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uranometrias · 4 months ago

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you can kiss a hundred boys — sam winchester

→ premise: you, the mostly stable edition to sam & dean's little hunting duo have found yourself the object of all of sam's hopes and dreams. the only problem? you barely seemed to give him a second glance and had a bigger sexual appetite than dean. which meant that night after night, bar after bar, and motel after motel, sam was forced to come to grips with the fact that you were far from interested in reciprocating any sort of feelings he may have been pathetically harboring. or so he thinks.

→ pairing: sam winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: angst w/ resolution, heavy cursing, miscommunication trope? r! + sam both have issues with expressing themselves in healthy ways. sam is just exceptionally jealous + lashing out. r! has abandonment issues. semi love confessions. r! is described to be older than sam (take that as you will). no particular timeline, but set in earlier seasons. heavy making out. allusions and depictions of former sexual activity. no smut (i'm building up to it omg). teasing! dean. r! can kind of be read as alcohol dependant. fluff + happy ending <3

→ a/n: preparing to tackle writing a full length supernatural fic on wattpad within the coming days, and felt it was only right to dip my toes in writing for the fandom just to see if i even have a semblance of a shot of doing justice to this fandom. very very nervous at the attempt, but i hope at least one person winds up enjoying this! i hope i characterized sam well... i'm doing a rewatch of earlier seasons and tried to base this off that. fingers crossed it comes across the way i intended. <3

"And what the hell's gotten into you?" your hand drops to your hip, eyes dancing from Sam long enough to take in Dean who had his lips pursed in the way that told you he was keeping his quips and thoughts to himself. You'd just sidled up to the boys, grin big and eager as you rushed out practiced 'goodnights'. Some guy neither brother (or you for that matter) could be bothered to remember the name of had invited you back to his place, and you'd accepted graciously. After solving a case that went as good as any hunt could, you felt you owed it to yourself to have some fun.

And while the guy in no way looked like the future love of your life, there was no rule that said a girl couldn't have a little fun every once in a while. The only problem now seemed to be that your offerance of a goodbye had been enough to send Sam into a pissy mood. His face was scrunched up in that way that told you he was peeved, and for the very life of you, you couldn't figure out why.

"It's nothing." he reassures, and your eyes narrow, not buying it for even one second. "Have a good night." Sam's eyes are rolling before he can fully get it out, and your looking back at Dean, almost begging him to make things plain. All he does is let an exasperated puff of air fly from his nose as he downs his shot before flagging the bartender down for another one.

"Sammy?" and your head tips to the side, eyes shooting behind you to ensure your date for the night hadn't found someone else to occupy him. "Come on, you know I know something's wrong." you try, because even if you were itching to get laid, you cared about Sam and Dean more. Which meant if he was pissed with you, there was nothing that would stop you from at least attempting to fix it.

"Yeah, well there's not really anything you can do about it, so why don't you just go." and he's stern but not mean. Still, it makes you falter just a step. "You're better at that anyway." and this is grumbled, voice lowered, but you hear it all the same. It makes you scoff, letting out a disbelieving sort of laugh as your lips push out in disinterest.

"Right." and you wring your hands. "I guess I'll do that then." you don't mean to sound snarky, but now your feelings are hurt, and you've got no real clue why. Still, Sam Winchester was about as stubborn as you were avoidant, so if he was going to push you away, you were going to go with open arms. It's precisely why you don't say anything else as you turn on your heel and stomp away like a petulant toddler. Sam's body is swiveling in his chair, almost like he's had a change of heart, and he's turning to hurriedly apologize, but finds that you're nowhere near enough for him to try.

"Nice going." Dean says like the annoying older brother that he is, and he's letting out another chuckle that makes Sam want to slam his head into the bar seated right in front of him.

"Shut up." he retorts instead.

"Don't take it out on me just cause you're all pent up!" is what Dean says next, and Sam wonders if everything in Dean's life revolves around sex and hunting. "Maybe you should be a little more like her and get rid of some of that aggression. Hunting ain't gon' fix everything." Dean lectures, and Sam thinks if his eyes roll again they'll spin right out of the sockets.

"Look not everything can be fixed by sleeping with some stranger." Sam offers as Dean stares at him like he's grown a second head. "And besides, I didn't say anything wrong. She's always gone." he whines. "Every single night." he reiterates. "It's like she can't wait to get away from us." and Sam's not sure if that's his heartache or his abandonment issues talking. Dean isn't sure either. "I mean, even you take breaks sometimes." and Dean resists the urge to react to the clear jab at his sexual history.

"So she's having some fun. What's the harm in that? It's not like she can't take care of herself. The kid packs a mean punch." and he winces at the memory of learning it first hand.

"Yeah, I know that." Sam retorts instantly.

"So then what's the problem?" Dean is quick with his assault of questions, and Sam just wants to be left alone to pout and be angry, but he knows Dean won't let him. He never does, not fully.

"There's no problem." he tries, and Dean's smacking his teeth.

"Bullshit." he spits. "You don't jump down somebody's throat like that and take shots if there's no problem. So what is it? You worried about her or something?" and Dean is just barely missing the point. "Cause it ain't your job to ride her back Sam, she can handle herself. Sort of cases we deal with everyday a couple of guys from the bar ain't gonna be too much trouble."

"Yeah, I got the message. She can handle herself." and he's grumpier than before, the evidence plain as day on his face.

"So then what the hell's your problem?" Dean demands.

"I like her, Dean." Sam finally offers and Dean's hand is waving him off instantly.

"Well sure, I like the kid too-"

"No, Dean." he emphasizes as Dean's eyebrows jump up. It takes him a second, but it finally clicks, hitting him like a ton of bricks as his mouth screws open in surprise. His body twists, chair turning as he turns in the direction you'd just gone, and then he's looking back at Sam and every last bit of the exasperation and grouchiness makes sense. He knows he ought to be gentle with this, but finds himself smirking coyly.

" Well, well, well." he reaches out and claps a hand against Sam's back, and the much taller man jolts at the impact. "And all this time I was worried you'd forgotten how to love a woman." and Dean is Dean, which means he's probably got no idea how insensitive his remark could be. But Sam knows Dean better than anyone, so he knows he doesn't mean much harm.

"Shut up." is Sam's instant response.

"I'm just saying. You've had a lot of misses there, Sammy. So as far as interest goes, this is damn sure a step in the right direction." And Sam notes how Dean always talks about you like you're the best person in their life. Sam knows you're not, but he like that Dean admires you so much. You were a lot like him, so Sam supposed it made sense. You both were rougher around the edges, strong, smart in the tactical sense.

And you both liked to drown your sorrows and trauma in things like booze, beer, and sexual conquests. And don't get him wrong, he had no real issue with the fact you were sexually liberated. In fact it was a very respectable sort of thing for what a woman to be. He just hated the fact that he never crossed your mind in that way. He was certain you'd even joked at some point about sleeping with Dean just for kicks.

"She's not a hill to climb, Dean." Sam shoots back, and he wishes he had just kept his mouth shut.

"Of course." Dean retorts, sounding unconvinced, because as usual anything that revolved around actually being interested in a woman past sleeping with her was lost on Dean. Which meant even with his teasing, he still only thought Sam was interested in you in the weakest of senses. But that wasn't the case. Because you were so much more than just some woman to conquer. He didn't even think he'd get the chance to try. You were daunting in the best way, too sure of yourself to take being used.

Which is why he never said anything. Because at first he thought you were only a pretty face that took his mind off the hurt Jess' death left behind. Until suddenly the thought of Jess didn't sting as bad, only because your presence became some sort of salving balm. He was screwed beyond repair.

"I'm serious." Sam insists, and now it's Dean's turn to roll his eyes.

"Oh, give me a break, Sam." he retorts. "Matter of fact, give yourself a damn break. You're gonna tear yourself apart sitting here pouting about it like a damn child." and Sam huffs through his nose. "If you're not gonna be a man about it and say something, then stop making it everyone else's problem." And Dean's not being mean. He's being Dean, but in his current state, Sam doesn't have it in him to not take offense. The whole 'Be a man' of it all reminding him too much of John.

"Screw you, Dean." Sam's up before either of them can really register it, and Dean's surprised at the drama of it all. It was different when they butt heads over cases, or their differing opinions of their father. But they didn't fight over stuff like this. They both just went about their lives doing their own thing as far as women were involved. And sure Dean knew you were beautiful, but you all knew how dangerous your job was. Falling in love was a death wish, and he thought Sam of all people knew it.

But as usual, he was wrong.

"Sam!" Dean calls after his younger brother, who navigates through the quickly growing crowd of drunks with ease. "Sammy!" He knows Sam hears him, but is choosing to ignore him. Dean also knows Sam doesn't have the keys to the impala, so it's not like he could actually leave. Which is the only reason he decides to give his baby brother a second to cool off. If he hadn't spun the block in ten minutes max though, Dean would be up and out of the bar guns almost blazing.

By the time Sam had managed his way through the crowd and stepped out of the bar, he'd partially forgotten what his big tantrum was about. That is until his eyes skim the parking lot, and he finds you of all people pressed up against the side of the place all by yourself. Your back is pressed fully into the brick of the building, eyes closed as you lent your head back. You looked a lot grouchier than you'd been earlier when you'd bounced over with all your teeth showing.

He wonders if your sour mood has anything to do with him.

He stands there for a moment, debating if he would approach you, before you open your eyes, and spot him. He thinks that answers the question for him. "What are you doing out here?" he asks, and your lips push out in a show of your disinterest in having a conversation with him. You were still upset by what he said. Figures. He lets his feet drag him towards you, and you tense up the moment he's close enough to really take you in. Your entire body is clenched up, and you're quick to force a wider gap between the both of you as Sam mimicked your posture on the wall.

"I thought you were getting out of here." and he doesn't know why he continues to talk, when it's clear you're choosing to ignore him.

"I thought so too." you reply gruffly, face scrunched up in disappointment.

"So what happened?" he pries. "Change your mind?"

You shoot him a sour look. "What are you doing, Sam?" you demand. "It's barely been twenty minutes. Whatever happened to 'Why don't you just go?'." you recite his words back to him and he winces. "You didn't want to talk to me before, so I don't want to talk to you now." you say, and it's a little bit childish. You both know it. But that was the thing about the two of you. Where you and Dean meshed because of your similarities, you and Sam often found yourselves in moments of odds.

When Dean pissed you off, all it'd really take is a few hours apart and then you'd both show up with peace offerings and move on as if nothing happened. It wasn't like that with Sam, not in the slightest. He always wanted to push, to dig your emotions out of you. You despised it, almost as much as you hated how he could be such a hypocrite sometimes. Forcing you to bare everything you felt to him, but lashing out at you and Dean whenever things got too much in his head. Sometimes you hated him.

Sometimes you hated both of them.

But most times you adored them, loved them with an intensity that you could never really understand. They were your boys, your best friends. The only family you still had and could trust now. And it was a step up from the family you used to have. Jim, Jack, and Jose could only help you so much. That family only ever left you with headaches and numbness. Dazes that lasted longer than your moments of clarity, and horrible hangovers. It was why you tried so hard with Sam and Dean.

Even when they pissed you off.

Because they saved you from yourself. Showed you there was more to life than drinking away your despair. In return you offered them protection. Someone else to take on the weight of keeping them safe. It was a fair deal. Hunting with them, being a team. They watched you back, and you watched theirs, and you all became better.

"I shouldn't have said it." he says with a sigh. "I don't even know why I did." Sam says, and you know there's more. Lots more he won't say. But you need him to, mostly because you'd been driving yourself sick thinking that he was growing tired of you being around. You were worried that one day you'd have nowhere to go back to. That one day they'd grow tired enough of you and all your tears, and anger, and aggression, and you'd wake up to an empty motel room. Find out the impala was long gone, with you left in the dust.

You think that's why you try to find someone new on every hunt. Why you'd allowed yourself to start drinking a bit more again, why you giggled a little harder at some of the unfunny jokes of the men and women who picked you up at the bars. Because if you had them, had someone, it wouldn't matter if Sam and Dean one day disappeared. You'd be okay, you'd be settled. You'd survive the heartache.

"Don't lie to me, Sam." you reply quietly, and your voice is heady. Sam hadn't even noticed the flask at first, his eyes widening in that way that showed he was worried about you. In your drunk and angry state though, it just looks like disgust. "If you're just gonna do that, you can fucking leave." you insist, and Sam is shocked. "See if I give a damn." and that was another problem with you and Sam. You both weren't the best with confrontation. Sure, you could both lash out, get angry and spew out the things you'd bottled up. But it wasn't like you ever really heard one another out.

When you fought, you both came in with your calculated notions and beliefs of each other. You didn't listen to reason, you listened to how you felt. What you believed to be right. Which meant that in moments like these where you're spewing words like 'See if I give a damn', all it really told Sam was that every thought he ever had about you wanting to get away from him and Dean seemed to be proven right.

"Well if you don't give a damn, then why do you even bother sticking around?" he seethes, and you scoff, head whipping around to fully stare him down. "I mean trust me, we'd never want to hold you back." and he says this part mockingly, and you think you hate him a bit more than you ever have. "Why don't you just leave for good? Why do you stay? Why do you- why do you keep up with any of this?" he demands and you push off the wall, turning your body as you glare up at him.

"Is that what you want? For me to leave for good, Sam?" you question, hands balling into tight fists as Sam's mouth drops open in shock at your question. The obvious answer being absolutely not. "Is that why you've been walking around with a stick up your ass, lashing out, and acting like a fucking toddler, you want me gone? You're a grown man, Samuel, why don't you just grow some balls and fucking say that instead of-" and you scoff because you feel yourself getting all the more angry just looking at him. "God, I don't even know why the hell I even bother with you Winchesters!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you drive me fucking crazy!" you erupt, voice picking up. "You know why I'm still here? Why I'm not off having a nice night?" you ask, but he knows it's rhetorical, so he doesn't speak. "Because I felt like shit leaving, knowing that you think I'm better at being gone than helping you when you're upset. I couldn't even think about sleeping with someone else when my friend was sitting at the bar dealing with whatever shit was flying through your head seemingly all by yourself. Because of course Dean wouldn't push you too far unless you were in danger."

And Sam thinks about how Dean hadn't chased him down when he left the bar, and finds himself a bit surprised at how much you pay attention to them both.

"Which meant if you weren't in danger, you wouldn't tell him shit. You'd bottle it up and try to deal with it alone. And I thought how fucked up of me to be thinking about sex when you were obviously really fucked up over something." you huff. "But now, you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking that I was stupid for getting myself in a position where I care so much about two people who time and time again prove to everyone in their fucking circumference that we're better off leaving you two the fuck alone." you proceed, and Sam's as defensive as ever now. Face growing warm in anger.

"You knew what you were getting into when you decided to tag along." Sam retorts like a child. "Nobody's holding you hostage. Nobody is keeping you here against your will, okay? If we're that horrible to endure than leave. We'll be fine without you, we always are." Sam insists, and you scoff again, this one more disbelieving than the other. "No, I'm serious. You're never around after hunts anyway. If you're so eager to get away from us, if we're too much for you, than why torment yourself any longer? Go."

"Screw you, Sam."

"Screw me? How could this possibly be on me?"

"You're trying so hard to make this my idea." you snap. "But it's not, Sam. I'm still here. Don't you think if I wanted to leave you and your brother to rot that I could've several times over? Despite what you may believe, I have enough self respect to leave a situation I don't want to be in. You're the one being a moody jackass that can't grow the hell up and say what he feels." and you catch yourself. "And excuse me if sometimes I want a chance to feel like a regular fucking person." you proceed. "It's not like the odds of a hunter falling in love and living some cookie cutter life are high."

Sam blinks at that reminder.

"So don't make me feel like shit because you're too scared to let yourself feel even a semblance of normalcy for once." You're turning again, letting yourself lean back against the wall as you down all that's left inside the flask.

"I'm sorry." Sam exhales the words, guilt and aggravation rolling off of him in waves.

"Yeah, well you should be." you retort. "I'm not the enemy here, Sam. And despite what you seem to think of me, I'm not just itching to go off on my own and leave you two behind. You guys are my family. We're in this shit together." you remind him. "But not if you keep like this, Sam. I'm not going to let you push me away. At that point i'd just go." you admit, and it's the truth. The codependency that ran deep between Sam and Dean was not something you'd choose to take on. Even if the thought of leaving them felt like splitting your heart apart and stomping on it, you had to love yourself more.

"I'm not trying to push you away." he insists, and your eyebrow jumps.

"Could have fooled me." you reply and Sam huffs.

"I'm a jackass, okay? I never should have-" and he thinks it was way easier expressing himself back at the bar with Dean. "I shouldn't have said any of it." and it's true, even though it was a constant thought. But that wasn't your problem, his personal issues with being abandoned or better put unstable as far as the people in his life were concerned. "Jesus." and the instant replay of every word he'd spewed at you guts him. Was he really that insecure? That filled to the brim with jealousy that he couldn't express his fears of losing you without lashing out and making you the villain.

God, he'd never felt more like John.

"Be honest with me." you demand. "What the hell's going on with you, Sammy? You're freaking me out, okay? What is it? Are you having nightmares again? More visions?"

"No." he denies plainly. "It's not like that." and while he did still have nightmares and visions, this had nothing to do with why he was in this particular situation with you.

"Then what? You know you can tell me anything."

"Not this."

"Well why not?" you press, and you feel annoyance flaring up again.

"I just can't, alright?"

"Oh, give me a fucking break, Sam!" you sneer. "How can you apologize and then go right back to acting like this?" you say.

"Because I am sorry." he promises. "I'm more sorry than you'll ever know. I'm sorry for what I said, and for talking to you like that, okay? It never should have happened. I shouldn't have ever said it. But this is personal. It's not something you can help."

"So, I'm just supposed to accept that it's always going to be like this?" and he thinks the answer is no. Just as soon as he gets over you, he can go back to normal. But he had no clue when that would be, or how long it would take. "Where you're angry at me?" you clarify, and Sam's immediately turning his stare to you.

"I'm not angry with you, Y/N."

"Then what is it? Are you-" you close your eyes and take in a breath when you start to yell again. "Sam, you have to give me something."

"Why can't you just accept that I can't tell you?" Sam questions as he straightens up, towering over you in the way he seemed to tower over everyone else. Still, you were older than him, intimidating in the way that a hard life seemed to make people. You match his stance, standing straighter as you glare up at him, and he glares down at you. "Why can't you just respect that and let me deal with this on my own?"

"Because I seem to be the only person getting affected by this little mood swing of yours." you remind him. "I'm the one getting the smart remarks, and the attitude, and the cold fucking shoulder. Not Dean, and not anybody else. So obviously your funky attitude has something to do with how you feel about me. So what is it? What did I do?" you ask, and you know you're treading dangerous territory, but you never cared. Angry or not, this was still Sam, your Sam, which meant you'd get him to crack eventually. You were more determined than most.

"You infuriate me!" he finally exclaims. "That's it." he adds, as you stare slack jawed. "You take up space, and make every part of my life difficult. When it was just me and Dean, he was the only thing I had to worry about. I looked out for him, and he looked out for me, and that was it. But then you showed up and you made it so easy to care about you. But now it's not just as simple as caring about you. It's not like Jo and Ellen and Ash where we're like partners. It's not like with Bobby, who's family. Because while I care about them no part of me harps on keeping them safe 24/7."

It takes you a second to recover from his initial words, as the rest spills out of him like a faucet, you find yourself shuffling away from Sam. "But that's all I can think about with you. Making sure you're safe, taking care of you. And sure, Dean thinks about it too, but it's different. It's always been different. And I haven't felt this way since Jess, so that's why it's-it's easier to make you want to leave than handle you deciding one day that you're done with us and disappearing. So I'm sorry, okay? It's not your problem, it's mine." he tells you, and you think you've never been more lightheated.

"And I'll work on it. I'll get better, it'll be okay, and we'll go back to normal eventually. But until I can get a lock on this, on how I feel, I can't be okay with you running off and being with someone new when I want you the way that I want you. But I'd never tell you what to do, or how to cope. So I don't say anything. I never say anything." he breathes the words out and they're painted with aggression and heartache, and it makes your stomach flip in the worst way. "Are you happy now?"

"Sammy..."

"I don't need you to feel bad for me, but now you see why I didn't want to talk about it."

"Sam, you're a coward." you huff out, and he exhales.

"I know."

"And you can't just- you can't just lash out on me... or anyone else just because you have feelings you don't understand." you lecture him.

"I understand my feelings perfectly, Y/N. That's what you and Dean don't ever seem to understand. I know exactly how I feel, and I know exactly what lengths I'd go to." he tells you more seriously than he's been all night.

"What lengths?"

"To protect you, to make sure you were okay. It's not something as simple as me just... wanting to get a few rocks off. Or because we're stuck on the road together, and you're just some pretty girl. I've never had a doubt in my mind that my brother would go to the ends of the world for me. And I'd do the same thing for him." he tells you, and you already knew that. "But now you're included in that. You're someone I take account of, and the things I'd do for you they're not normal, they're not okay."

"Sam..."

"Look, I never said you had to feel the same way. You're the one that pushed. You're the one that asked to know what you did."

"Sammy? You out here?" you both stall at the familiar sound of Dean, who's instantly looking between the both of you with a mixture of relief and curiosity on his face. "What's this? We throwing a party back here?" he questions as you snort out a laugh.

"Hardly." you retort. "You're packing it in early." you comment as Dean offers you a smirk that's so Dean.

"I could say the same for you." and then he's looking to Sam with a knowing glance on his face. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No." Sam says instantly, and Dean looks to you.

"Yes."

