diners parking lot. And then the guy turned into the trickster, and that’s ‘bout it, really.”
“Right, ok. Let’s get out of here.” Sam told you, making his way to his bag to get a change of clothes. Dean not to far behind.
“Are- are you two not hungry?”
“No.”
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
You placed the last of your stuff in the back of the impala, the door shutting will a loud thump as you did so. Turning to make your way back into the motel, you were stopped by an older man. One you recognized as someone from the diner yesterday.
“Jus’ hand me your money and I’ll be on my way.” He told you, cocking his pistol to show that he wasn’t joking around.
“Alright, ok. Yeah.” You told him, hands slightly raised at your sides as you did so. “It’s just in my pocket, ok?”
He gave you a quick nod, eyes darting around the empty parking lot in case someone walked out on them. “That’s fine.”
Reaching into your pockets, you pulled your wallet out. Raising it to show the man, you then tossed it at him, he caught it with his unoccupied hand. The gun still pointed directly at you.
“We good?” You questioned, hands going back to the air as the man didn’t look like he was going to lower his weapon.
“Yeah, we’re good.”
Bang
Sam and Dean stopped their movements, the both of them giving each other a Quick Look before running outside. Upon reaching the motels parking lot they saw you on the ground, blood everywhere so slowly pooling around you as you laid motionless.
The man who had shot you was running away, his gun tucked tightly towards his chest as he fled from the scene. But the brothers main focus wasn’t on him, instead they raced towards you, praying that they weren’t too late.
Sam dropped to one side as Dean dropped to the other, their blue jeans soaking up the blood on the asphalt as they lifted you into a sitting position.
“Y/n?” Sam asked hands clutching onto the sides of your face as your body went numb. “Y/n please.”
Dean knew this was too familiar, it was like the first time that you had been killed. Only this time he had a sliver of hope that the trickster was playing another joke on them. But as seconds passed and you had yet to wake up, that hope began to fade. And instead tears threatened to spill over.
“Sam,” dean muttered out, holding on your lifeless hand. “I don’t think we are waking up this time.”
· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·
A/N: Hope yall enjoyed. And for anyone that is wondering I am working on the DAREDEVIL!READER x JASON TODD story. I just finished school and tests is all, but let me know what yall think!
literally anyone: what is this place
Dean: welcome to my mojo dojo casa house
Okay so I was thinking of an arranged marriage au but it’s like fully fantasy and basically the Fairy kingdom/Taeterra Empire(picking names from fantasy name generator) and the Angel Kingdom/ Selyra Kingdom are at war and so when negotiating to resolve the conflict they decide a union between the two kingdoms would be beneficial so Prince Gabriel Shurley of Selyra is arranged to be married to crown princess Y/N of Taeterra.
This has been in my brain for months and I’m so afraid to actually write it.
Damn yessss! WE NEED MORE DARK DELICIOUS CONTENT😩
These are dark fics and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given! Please DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you in any way. This is fiction, but can be disturbing to some readers.
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