"Guess the Ayes have it." he whistles at his brother's expense, clapping him on the shoulder again, as he tosses the keys to Baby up in the air before catching them in his hands. "If you guys aren't done in ten, I'm leaving your asses." and you know he's mostly joking, but still, you feel a flower bomb of appreciation exploding in your chest.

"Wait, De-" Sam starts, only to be ignored as Dean tosses the keys up in the air once more, catching them as he strides off, almost as quickly as he showed up, and Sam's turning to you with a questioning and pensive look on his face. "I don't really see what else there is to talk about." Sam says as you poke him roughly in the chest.

"Cut the crap, Sam. You're not the only person allowed to talk here, alright?" you tell him, and his eyes roll. "Were you even going to give me a chance to say anything back?" you question.

"What's the use, I already know what you're going to say." he tries, and you snort.

"You're a coward, Sam Winchester."

"I think we already covered that." he says dryly, as you shake your head.

"Why didn't you ever say anything? About how you feel?" you pry.

"You said it yourself. Hunters don't get to fall in love and live a cookie cutter life." he reminds you and you shake your head again.

"But you didn't even give me a chance to decide if I even wanted to try. What were you going to do? Ice me out until you forced yourself to feel differently for me? You're that determined to die with your pride?"

"It's not about pride. It's about being realistic, it's not like you ever gave me any sort of indication that feeling this way was alright."

"Sam, you're allowed to feel however you want. It's not my job to tell you if the way you feel for me is okay, because it is." you retort. "Even if I didn't feel the same way." you remind him, as his face seems to tinge with embarrassment. "Lucky enough for you though, doofus. I think there's worse things in the world than having feelings for a Winchester." and it takes it a moment to register on Sam's face, his eyes widening.

"What?"

"Look. I'm not saying it's true love, okay? All the shit we've seen, I don't know if humankind was lucky enough to earn it. But I do know that you're so important to me. Important enough to put everyone else on the backburner. I thought it was clear enough that I love you, Sam. What I don't understand is why you were so scared to tell me the truth." you admit as Sam lets your words float around him like a wave.

"I was scared you'd leave." he admits plainly.

"Sometimes I get scared of that too. That one day you'll both vanish right out of my life." you admit, and it squeezes Sam's heart in his chest. "Maybe that feeling will never fully go away, we can't ever say what'll happen in the future. But I do know that I'm here now." you tell him and you reach out and grab his hand. "And you're here now, okay? So why don't we let that be enough for us for now. If that's what you want." you offer, and Sam looks at you, really looks at you, and thinks he'll love you forever. Almost as much as he hates you for running his mind like it was your own.

"I do. I want that."

"Okay." you squeeze his hand gently. "So can we try again? Without the theatrics and the yelling this time. Just- just tell me what you'd want from me, Sammy."

"I want to be with you." he says it so hurriedly, you can't fight your little smirk. "And I don't know how long it'll last, but I know I'll try for as long as I can to make it work. I know we can't exactly have... an apple-pie life, but- I could be whatever you need me to be. I just know all this hunting stuff, saving people stuff makes a lot more sense when you're doing it with me, okay? And I don't want to lose that-" you don't leave room for much else, tugging him towards you and pouring every bit of how much you care about him into the way you kiss him.

Instantly, he's picking you up by the thighs, letting them wrap around his hips as he kisses you back feverishly. It's almost dizzying, especially as your head smacks the brick wall of the bar, your hands flying from his face, to his hair, and back down again. He thinks he could kiss you forever, and you think you could quite quickly learn to believe in true love. It wasn't conventional, but you knew you'd love him forever, almost as much as you hated him for controlling the beat of your heart as if it was his own.

You were certain if the desperation grew any thicker you'd both be stripped bare right there in the open, but the obnoxious honk, honk, honk of Dean from the driver's seat of the impala pulls you both apart like you'd been electrocuted. "Get a room!" he exclaims, face covered in fax disgust as Sam's hands squeeze politely at your hips as you stare up at him.

"At least we don't have to have the talk with your brother." you offer sheepishly.

"Oh, he'll find a way to force the talk." Sam retorts as you both chuckle nervously. Since you'd met there had always been a difference in the way you were with Dean, and the way you were with Sam, and you think that this new turn in your relationship with Sam would come with a lot of hard work, a lot of work that you'd normally never be inclined to give a chance. But as Sam gingerly places you back on two feet, and you find your knees wobbling just slightly as he nods his head towards the impala, that you would much like he insisted: go to the ends of the world [and everything in between] just to get back to him. which meant in the grand scheme of things, that even if things romantically ended horribly wrong, Sam Winchester was a good risk.

One you'd gladly make for the rest of your life.

Even if he didn't know it yet.

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 months ago

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"Sam?" you pulled the hotel room door open wide, surprised to see him standing there when you'd just left him only 2 minutes before. "Everything okay?"

He pushed a hand back through his long hair and laughed a little nervously. "Uh—Yeah. Yeah, everything is—is fine." He stood there staring at you for a long moment and you felt suddenly nervous yourself, your heart fluttering a bit like a moth in your chest.

"O-okay?" You bit your bottom lip. "What's going on? I thought you were heading to bed."

He wrung his hands a bit. "I was going to but—I—" He laughed again a little awkwardly. "I'm—I'm not doing great at this, am I?"

You cocked an eyebrow at him and shook your head. "I don't know," you said, laughing a little. "I'm not sure what 'this' is," you admitted.

He nodded. "Yeah, That's—fair. Um—The reason I'm here is—" he cleared his throat. "What I wanted to tell you is... I want to be more with you than just... friends or hunting partners," he said, his eyes wide and earnest.

You felt your mouth drop slightly open but it was a long time before the syllable came out. "Oh."

Sam gulped again. "I know. This is—sudden, and maybe unexpected but... life is about more than just surviving and whenever I picture what I want mine to be, you're always right there. Next to me."

There was a long moment before your brain seemed to catch up what was happening and then you broke into a smile. "Well, are you going to kiss me or just stand there, Sam?"

Prompt: "Life is about more than just surviving."

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester drabbles #sam fluff #supernatural imagines #spn drabbles #fanfiction

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stardancerluv · 3 months ago

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Sam’s Story

Part One of ? (not sure if it will be a long piece)

I was working at the theater and helped move the Warfare Posters…I got inspired.

Notes/Warning: pictures in collage are possible stand-ins for things/people mentioned in story. Also please if you do drink, please be responsible.

💐 Thank you for reading! 💐 ❤️s, and any comments & feedback are welcome! 💐 Reblogs are welcome & appreciated! 💐

Sizzle! Crackle! Pop! Pop! Pop!

He pressed one, then another and yet another burger into the grill. The summer heat was welcome.

He grabbed a bottle from the bucket of ice, some of the ice had slushed around. Tilting his head back, he took a swig from his beer bottle. He had long since pushed his shades to rest a top his head as he manned the grill. Squinting, he looked up into the clear blue, summer sky. The sun was bright and hot. Welcome sweat, easily pearled in his curls. The cold grey winter was long forgotten. It was a perfect day for a barbecue with his boys and his girl.

Snap! Snap! Crackle! Sizzle!

He flipped over the burgers and once again pressed them into the grill.

“Hi handsome.” Your soft voice tickled his ears.

He glanced down, and smirked at you. Switching the spatula from one hand to the other, he lifted his arm so you could cuddle up to his one side.

“Hi baby. They’re almost ready, don’t you worry.”

You smiled brightly. “I’m not too worried. I think I may have an in with the man behind the grill.”

A gentle giggle came from your soft mouth.

He let his hand drift down your mostly bare back; his fingertips just barely touching the knot where earlier you had him tie your bikini top, his hand came to rest on the top of your jeans shorts.

He winked. “You might.”

*******

The air was acrid, his mouth was dried and his curls had long since been shorn off.

And he missed you.

The push ups came easy. They had once been hard. Before bootcamp, he had never bothered to do even one. The sand, dust clouded up with his exhalations.

He was antsy. They had been in this building for far too long. Exhaustion, was trying to take a hold due the lack of activity. The push ups got his blood pumping.

He had shipped out to boot camp and was in Iraq with a rag tag bunch of guys before he could blink. They were a solid bunch. None of you had chosen to be together. A few knew each other. But they were all new to him.

Not long ago, he remembered the barbecue he had with his boys and his best girl; his only girl had been at his side. His boys were ride or die types; he wished a few them were here with him now. They’d have his back. They had all known each other since they had training wheels. Now how their mustang’s or motorcycle’s engines rumbled was what mattered.

He hopped easily to his feet. The guys he was with now, were his boys. He trusted them. He grabbed his rifle and slung the strap onto his shoulder and walked over to a window, he glanced out.

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deepestnightcolor · 1 year ago

Note

PLEASE MORE OF SAM FLUFF PLS PLS PLS

ᴀ/ɴ: Thou ask and thou shall receive!~ Thank you so much for your request, love!

I hope this is okay, I've become quite rusty when it comes to fluff. I hope you enjoy! Also, to everyone suffering of pollen allergies - much strength to you. Blondie is suffering with you.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Sam (SDV) x GN!Reader

ᴡᴄ: 1373 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None, just fluff!

☾ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ꜱᴘʀɪɴɢ ☽

The warming rays of the spring's sun tickled your nose the moment you stepped out of your farm house. Spring was about halfway over, but still in its complete beauty.

You looked at your fields with a content look in your eyes. The seeds you had spread over the tilled ground had stretched out their green leaves, some of them would soon be ready to harvest, would need nothing more but a bit more of the tender sun and the water that was coating their complex beauty from the sprinkler already running this morning.

Butterflies were dancing through the air that was drenched in the sweet aroma of nature coming to life and blooming in its bright, cheerful colors, breezes of gentle wind wafting the scent towards you coaxing you to step forward.

A glance to your right made you see that your cows and chickens had found their ways outside by now, hungry mouths and beaks tugging at stems of grass that carried a lush green colour. The bursts of rain that had fallen on the Valley the last few days had done nature a favor, you thought, a smile on your lips.

You picked up the bucket you had brought outside with you, making your way over to their pasture.

"Good morning, ladies," you called out, chuckling as a chorus of moos greeting you in return. Betty and Moonalisa looked great today, and it filled you with a sense of pride to know it was your care that made the bond between you so strong. Scratching the cows' heads, you chatted quietly to them. Told them what had happened to you yesterday. You had seen Sam, you told them. He had taken you out on a date, and you still felt the giddiness of the last night rush through your veins.

Even as you were milking them you chattered about the blond, the twitch of spotted ears giving you the feeling of being listened to by your friends. When the bucket was full, you gave each cow a small treat as you thanked them, bringing the bucket to the shed to fill it in the machine that would make it become cheese in a matter of hours.

It didn't take long for you to enter the coop, greeting Julie and Lana with the same excitement you had done with the cows. You ran your fingers through the soft feathers, listening to the cluckering as the two hens picked at the ground. "You are very pretty today," you told them with a nod, "did you do something with your feathers?"

Cluckering sounds answering you made you chuckle.

Once you had allowed Sam to follow your morning routine because he had woken up as early as you had, and your boyfriend had watched you with an amused smirk on his face. When you had asked him why he looked at you like that, all he gave you was the shrug of his shoulders.

"It's cute how you treat your animals. Makes me appreciate you more, y'know? Shows you care."

He had kissed your head and crouched down to tell one of your hens that her eyes were gorgeous, and the other that she walked with great grace. The compliments seemed so genuine, so warm, they didn't leave you a choice but to kiss Sam right then and there, because you knew you could trust him. Even with silly little things like talking to your animals in front of him.

"I'll check on you again tonight!" You called towards them, your hands filled with the two large eggs you had found in the coop. After putting them in their respective machines, you decided to make your way to town. You had some ggeodes you wanted Clint to break open, and maybe you could visit Sam with a pizza for lunch.

However, the sound of someone sneezing made you raise your brow. That had been a loud sneeze.

You pushed your hands in the pockets of your overall, holding onto the fabric as you tilted your head. Waited. Maybe it was one of your animals? You had heard Moonalisa sneeze once, it had been louder than you would have ever guessed. Or you had just-

ACHOO.

Okay, you had definitely not imagined that, but it hadn't come from behind you, either. With your face still scrunched up in confusion, you walked towards town, perhaps you would find the sneezer there?

But you didn't even have to go so far, because looking to your right, you saw a mess of blond hair and a familiar blue jacket.

Your boyfriend stood hunched over in the field of lowers near the bus stop. A small bouquet was already in his right hand, the other traced through the tender sea of pedals and leaves. "S-"

ACHOO.

The sneeze shook the man's whole body, making him groan out loud. "Fuckin' allergies," his voice grumbled, but it sounded strained. Probably from all the sneezing he had been suffering through.

"I like you, you flowery pieces of death, why can't you fuckin' like me back?"

"Maybe they don't like you plucking them?" You joked, making the blond twirl around to look at you.

His eyes were teary and red, his nose was red, and he seemed defeated. However, a smile spread on his face just a few seconds later.

"Can't be it, they try to kill me even if I don't pluck them," he laughed, leaning down and picking up another flower, tenderly adding it to the bouquet. You watched him, biting down on your lower lip. "Just out of curiosity, why are you in a field of things that kick off your allergy?"

Sam gave you a sheepish grin, mouth open to answer your very valid question, though the sneeze that tore through him was faster. A groan left his mouth as he grimaced, rubbing his eyes and then his nose, only to realize what he had just done. The pollen on his hand led to another sneezing fit. You reached out your hand and slowly pulled him away from the flowers, pulling out some tissues to dab at his teary eyes carefully.

"Because of the tradition," he answered when his breathing seemingly had steadied. "Tradition? What tradition?"

Again, your boyfriend carried this sheepish look on his face.

"That when you wanna date someone, you give them a bouquet."

You looked up at him, your eyebrow lifting in a slight arch. "But...we are dating, aren't we? 3rd of winter. That's when we got together."

Sam nodded and gave you another grin, this time, it was almost shy.

"But I didn't give you a bouquet." It wasn't an explanation. It was a matter of fact, at least that's how it sounded when he said it.

You couldn't help yourself, you never really could around Sam. Around him, your reactions were real. Raw. You laughed and gripped his face carefully, kissing the swollen nose just as gently as you did it affectionately.

"But Pierre sells them, Sam! You didn't have to trigger such a big allergic reaction for me," you whispered, and now it was Sam that rose his brow.

"Those are ugly ass flowers in that bouquet," he began, puffing out his chest, "and who the hell knows how long our dude Pierre has kept those flowers in a random ass drawer, keeping them alive with whatever witchery he has up that ugly sweater sleeve? Nope, no chance, my babe only gets the best- ACHOO."

Sam let out another groan, slowly holding the flowers towards you. "But..I'd be thankful if you took them off my hands...you know. I think you look prettier with them than I ever could, anyway."

You cooed as you looked at your beaten by allergies boyfriend, taking the bouquet and kissing his lips gently. "Yes, Sam," you whispered against them after a moment.

Sam, distracted by the affection inflicted on his lips, looked at you in confusion. "Yes what?"

You grinned, intertwined your fingers. "Yes, I accept the bouquet. Can't let my boyfriend die and then not accept the bouquet now, can I?"

Your boyfriend, now back on track, smiled, pressing a large hand to his chest. "That would have been more cruel than the pollen in spring."

#sdv #stardew valley #stardew valley fanfic #stardew valley farmer #sdv fanfic #sdv sam #fanfic #sdv sam x reader #sdv fluff #fluff #stardew valley fluff #sam fluff

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imagineteamfreewill · 9 months ago

Text

Powerful Magic

Title: Powerful Magic

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Brief language, witches, magic/curses, frequent mentions of death and dying, crying, very light blood, angst, fluff

Summary: While on a witch hunt in Boston, Sam puts his life on the line to save Y/N. When he begins to suffer from the effects of the magic the next morning, they’re forced into an impossible situation with no way out.

A/N: This is a commission for the lovely @park-simphwa. Thank you to them for giving me such a fun prompt to write, and thank you to everyone who supports me in a million other ways. As always, I hope you enjoy this story!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You aren’t expecting to run into anyone on the grocery run, least of all your old hunting partner, but life’s been throwing fireball after fireball at you lately, so you really shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been years since you’ve seen Jason, and somehow he still looks exactly the same, maybe with a few more wrinkles and scars. His hair is still greasy and cropped close to his skull, and you can smell the cigarettes on him even from where you stand a few feet away. His boots are caked with dried mud that sprinkles across the tile of the grocery store every time he shifts his weight or takes a step to get out of someone’s way, which is often because he’s always been the type of guy that thinks of himself first and others second.

Smiling tightly, you yank your cart closer to the shelves of jarred salsa and bottles of colorful sodas to make room for people trying to get by, and you use that movement to look over your shoulder. There’s no sign of Sam or Dean.

Damnit.

“So, how’ve you been?” Jason asks. “You look good, Y/N.”

You nod. “Good, fine. How about you? Are you still…?” You don’t dare utter the words aloud, but Jason gets the hint. He nods.

“Still in pest control. It keeps me busy.” He grins, and you try not to grimace at the yellow tinge of his teeth. How had you ignored all of his red flags for so long? With the exception of your last hunt together, it’s not like Jason was necessarily a bad guy, he was just gross and inconsiderate. On top of the constant smoking, he always took too long to shower after coming back from hunts. You know for a fact that he only brushed his teeth once a week. Plus, you don’t remember ever seeing him do laundry, though logically, he’d done it at some point… Right? Or maybe you’d just gotten used to the stench.

“There you are,” Sam’s voice in your ear makes you shiver, but his hand on your lower back warms you right back up. “I was looking for you.” He pauses. “Who’s this?”

You glance up at him, smiling in relief. Sam doesn’t smile back. His face is a hard mask of protectiveness, one that you’re always grateful for, even if it’s being wasted. You know that he’s amping it up a little just because you were approached while he was out of sight. He’s always a little more protective when he thinks you’re getting hit on by some creep. You can’t count the number of times he’s pretended to be your boyfriend to help you avoid men hitting on you at the skeevy dive bars that you always seem to find after hunts. Part of you should be offended that he’s stepping in instead of letting you handle it yourself, but you know he doesn’t do it because he doesn’t think you’re capable. Sam does it because you shouldn’t have to fend them off on your own. You shouldn’t have to be in that position, but because you are, he’s not going to let you be there alone.

“This is Jason. He’s an old coworker, from before I joined up with you and Dean. Jason, this is my…”

You hesitate, instantly knowing that you shouldn’t. You and Sam are just friends. It doesn’t matter how badly you want to be more than that, or how easily the two of you fall into the rhythm of a fake relationship, both for a moment in the grocery store or for a week-long hunt. It doesn’t matter that Dean insists his younger brother likes you. It doesn’t matter what Sam said the one time you’ve seen him really, truly drunk. You’re just friends.

“—friend,” Sam finishes. He holds out his right hand, and his fierce expression has been replaced with a polite smile, though you can tell it’s fake. You know him well, but for a second, he almost looks a bit jealous. “Sam.”

Jason shakes his hand with both eyebrows raised. His smile had faded the second Sam approached, but now he seems uneasy. “Sam. And… Dean?” He glances between you and Sam. “As in…?”

You cut him off with a quick, “I’m so sorry, Jason, but we’re really cutting it close on time.” His mouth snaps shut and he has the decency to look chagrined. Anyone with any common sense in the hunting world knows not to name names, especially last ones. You never know who might be listening.

“She’s right. Dean’s waiting on us, and we’ve got to get back on the road. It was great meeting you,” Sam adds. “Any friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine.” His hand drops from the small of your back. You try not to let your disappointment show.

With one last smile and a promise to keep in touch, even though all three of you know that you won’t, you make a u-turn with the cart and walk with Sam toward the checkout lanes. He doesn’t say anything as the two of you unload the items onto the belt, nor does he say anything as the items are scanned and bagged. Your stomach churns as the tension crackles between you. Why had you hesitated? Why had you acted so weird? Had Sam really been jealous, or did you just imagine it?

Chill out, you think as you load the bags of groceries into the cart. Sam pulls out his wallet and swipes his latest fraudulent card, then takes the receipt. You watch out of the corner of his eye as he tucks the card into the left hand pocket, the one he reserves for cards he’ll need to ditch soon.

You’re going to make this worse if you don’t relax.

You follow him out to the Impala, pushing the cart slow enough that you won’t run into him if he stops. Dean is already leaning against the side of the car. He has an energy drink in one hand and his phone in the other. Whatever else he decided to buy has already been loaded into the trunk. He glances between you and Sam as you get closer, clearly sensing something is off, and you watch as he straightens and deposits his phone into the pocket of his jacket.

“Everything okay?” Dean asks.

Before you can answer, Sam nods. “Yeah, all good. They were out of the soup you wanted.”

Dean grumbles to himself and opens the trunk, then helps you unload the groceries. His three bags of purchases are already tucked into the back, and you’re careful not to load anything on top of them in case he bought something that could get squished. As you work, Sam goes around to the passenger side and takes his seat, shutting the door behind him.

“What happened?” Dean asks you. He rearranges some of the bags you’ve put onto the trunk’s false bottom. Though there’s plenty of noise to talk over in the busy parking lot, he keeps his voice quiet enough that Sam won’t be able to hear it through the backseat.

You don’t meet his eyes. “Nothing. Just ran into an old partner of mine, that’s all.”

“Partner?” You can feel his gaze on you, and your cheeks grow warm.

“Not like that,” you huff. “We were just… partners. For a while, it could have been something else, but it never happened.”

“Why not?”

Unloading the last bag, you glance up at the storefront, where Jason is exiting. He’s only got two bags in hand, but there’s a six-pack of beer tucked under his arm. He already has a cigarette tucked between his lips. Dean looks past you and grunts a little.

“If that’s him, I can see why.”

“Be nice,” you tell him.

“Was he at least a good guy?”

You shrug. “He wasn’t bad. Just kinda gross, that’s all.”

Dean grabs your arm before you can walk away with the cart. You look back at him, and he’s watching you with the same protective glint in his eye that Sam had inside the store.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks, and you shake your head. “Did he say something to you in there?”

“No. That’s not why it was weird.”

“I gotta know if something happened, Y/N. If I’m gonna ride in the car with the two of you—”

“I hesitated, okay?” you answer, yanking yourself free from his grip. Your cheeks are definitely hot now, and it’s not the sun. It’s still cloudy from last night’s storm. “I went to introduce Sam and I hesitated.”

Dean is staring at you like you’ve just broken into song. “You hesitated?”

Sighing, you look up at the clouds, willing yourself not to be so embarrassed by this. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal.

“Yes, I hesitated. Instead of just saying that his name was Sam, I said, ‘This is Sam, my….’” You gesture with the hand not holding the cart, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air.

His face twists. “Oh. Rookie move, Y/N.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what did you end up saying?” Dean asks.

“I didn’t. Sam finished and said he was my friend.”

“And you want to be more than friends.”

“I didn’t say that,” you quickly reply, but you look away, and your cover is ruined.

“Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that he likes you? You two are driving me insane. I’m going to lose my mind before we ever get to Boston if this keeps up.”

You roll your eyes and head towards the cart corral, then push the cart in with the others. Dean’s already in the driver’s seat by the time you start walking back, and he starts pulling out of the spot as soon as you have the back door shut. Sam doesn’t say anything. You cast him a quick glance, but that’s all you risk as you settle into your usual spot with the book he’s loaned you. It isn’t one you’re particularly interested in, but you’ve traded books for the trip. You’re fairly certain that you got the short end of the stick. Despite the years of friendship under your belt, he never takes your book suggestions. Then again, you don’t take his.

The universe finally takes mercy on you, and the rest of the drive to Boston goes by faster than expected. You have one overnight stay in a motel, but the boys decide to get two rooms instead of one, so you get a queen size bed and the bathroom all to yourself.

Once in Boston, you check in to a second motel, then head out to get your bearings. The person who sent the information to Dean had only given you the address for the hotel where the witch is supposedly hiding out, plus the names of two of the victims. Sam decides to look at some old, non-digitized records of the hotel, so you go with him, knowing that if you go with Dean, you’ll most likely end up at the morgue. You’re not really in the mood for a dead body. You’ll take an afternoon with your best friend over that any day, even if your best friend is currently giving you the cold shoulder.

You’re in one of the reservable rooms at the library, looking over the papers and logbooks spread out over the table, when Sam finally brings up the grocery store incident.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and you look up from the patron log you’ve been carefully sorting through.

“Yeah, why?” You try not to seem surprised that he’s asking, considering he hasn’t said much of anything to you since you left the grocery store over 24 hours ago.

“You’ve been quiet since we ran into Jason.”

You shrug a little and look back down at the page, then flip it over to look at the names listed on the back. “I’ve been reading the book you loaned me.”

“It’s not that,” he says. “This is your ‘I made a mistake’ quiet.”

Not knowing how to answer, you keep your eyes on the book in front of you. Sam stares at you, and you can feel him watching you as you gingerly turn the page again.

“I don’t want to press—”

“I haven’t seen him in a while,” you finally say, still not looking up. It’s the truth, even if it’s not the whole truth. “It just… caught me off guard, that’s all. It’s not every day you run into someone that almost got you killed, you know? And then I was flustered when I introduced you, and I panicked. I was worried that maybe you were offended because I got all tongue-tied.”

He’s quiet for a second. You risk a glance in his direction, only to find that Sam is already watching you.

“What?” you ask. You fidget with the corner of the paper for a second, and then you have to force yourself to release it before you damage the time-worn parchment. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—”

“No, that’s not it,” Sam interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not offended, Y/N. I don’t think you could ever offend me.”

The tension between you breaks, and you grin at him. “Oh yeah? Not ever?”

He laughs and pulls his laptop over to where he’s sitting. “Well, maybe if you—”

“No, you can’t take it back now!” you laugh. You scoot your chair closer to his, closing the palpable gap that had been left between you. Sam shifts his stuff to make room for you, and you smile wide, happy to have your friend back. You try to ignore the way your heart leaps into your throat for a brief moment after his hand brushes yours.

You continue researching, but only a couple minutes have passed before Sam clears his throat and speaks up again.

“So, you and Jason,” he starts, and you close the logbook. There’s nothing useful in it and you add it to the growing pile of books you’ve finished.

“What about me and Jason?”

“Were you ever… together?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “Like, dating?” Sam nods and you grab another book, not wanting to look at him when you answer, “Yeah, for a little while, right before we split.”

“Ah.”

“Mm-hmm.” You open the book, silently hoping he doesn’t ask any more questions about Jason. The two of you have never really talked about any of your past partners. It’s a sore subject for Sam, so you’ve respected the territory, even though you’ve come dangerously close on a few occasions. You usually don’t mind, considering you’d have to lie if he asked if you were interested in dating, and he can always tell if you’re lying.

“You said he almost got you killed,” Sam says, his voice a little softer. His fingers stall over his laptop keyboard, and the screen goes black.

You look up from the book and he’s watching you carefully, gauging your reaction. He knows how hard it can be to discuss the past, and you’re in public. It’s not exactly the safest place for a hunter heart-to-heart. These kinds of conversations are best held in the bunker, or late at night in a motel room.

After a second, you nod. “Yeah. He… He used me as bait, and I didn’t know that was the plan. And then, while he was waiting for them to approach me, he got drunk. He showed up much, much later than he should have.”

You have to look away and swallow the lump in your throat. Under the table, Sam finds your hand and squeezes.

“I promise to never do that to you,” he tells you, with such conviction that tears spring up in your eyes.

You squeeze his hand in return, blinking quickly to clear your vision. “I know.”

“I will always keep you safe, Y/N. You know that, right?”

Nodding, you look up and take a steadying breath, then smile a little. Sam’s expression doesn’t change. He’s not smiling back at you. Instead, he’s staring at you with an unmatched ferocity, and your smile fades.

“I know,” you gently reply. “I’ve never doubted that.”

You and Sam stare at each other for a long few moments. The other patrons in the library continue to go about their business, and he holds your hand under the table until his phone chimes loudly and several people look over. Sam pulls away first, reaching for the phone. You turn back to the book, feeling like a rug’s been pulled out from underneath your feet.

What was that all about?

You and Sam have spent countless hours alone together, even going so far as to pose as a couple on a hunt, but it’s never felt like this before. He’s never been so adamant that you know he cares about you and your safety, and he’s never asked about your past love life. Sam’s a passionate guy, too, but you rarely see this side of him. His passion is normally directed toward hunts, or toward the academic subjects and topics he studies in his free time.

“Dean’s got a lead,” Sam relays, staring at the message on his phone. He texts back a response as you nod and begin to pack up. He puts his phone away and starts to help, and you finish cleaning up together, bumping elbows and hands as you stack the materials the way they’d come. Sam carries them back to the circulation desk before you can offer to help, leaving you to follow behind. You don’t mind.

As soon as the three of you are together again, Dean drives to the abandoned hotel and parks in an alley, far enough back from the street that you won’t be easily seen. You unload the guns and witch-killing bullets while they compare notes. You listen in silence as you load all three weapons. The whole thing sounds very straightforward.

“Ready?” Sam asks, and you nod, holding out his gun. He takes it and gives it a quick once-over before nodding his approval. Dean does the same.

You decide to head into the hotel through the old maintenance entrance. The two victims had been found just outside the door, and you quickly discover that it was the right choice. Dean taps on your shoulder only a minute after you enter the building, then points at a bookshelf half-full of spell ingredients. Jars of all shapes and sizes hold everything from small animal bones to a shimmering blue liquid that reminds you of the “potions” you would make using various soaps and shampoos as a kid. It’s one of the few memories you and Sam have in common from your childhoods, though you made yours at your house and his toiletries came from a long string of motels.

There’s another tap on your shoulder and you glance behind you at Sam, who gestures to your left with his gun. You turn down the hallway, following the sound of shuffling that you hadn’t heard before. It gets louder as you get closer, and then the person begins to chant. Her voice is deep and rich, and without realizing it, you’re lowering your gun. All you want to do is listen. The Latin is almost melodic.

“What are you doing?” Dean hisses. He pulls you away from an open doorway by the collar of your jacket. You stumble and blink at him.

“She okay?” Sam whispers.

“I have to…” You struggle to voice the burning desire inside of you, the little voice in your head telling you to find the witch. Deep down, you know that it’s dangerous and that you’re being affected by whatever spell she’s performing, but your hands move of their own accord, pushing the boys out of your way.

Stop! You have to fight this, you think, but it’s as if your conscience is behind a thick glass pane. Your own thoughts feel muffled and far away. They’re useless against the effects of the witch’s magic.

Sam reaches for you, and you dodge him as you duck into the next room of the hotel. It’s an old ballroom with high, vaulted ceilings. A dusty chandelier with cracked crystal pendants hangs precariously over the center of the patterned dance floor, and cobwebs are strung up in every corner. Broken tables and chairs are pushed against one wall, and boarded up windows separate you from the garbage-littered street outside. A balcony winds around two of the walls, with the staircase behind the witch. The banister is made of marble columns and a dark wooden handrail coated with a thin layer of dust. Lit candles litter the floor, and beneath the chandelier, the witch stands surrounded by metal bowls of ingredients and a sigil painted in white.

She reaches out a hand for you when you enter. You’re in a daze, and as your feet carry you closer to her, your gut churns. Something inside you is screaming—every hunter’s instinct you have is telling you to lift your gun and shoot, but you reach down and place your weapon on the dusty tile instead.

Chanting louder, the witch’s eyes begin to glow a vibrant red. An aura around her does the same, and your breath hitches at the sight.

This is wrong!

She smiles then, beckoning you with her fingers, and the sudden onset of nerves dissipates. You smile back, taking another step.

“Y/N!”

Dean’s voice makes you blink, and you flinch when a gunshot goes off behind you. It hits the banister behind the witch. Her volume increases again, reeling you back in as she pulls a thin, jagged knife from a sheath at her hip. Letters etched onto the blade glow red as well, and your eyes are drawn to it. Your mouth feels dry as you shuffle forward, entirely focused on the weapon in her hand.

“That’s it,” the witch coos, now finished with the incantation. “It’s alright, dear one.”

“Y/N, don’t!” Another shot rings out, but it sounds far away as you step closer. You’re almost to the edge of the sigil. Two more steps and you’ll be within her reach.

Someone grabs your arm, yanking you backwards. She screams a horrible scream, one that makes you shudder and cringe as an arm winds around your stomach, pulling you even further away. Your feet drag across the floor and you cling to the arm of whoever’s holding you. You’re torn between fighting them and letting yourself be rescued, but then the glow from the witch’s eyes fade. You gasp for air, feeling her hold on you relax.

“Dean,” you croak. You can’t see his face, but the feel of his jacket against your palms is familiar and comforting. Your throat feels raw, as if you’ve been screaming for hours. You go to say something, to warn him that her spell is almost finished, when the red light concentrates at her fingertips. “Dean!”

There’s a flash of red. You close your eyes, turning your head away as Dean pulls you harder against him and whirls around so his back is toward the witch. Over the witch’s shout, you hear Sam yell something, and then there’s a heavy thud.

“Sammy!” Dean releases you, cursing, and you fall to your hands and knees.

You yelp when you hit the floor. Your bones immediately ache from the impact, and you stay there for a minute. You know that you’ve messed up. Guilt blooms in the center of your chest and tears well up in your eyes. You feel weak and, for a second, violated. You should’ve been able to resist the witch’s magic.

Get it together, you silently order. You have to focus. You can feel bad after you kill her.

“Y/N!”

Looking over, you see Dean crouching beside his brother, who’s laid out on his side. Sam’s eyes are closed and your chest tightens.

“Sam!” you cry, and you scramble over to where he lays just outside the witch’s sigil.

Dean rolls him onto his back, and you kneel beside him, cradling his face in both hands as you search for any sign of life.

“Sam? Sam, wake up,” you plead.

“He’s still breathing,” Dean tells you. “She knocked him out with whatever that was.”

“Please, Sam. Please, open your eyes.”

You stare at him, your heart pounding, and you’re crying by the time he inhales sharply through his nose and blinks his eyes open. They immediately focus on you.

“Thank God,” you sob, and you throw yourself on top of him, hugging him tightly. Sam’s hand comes up to pat at your back.

“You okay?” Dean asks.

Sam grunts and winces as you pull back to look at him. “I think so,” he says after a second. “Did you get her?”

You shake your head and take a shaky breath, wiping at your cheeks and eyes. You sniffle for good measure, then say, “She got away, but she hit you with something. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”

He shakes his head back at you, then closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. She was more powerful than we thought,” he tells you. With his eyes still closed, he feels for your hand. He squeezes it when he finds it, and you squeeze back, just like you had in the library.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks. “You hit the floor pretty hard.”

“Just give me a minute.”

After several minutes, Sam slowly sits up. You and Dean help him to his feet, and then the three of you make your way back through the hotel to the car. Sam seems mostly himself on the drive back to the motel, but you’re on edge. You watch him carefully, cataloging anything that’s even slightly out of character.

“We’ll have to keep you awake tonight, make sure you don’t have a concussion,” Dean says as he sheds his jacket. He throws it over the back of one of the dining chairs.

“I definitely have a headache,” Sam replies. He moves slowly and stiffly, and you don’t blame him. You’ve been thrown to the floor dozens of times. It never hurts any less.

“I’ll take first shift,” you tell Dean. “Clean up and get some rest.”

He nods and heads into the bathroom while you help Sam get settled on the bed. You take his jacket from him, carefully noting how he winces when he moves his right shoulder, and drape it over the second chair.

“It’s a good thing we’re friends,” Sam says. He takes off his socks and shoes, then positions the pillows behind him so he can sit up against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him.

“Huh?” Your heart skips a beat. What’s he talking about?

“It would really suck staying up with me,” he clarifies. “If we weren’t friends, that is.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You smile a little before plugging in your phone. “You want some water?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

You freeze, fiddling with the lid of the ice bucket. You’ve got your back to him, so he can’t see the way you close your eyes, but he’s caught on to your lingering guilt much sooner than you hoped he would. You were hoping that Dean would at least be asleep before you had to have this conversation.

“I’m fine,” you answer. You grab the bucket and turn, giving him a forced smile. “Just tired. I’m gonna go get some ice.”

Sam swings his legs back over the side of the bed. He tries to hide his wince, but you catch it. You always do.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“You already took your shoes off.”

“What’s a little tetanus between friends?” He smiles at you and stands. You step closer, ready to steady him if needed. He’s fine, however, and he takes the ice bucket from you before gesturing toward the door.

Unable to argue, you lead him outside. The two of you walk in silence until you hear the door click shut. You’re already several rooms down, but the motel is larger than most, and the only working ice machine is in the tiny vending machine room at the far end of the building.

“What happened back at the hotel?” Sam asks.

You know he won’t judge you, but you keep your gaze forward. You don’t want to see his expression.

When you haven’t replied after passing several rooms, he gently asks, “Y/N?”

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets. You’re glad you kept it on. There’s a receipt in one of the pockets and you crush it into a ball as you continue, “Whatever spell she was doing… It’s like it was directed at me. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late, but by then I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t control myself. I was just—”

You inhale sharply and stop walking, looking up at the dilapidated roof covering the motel walkway. You’re blinking away tears again, and you hate how weak you feel.

“It’s not your fault,” he says. He moves to stand in front of you, blocking the sun as it sets over the motel parking lot. “She was more powerful than we anticipated.”

Sniffling, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at one of the support columns off to the side. “I know.”

“You’re still you,” Sam says.

“What?”

“You’re still you,” he repeats. “No matter how her magic affected you, you’re still you. You’re not any less strong or smart or tough than you were before we went into that building.”

Tears truly well up at his words and you look up again, letting out a weak chuckle. “How is it that you know exactly what to say?” You wipe at your eyes and take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself.

When you finally meet his gaze, Sam answers, “Because I know you better than anyone else, and because I’ve been where you are. And you know what you told me the last time I was doubting myself because of all the crap I’ve been through?”

You sniffle and force a wobbly smile, remembering the late-night conversation you’d had months ago after he’d had a particularly awful nightmare. “That you’re still you,” you repeat. “And that we’ll always be friends, no matter what.”

Sam smiles back. After a second, he tilts his head to the side, toward the door to the vending machine room. You nod and start walking again, and he falls into step beside you. The silence that settles between you is comfortable again, and the knots in your stomach have loosened with his reassurance.

You get back to the room to find Dean already asleep, face-down on the bed. Sam climbs back into bed as well, and you fill up both your and his water bottles with ice water. He takes it with a silent, grateful smile. You slide under the covers beside him, intent on researching the witch on your laptop while he reads on his phone. You probably should yell at him for staring at a screen with a possible concussion, but you both know that he’s had so many that a few hours in front of a screen won’t kill him at this point.

Dean wakes up a few hours later and switches places with you. Though you know you should probably shower before you sleep, resting up is more important if you’re going to find the witch sooner rather than later.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. Just tired.”

“Maybe you should hang tight for today, try and get some sleep while Y/N and I do a little more research.”

You blink your eyes open and immediately squint. Dean must have every light in the motel room on. You swear he does it to spite you, and you groan in protest.

“Good morning to you too,” he teases, stepping into your line of vision.

You throw a pillow at him, and Dean catches it with one hand, laughing. You grunt and push yourself up with one hand, using the other to rub at your eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” Sam asks.

Yawning, you start to answer, but you stop as soon as you see him. Sam looks awful. His skin is pale and drawn, and the bags under his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen. He gives you a weak smile.

“We’re heading to the diner down the street for breakfast,” he says. “You wanna come with?”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Dean replies. He pulls on his jacket and digs the keys out of his pocket. “Except back to bed.”

You sit up a little more, frowning. “You sure you’re not sick?” you ask Sam. “I mean, I’ve seen you when you’re tired, but you look…”

“Like he’s been hit with a spell,” finishes Dean. “I’ve already told him that, but he says that the witch didn’t say anything when she hit him with that freaky red light.”

“I’m fine, Dean,” Sam says. He stands from the side of the bed, but he instantly starts to sway. You’re on your feet in a split-second, steadying him with a hand on his arm.

“Maybe you should stay here,” you quietly suggest. You glance over at Dean, who holds up his hands.

“I’ll be in the car,” Dean tells you, and you nod.

You and Sam stand in silence until Dean’s gone and the door shuts behind him. Then, you look at him with as stern a look as you can muster having just woken up.

“Be honest.”

“I’m tired.”

“Sam.”

He sighs.

“Sam.”

“I’m… exhausted. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this tired in my life, and I want to sleep, but I’m scared,” he admits.

Your eyebrows push together as you frown even harder, and you guide him to sit beside you on the edge of his bed. “Why are you scared?”

“The witch didn’t say anything when she hit me with whatever it was, but we also know that her magic was strong enough to affect you from several rooms away,” Sam says. “If she did something to me, we have no clues as to what it is.”

You hum a little, mulling over his words for a second before looking over at him. “What if I gave Rowena a call? Had her come check you over, see if there’s any kind of lingering effect we haven’t seen yet?”

Sam takes a deep breath, then exhales and shakes his head. “We already owe her.”

“It’s a price I’m willing to pay. You’re my best friend, Sam. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Because I wouldn’t know what to do without you. Those words go unspoken, but you hope he hears them regardless.

Nodding, Sam replies, “Okay. Okay. I’ll… I’ll give her a call.”

“No, I’ll do it. You should rest. I’ll keep an eye on you,” you assure him. “I’ll make sure you’re safe, Sam.”

He smiles just a little bit, though you can tell it’s only for your sake. “You always do.”

You get up to grab your phone from where you’d left it charging, and Sam slowly lays back on the bed. As you type out a text to Rowena, you try to remember if the witch really hadn’t said something, or if you’ve just forgotten it.

“I’m gonna text Dean and let him know to go ahead without me. Do you want him to get you anything?” you ask. He doesn’t reply. “Sam? Did you hear—”

Turning, you stop when you see Sam has his eyes closed. For a second, you worry that he’s dead, and you hold your breath as you wait to see his chest move. When it does, you exhale heavily.

He’s okay, you reassure yourself. He’s going to be just fine.

You shoot a quick text to Dean with your order, plus a few things that Sam might want, and Rowena replies as soon as you’re done. She’s nearby.

The rest of the day goes by uneventfully. Sam sleeps for an hour or so at a time. Every time he wakes, he looks more tired than before, and the smaller-than-usual meals he eats don’t seem to help him at all. It’s hard to tell since he’s been in bed most of the day, but when he gets up around dinnertime, he looks thinner.

Dean’s pacing the length of the room by the time Rowena shows up at the door, and you’re in even worse condition. You’re pretty sure that if she’d shown up any later, he might actually have relented and taken Sam to a hospital. You caught a glimpse of his phone when he passed by and he had the directions already open on his maps app.

Rowena stands beside the bed and moves her hands over Sam’s chest. He’s awake now, and he stares straight up at the ceiling as she works. A soft glow emanates from her palms, but as you watch from a few feet away, it strengthens, turning from golden to crimson to a vibrant purple.

“Well?” Dean asks. He shifts in place by the small dining table. His fingers twitch and he makes a fist with one hand. “Is he alright?”

She drops her hands and turns to face the two of you. Sam sits back up against the headboard, and you glance over at him. His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t slept in days. You’ve seen him look like this before, but it’s never been this concerning. He’s never managed to look this ragged so quickly.

“It’s a siphoning curse,” she explains, adjusting the jacket she’s wearing over her black jumpsuit.

“Siphoning?” Dean questions. “Siphoning what?”

“Life.”

You suck in a breath. It’s cold against your teeth, and Sam meets your eyes. There’s recognition in them, and not in a good way. A lump forms in your throat as you turn back to Rowena.

“Life?” you ask her. “But… Then…”

“I’ll die,” Sam finishes.

You blink. Your eyes burn and you frantically shake your head, taking a deep breath. Inside your chest, your lungs stutter as you try to compose yourself.

“No,” Dean says, shaking his head. “No. There’s got to be a way.”

Rowena purses her lips a little. She clearly knows more, and you take a step forward, clenching both hands into fists.

“Tell us,” you demand. “Tell us!”

You don’t mean to scream—you really don’t—but it just comes out. Dean reaches for you, grabbing your arm and looking toward the door with wide eyes as he listens for a response from anyone nearby who might have heard. Rowena doesn’t react. Swallowing thickly, you look from her to Sam, who has his eyes downcast and his hands folded in his lap. If you didn’t know any better, you might think he was sleeping, but the way he grimaces as you yank your arm from Dean’s tells you that he’s awake and listening.

Your throat feels raw and you swallow again. “How long?” you croak.

“A week, at most,” Rowena adds. “It’s likely he will be unconscious for the last few days. It takes a lot of energy to stay awake, and his body will try to conserve as much as it can before it fully shuts down.”

Dean mutters a curse and shakes his head again. “No. There has to be a way. A counter-curse?”

Rowena shakes her head, and this time, her expression is almost apologetic. “I’m afraid not. Whoever cast this spell is very powerful, and it would take extremely powerful magic to reverse the curse.”

You look from her, to Sam, to Dean, and then finally back at her. Rowena is the most powerful witch you know.

“Can you reverse it?”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replies, meeting your gaze. Her lips press together in a sad smile. It’s the first show of genuine emotion you’ve seen from her, and it’s not enough. “But this is beyond even me.”

“And if we killed her?” Dean asks.

“It won’t have an effect. You still need the magic to reverse it. Not even the caster herself can reverse this particular curse once it’s taken hold.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Go home,” Sam finally says. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it in your hurry to ask about recruiting another witch to help you, but you stop with your mouth open. Sam opens his eyes and sighs softly. “We go home.”

“Bullshit. I’m not taking you home just so you can die!”

“Dean. Enough. You heard what she said.”

Rowena looks between Sam and Dean. After a moment, she says, “I need a moment alone with Samuel here.”

Immediately, Dean is on guard. He straightens up, standing tall as he stares her down with enough ire that you want to shirk back, and you’re not even on the receiving end of his glare.

“I might be able to give him some more time,” she gently adds. With more confidence than you think you could muster if you were in her shoes, she places a hand on Dean’s arm and takes one step forward, guiding him toward the door.

“One of us stays,” Dean answers, nodding his chin in your direction.

Rowena nods, agreeing, “Y/N is welcome to stay, but you have a habit of riling him up. Big brothers always have a way of doing that, in my experience.”

“I need to know what you’re doing before you do it. No funny business,” he adds.

She nods again and gestures with one hand to the door. “Let’s talk outside.”

You stand by the dresser, watching as she leads Dean out of the room. He exits with one last look over his shoulder at Sam, but Rowena pacifies his worries with words too quiet for you to hear. She gives you a strange look before she follows him out and closes the door behind them.

You stare at the door for a second, then at the window adjacent. The white horizontal blinds have gaps in them after years of use, and you’re able to see Dean, then Rowena, as they move to the side to talk. Eventually, they walk away, most likely to the Impala for spell ingredients. Sam’s been keeping a small travel case in the trunk for the past year or so, especially since you’ve been away from the bunker more and more often.

As you wait for them to return, your gaze drifts back to Sam. He’s watching you.

“What?” you ask after a second.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.” You wipe your cheeks with both hands, unsurprised that there are tears you hadn’t initially registered. “I probably look a mess right now.”

“Not any more than me, I’m sure,” he replies with a wry smile. You both fall silent for a minute before he continues, “You’re gonna be okay, you know.”

“What?” Your voice cracks. You hate it.

“Without me.”

You inhale through your nose and push your hair back, doing anything to keep your hands busy. “Don’t— Don’t talk like that. Rowena said she might be able to give you more time. We’ll find something, Sam. You’re not going to die.”

“I was going to die eventually. Everyone does.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” he asks.

You look up at the ceiling, staring for a few seconds at the circular brown water stain that stretches several feet into the room. You’re lucky it hasn’t rained in Boston since you arrived, judging by the darkness of the stain. The dark brown is unchanging, but it’s not enough to steady yourself.

“I don’t want to live without you,” you finally say, your voice trembling.

Sam doesn’t answer, and when you look down at him, he’s wiping tears from his own face. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look truly upset since Rowena broke the news.

Maybe it’s just finally settling in, you think.

His chest shudders as he takes a breath and it’s enough to propel you forward, to move you to his side. You stand beside the bed, staring down at him until he reaches for your hand. He grabs it with more strength than he’s shown all day and you suck in a sharp breath, tears welling up in your eyes all over again.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sam,” you whimper, and you use your free hand to wipe them away, but he shakes his head. He pulls you down until you’re sitting on the opposite side of him. Your legs are draped over his and your feet dangle over the edge of the bed. You lean against his shoulder and start to cry in earnest, and Sam holds you. He doesn’t ask you to stop, and for that, you’re grateful.

Your cries have petered out by the time Rowena and Dean come back into the room. You can’t bear to make eye contact with them as they return, so you stare at where Sam is holding your hand atop your knees. Besides letting out the occasional sniffle, you simply listen as Rowena explains her plan to help extend Sam’s life. It’s a complex spell, one you’ve never heard of. She claims it will only add a few days, essentially putting off the point where he’ll become comatose, but it’s more hope than you had before. Sam asks questions about the ingredients and the text and the magic, which Rowena answers somewhat impatiently. Dean is strangely quiet.

“You’ll have to move for the spell, dear,” Rowena gently instructs.

Nodding, you clumsily pull your legs from Sam’s lap and move to roll off the other side of the mattress, but Sam grabs your hand before you get too far. You look back at him, confused.

“Stay,” he says. “Please.”

After a second, you nod again, then settle against the headboard beside him. Sam carefully lays down on his back. He rests one arm in the space between his body and the edge of the bed, but he takes your hand with the other. You rub your thumb over his as Rowena takes her place on the other side of him and begins to mix the spell in the small copper bowl they’ve retrieved from the Impala.

She chants, her eyes glowing purple, and Sam squeezes your hand with a grunt. His grip is almost bone-crushing and it takes everything in you not to yelp.

Stay strong, you urge yourself. He can’t help it.

The glow of Rowena’s eyes grows so bright it’s blinding. You look away, closing your eyes and gritting your teeth as Sam squeezes your hand even tighter, but then suddenly, he releases you.

You open your eyes and look over to see him passed out beside you. The purple light is fading and your heart leaps into your chest.

“Sam?”

“Sam!” Dean cries. He pushes Rowena backwards onto the other bed and pulls his gun on her. “What the hell did you do to him?”

She holds up her hands in defense as you shake Sam by the shoulder, then pat his cheek. “Your precious brother will be fine,” she soothes, a small smile on her face. “The spell takes some time to activate, like I told you. He’ll look better when he’s awake again.”

“And we’re supposed to believe you? Just like that?” Dean gestures a little with the gun, but it stays pointed in her direction.

Rowena scoffs. “Don’t forget that you came to me, Dean Winchester. You already owe me for the spell.”

You’re gentle as you check to make sure Sam’s still breathing. He is and you sit back on your feet.

“She’s right,” you say. “He’s still breathing.”

Raising an eyebrow, Rowena stares Dean down until he lowers the gun. She gives him a satisfied smile when he reluctantly tucks it back into his waistband, then stands and dusts off her hands.

“Now,” she sighs, smoothing the wrinkles in her jumpsuit from where Dean had shoved her. “I believe some payment is in order.”

Dean turns around to look at you. For a second, you stare at each other, and you have the brief thought that he might do something stupid, or crazy, or both, but then he grits his teeth and his jaw clenches. That’s when you know that he’s fighting the urge to pull his gun back out. The only reason he hasn’t is because Sam’s life is already on the line. One bad choice could lead to Rowena casting another curse on him.

“Go,” you quietly urge. “I’ve got him.” You nod in encouragement, and Dean returns it with one terse nod of his own.

You carefully move Sam’s hands to rest on his stomach, then sit beside him as Dean leads Rowena back out to the Impala. Whatever he’s giving her as recompense for the spell, it must be valuable, because he comes back in with clenched fists and muttering curses under his breath. He begins to pace the length of the room again. You don’t interrupt. Your chest aches and an empty feeling grows as you think of what life will be like if you can’t save Sam. Dean’s jaw is still clenched, and you know he’s doing the same.

“We—” He stops by the door to the bathroom, lifting a hand, but he drops it back down by his side. “Y/N, we have to find something.” His voice breaks and a lump forms in your throat, just as tears form in Dean’s eyes.

You nod. “I know.”

“We’ll— I’ll give Jody a call, and Garth. Maybe they’ll know of another witch that can help us.”

You look down at Sam and inhale shakily. With one hand, you adjust the sleeve of Sam’s t-shirt.

“I’m gonna take him home,” you tell Dean, not looking up.

“What?”

“He said he wanted to go home. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Like hell you are!”

Finally, you look up and meet Dean’s eyes. You have to take a second to breathe when you see him. You’ve been with Dean Winchester for plenty of hunts, but he’s never looked this afraid. He’s a man that laughs in the face of danger, not one whose hands tremble when he thinks about his brother dying.

“We have to try, Y/N,” Dean says, and he’s staring at you with eyes so wild that you find yourself gripping the motel sheets crumpled beside you. “I can’t just let him die. Not like this.”

You have no response. Dean will just argue if you try to reason with him, but you know that Sam isn’t one to prolong the inevitable. It doesn’t matter how terrified of a future without him you are. If he’s made his peace with it, then you need to consider doing the same.

Even if it kills me too, you think.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Okay.”

Dean swallows thickly, then nods once. “I’ll start calling. See what I can find.” He’s just looking for a reason to leave the room so you can’t see past his hardened exterior, and you both know it, but you don’t argue.

You stare at the edge of the bed, just behind where he’d been standing, as he starts to leave. He’s made it to the door when you lift your head and look over at him.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Someone needs to be in the bunker. It’s better if he goes with me than with you.” Before he can argue, you continue, “What if you need to check something against one of the books? Or if you need an ingredient we don’t keep in the car? What’s your plan then? Sam knows both the library and the storage rooms better than both of us combined, and he’ll be able to rest when he needs it. Plus, if I need to, I can try and recreate the spell Rowena cast to give him extra time.”

Dean is quiet for a minute, but you see him nod through the gaps in the metal floral divider that separates the door from the rest of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Then you two should get going. The sooner you’re there, the better.”

You’d driven together in the Impala, but it doesn’t take long for Dean to hotwire a car from the farthest row of the motel parking lot. The backseat is, mercifully, big enough for Sam to lay down without being at too strange an angle. You and Dean drag him from the room to the car together. You’re lucky that it’s getting dark and no one is out to watch the ordeal.

Dean loads your backpack and Sam’s duffel into the trunk. Then, he sends you off with a simple, “Drive safe,” and a hug. He holds you a little longer than normal, but you’re not opposed. It’s nice to know that you’re not alone in this.

The drive is uneventful. Sam sleeps for most of the night. He only wakes up a few times during the day for food and bathroom stops, and though he looks better since Rowena’s spell, he’s lost muscle mass and he still looks exhausted. You have to support him on the walk across the street to the motel the following night, but he falls asleep again almost as soon as he’s in bed. His sleep seems to be dreamless, and for that, you’re thankful.

You, on the other hand, don’t sleep much. You probably should, considering you haven’t slept in 24 hours, but your brain won’t turn off. You spend most of that night awake, listening to Sam breathe, texting Dean about his progress, and doing what research you can online. At some point you actually do fall asleep, and you wake to the sound of Sam stumbling across the room to the bathroom.

He’s getting weaker, you think, and you lay on your back, listening to the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running as you stare up at the ceiling. You’ve cried so much over the past few days that the thought of crying now is exhausting. You just don’t have the energy.

It’s not a strange occurrence for you to lay in bed and listen to the boys move around a motel room. There have been plenty of mornings that Dean has gone out for food while Sam showers after his run, leaving you to soak up a few more minutes of sleep under the covers. Now, you can’t help but feel a little nostalgic for all those mornings. You don’t have many more with Sam, and Dean can be unpredictable when he’s grieving. You’re not sure if he’ll go off on his own or if you’ll be able to stick together.

When the door creaks open, you turn on your side and meet Sam’s eyes. His face, which you’ve come to associate with bright mornings just as much as the sun itself, is gaunt. It’s a harsh reminder that you’re losing him bit by bit. His cheeks and eyes have begun to sink in as well, as if his body is collapsing inwards, like a black hole. The effects of Rowena’s spell seem to have been short-lived.

“Good morning.” He’s leaning against the open door frame of the bathroom, and he’s managed to pull on a pair of clean pajama pants and a t-shirt.

You try not to let your bad mood show. “Morning. How’re you feeling?” you ask.

Sam shrugs a little and his gaze wanders to the digital clock on the nightstand. You have no idea what time it is or how much you’ve slept. You’re lucky that your phone was plugged in when you finally fell asleep.

“Same as yesterday. Maybe a little bit more tired. Where are we?” asks Sam.

Sitting up, you yawn and stretch your arms above your head, then roll your shoulders and neck to try and release some tension.

“Ohio,” you tell him. You roll over to grab your phone and check the time—it’s after eight, and you’ve missed half a dozen texts from Dean. None of them are useful. “We’ve only got one more day of driving if I can go straight through. It’s about twelve hours.”

“We can take shifts.”

You look over your shoulder and fix him with a look, raising your eyebrows. He doesn’t react and you stand, then toss your phone onto the bed as you pull your socks back on your feet.

“I’m not letting you drive, Sam.”

“I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not risking it,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t risk it.”

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

You falter as you rummage through your backpack for your last set of clean clothes. Sam is staring at you from the bathroom doorway, you can feel it, but you don’t look up at him. After a second, you slowly go back to searching.

“Does it matter?” you finally ask.

He shuffles toward you and grabs your wrist, stopping you. He doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t move. Reluctantly, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re just as resigned as yesterday, and though it makes your chest ache, you can’t look away.

“If I only have a week—”

“You don’t know that, Rowena cast that spell—”

“—then I want to spend it with you,” Sam finishes, and you peter out, not even bothering to finish your claim that Dean will be able to find something to save him. You know it’s not worth it, not if Sam’s made up his mind.

He continues, “I want to spend it doing all the things I love doing with you. You’re my best friend, Y/N.”

You close your eyes and turn away, hoping he doesn’t see the tear that slips out and runs down your cheek. You hate this. You’ve never felt this helpless before, not even when you’d been held captive for a week. In that situation, you’d known that the boys would find you and save you. You have no way of helping Sam out of this.

“I want…” Sam trails off, and he tugs on your wrist to pull you into a hug. You wrap your arms tightly around him and press the side of your face against him, keeping your eyes closed.

I wish it was me, you think. I wish it was me instead of him.

“What are you thinking?” Sam whispers. His breath ruffles the hair on the top of your head.

“This is all my fault,” you reply. You can’t tell him what you’re really thinking without him lecturing you, so you pick the next best option. It’s really not that much better, if you’re being honest.

“Don’t say that,” he says. He squeezes you once. “This isn’t your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault.”

“Sam—”

“No, I love you, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, Y/N. Okay?”

You nod. “Okay,” you quietly answer. It hurts to hear that Sam loves you. You know that he does—he’s your best friend, of course he loves you—but it hurts to know that he’ll never love you the way that you love him. He doesn’t have time to love you that way.

“I love you too,” you say after a moment. “I don’t…”

I have to tell him, you think. You start to pull away. Sam drops his arms, and he sits down as soon as he’s not touching you. The way he lowers himself to the edge of the mattress reminds you of some of the people you’ve seen in nursing homes while interviewing family members.

I can’t do this. He’ll just feel guilty.

“You don’t what?” Sam asks, and you look away.

“Never mind. I should get dressed,” you tell him. You turn back to the backpack and grab the clothes, then start heading to the bathroom with your clothes crumpled against your stomach.

Sam reaches out with one hand and grabs your arm. “Talk to me.”

“Sam…”

“Please. I don’t want you to hide things from me because you think it’ll make me feel even worse. Trust me”—he lets out a wry laugh—“dying is the least of my worries right now.”

You freeze halfway to the bathroom, dropping your arms down to your side with your clothes clutched in one hand. After a second, you turn to face Sam, and you toss your clean clothes onto the bed behind him.

“That really doesn’t make this situation better,” you scoff. “I mean, come on, Sam! I’m about to lose the love of my life and he says that he’s not even worried about it? How’s that supposed to make me feel? Am I just supposed to be all, ‘Oh, okay! Let me tell you all about how I’ve had a massive crush on you—”

You stop talking the second you realize what you’re saying, which is much too late, and you snap your mouth shut. Sam stares at you with wide eyes and you stare back. Your heart is in your throat and when you finally feel embarrassed tears burning along your waterline, you turn around, clenching your hands into fists.

Of all times for me to say that, you think, and you wish you could hide in the bathroom for the rest of the day.

“I’m gonna shower,” you manage to say. You take a step, then another, until finally, you’re locking the bathroom door behind yourself.

Bracing your hands on the counter, you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding inside your chest as your brain helpfully provides you with every possible outcome of the situation. None of them seem good. It should feel good to reveal the secret you’ve been holding so closely for years, but instead it’s only made you feel worse. On top of everything that Sam’s feeling and going through, he now has to deal with the news that you’re the biggest idiot on the planet. What kind of sappy Hallmark movie do you think you’re in? A hunter’s life doesn’t allow for love, let alone for a relationship with your hunting partner-slash-best friend.

A knock at the door startles you, and you quickly straighten up from the sink.

“Yeah?” Your voice is shakier than you’d like. You squeeze your eyes shut.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks. He jiggles the doorknob.

“Um..” Your voice trembles again and you inhale deeply through your nose as you open your eyes and look around. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror; your eyes are bloodshot and your hair is a rat’s nest. The neckline of the old t-shirt you’ve been wearing since yesterday morning is stretched out and gaping, revealing a fading scar from a werewolf three weeks ago.

“You can say no,” Sam adds. “I can wait out here for you.”

Reaching out with one hand, you twist the doorknob and open the door. Sam has one hand against the door frame to help keep himself upright. Somehow he looks even worse than when you’d been by the bed just a minute before.

It’s probably just the lighting. He can’t be dying that quickly, right?

He doesn’t speak right away, so you step back into the bathroom and pull back the shower curtain, getting ready to start your shower.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I reacted to that poorly.”

“I didn’t mean to say all that,” you quietly admit, stopping just past the end of the counter. You don’t dare look up at him right now. Instead, you look down at a yellowed stain on the edge, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “It’s not fair of me to tell you and then run away, especially since it’s too late.”

He leans forward, slowly entering the bathroom so you have time to back away. You don’t.

“Who says it’s too late? I know it’s not ideal, but I did say that I wanted to spend my time with you.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together as the new wave tears that have been forming finally escape. With one hand, you wipe them away and press your lips together. Sam pulls you into another hug.

“This is my worst nightmare,” you tell him. “I didn’t even know it was, but it is.”

“What? Spending time with me?”

A half-hearted laugh escapes you, and you blink your eyes a few times to try and clear the blurriness. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and squeezes you once before dropping his arms so you can step away. Before you get too far, however, he reaches out to stop you.

“You didn’t let me finish,” he says, and you look back at him.

The bathroom is tiny. It’s barely big enough for a sink, toilet, and bathtub-shower combo, but it feels miniscule once Sam steps inside. He’s taking up the space between the wall and the sink, leaving you to stand with your back to the shower and both the toilet and the wall within fingertip distance.

“Finish what?” you ask. Your heart skips a beat and your mind begins to jump to conclusions. What could Sam possibly have to finish that involves you? He’s not about to confess his undying love for you, right? That would be too cheesy, and too predictable for a hunter’s life. You don’t deserve that kind of happy ending.

Then again, it’s not so happy if he dies right after. You push that thought away immediately and try to focus solely on Sam.

He takes both of your hands in his, and though he sways a little, he stays upright. You try not to think about how his grip seems less firm than it has in the past.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too. And it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way. You don’t have to pretend to try and make me feel better. I’m not offended.”

Sam shakes his head and lifts your hands a little. “I love you, Y/N. I—” He stops to cough, a deep, bone-shaking, chest-rattling cough that forces him to lean against the wall on his left. He has to drop your hands to steady himself and cover his mouth, but you step closer and place one on his shoulder, hoping it’s enough to let him know that you’re there. When he drops his hand from his mouth, there’s blood on the side of his fist. Without a word, you tear off a piece of toilet paper so he can wipe it away.

“I’ve always loved you,” Sam manages after a few moments. He wheezes a little, and clears his throat to try and get rid of the raspiness left by his coughing fit.

“What?”

“I’ve—”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I heard you. I just don’t understand.”

He frowns at you, and you glance away, hating that you’re making this difficult for him. He’s balled up the bloody scrap of toilet paper in one hand, but he pushes himself off the wall and drops it into the trash can next to the sink. Without the support, Sam wobbles, and you reach out to catch him before he can fall forwards.

“You should sit,” you urge, and he shakes his head again.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, Sam. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I’m not going to fall over. There’s no place to fall in here.”

“You could hit your head on the edge of the counter, or you could knock me over and we could both fall into the bathtub,” you argue. “You could land face-first on the toilet which sounds like a horrible way to be knocked unconscious. You could fall backwards and I wouldn’t have the chance to catch—”

You’re cut off when Sam slides one hand up to cup your jaw back with one hand, then tilt your head back to kiss you. He moves quicker than you’ve seen him move in since the curse, and you’re so shocked that it takes you a second to process what’s happening.

Sam Winchester is kissing me, you think, and you let your eyes fall closed when his fingers shift, weaving into your hair as he crowds infinitesimally closer to you.

When he finally parts, pulling away just enough to catch his breath, you stay close, too. You can feel his chest heave a little as he breathes, and though it pains you to think that every time you kiss him from now on will be more and more difficult for him, you push those thoughts away. You want to savor this. You need to savor this.

“Sam,” you whisper, and he hums, then kisses you again. It’s shorter this time, and your hands migrate to fist in the loose fabric of the t-shirt at his sides.

“You kissed me,” you say the next time he pauses to breathe. He hums again and gives you another kiss.

“Sam,” you insist, and he gives an impatient sigh. His hand moves to rest on your upper arm. The side of your face feels suddenly cooler in his absence.

Sam opens his eyes to look at you, and you pause for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. You’ve always loved the way Sam looks—you’d be crazy not to��but it’s the first time you’ve felt it’s okay to unabashedly take in the brilliance of his eyes. Sam is beautiful, but he’s also intelligent, funny, caring, strong, and brave. You can see all of that just by looking at him. Maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, or maybe he’s just that beautiful.

Both, you think. The thought makes you grin, and you duck your head to try and hide it. It’s definitely both.

“What?” Sam asks, impatience clear, though he’s not angry. “What’s so important that I had to stop kissing you?”

“You kissed me!”

“I know,” he answers. He leans into your space a little more. “I’d like to do it again.”

There’s heat in your cheeks now. It’s hard to tell if it’s from how he’s making you feel or if it’s from his proximity, but you’re not complaining about either of those things.

“Why?”

He gives you a look, one that asks if you’re serious, but you don’t rescind the question. Finally, Sam drops his hand from your arm to your hand, and he fiddles with your fingers as he answers,

“Because I love you, Y/N. I’m not sure how much clearer I can be.”

You gape at him. “So when you said that you’ve always loved me…”

“I meant it.”

Your brain is whirling as you process the new information, and Sam moves to sit on the edge of the counter. He still has your hand, so he pulls you with him. You let him lead you the few steps without a fight.

“So you…” You lick your lips, and you swear that he zeroes in on the movement because his eyes seem to grow darker despite the bright white light from the fixture in the ceiling. “You like-like me?”

Sam’s eyes lift from your lips to meet your gaze. He stares at you a second, then grins wide and lets out a loud laugh. It’s almost a guffaw, and it makes the heat flare up in your cheeks all over again. You feel silly, like you’re a teenager all over again, just waiting for the cute boy in class to make you swoon.

“Like-like you?” he asks. “Definitely.”

He pulls you close again, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. His legs bracket you on either side. You close your eyes and revel in his warmth and the scent of laundry detergent and the motel shampoo that somehow always smells better on him than it does you. It’s something you’ve come to associate with him, oddly enough, but you’re grateful. Motel shampoo is a constant in your life and it will always be there, even if he’s not.

Sam sways a little bit, leaning a bit more on you, and you open your eyes, moving your head back slightly so you can look at him. His head has lolled to the side and his mouth is parted slightly. His eyes are closed, but his eyelashes flutter as if he’s just asleep.

“Sam?” you ask. He doesn’t respond, and panic replaces the giddiness you’d felt only moments before. “Sam? Hey, wake up for me. Open your eyes.”

You unwind one arm from around him, pulling it towards your stomach and out from under his arm that’s still around you. You pat his cheek a little and look for any reaction, but there isn’t any.

Cursing, you try to maneuver him off the counter to the floor. It takes all your strength to keep him from collapsing or hitting anything on the way down. By the time you get him stretched out on the grimy tile and the towel that you pull from the bar on the wall to cushion his head, you’re sweating.

“Please wake up,” you plead, kneeling on his left, near shoulder. His breathing is steady, but he’s just as comatose as he was before.

After a few moments, you launch yourself up and out of the bathroom. Your phone is still plugged in on the nightstand, so you grab it and frantically dial Dean’s number as you hurry back to the bathroom. Sam’s still out when you get back, and you crouch between him and the wall as you listen to the line ring over and over again. Finally, Dean answers.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Something happened, we were just—” You stop for a second, wondering if you should admit what you’d been doing, but Dean beats you to it.

“You were what, Y/N? What happened?” He’s shouting into the phone as he drives and you swallow thickly as tears burn in your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did,” you choke out. “This is all my fault.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Nothing! I mean, I kissed him! He kissed me first, and it seemed like he was alright, but then we were just talking and he gave me a hug and then he just passed out!”

Dean curses and you flinch at the volume, pulling the phone a few inches away from your ear. You’re on the verge of actually sobbing now, and you suck in a deep breath to try and stabilize yourself. Any sense of calm you’d felt less than a few minutes ago has completely vanished.

“He’s still breathing normally and I made sure he didn’t bump his head or anything—”

“You’re supposed to be taking care of him!” Dean shouts. “Where are you?”

“Ohio. At the Starlight Motel, off of I-71. We passed it on the way out to Boston.”

“I remember. I’m on my way.”

You can hear a turn signal on his end of the call and you set your phone on the floor, putting it on speaker. Judging by the noise in the background, he’s pulling off the road to turn around and head in your direction. After swallowing a few times, the lump in your throat begins to subside and you feel yourself starting to calm.

“How far away are you?” you ask, trying to focus on the steady sound of Sam’s breathing while at the same time listening for his response.

Dean answers, but you don’t hear it because Sam suddenly gasps for air. His eyes fly open as his chest heaves, and he coughs like he’s been suffocated. You shift onto your knees, lean forward, and quickly help him roll onto his side. He pushes you away with one hand as he props himself up with an elbow and continues to cough. You’re flustered and panicked, and your hands hover over his arm as you try to figure out how to help him further.

“Easy,” you soothe, and he takes another deep breath, followed by a few lighter coughs. There’s no blood this time, which is a welcome relief.

“I’m okay,” he wheezes.

Still propped up on his left side, Sam closes his eyes. He breathes in and out slowly, steadying himself. After several seconds, the hand not bracing himself against the floor searches until it finds yours. He squeezes it once and you squeeze back, watching him intently.

“How are you feeling? Are you in pain?” you question.

He rolls backwards until he’s flat on his back again, but he keeps hold of your hand, resting it on his stomach. He breathes for another few moments before opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Sam?”

“Y/N! Damnit, what’s going on over there?” Dean is shouting from the phone, and you realize that you’ve forgotten all about it. With your free hand, you scramble to grab it and pull it to your ear, taking the call off speaker with a singular jab of your thumb.

“He’s awake,” you tell him, feeling pretty breathless yourself. Your heart is still racing from the scare of Sam lurching into consciousness. “He’s okay. He’s alright.”

“He’s— He’s okay okay, or just okay?” Dean asks.

You look back at Sam, who lets go of your hand and pushes himself up into a sitting position. When he sees you watching him, he reaches for the phone.

“Hey, Dean,” he says, and he listens for a second before answering, “I’m fine. I think it’s gone.” He glances over at you while Dean replies, probably with more questions. “No, I’m not sure what it was, but I feel fine. Y/N and I will try to figure out what it was, and I’ll give Rowena a call, see if she can meet us here. How far away are you?”

“Tell him I’ll text him the address,” you interject, and Sam nods, relaying the message. He listens for a few moments longer, glances at you again, and then tilts his head away to try and hide his smile.

“Jerk,” he says. He smiles wider at Dean’s response. You don’t have to hear it to know what he says.

Sam hangs up a second later and hands the phone back to you. Without saying anything, you text the address to Dean, then slip the phone back into your pocket.

“Are you really feeling okay?” you ask.

He nods. “I think the curse, whatever it was, is gone. I don’t feel tired, and I’m not even stiff from laying down all day yesterday. Do I look any better?”

You search his face, looking for any sign of fatigue. The color has returned to his face, and the strange thinness that had made your stomach turn this morning is gone. He looks like he did just a few days ago when you’d made up in the library. Even his muscle mass has miraculously returned.

“You look a lot better,” you tell him, beginning to smile. “Like nothing even happened.”

Sam smiles back at you, as radiant as the sun, and you find yourself falling into his arms. He wraps them around you, but after a second he pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says. “I know I said it before, but I mean it.”

Still smiling, you push his hair out of his eyes, cupping his face with one hand. “I know. I love you too.”

He kisses you then, like he did before, and your heart swells. You sit back on your feet as Sam leans into you. He smiles into the kiss when your free hand skims the length of his arm.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you murmur once you’ve caught your breath. “Okay?”

He nods, his forehead resting against yours. “Okay.”

You close your eyes, reveling in the feeling of him being so close. The two of you sit in silence on the bathroom floor. All the events of the past few days have worn you out, even with the few hours of sleep you got, and you eventually shift to rest your head against Sam’s shoulder. He reaches over with his right hand, rubbing your back in long, soothing strokes. You hold his other hand, the one he’d been using to prop himself up.

The silence is broken by your phone ringing after a few minutes. Sighing, you pull away and answer the call on speakerphone, setting it on the floor.

“I hear that Samuel’s on the mend,” Rowena says in lieu of greeting.

“I’m cured,” Sam answers. “Or at least we think I am.”

She hums in acknowledgement. “I’ll need more detail than that if you want me to tell you for sure. I may be powerful, but I’m not a mind reader.”

You roll your eyes at the haughtiness in her voice and reply, “He was unconscious for at least two minutes, but there was nothing leading up to it. He just passed out.”

“Did you eat or drink anything? Say any spells? Pray any prayers?”

Sam stares at the phone, his eyebrows furrowed together. “No. We were just talking and then—” He stops.

“And then you what?” Rowena prompts.

Sam’s eyes flicker from the screen to your face, and then he lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s smiling again, and you smile back. It’s contagious, despite the fact that you have no idea why he’s smiling.

“We kissed,” Sam tells her, not looking away.

“I see.” Her arrogance has all but disappeared, and you know her just well enough to picture the sly smile forming on her face. “When it’s reciprocated by both, true love’s kiss is a very powerful form of magic. It’s one of the most powerful forms of magic. Wield it wisely, you two.”

You grin. “We will.”

She ends the call and you leave the phone on the floor, opting instead to lean in and kiss Sam again.

“We definitely will,” he says.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 1 year ago

Text

She Stays (Part 3)

Summary: Could you please write one where student!reader appears in Supernatural universe taken from normal life and becomes an angel? Pairing Sam/reader?

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Sam x student!/angel!reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language, implied smut

A/N: Wow this is only how many years late? I know it’s been asked for many times for more of She Stays and here it is! Please enjoy this final part!

________

“Ow,” you heard Dean shout from the kitchen. When you came in he was sucking on his finger. “Cut it,” he mumbled, moving to the sink to run it under some water. He hissed as the cold hurt and you yanked his hand away.

“That needs stitches,” you said, Dean letting you twist his hand around. He smiled as he nodded approvingly.

“Yes it does,” he said, your hand reaching out and pulling a fresh towel to wrap it in. “You’re coming up to speed on the medical side of things,” he said. “Sammy’s been a good teacher.”

“I like when Sam teaches me,” you said, pulling him along to grab a first aid kit. “You on the other hand...”

“I’m an asshole who doesn’t give you an inch of slack, right?” asked Dean, putting on his mentor face. “Sam would go too easy on you in fights and target practice. You know it too.”

“I know, Dean,” you said, fiddling through the bag to find a needle and thread. “I don’t feel like I make any progress with you though. Sam tells me I’m doing a good job at least.”

“Kid,” said Dean, grabbing your wrist before you grabbed the supplies you needed. “You’ve come a long way in two months. I might even let you go on a salt and burn by yourself.”

“Really?” you said, eyes lighting up.

“No, but only because Sam would kill me,” said Dean, chuckling as he moved your hand to the towel. “I know you can stitch and blood doesn’t bother you. Go ahead and try.”

“No, Dean,” you said, jerking your hand back. He frowned and feigned sorrow.

“Guess I’ll just bleed out since, Fledgy wouldn’t help me,” said Dean, holding up his finger.

“I need Cas,” you said, Dean scowling hard as he hoped onto the counter. The hunting stuff, that wasn’t so bad compared to knowing you had these abilities. You were still too scared to use them without Cas close by, afraid of hurting someone.

“I trust you,” said Dean, holding out his hand. “I’m in worlds of pain here, Kid. Help a guy out.”

“Dean, I don’t want to,” you said, reaching for the medical bag again. “Angel stuff is not your area, remember, it’s Cas’.”

“I’m also bad cop,” said Dean. “Now try or I’ll work you so hard today so you’ll be too tired to go on your first date with Sammy.”

“Thank dad you’re not my soulmate,” you said, Dean chuckling as you grabbed his wrist. “Just don’t move or anything.” Dean stopped playing as he moved the towel back and you saw it still gushing blood. You thought of how big a cut it was, how it was deep and throbbing. You pictured it in your mind and then how it was supposed to be.

Dean shut his eyes as you let warmth trickle from your fingers and told your grace to heal him. Dean jerked a little but when you pulled back he was good as new.

“I didn’t tell you about the bruise on my knee,” said Dean, shoving his pants up and seeing the black and blue mark missing.

“I wanted it to heal whatever was wrong with you,” you said a little timid. It felt intimate to heal someone, like you were touching their pain for the briefest of moments.

“I won’t tell Cas if you won’t,” said Dean, hopping off the counter. “Now it’s time for your surprise.”

“Please no more push ups today,” you said, Dean chuckling as he pushed on your shoulders.

“You’re going on your first date with your soulmate tonight, kid,” said Dean. “I’m taking you to the mall to go pick out whatever you want to wear. Then I’ll tell you a bunch of horribly embarrassing stuff about Sam you can bring up at dinner if you feel so inclined.”

“You’re such a good big brother,” you said, Dean already moving the two of you towards the garage.

Dean had surprisingly been a good shopping buddy. You picked out a few simple black dresses but Dean had found one with an open back that you fell in love with. You weren’t sure at first how it would look on you but once you were in a pair of heels even you couldn’t help but think you looked hot.

Leaving your room wearing it that night, knowing it was just you and Sam in the bunker, you felt a little silly. You weren’t going out or anything, it was dinner at home. But Sam had asked if you could wear a dress so your first date wasn’t in flannels and ripped jeans and you wouldn’t deny him that request.

“Hi, Y/N,” said Sam, working over the stove. “Could you grab...” he trailed off when he spun around and saw you. You could feel him light up as he lost the ability to speak.

“Plates?” you asked, Sam nodding, his eyes glued to every part of you. “Sam, I’m not that pretty.”

“You’re gorgeous,” said Sam, a little breathy. “You’re always beautiful but...I’ve never seen you dressed up before.”

“Slight improvement over you sweats and tee from that first day,” you said, stepping beside him to reach plates from the cupboard.

“You’re comparing apples and oranges babe,” said Sam, reaching up and grabbing the too high plates for you, an excuse to get you close dawning on you. “I love both those outfits. Anything really. I can almost see your wings in your back like that.”

“Sam,” you said, looking down shyly. “I don’t have my wings yet.”

“Yes you do,” he said, ignoring the cooking and running a hand up to the back of your neck. “They’re just very small right now,” said Sam, his hand moving lower and lower until his long fingers scrapped over the ridge of your shoulder blade.

You giggled as it tickled, the motion pulling something from you that you hadn’t quite felt before.

“Beautiful snow white,” said Sam. “They’re right there, just under the skin. I can’t wait to see them when you’re full grown.”

“How do you know what they look like if you can’t see them?” you asked, resting your head on Sam’s shoulder. You would stay like this forever, him touching this vulnerable spot you didn’t know you had, making you tingle and smile all over.

“I just know,” said Sam, tilting your head back so he could cup your cheek. “I’m glad we took it slow. Got to be best friends first before trying this.”

“There’s no trying, this is...” you said, letting your angel side take over for a minute. “Cas told me something, about fledglings.”

“You’re very pure creatures,” said Sam. “It’s okay, Y/N. He told me too.”

“Then you know we can’t get frisky or anything like that at all,” you said, backing away from him, seeing the hurt on his face. “Where I came from, it didn’t matter but here...you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

“Spending forever with my soulmate? Yes that does sound awful,” said Sam, taking a step closer wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’m not scared, Fledgy. I will never pressure you one way or the other. It doesn’t mean I don’t have a preference for how things will turn out between us.”

“I’m not too young?” you asked, Sam unable to fight back a laugh.

“That’s...that’s what you’ve been worried about?” asked Sam with a smile. “I’m barely older. Fledgy, I love you. Nothing, absolutely nothing will ever stop that. Before you ask, I love you for you, not because of this soulmate thing. I’ve felt that perfect at home feeling with you every second I’m with you since the start, before we touched.”

“Can we eat dinner later?” you asked, the burnt smell of chicken filling your nose. “I’d like to do something with you first.”

“Make me yours, Y/N.”

Dean got home after midnight, only slightly buzzed as he found you and Sam eating pizza on the counter in pajamas.

“How’d the date go you two?” asked Dean, stealing a piece of your leftovers. “Going to be a second one?”

“Yup,” you said, Sam eyeing you up and down.

“Yup,” said Sam, a smirk on his face.

“Is this some couple thing or some angel thing?” asked Dean, watching the both of you. “Or did you two do it finally?”

“All of the above,” you said, Sam smacking your arm playfully. “Hey, someday I’m going to be stronger than you ya know.”

“That’ll be fun in bed,” said Sam, winking as Dean looked ready to gag. “Fledgy’s growing up,” said Sam, holding up a single perfect snow white feather. Just like he’d said it be.

“Angel’s getting her wings, huh? All you two had to do was go at it?” asked Dean, genuinely curious about the fledgling rules as they seemed to differ than a normal angel.

“Actually, it kind of...made me more human in certain areas,” you said, wondering if Dean would be angry. “Mating as a fledgling, with a human, it turns off that angel bit that let’s me...live forever. Normal life expectancy for me now.”

“Makes sense,” said Dean, both you and Sam raising an eyebrow. “Why would Chuck make soulmates that don’t get to be together when it’s all said and done? You two must really like each other to do that.”

“He’s okay,” you said, bumping into Sam’s ribs with a smile.

“It’s not so bad having an angel looking out for me,” said Sam, holding onto your feather like it was precious.

“So you get anything else new while I was out beside some feathers?” Dean asked, silently reaching out to Sam asking to look at the one in his hand. Sam handed it over carefully as Dean inspected it. “Okay, I’ll admit that’s kind of cool.”

“Too bad you can’t see them like Sam,” you said, moving your left wing to tickle his arm, still so small it didn’t jut out past your back, Sam smirking and Dean looking on confused.

“Don’t stay up too late having angel sex, we’re going to work on werewolves tomorrow,” said Dean. “Night Sammy. Fledgy.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a full day a head of you,” said Sam. “Make sure to carve in some time for your boyfriend if you can.”

“I can always make time for him,” you said, brushing your wing up against his arm again, making Sam laugh.

“Let’s go to bed,” said Sam, hopping off the counter and picking you up.

“I’m not tired though,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I said go to bed, not sleep, Fledgy,” said Sam with a wink. “I got too much energy I need to burn off before I even think about curling up with you all night long.”

__________

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bitchylandtyphoon · 1 year ago

Text

Important to me

Sam Winchester x Reader

(Y/N): your name

(E/C): eye colour

(C/C): celeb crush

Sam and Dean slowly descended the rusty black stairs, trying not to trip from exhaustion. Every nerve ending in their body was hypersensitive; their fingers and toes were cold; their eyes and heads pounded from lack of sleep; and a rotting stench was secreting from their overworn clothing. “Hey guys, how was the hunt?" you asked in a gentle voice to avoid elevating their migraine pain. Dean mumbled under his breath as he walked to his room; even Sam could only give a small smile and “tiring” as a response.

You’ve noticed how the boys have become more tired after their hunts. Maybe it was because you did all the research while they did all the dirty work, or simply because they were getting older. Either way, it’s been taking a toll on their health, and you know it wouldn’t be good in the long run.

Judging from their clothes, you assumed they’d be taking a shower before getting some shut-eye, but you didn’t want them to go to bed hungry.

Walking to the kitchen, you opened the white door of the fridge, which consisted of a few eggs, lettuce, and beer. Wow, no wonder these guys only eat out. Groaning, you grabbed your keys and coat, texting Sam and Dean that you'd be heading out, knowing disturbing them wouldn’t be the best idea.

——————————————————————— Sam walked out of the steaming shower, wrapping his lower body in a towel. Taking another to dry off his hair. He ran his long fingers through his hair, noticing it had become very coarse over the past few months. Sam thought back to a hunt when shards of a monster's guts managed to get stuck in his hair. He felt like it was a personal attack; a shower didn’t help as much as he wanted to either. He spent hours trying to get the red and black hard goo out, even asking Dean. Unfortunately, Dean was not very gentle and made Sam partially ball. He remembers how you saved the day with coconut oil and a small brush. You had to sit on a chair while Sam sat crisscrossed in between your legs. You guys were still getting to know each other, so it was an awkward moment, but after Sam felt your gentle nails and euphoric massage, he melted. His head rested on your bare, soft thigh as you worked on the sides of his head. He felt so much at peace that he could’ve slept right then and there. He chuckled as he ran his hand through his hair, wishing he could have some of that magic right now. He wanted the comfort you gave him.

Putting on his comfier clothes, he slid into his bed, falling soundly asleep with a fond yet tired memory passing through his head once more.

——————————————————————— You slide open the door, balancing heavy bags of groceries, a special box containing a slice of heaven for Dean, and the boys’ favourite drinks. You dropped the bags in the kitchen, unpacking them away into the cupboards and fridge. Knowing it would be a long night, you pulled out your phone and put some music on low. You then turned on the gas stove, grabbing the lighter out of the drawer to start the fire. Begin by taking out mushrooms, onions, tomatoes, and other foods, washing them before finely chopping them, and cooking them on low heat. You added seasoning and eventually smelled the delicious aroma emanating from the dish. Now you need to cook the meat.

————————————————— Each boiling drop from the shower head felt relaxing and painful as it fell onto Dean's hunched back. The heat soothed his ache, yet, the new bruises were sending another sensation of pain throughout his back. He groaned as he faced the shower head and allowed the pellets to hit his face, giving all his might to scrub away the dried-up blood and sweat embedded in his freckled skin. All he could think about was sleep, hoping to sleep as much as he could yet, knowing another case would cut his rest short. He took the white soap bar and breathed in the rose aroma it released, it reminded him of you. Dean was glad he had a girl like you in his life, no matter what was bothering his thoughts or physically torturing him, he knew he’d have you to patch him up. You were always there for Sam and him. Every time you carefully did his stitches, gave him a needed hug, fixed his tie or walked into your room, the smell would give him a sense of comfort. It reminded him of his younger days spent with his mom. It reminded him of home.

——————————————————————— You put on the blue oven kits cautiously taking out the crispy chicken from the oven. The meal was finished and so were the other dishes you made. You even had time to prepare healthy snacks and some of Sam’s favourite protein drinks. From a young age, you hated the thought of being a housewife and having to complete all the duties at home, but you knew it was the least you could do to cheer them up, adding much-needed order to their already chaotic lives. Plus, it was nothing compared to all they did for you after they took you in. You smiled as you admired the dinner table, for once looking like a normal family’s dinner table and not used as a summoning ground.

You knocked on Sam’s door to get no response, knowing the younger Winchester might’ve fallen asleep you went to go check on the other one. Knocking once again to hear a low “yeah…”. Pushing the door you see a half awake, now clean Dean, lying against the headboard watching TV.

“Hey,” you gently said. “How are you feeling?”. His eyes were still heavy with sleep but pupils dilated from insomnia. You could tell he tried sleeping but to no avail. “Listen,” you sit on the bed and see him smile a bit. “I know you’re tired but I made some food for you and Sam and you should eat. You’d sleep better with a full stomach. And I might have some pieee”. With that Dean jumped into his bunny slippers and strutted towards the kitchen in his pink nightgown. Chuckling at Dean's cuteness, stopping before leaving the room as you saw the big pile of bloodied clothes on the floor.

———————————————————————

“Hey Sam, I’m coming in.” You announced, entering the neat room, smelling a mix of pine trees and cheap cologne. You saw Sam’s large body lying on his stomach, a soft snore coming from his peaceful slumber. Quietly entering the room, you searched for his hamper, unlike the other one, Sam kept his dirty clothes in one, making it easier for you to take the clothes out of his room.

As you passed by Sam, you stood there watching him, taking advantage of the sliver of peace he was given. You put the hamper down slowly to not wake up Sam, getting on your knees, face level with Sam’s. You watched as his lips laid in a pouted style, opening once in a while to exhale, you took notes of the small moles, birthmarks and faint freckles scattered over his face like stars, noticing how perfect his nose was; never have you ever seen a perfect natural triangle. His thick dark brown eyebrows arched over his forehead symmetrically and his lashes fluttered gracefully as butterflies. His hair was your favourite part, ever since you helped take the guts out of his hair you missed the proximity and softness. His soft hair tickled the inside of your thighs and reminded you of a dog’s overgrown mane. It was beautiful to touch.

You then noticed the crevices appearing in his forehead and eye sockets. He starts to stir in his sheets, the peaceful expressions disappearing, turning into a pained one. He began making uncomfortable noises. He was going into a nightmare.

“Sam, hey wake up! Sam come on, wake up. It’s just a dream!” Sam’s head started moving side to side, the veins in his temple and neck protruding. His eyes were tightly shut and beads of sweat formed across his forehead. His hand gripped firmly onto the arm shaking his shoulder, the other gripping the the brown sheets. “SAM WAKE UP!” Shouting wouldn’t help anymore, looking around you see a cup of water on the nightstand.

——————————————————————— Sam jolted up with a gasp, cold water on his face which soaked most of his hair and nightshirt. He grasped onto as much air as possible, eyes wide trying to familiarize his surroundings. A sense of relief overcame him when he saw your concerned (e/c) eyes.

He saw how your eyes travelled over his face searching for an answer, too shocked or scared to say anything. He sighed, “Don’t tell Dean, please.”

“Ok, I won’t.” What was that, you thought to yourself, you’ve never seen this type of behaviour from him. “At least talk to me about it. You’ve been more tired than usual and it’s worrying. If you’re not gonna tell Dean, tell me.”

Sam smiled, his heart swell when he heard your confession. For once someone was listening to his struggles without ratting out to Dean.

“Um Sam…” Sam shares a confused look until you look down at your now red and numb arm. “Sorry!” Sam immediately retracts his arm away, allowing the blood to rush back to the area.

“It’s like you’ve never touched a girl before or something” you joke trying to lighten up the mood. He laughs under his breath. “Come downstairs and eat something.” You demanded as you rubbed your sore arm.

“It’s okay-“

“Sam.”

He grins his teeth as he sees your serious face. Cute, he thought.

You grab onto his large calloused hands and attempt to pull the giant out of bed, barely budging. “Oh my god, you are so friggin heavy. How are you built like a god with all that junk food?”

He jumps to his feet almost falling on top of you, your nose meeting his chest as the scent of fresh soap fills your nose. A blush rises to your skin at the proximity, looking up you see his brown eyes already staring down at you. You felt his thumb glazed over your smaller hands, which you both held onto each other. “So you think I’m built like a god huh?” Sam suggestively asks with a raised eyebrow.

Taking a quick step back, you playfully shove him away. “Haha very funny Indeed Winchester, get your ass downstairs.” Crossing your arms you wait till he exits his room, him and his footsteps disappearing into the hallway.

“(Y/n) THINKS I HAVE A HOT BODY” Sam shouts from the hallway; your eyes widen as instant embarrassment runs through your body. You hoped to god Dean didn’t hear or you’d never see the end of the teasing.

———————————————————————

You return to the kitchen to see two big babies chowing down on the meal you made, acting as if they hadn’t eaten in ages.

“(Y/n), THISH FWOOD ISH AMASHING” You barely make out the words as Dean continues to stuff his mouth with food. “What he said,” Sam says as he adds more food to his plate. You giggle as you sit next to Sam, glad to see them eating a proper meal. “Where did you even learn how to cook like this?” Dean asks. “My mom used to teach me the basics but then I picked it up more when I moved out. Haven’t cooked like this since University actually,” you answer. “So you’re gonna tell me we could’ve been eating like kings but you decided to torture us with takeout.” Dean jokes while dropping his fork on his plate. “I never hated you more.”

You burst out into laughter throwing your head back, “Please, you love me.” You say rolling your eyes. You noticed how Sam became quiet, twirling his food around a fork.

“Not as much as Sammy does,” Dean says with a devious smirk. Sam chokes on his food as you roll your eyes. “Very funny Dean” Sam glares at Dean.

“Sorry Sam but I’m off limits, too committed to (c/c).” You giggle as you jokingly twirl your hair. “He’s such a daring man dramatic sigh”.

“I’m gonna puke my food up if you keep acting like that,” Dean says with a disgusted face while trying to put even more food in his mouth.

You cheekily smile and see as Sam scoffs, taking note of the weird action. Dean gets up to put his plate away, you take this as a cue to start cleaning up the kitchen.

“Goodnight” Dean yells as he walks out the door. You and Sam both say goodnight. Then it hits you, that rascal. He left you and Sam in the kitchen alone. You can already feel the blood rushing to your ears, instead, you try to distract yourself by doing the dishes.

“Do you need help with anything?” His eyebrows knit together as he asks “Let me help clean at least.”

As much as you wanted him to rest, you couldn’t say no to him and his persuasion. Or maybe he had you wrapped around his finger. “Uh yeah, I’ll wash and you dry?” You offer pointing to the load of dishes. “Yeah, that’s great”. You grab the yellow sponge and begin scrubbing the sauces off the pots, leaving Sam to get the towel. Unmindful of you, you forget where the towels are, right in the cabinet in front of you, the towels stacked on the higher shelf. As you were about to move you felt Sam’s figure hover over your smaller frame. You freeze as you feel his body’s heat mingle with your cold body. His large hand rests on your lower back.

To another person, it could be a simple gesture, but to you, deep down you were screaming from the closeness of it all. Somehow Sam had always made you shy in his presence, you didn’t know if it was because of how smart and skilled he was that made you feel inadequate to him or how he made you weak in the knees with his beautiful…well everything. You’ve been close with other men like Dean, yet Sam’s touches and glances manage to get your cheeks red and heart pumping.

You mindlessly scrub a knife, hoping to finish the chore as soon as possible. “Ow ow ow…” you grimace in pain as the knife slices the side of your finger. You see Sam reacts quickly. Grabbing your hand and putting it under the faucet, turning on the cold water. “This looks pretty bad,” he says as he takes your hands in his. One hand holds on to your wrist while the other gently presses the cut, attempting to get as much blood out.

You could not imagine a more embarrassing moment, the one time you’re alone with Sam you embarrass yourself like a child. Yet you couldn’t ignore how Sam’s body was pressed against yours, you could feel the rough outlines in his body. The front of his leg pressed up against your butt.

“Does it hurt?” Sam asks, not looking away from the cut.

“It just stings but not too much” you reply, noticing the decreased blood spillage.

He takes your other hand and guides your fingers into mirroring his previous actions. “Don’t move I’ll be back”. His warmth fades and you stand still, waiting as the cold water cleans up your cut.

You throw your head back, groaning at your clumsiness.

——————————————————————- Hissing in pain, Sam dabs rubbing alcohol into your new cut. You’re now sitting in his room as it was the closest place with a first aid kit.

“There, all done. How does it feel?” Sam finishes wrapping a large bandaid around the wound.

“I am so much better now. Thank you, Sam.”

Sam gives you a soft smile and he cleans the area up, you watch as he picks up the remote and turns on the TV.

“I thought you were tired”

“Come on, it’s only like 10 pm. We’ll be fine.” Sam defends himself as he sits on the other side of the bed. “Come closer.” He pats the empty spot beside him.

You look stunned at what the Winchester is implying until you realize he means to lay against the headboard. You slowly get up, sitting beside Sam but leaving a good space between both your bodies.

“So what do you want to watch?” Sam asks as he starts surfing through movies on his TV.

“I’m okay with whatever.” ——————————————————————— You turn to Sam to talk to him about the climax when you realize he has dosed off. His head leaning back on the headboard, from the side it looked uncomfortable. Not knowing what to do, you decided to wait until the movie finished. ——————————————————————— You yawned as the movie neared its end, all the characters looking over the bleeding horizon as the camera zooms out. From the lack of movement, you assume Sam is still asleep. You take his phone off the nightstand and turn the do not disturb mode on, if other hunters need you, you’ll handle the case for them. He deserves some rest.

You pull out your phone to scroll through your private socials. Seeing a few edits of your (c/c) and quietly giggling to yourself. You take a glance at Sam, still dosed off. He looks better now. Wait, you look between your (c/c) and Sam. Omg, how did you not see it before? You groan internally as you stare at your phone; the long-haired, smart, well-mannered, and tall golden retriever guy. They were honestly so alike. You hoped the boys wouldn’t be able to see the resemblance.

You thought back to the moment at the table when you were gushing over (c/c) and Sam scoffed. Do you think he was jealous? No, no way. You calm yourself down before the redness reaches your face.

You felt a heavy weight shift onto your shoulder, his hair tickling the crevice of your neck. You didn’t want to wake him up by checking but it was very evident that Sam had fallen asleep on your shoulder. You could smell the sandalwood scent coming from his hair, wishing you could get more of the comforting smell.

Sam was tired and you knew it would be a big fuss if you woke him up. So, you stayed there, looking at the TV screen, trying to hold in any excitement or scream within you. The butterflies are swarming their way around your stomach. That is until you felt Sam’s arm wrap around your torso.

You stay still, unlike your body temperature which skyrockets at the sudden touch. You feel yourself being pulled towards him even more, his head snuggling dangerously close to your neck, his lips close to your skin. Sam’s hot breath created a burning sensation, your heat causing them to burn tenfold.

You weren’t gonna move, you couldn’t leave, you were stuck beside Sam for the rest of the night. You exhale trying to calm yourself; he’ll forget all about this tomorrow. This is totally what friends do. You cuddle and panic internally with Dean all the time. You couldn’t be lying more at this point. You shut your eyes, you carefully reach over to turn the nightlight off.

click

The only light was emitting from the faint blue light on the TV. Its light began to shut off as the room welcomed pure darkness.

So you lay there in the dark as you feel Sam’s body snuggled right up to yours, his arms holding you captive as his fingers twitch and graze you ever so often. This would be a dream if you guys were together. You’ve liked Sam ever since you knew him, and you love both him and Dean very much. Doing everything in your power to show how much you care for them. You just wanted Sam to love you and adore you the way you did.

You felt a wave of exhaustion hit you, and your own eyes became heavy with fatigue. Blinking slowly, you succumb to Sam’s comfort and allow your heavy head to lay on his.

#sam #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #samuel winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader #sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #tfw #tfw x reader #sam fluff #sam x reader fluff #Spotify

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catn4pp · 1 year ago

Text

Melodies of Hearts | Sam x Reader

AN: soft little story for nerdy sam <3

————————————————————————

The air smelled of fresh soil and the sun painted the landscape in hues of gold, there existed a simple beauty that enchanted all who dwelled within its boundaries.

You, the newest addition to Stardew Valley, found yourself drawn to someone. Sam’s genuine kindness and infectious enthusiasm couldn’t go overlooked . As you ventured into the local diner, you couldn’t help but notice him sitting at a corner booth, lost in conversation with Sebastian about their latest Dungeons & Dragons escapade.

With a bashful smile, you approached the table, greeted by Sam’s bright eyes and a warm welcome. From that moment on, your days were filled with his gentle presence, his nerdy quirks endearing you more with each passing encounter.

Sam’s obliviousness to his own charm only added to his allure. Instead of grand gestures, he expressed his affection through simple acts of kindness – a thumbs-up and a shy smile when you accomplished something, or a genuine interest in discussing his latest favorite movies or the intricacies of his most recent D&D campaign.

His passion for music was evident in every strum of his guitar, each note carrying a piece of his soul. Sometimes, he would invite you to his band practice, where you would sit in awe as he poured his heart into each performance, eyes shining with the joy of creating something beautiful.

In the tranquil evenings, you would often find yourselves stargazing by the riverbank, the gentle melody of the water mingling with Sam’s soft guitar chords. Wrapped in blankets under the vast expanse of the night sky, you shared your dreams and fears, finding solace in each other’s company.

As the seasons changed and the town flourished, your bond with Sam deepened, like the roots of a sturdy oak tree firmly planted in the earth. Together, you faced the challenges of farm life and the trials of the heart, knowing that as long as you had each other, you could weather any storm.

In the heart of Stardew Valley, where the sunsets painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, you found love in the most unexpected of places – in the melodies of Sam’s guitar, in the laughter that echoed through the fields, and in the quiet moments shared between two souls destined to be together

————————————————————————

#katt’s fics #sam sdv #sam stardew valley #sam x reader #sdv sam x reader #stardew valley #stardew valley x reader #sdv fluff #sam fluff

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p3ndeja6 · 1 year ago

Text

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

c.brock x latina! y/n

summary: you moved to LA to be with your long distance boyfriend, you were having a great time, but after a couple of months you started to feel homesick and missed your hometown and your culture

content tags: spanish speaking reader, mexican reader, cultural references, overall a hispanic reader, not proof-read

word count: 1.6k

fluff ❀﹐

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Y/N

I've loved my time here in LA with colby and sam and all their friends but i recently fell in a funk. I miss my family and my friends.

you were scrolling through your photos and snapchat memories of your time in your hometown and started to feel really homesick, you began to cry, you laid back on you side and cried.

you missed your mom's delicious cooking, how she would make handmade tortillas, or her salsa picante. you didnt have that here and nor did anyone make it, you didnt have any hispanic friends in LA. You would only hang out with sam and colby's friends

you liked them but they sometimes including colby didnt understand your jokes or references. it sometimes pained you that you felt out of place around them.

you connected your speaker in the room that was given to you when you first moved to their house, and a song that reminded you of your dad started to play; its your dad's favorite song, and you couldn't control the sadness that flowed through your body

you spent a good two hours just crying and eventually calmed down but you were puffy eyed and your breathing was skipped

you sat up to recollect your self before colby came home and would come in your room, until another song started to play from your playlist, a heart wrenching song that reminded you of your beloved parents.

you started to cry again, you leaned back to the head board and clutched your body as you were singing to the lyrics

Colby came in the room all happy and giddy until he saw you crying

"oh my god! y/n are you okay? are you hurt? does something hurt?"

he was panicking trying to figure out why you were crying.

"no... nothings wrong" you got up quickly and turned around to wipe your face. he also got up to try to look at you but you kept avoiding him until he grabbed you face and made you look at him

"y/n.. somethings wrong, please just tell me"

"you wont understand" "just try me"

you mustered up the courage to tell him the truth. you looked at him and started to tear up again

"i-i just feel... i just started to feel homesick, thats all" colby was relieved that it wasnt anything life threatening

"oh, well why is that?"

"i dont know... i just miss home, like i really do. my family and friends, my culture and the food, everything" you looked at how he felt hurt about how you were talking about missing your family and friends.

"dont get me wrong, i love being here with you, you make being here so bearable but i just miss my people.. thats all" you half smiled

"no.. yeah i get that, is there anything i can do to make you feel better?"

"no its fine, i just need a couple minutes alone thats all"

"yeah yeah sure... ill be downstairs if you need me alright?"

you kissed him and hugged him tightly, feeling so safe in his arms.

"thank you, i love you"

"i love you too" he walked out and closed the door, feeling terrible that you felt that way, he wished he could do something about your homesickness

COLBY

as i walked back downstairs to sit with sam on the couch, he noticed my upset mood.

"Everything alright dude?" "uh.. yeah its just y/n is feeling homesick and sorta on the verge of going back home"

"oh shit dude, i definitely know what she's feeling" " do you think we've made her not feel at home? you think I haven't made her feel like home?" " i mean we haven't really done anything to make her feel at home"

"shit dude youre right, we haven't, i feel like the worst boyfriend ever. cant even make my girlfriend feel loved or feel like this is her home"

i started to think about ways to make her feel at home, i can cook her favorite food? no its too late for that, its almost 8

"what should i do sam?" "how about you take her to the other side of LA, take her some place authentic, not might be like where she's from but its the closest thing we got"

"yeah yeah you're right, let me go tell her!"

i ran upstairs and came up to her door, softly knocked to let her know i was coming in, she was still there in bed listening to her spanish music.

"hey y/n.. how you holding up?" "hi.. im doing alright, still trying to get my breathing under control" she let out a dry giggle

i caressed her face admiring her glossy eyes and her stained cheeks, leaning down to kiss her on her forehead, " i was thinking-" she sat up "what were you thinking"

"how about i take you out to eat some place special?" "ehh im not in the mood to eat colby" "no cmon i know a place, trust me"

Y/N

he looked at me with pleading eyes, "sure why not"

"alright get reading in ten minutes" "okay" you smiled and got up to get ready, he left the room to let you get dressed

you wore some ripped jeans with your white Mexico world cup jersey, and some black platform converse. added some mascara and some lip balm before leaving you grabbed your purse

you went downstairs and was greeted by colby waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs. "hey y/n!"

"hey sam"

"you ready to go babe?"

"yes of course!"

"but before we leave i need you to put this on"

he was holding a blindfold, you looked at him confused and he went behind you to put the blindfold on, you were about to protest before he kissed your cheek and wrapped the blindfold around your eyes

"alright lets go, bye sam!"

you headed out the door, stumbling trying to remember all the steps to get to the car, colby opened the car door and helped you inside.

"was the blindfold really necessary?" "yeah babe, i want to surprise you"

"it wont really be a surprise if we go to in n out" he laughed at the assumption

"how about i put some music on?" "hmm yeah okay" colby connected his phone to the car's bluetooth and a song you recognized easily came on. you started to sing along to song. Colby created a playlist on your favorite spanish-speaking songs. He had to stalk your public Spotify playlist to be able to create the playlist.

"omg i love this song!!" you started to sing the song, pointing the lyrics to Colby not knowing how much of a distraction you are creating for him on the road.

still with the blindfold on you continue to sing all the songs that played, surprised how many spanish songs kept coming on

"omg how do you know these songs?!" "did you stalk my spotify?" you let out a laugh, "gosh y/n no I didn't" yes he did

you laughed at him, knowing well that this is from your playlist, or you thought it was just your playlist he started to play.

"are we there yet?" "no"

"are we there yet now?" "almost"

"what about now?" "actually yeah we are"

"why did it take you so long to drive to in n out if its only a 15 minute drive from the house?"

as you heard opening his side of the door, he rushed over to open your door, "well babe, we arent actually at in n out"

confused, wondering where else he would have taken you

"well.. where are we-" you started to smell the char smell of meat... taco meat.

"omg it smells so good.. where are we..?"

"well let me cross you over the street to find out" "what?"

you started to take off the blindfold until he stopped you, "ah ah ahh, no taking this off yet until i say so" "omg colby where are we"

he guided you across the street, smelling everything. it smelled like home almost, you started to hear the steam of a grill and the music that you grew up listening to. Hearing chatter among people.. in spanish?

"colby... where are we?"

colby finally let go of you and starting to take the blind fold off of you, you adjust to the light and rubbing your eyes a bit to clearly see the scene.

taqueros and vendedores making and selling snacks and meals. hearing them laugh, sing, and speak spanish.

"oh my god.." you said under your breath looking all over, small tears start to well up. "colby.. what is this?"

"i felt really bad that you were feeling homesick, and i hate seeing you cry, so i thought maybe i try to bring home to you... I know this isnt exactly home but i love you so much that i would do anything for you and to show you how much you mean to me, i dont want you to go home, i want to always make you happy y/n"

your tears finally fell, you fully realized how special and loving colby was, you felt so warm and loved.

"Colby... this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, you have no idea how much this means to me, and for you to actually consider this idea really brings me to tears, i am so completely in love with you"

you grabbed his head and kissed him, deepening the kiss and full engulf his lips. you let go and admire his big beautiful eyes.

"gosh.. well cmon lets eat something, what kind of tacos do you want babe?" "ehh i have no clue what to get, everything looks so good, how about you order me something"

you smiled at him, wondering how did you get so lucky to have someone so special such as colby brock

you turned over to the taquero and smiled at him, the man smiling back at you and asking what you what would you like to eat.

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theweightofakiteofdreamsingold · 2 years ago

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Tease-Sam Kiszka

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, mature themes, smoking, oral sex (male and fem receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, language, MINORS DNI.

A/N: Okay. This is my first Sammy fic, so be kind. 🥺 I think Sam is such a sub, so I tried my best at making him one. I hope you all enjoy it.

-Ken

Your jaw clenched as you reached for your glass. Your eyes burning into the back of his head. He had to feel your gaze scorching him. He was choosing to ignore it. Ignore you. You watched as he fluttered around the pool table, following the petite blonde with fake tits, like a lost puppy dog.

You took a sip of the cool liquid, hoping to extinguish the fire burning deep in your stomach. You knew why he was doing this. The dark little part of him he only let you see, wanted you seething and green with envy. You watched as the game of pool came to an end. Sam leaned a hip on the table, facing the nameless blonde, and you. You stared at him as you noticed his eyes glued to her chest. Your heart pounded as he flicked his eyes up, past her, landing on yours, a cocky smirk planted on his face. Then his attention was back on her.

That's it. You were going to drag him out of this bar by his luscious locks and teach him a lesson. Your hands gripped the table, preparing for your attack, but you were stopped by a light tap on the wrist. You turned your head to Josh, who was seated next to you.

"Everything okay?" He raised an eyebrow, unaware of the game being played by you and Sam.

You cleared your throat, easing back into the booth. You scanned the faces of everyone at the table. Jake gave you a knowing smile like he knew what the darkness in your eyes meant, like he had been there before. Danny's puppy dog eyes were filled with questions.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything is good." You took a deep breath and painted on your best smile.

The boys continued their conversations about the band, the tour, and all things Greta. You stayed focused on them and ignored Sammy's childish antics. For the most part. You kept him as a blur in your peripheral, noticing how his head seemed to be turned towards you more often.

...

"I was absolutely killing it in pool tonight. Did ya see?" Sam turned his head to you before looking back at the road.

He had been non-stop talking since you got in the car. You hadn't gotten a word in, not that you had anything to say. Your mind was buzzing with all the possibilities of punishment you could inflict once you were home. Your eyes were focused on the road. You decided to let Sam drive home, which only happened every so often. He was a passenger princess in every sense of the phrase.

"That blonde was pretty cute. Sara."

You could feel the scummy smile he had on his face after he spoke. Your jaw clenched, but you forbid yourself from reacting further. You pulled an almost full pack of cigarettes from the passenger side pocket, slipping one out. You rolled the window down and lit it with the lighter from the same location. You inhaled deeply and then exhaled a stream of smoke out the window.

You were not a regular smoker. You smoked when you drank, and when you were extremely cross. Right now, you didn't know which reason was the source of your craving. Sam held his pointer and middle fingers to you, signaling he wanted a drag. You took another puff, then tossed it out the window. He mumbled something under his breath as he turned into the driveway.

You made your way out of the car, taking your time to check your belongings. You didn't want to expose your excitement. You sauntered to the front door behind Sam and waited as he fumbled with the key. You noticed his hands shaking slightly despite his cool demeanor. He knew he was in trouble.

He finally opened the door, letting you walk in first. You hung your purse on one of the hooks hanging in the foyer. You turned to Sam. His eyes were on you as he slipped his shoes off. You smiled and slowly closed the space between you. Your fingers lightly feathered over the exposed skin peeking behind his half buttoned shirt. He let out a shakey breath, watching you with caution.

"Why so nervous, Sam?" You looked up at him with furrowed brows. "Are you worried you did something wrong?" You reached a hand up, stroking his cheek.

He licked his lips as he moved his hands to grab your waist. Before he could make contact, you grabbed a fist full of his hair, pulling down sharply until he was on his knees in front of you, hissing at your grasp. You leaned down to his eye level.

"You think it's cute to make me look like a fool, Sammy?" You asked. Your tone no different than asking someone for the time.

His mouth hung open while his eyes focused on your lips. You reased his hair from your fist. You stood up and placed the sole of your high-heeled shoe on his chest.

"Take it off." You looked down at him with a raised brow.

His eyes traced up your leg to the edge of your skirt. He could see the hot pink thong hugging your cunt. He swallowed hard before moving his hands to the thick strap around your ankle.

"I'm sorry." He spoke in a hushed tone. He slipped your foot from your shoe, kissing the top of it.

You sat it on the ground and replaced it with your other foot. "Quiet." You answered back sternly. His mouth opened to speak. You dug your heel into his chest with light pressure, warning him to keep it to himself. He took the hint and finished his work, removing your shoe.

"Go kneel in front of the couch. I'll be there shortly." He stood up and moved eagerly past you. You noted the impression of his hard cock though his pants as he went by.

You made your way to the kitchen, grabbing a wine glass and a bottle of your favorite sweet white wine. You poured yourself a glass and took a slow sip. You knew Sam would be antsy. Rubbing his moist palms on his slacks, trying to peek his head around the corner to see if you were coming. You wanted him to sweat. You smirked, taking another sip before heading to the living room.

He was sitting on his knees, his back to you, facing the couch just like you had asked. You padded your way to him, raking your fingernails through his sleek locks.

"Look at you sitting so pretty for me, Sammy. You're such a good boy when you listen." He took a sharp inhale at your praises.

You moved into the small gap between him and the couch and sat down. You placed a foot on either side of his legs and let your knees fall apart while you relaxed back into the cushions. He started hungrily at your center.

"Can I touch you, baby? Please?" He looked up with longing eyes, his fingers twitching.

You ran your pointer finger around the edge of your glass, watching as it indented the skin.

"Hmm. I don't know. Do you feel like you've earned it?" You looked down at him, tilting your head to the side in question.

You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. His eyes fluttered closed as he cleared his throat.

"I said I was sorry. I shouldn't have talked to that girl." His eyes opened, deep and sorrowful.

"Oh, Sammy." You leaned forward, grabbing his chin and pulling him to you until your lips were almost touching. "You're not sorry. But you're gonna be."

You smiled as you leaned back, taking a sip of your wine before sitting it on the end table. You traced your fingers down your sides until you got to the hem of your dress. You curled your fingers under it and pulled up slowly. Sam's eyes followed your movements, licking his lips in anticipation. You lifted your hips, pulling your dress over your ass and stopping once your lower half was exposed. You heard the soft groan he let out as he gazed at your heat through the lace of your panties.

"You're gonna lick my pussy until I decide you're sorry. Got it?" You spread your legs a little wider and slipped a finger into the side of your panties, pulling them to the side. He leaned in, breathing you in deeply.

"Yes, ma'am. I got it." His eyes locked on yours as he stuck out his tongue, running it from your entrance to your clit.

You moaned softly, letting your head fall back. He swirled his tongue around your swollen clit before taking it between his lips, sucking gently. You looked down at him, your chest rising and falling quickly. His eyes were closed, lost in pleasing you. Your fingers locked into his hair and tugged. His eyes opened and found yours.

"Fuck, Sam. You're so pretty between my legs." You breathed out.

He pulled away from you, his lips puffy and pink from sucking you.

"Touch me, Sammy," you whined softly, releasing your grasp on his hair.

He eagerly slid his hands up your legs to your inner thighs. He leaned down and placed light kisses to your skin, letting his slender fingers find your heat. He rested his cheek on the top of your thigh as he slipped through your folds, rubbing slow circles on your bud. Your hips bucked into his touch, silently signaling your want for more. He moved his hand from you and parted his lips, bringing his glistening fingers to them. You let out an involuntary gasp as you watched his tongue coat his fingers in his saliva.

He smirked as he brought them down to your entrance, teasing you before slipping them in at a leisurely pace. He watched as you sucked him in. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, making it shine. He curled upwards once he was down to his second knuckle. You reached a hand down, grabbing his wrist and digging your nails into his skin delicately. Your eyes closed as you arched your back off the couch.

He pumped in and out of you, setting a steady pace, the thumb of his other hand rubbing your throbbing clit.

"Yes, Sam. Don't stop," you moaned out, letting your head fall back.

"Yeah? Does that feel good, mommy?" He asked just above a whisper.

You clenched around him as the words left his mouth. He had never called you mommy before, and you felt like you should be ashamed of how much it turned you on, but you weren't. You squeezed his wrist firmly as you tried to push him out of you.

"Come here." Your voiced cracked as you tried to keep your dominant persona present.

He stood up and leaned over you. He placed his wet fingers to your lips, and you graciously accepted them in. He watched with lidded eyes and a slack jaw as you swirled your tongue around them. He removed his fingers then placed his hands on either side of your head, the back of the couch supporting his weight as he leaned further into you. His lips pressed into yours with a fiery need. He took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit down. You let out a breathy moan as your pussy clenched around nothing.

You reached your hands out to his chest, fingers fumbling with the few closed buttons on his shirt. He smiled against your lips, clearly amused at how desperate you seemed for him. He straightened and shrugged his shirt off his shoulders, letting it drift to the floor.

"Pants too," you instructed, gaining some composure.

You watched the muscles in his hands flex under the skin as he undid the button and fly of his pants. He let them fall to the ground, running a hand through his hair as he stepped out of them. You stood from the couch, taking a step so you were inches from his face. Your eyes scanning over his beautiful features as your hands ran up his sides.

"Sit down." You took a side step, unblocking his path to the couch.

He raised an eyebrow before moving to sit. He leaned back with his arms stretched out on the back of the couch, his legs spread. You stood in front of him, slipping your fingers under the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up over your head.

His eyes watched you as you slid your bra straps down your shoulders and unhooked it from behind, letting it fall to the ground. His tongue glided over his plush lips, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his underwear.

"You're so fucking sexy." His head shaking in disbelief as he spoke.

You smiled, pushing your panties down your legs, moving between his legs as you stepped out of them. You sank to your knees in front of him, your hands sliding up his thighs to the waistband of his boxers. He groaned when your fingers found their way in, pulling him free from his confinement. You kissed the tip of his warm cock, already leaking with pre-cum and throbbing in your hand.

"Looks like someone is eager." You winked before parting your lips, taking him into your mouth.

His head snapped back while his hands found your hair. "Oh god," he moaned out in relief.

You swallowed him down until he hit the back of your throat. He hissed and yanked your hair at the root, causing you to moan against him. The vibrations making him whimper. You bobbed up and down on him until his moans grew louder and closer together. You popped off of him, wiping the corners of your mouth. He whined in protest, his eyes begging for more.

"You don't get to cum yet, silly. You have to take care of mama first." You straddled him while you spoke, the tip of his cock resting on your clit.

You rocked your hips over him slowly. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth hung open. You leaned into him, kissing his lips while you reached between your legs, wrapping your fingers around his cock. You pushed it into your entrance, making you both sigh into each other's mouths.

You leaned back and placed your hands on his knees, giving him full view of him sliding in and out of you. You moved your hips up and down on him slowly. He slid a hand up your chest and wrapped loosely around the side of your neck.

"Jesus, y/n. You feel. So. Fucking. Good." His eyebrows scrunched together while he bit down on his bottom lip.

His kept his eyes on the space where you connected, soft whines escaping him. You leaned your head back, focusing on keeping a steady pace and the delicious feeling of him filling you up. You panted and moaned for him. His cock always felt like it was made for you. You fit perfectly together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

You felt his thumb rubbing circles over your clit. You lifted your head, looking down to where his fingers were, then up to him. A light sheen of sweat was shining on his forehead. His eyes, dark and full of lust, burned into yours.

"Oh fuck, Sammy. Right there, don't stop." You breathed, your hips moving up and down on him faster as the fire ignited in your core.

You clenched around him, a sinfully whiney moan escaping him. You smirked, pleased with the way you were making him come undone.

"You think your little slut would fuck you this good?" You asked, sitting up and digging your fingers into his shoulders.

You felt his cock twitch inside of you as you stilled in his lap. Your lips found his neck, leaving slow, sloppy, wet kisses to his jaw. His hands found your hips, squeezing firmly.

"Tell me, Sam. Would she?" Your teeth grazed against his cheek as his chest heaved against yours.

He swallowed hard and took a trembling breath before answering. "No. No one can make me feel as good as you do." He wiggled his hips, trying desperately to get you to move on him.

"Good boy," you hummed in his ear before lifting up and dropping down on his cock again.

He gasped, throwing his head back. You wrapped an arm around his neck, using your free hand to grab his chin, tilting his head back up.

"Look at me,” you whispered.

His eyes locked on yours as you panted and moaned, the wet, slapping noises as you bounced on him added fuel to the fire burning inside of you. He was so fucking pretty. You traced over his face, taking him in. His blushed cheeks, his tongue darting out every so often wetting his plush lips, the adoration swimming in his eyes.

"You're so good to me. I don't deserve you. I don't deserve your pussy. This delicious, velvet-soft pussy. Fuck, baby." He clenched his jaw as he snaked his arms around your waist. He held you down as he lifted his hips and fucked into you.

His words and sudden action made you explode. "Fuck, Sam. I'm coming. Fuck!" You squealed as the fire spread through every inch of you.

"That's right. Cum on this cock, sweetheart. Yes!" He pounded you through your orgasm until he was shaking. You knew he wasn't far behind.

"Fill me up, baby. Need it so bad. Please, Sammy." You whimpered, giving him your best doe eyes and pouty lips.

He thrusted a few times before he grunted, his eyes squeezing shut. His mouth hung open, moaning your name while he pumped you full of his warmth. You rested your forehead on his, both of you trying to catch your breath. After a few moments, he leaned into you, his lips connecting with yours. He kissed you so tenderly that you could have cried.

"I love you, angel." He whispered, pulling back and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You felt a tear roll down your cheek, his finger swiping it away as you smiled. "I love you too, Sam."

"I know." He kissed your cheek and pulled you against him, squeezing you tight.

You rested your head on his shoulder as your hearts beat in unison against each other. You were one in the same. He was yours, and you were his. You sniffled, lifting your head.

"Take a bath with me?" You asked, running your hand though his hair.

He nodded, helping you off of him. He padded off to the bathroom to start the bath while you went to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of wine and two glasses.

...

You laid against his chest in the warm, bubbly water. Soft music flowed from the small speaker on the bathroom counter as you talked and laughed with him, looking forward to snuggling up with him in bed and drifting into a dream-filled sleep.

#greta van fleet #greta van smut #gvf #starcatcher #greta van fic #sammy kiszka fic #sammy kiszka smut #sammy kiszka #sam kiszka #sam kiszka gvf #sammy gvf #sam fluff

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phanatomism · 2 months ago

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𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐍 𝟗𝟗.𝟏 - 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐘 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄...

“it doesn’t matter who you are, it only matters what you do.” — sam winchester

series

lost ep. 1

imagines

nothing here yet…

oneshots

nothing here yet…

moodboards

← 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

𖤐 phanatomism 2025

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itsmkjones · 2 years ago

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Imagine: Sam forcing you to go to bed

Okay. So you'd gotten a little obsessive. And, sure, that tunnel vision drive had robbed you of a real night sleep for three days straight, resulting in unplanned naps at an hour intervals at most, adding up to two whole hours. But was it really fair that your body demanded sleep when Sam and Dean habitually did the same thing? And that's how you got to day four, hallucinating every time you looked at something too bright or too dark.

"Y/n…?" Sam called out softly after coming into the room to see you staring blankly at your hand. "You alright?"

"Huh?" You could barely pay attention to him, much less summon the mental stamina to craft a proper response.

Sam hesitated. "I asked if you were alright…"

"Uh huh."

Sam glanced back, wondering if he should call for Dean, then decided to approach you first instead. "What's going on?"

"This spot on my wrist."

"Spot?" Sam blinked in surprise when you clumsily shoved your hand in his face. He gently took it wrist. "I see it. What about it?"

"It's a spider."

Sam's brows knitted. "What?"

"All spots are spiders."

"Uh…"

"Spider. Spider. Spider." You repeated, poking the visible moles on his skin. "It goes away when you touch it. Then reappears!"

"Are you high or something?"

"Let me take off your shirt." You didn't wait for permission, sliding your hands up his hard abs. You would have enjoyed it more if your brain didn't feel encased in cotton, but as a solid to your future self, you made sure to indulge in the experience.

"Why the hell are you taking off my shirt?" Sam's voice cracked as he startled back, hands wavering in the air, unsure of what to do.

"You have the cutest mole right… here." You caressed the curve of his neck.

Sam's breath hitched and his throat worked as he struggled to reply. "You didn't need to take my shirt off to see it- Y/n!"

You opportunistically slipped under his shirt, kissing the spot. "God, I've always wanted to do that."

"Have you been drinking?" Sam jumped back when your hand dipped under his jeans. "Jesus, Y/n! What the hell?"

You blinked at him, mind blanking.

"Y/n?" Sam stepped forward cautiously when you didn't respond. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Yesterday maybe?" You felt yourself swaying, but it didn't feel dangerous even when Sam jerked forward to keep you upright.

"For how long?"

"I don't know math." You scowled indignantly. "How dare you, Winchester? -Like twenty minutes or something."

Sam sighed. "How long has it been since the last time you really slept?"

"Um…" You closed your eyes to think and the swaying got worse. "Anyways. Take off your pants."

"What? No." Sam frowned. "Try to concentrate for a second."

"How can I supposed to do that?" You whined shamelessly. "Real Y/n wants to see the goods!"

Sam flushed and it took clearing his throat twice to find his voice. "Real Y/n?"

You nodded. "Awake Y/n. Not sleepy Y/n." You grabbed his waistband. "There's a pot going on amongst hunters about how hung you are. I'll keep it a secret if you do, but shouldn't I know since we're friends? You can't keep secrets from your friends."

"Okay. Bedtime for you." Sam threw you over his shoulder when your fingers started to graze downward.

"I'm not sleepy." You pouted. "My brain is too awake."

"I'll give you warm milk or something. Just get into the bed and stop touching me." Sam's voice was hard.

You stopped sliding your hands over the lines of his back muscles sulkily. "You're so bossy. Isn't it your fault that you're so damn fine? Take some responsibility! Coming out of the shower with nothing, but a towel on…"

"I didn't know you were there!"

"That doesn't make me not want to lick every damn drop of water off of you." You suddenly became cheerful. "Stay hydrated everyone."

"Please stop talking." Sam swallowed hard.

"I'll show you yours, if you show me mine." You offered.

"That's not-" Sam broke off with a sigh, then pushed open your bedroom door and set you down. "Get some sleep." He sighed again when you stared at him in blank confusion. "Sleep, Y/n. Please?"

"I forgot how the bed works."

"You forgot…" Sam covered his eyes with his hands, scrubbing his face hard. "Go lay down."

You walked backwards until your legs hit the bed, then toppled inelegantly on the mattress. Sam's face fell. Begrudgingly, he scooped you up and laid you further back on the blankets. He rolled you up tightly in an impromptu swaddle before you could do anything else.

"I'm a burrito. Eat me."

"Go to sleep, Y/n."

"But you and Dean stay up all the time." Your face crumpled with a wave of sorrow.

Sam softened. "You aren't us."

"But you won't want me anymore."

Sam's lips thinned with an empathetic smile. "We can talk about this later."

"You've got a cute mole by your nose too."

Sam turned off the light, but didn't leave. A moment later, you felt him sit next to you. "I never had anyone try to help me fall asleep, so I'm not really sure how to help you, but… I saw this in a movie once. A mom putting down her kid…"

You relaxed instantly as his fingers brushed back your hair in long, gentle strokes. Sam smiled at your satisfied hums.

"Good night, Y/n." Sam said softly when your breathing slowed.

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supernaturalfreewill · 2 years ago

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Sam woke rather abruptly in the middle of the night and for some reason found himself wandering out to the front of the bunker on a feeling. And there you were, still straining your eyes as you squinted at your laptop...

"Y/N," he said gently.

You looked up suddenly, slightly startled to see him standing there. "Sam? Are you okay?"

He laughed lightly. "Me? I'm fine. I was sleeping. I thought you said you were going to bed early tonight."

You looked back at the screen and continued clicking around. "I did."

He frowned, his brow drawing down over his eyes. "Well, it's 3:30 am..."

"Oh—well... shit."

Sam's hands landed on his hips, his mouth tight in a thin line. "Yeeeah. Alright. Come on. Bed. Let's go," he said, pacing the rest of the way over to you. "All the research will still be here in the morning."

You rubbed a hand over your face. "I don't think I can sleep..."

Sam sighed. "You need to rest. At least just—just come lay down for a bit." Your expression was still hesitant. "With me? Please? And I promise if you can't sleep that I'll get up with you, make coffee, and we can get back to this together."

"Sam, I don't want you not to sleep," you argued. "You should sleep if you can."

"Well, I can't now that I know you're up," he argued.

You sighed at the look he was giving you. "Fine... I'll try."

He smiled. "Great. My room or yours?"

Prompt: "I thought you said you were going to bed early tonight." / "I did." / "Well, it's 3:30 am..." / "Oh—well... shit."

#sam winchester #sammy the moose #sam winchester drabbles #supernatural imagines #spn fics #sammy winchester #sam fluff

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spnfanficpond · 8 months ago

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How My Light Is Spent

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Case Fic, Blindness, Blind Dean Winchester, Brothers, Brotherly Love, Angst, Fluff and Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Stanford Era (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester Summary:

Dean isn't sure what had just woken him up. He lies in bed, perfectly still, taking shallow breaths, and listens.

He doesn't know what time it is. He got back from his solo hunt and dropped into bed like a stone. No doubt it's still the middle of the night, with how pitch black everything is.

No, not black like the night; it's completely dark, like a cave, like a windowless cell.

Like a coffin.

Admin Michelle here with another SPNFanFicPond Fic Highlight!

Holy moly, this one had me tense on the edge of my seat all the way through it!! Reading Dean's inner monologue as he tries to work his way through what's happening to him and how to get help to fix it was heartbreaking. This is so well written, that I could feel Dean's panic as I was reading about it. Part of me really wants someone to make a podfic of this so someone who is visually impaired can read it and give their opinion, too.

In short, this is an excellent study in Dean's inner monologue when he's in trouble, how he reaches out for help, and how relieved and comforted he feels when it arrives. The way he feels about Sam just shines through and warms the heart!

#spnfanficpond fic highlight #no pairing #dean winchester #sam winchester #one shot #dean one shot #angst fic #dean angst #fluff fic #dean fluff #sam fluff

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neogotmysam · 27 days ago

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am i crazy that this made me cry? im just a romantic in the heart, and this is all i want in life. like genuinely irl being so pushed to the seams and unsure of everything and then reading stuff like this and just wanting to fast forward a few years where maybe this could be my life one day AH.

these were some of my fave parts, the parts that made me YEARRNNN

"walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home." "saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful. you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right. you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop." "the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire." "“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture… but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.” you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever. in that moment, september never felt sweeter." "the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery. “we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining."” y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her." "they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars. they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava. they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves. “this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest. “then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.” and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale. it sounded like a promise."

marry me, mr. jeong

summary: while everyone around you is getting married, you're left behind—no ring, no lover, just silence waiting at home. but one night, your boss, mr. jeong, makes an unexpected proposal: "marry me." and suddenly, your quiet world begins to burn.

pairing: boss!jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: romance, slow burn, fluff, emotional smut, domestic married life, eventual pregnancy, emotional growth, healing.

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), strong language, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy mention (later), minor angst, lots of kissing, crying, soft husband jaehyun, tooth-rotting fluff, crying-in-the-club type of love.

wc: 19,7K

notes: i’m obsessed with jaehyun as a boss, boyfriend, hubby, and daddy lmao. man’s got range 😮‍💨💍🖤 i swear i try to keep it short but my brain goes rogue every time 😭 like girl be fr, when’s the day i finally drop a short fic??? bye lmao 💀

you’re twenty-nine, and the number feels heavier than you thought it would. not because it’s old—not really—but because thirty is close. and thirty means expectations. by now, you were supposed to have it all figured out. at least, that’s what they say. your friends certainly make it seem that way with their photo-perfect marriages, toddlers learning to walk, houses in peaceful neighborhoods. meanwhile, you still live in a quiet apartment with plants you often forget to water and a fridge that holds more takeout containers than groceries.

you work at an architecture firm—clean lines, big ideas, and even bigger egos. the kind of place where late nights are common and recognition is rare. you’ve built a name for yourself, though. you lead your team well, your ideas consistently get approved, and your work ethic has never been in question. the other women whisper that you’re just trying to impress the boss, that your dedication is nothing but a strategic flirtation. they don't know that your passion isn’t about pleasing anyone but yourself. well, mostly. maybe part of you does want to be seen. to be acknowledged by him.

jeong jaehyun.

your department lead. two years younger than you, but somehow always carrying himself like he’s lived three lives already. he doesn’t talk much. doesn’t engage in the small talk that fills the office kitchen or the empty flattery some of your coworkers throw his way. he’s serious, focused, almost too calm. the kind of man who’s unreadable, and yet somehow always watching. you’re not close, not really, but there’s a quiet understanding between you. he trusts you. you can feel it in the way he gives you space to lead, the way he nods subtly in meetings when you speak, the way his eyes linger sometimes—not in a way that feels invasive, but like he’s... thinking.

you’ve never seen him flirt with anyone. never seen him talk about his personal life. no ring, no photos on his desk, not even vague mentions of a girlfriend or family. and while no one dares to say anything to his face, everyone wonders. he's a man, though—no one criticizes him for being single. no one asks him what he's waiting for.

you, on the other hand, can barely go a week without someone making a comment. still not married? you’re so pretty, what a shame. your mother means well, but every call ends with a variation of you’re not getting any younger, sweetheart.you smile through it. you tell them you're happy. you tell yourself that, too. but deep down, there's a quiet ache. because you’ve always wanted a family. always dreamed of being a mother, of coming home to someone who knows you—not just your schedule or your favorite takeout order, but the way you think, the way you feel things deeply and try to hide it. but love hasn’t knocked in years. not since your last relationship ended at twenty-two, before the world hardened your heart. since then, you’ve been too busy, too careful, too tired.

tonight, you're staying late again. the office is nearly empty, save for a few flickering lights and the buzz of a vending machine down the hall. you're finessing the last pieces of a major project, making sure every detail is just right. you're in the zone when you hear soft footsteps approaching, and then his voice—low, familiar, closer than expected.

“you’re still here, byun?”

you glance up to find jaehyun standing by your desk, hands in his pockets, that usual unreadable expression on his face. there’s no judgment in his voice, just quiet curiosity.

you offer a tired smile, leaning back in your chair. “oh, mr. jeong, i just wanted to polish a few things before the presentation. i figured if i leave anything messy, the senior managers will rip it apart. and then you’ll take the heat for it.”

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that almost looks like a smile. “you care that much about how i look to the execs?”

you shrug, turning back to your screen. “you’re my boss. if you look bad, i look bad.”

he lets out a soft exhale, a sound that's dangerously close to a chuckle. then he leans against your desk, his body relaxed but his eyes still sharp as ever. “you’re too committed.”

“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he shakes his head. “not bad. just... rare.”

a brief silence settles between you, not awkward, but weighted. it feels like he’s about to say something else, and when he does, it’s not what you expect.

“doesn’t your family mind that you stay this late?” his gaze holds yours. “your husband? kids?”

you blink, the question catching you off guard. your smile falters just slightly, and you look down at your hands before answering.

“no husband. no kids. no one waiting at home.” you try to sound casual, even throw in a little laugh. “i guess i’m just married to the job.”

he doesn’t laugh. doesn’t look away. “i didn’t know.”

you nod, suddenly very aware of the silence around you. “most people assume. but... yeah. i live alone.”

another pause. then, gently, you ask, “what about you, mr. jeong? i mean, you’re always here late too. no one waiting on you?”

he looks away for the first time, his jaw tightening slightly before he answers. “no one yet.”

and there it is again—that silence between you. but this time, it’s different. it hums with something unspoken. curiosity. surprise. maybe even recognition.

you return your gaze to the screen, not really seeing it. he’s still standing there, close enough to feel but not close enough to touch. something in the air shifts, and for the first time in a long time, your chest feels... not heavy, but full.

the next morning, you arrived a few minutes early—just like always. being punctual wasn’t about impressing anyone; it was about control, about proving—at least to yourself—that you had your life together. it made you feel reliable. consistent. in a workplace full of half-assed excuses and people who couldn’t meet a deadline to save their lives, your discipline was something you wore like armor. something no one could take from you.

your outfit was soft, delicate even—rose-pink skirt brushing just above your knees, a crisp white button-up tucked in neatly, the blazer matching your skirt in a subtle pastel tone. your heels clicked softly against the tile floor as you made your way to your desk, and as you passed the reflection on one of the glass panels, you couldn’t help but think: i look good today.

you did. your hair was in place, makeup light but elegant, lips tinted a faint nude-pink. polished. pretty. professional. but beneath all that... you also looked a little alone. not that anyone would say it to your face—but you could see it sometimes, in the glances people gave you. admiration, maybe. pity, sometimes. curiosity always.

you sat down, smoothing your skirt and adjusting your chair, reaching for the little yellow post-it you’d stuck to the side of your monitor the day before. your handwriting was neat, methodical. a short list of pending tasks, each one already being mentally checked off as you booted up your computer. you didn’t waste time—your fingers flew across the keyboard, and within minutes the familiar sounds of productivity filled your small corner of the office: the rhythmic clack of keys, the soft hum and spit of the printer warming up to spit out proposals and reports.

you didn’t hear him come in.

you were too deep in the flow, too focused on aligning the final report with the visual standards the company demanded. your eyes scanned the document line by line, searching for typos, ensuring everything was clean, sharp, presentable. the sound of footsteps behind you didn’t register until you felt it—that subtle, electric awareness that comes when someone is watching.

“good morning, byun. please leave the project report on my desk once it’s ready.”

he didn’t look at you. just passed by, smooth and quick, his voice calm and firm, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, the familiar scent of roast beans and expensive cologne trailing behind him like a silent presence. his stride didn’t falter, his gaze fixed ahead, like he’d already moved on to the next ten things in his mind. you barely had time to nod, mouth parted to respond, but he was already disappearing behind his office door.

you blinked.

right. the report.

you gathered the last printed pages, slid them into the presentation folder, double-checked the order, smoothed the cover with your palm before rising from your seat. your heels clicked softly against the floor as you made your way down the short corridor, your fingers lightly tapping the edge of the folder, nerves tightening with each step even if there was nothing to be nervous about. it was just work. just jaehyun. just another report.

you knocked once and entered when he answered. he was seated behind his desk, sleeves already rolled up to his elbows, the dark veins of his forearms visible as he typed something on his laptop. he glanced up, briefly, then reached for the report when you held it out.

“thank you,” he said, flipping it open with precision, already scanning the contents. “at two p.m. we have the meeting with upper management. you’ll be joining me at the table. along with choi and hwang.”

you nodded. “understood.”

“good. go over the numbers one more time before then. they’re likely to ask.”

“yes, mr. jeong.”

and that was it. no warm smile. no thank you. just professional, cold efficiency. you turned and left, closing the door gently behind you before returning to your desk, the weight of the upcoming meeting settling on your shoulders like a familiar cloak. you’d been through this before. plenty of times. but it never got easier. not when the room was full of men in suits who barely hid their condescension, who chewed through ideas like tasteless gum until someone—usually jaehyun—said something smart enough to catch their interest.

you spent the next few hours fine-tuning the financial section, making sure your data was clean, graphs properly labeled, estimates realistic but still ambitious. it was a delicate game—making things sound innovative without actually suggesting anything too risky. they didn’t want bold. they wanted impressive illusions of boldness packaged in safe wrapping.

the meeting room was as bland as ever. too much glass, too much beige. you sat at the long table beside jaehyun, your laptop open, presentation ready. the managers arrived first, already complaining about another team’s failed prototype. the director entered last, stone-faced as always, his tie perfect, his opinion impossible to read.

as expected, the meeting dragged. they picked apart the proposal, paragraph by paragraph, expressionless until one of them grimaced like the very concept of originality offended them. you watched them, these men who nodded at each other but rarely smiled, who offered feedback that wasn’t feedback, just empty phrases like “it needs more punch” or “is this trend even scalable?”

then jaehyun spoke.

his voice was calm, slow, measured. and yet he made every single line sound convincing. powerful. like there was no other way forward but the one he was laying out. the room shifted around him. the tension eased. eyes narrowed—not in skepticism now, but interest. he wasn’t just presenting; he was selling a vision, and you felt yourself straightening with pride even if the credit wasn’t yours.

until he said your name.

“y/n,” he said, still facing the director. “if you could present the budget projections.”

you froze for a half second. not out of fear—just... surprise. you hadn’t expected him to call on you so soon.

you stood, smoothed your skirt unconsciously, and took a breath before switching slides. your voice was steady, even if your palms were clammy.

“these are the projections for the next two quarters,” you began, pointing at the chart. “we’ve estimated a moderate increase in cost during the development phase, with a break-even point projected for the beginning of q3. depending on the approved budget, we’re looking at a return on investment of approximately—”

you kept going, explaining the graphs, walking them through the numbers with careful clarity. no embellishments, no guesswork. facts. you swallowed once, clearing your throat before the final slide, then ended with a nod.

when you sat back down, jaehyun glanced at you. just a moment. a flicker of something almost soft in his expression.

like you’d done well. like you couldn’t possibly disappoint him.

the rest of the meeting blurred. the managers began tossing in extra suggestions—small changes, tweaks they hoped would impress the director. the man nodded, offered vague praise, and you remained at your seat, listening to it all with a practiced, patient expression.

when the meeting finally ended, you stood beside jaehyun again. he didn’t say much—he never did—but as he packed his laptop, he looked at you.

“good work today,” he said. “you’re an essential part of the team. if you keep this up, i’ll make sure your name’s considered for the upcoming promotions.”

you stared at him, momentarily stunned. the words hit harder than you expected. you’d worked for five years, given everything to this company, and this—this was the first time someone above you had said something that felt... real.

“thank you,” you said softly, trying not to let your smile get too big. “really.”

he nodded. “you earned it.”

later, when the director extended the dinner invitation, you didn’t hesitate. it wasn’t optional. the team needed to show up, needed to mingle, to pretend everything was a celebration and not an endless cycle of office politics masked with clinking glasses.

the bar was upscale but casual enough to loosen people’s ties. smoke from grilled meats hung faintly in the air, the tang of sweet sauces and roasted garlic filling the space. you sat between your supervisor and jaehyun, trying not to feel too stiff in your work clothes. everyone was drinking, toasting, laughing louder than they had all day.

the supervisor leaned forward, voice slightly slurred. “you know,” he said to the director, “the whole prototype? the mockup? the execution timeline? all her. y/n practically carried the whole thing.”

the director turned to you, surprised. “really? how long have you been here?”

“five years,” you replied, sipping from your glass.

he raised a brow. “how is it possible i haven’t noticed you until now?”

jaehyun, still beside you, said nothing—but you felt the subtle tension in his posture.

“you’ve got a good employee,” the director told him. “it’s your job to shape her. teach her. sounds like she’s already on the right path. with the right guidance... she’ll move up in no time.”

he raised his glass. “to y/n.”

“to y/n,” echoed around the table.

you lifted your glass, cheeks warm—not just from the alcohol but from the unfamiliar sensation of being seen. you smiled, surrounded by coworkers and approval and good food, and for a moment, just one moment, everything felt like it was finally going somewhere.

you were finally going somewhere.

the dinner had blurred into noise.

conversations overlapping, laughter rising and falling like tides. glasses clinked, meat sizzled on the grill, the warm lighting softening everyone's expressions into something hazy and unguarded. you sat at the long table, just a bit to the side, the smoky scent of barbecued meat in your hair and the echo of compliments still lingering in your chest. across from you, your supervisor had long since slipped into a drunken retelling of his glory days. to your left, jaehyun sat quietly, jacket off, shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows. his arms were strong, veins defined even in the low light, and on his left wrist, a sleek, expensive watch glinted every time he reached for his glass. he hadn’t touched his soju in a while, though. he just held the rim between his fingers and occasionally let his gaze wander across the room.

when your eyes met, it was casual, almost accidental. but you didn’t look away.

“you’re not drinking,” you said, quietly enough that only he could hear.

he offered the ghost of a smirk, the kind that barely pulled at one corner of his mouth. “someone has to remember what was actually said tonight.”

you laughed, a soft breathy sound, grateful for his clarity amidst the chaos.

a silence settled between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. rather, it felt like a small space carved out just for the two of you—unbothered, untouched, a bubble where you didn’t have to keep smiling or pretending. you let out a quiet sigh, swirling your untouched drink in your hand.

“do you ever feel like you're running out of time?” you asked, voice low, not even sure why you were asking him of all people.

jaehyun looked at you, brows drawn slightly, intrigued but still calm. “time for what?”

you hesitated, fingers tightening around your glass. the alcohol was warm in your chest, but not enough to numb this confession.

“for everything,” you admitted. “i mean, professionally… things are going great. i can’t complain. i’ve worked hard, and it’s starting to pay off. but…” you looked down, lips pressing together. “sometimes i feel like i’m trapped inside a giant hourglass, watching the sand fall, grain by grain. i’ll be thirty in a few months. and i know that shouldn't mean anything, but in a world where people expect you to have everything figured out by now—marriage, kids, some picture-perfect life—i feel like i’m falling behind. like my dreams are moving farther and farther away.”

you took a breath, not daring to look at him.

“it’s just… sad,” you continued. “when you achieve something big and there’s no one waiting at home to celebrate it with you. no partner, no family. no one to say, ‘i’m proud of you.’”

jaehyun was quiet for a moment. then his voice came, soft and even.

“i can celebrate with you.”

you looked up, surprised, blinking at him. “thank you, but… that’s not what i meant. it’s not the same.”

he held your gaze. then, calmly, like he was offering a solution to a logistics problem, he said it.

“then marry me.”

your brain stalled.

you didn’t understand at first. maybe you misheard him. maybe he was joking, or drunk—except his voice hadn’t changed. his tone hadn’t wavered. your stomach dropped.

“…what?” you whispered.

“you want a family. you want someone to come home to. marry me.”

the words hung between you like smoke. absurd. unreal. your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. you glanced around—everyone else was too busy laughing or slurring their next toast to notice what had just happened.

you leaned in slightly, voice tense and hushed. “mr.—jeong—what are you talking about? we don’t even know each other like that.”

“we know enough,” he said without blinking.

“we’ve never even had a real conversation outside of work until now.”

“so let’s have more,” he replied, as steady as always.

you felt like your heart was beating too loudly. “are you… are you seriously suggesting we get married?”

“i’m not suggesting it. i’m telling you i’d do it. if you said yes.”

you stared at him, at the cool detachment on his face, the quiet certainty in his voice, and felt your world tip on its axis.

he shrugged. “how long until you turn thirty?”

“…my birthday’s in november,” you muttered, the words escaping before you could even process them. “it’s april now. that’s seven months.”

jaehyun nodded slowly. “then you have seven months to decide.”

he finished his beer in one slow, final gulp. then he stood up, reaching into his wallet and placing a few bills under his empty glass. you were still frozen when he stepped beside you.

“i’ll take you home,” he said.

you tried to protest, voice stumbling over half-formed refusals. “you don’t have to—i can call a cab, really—”

he looked down at you, expression unreadable.

“that wasn’t a request. it’s your boss giving you a ride.”

and with that, he turned, waiting for you to follow. your legs felt heavy as you stood, your mind racing, still reeling from what had just happened. marry him? seven months? he was serious. he was actually serious.

you had no answers. only questions. and one man who had just offered you everything you’d spent your life pretending you didn’t need.

you didn’t sleep.

not really. you tossed and turned, arms flung across the bed one minute and buried under the covers the next. jaehyun’s words echoed in your skull like an intrusive melody, looping over and over again.

then marry me.

you have seven months to decide.

like some sort of countdown had been triggered.

you must have stared at your ceiling for hours, trying to make sense of what he meant—what it meant for you—and whether he’d been serious. but the worst part wasn’t the proposal. the worst part was how calm he’d been, how effortlessly he’d said it, and how easily he’d walked away afterward like it hadn’t upended your entire sense of self.

your alarm went off at seven, and you hit snooze five times. by the time you dragged yourself out of bed, you felt like your bones had aged a decade overnight. you put on your makeup with the heaviness of someone trying to erase exhaustion from the inside out—concealer, color corrector, foundation. you went over your under-eyes twice, then a third time. you looked like yourself, but blurry. off.

you arrived to work twenty minutes later than usual, which was already enough to earn a few raised brows. no one said anything, but they noticed. you noticed them noticing.

you sat at your desk and stared at your drawers, forgetting which one you kept the monthly reports in. your fingers shook slightly as you shuffled through folders, trying to find the stupid paperwork you'd seen a million times. a stack of them slipped from your grasp and scattered onto the floor like a metaphor. you groaned and crouched down to collect them, muttering under your breath. your brain still felt like it was swimming through molasses.

then—

“good morning.”

his voice. that casual, bored tone he always used in the office. neutral, even, no trace of anything buried beneath it. no sign that he’d ever said something as life-altering as what he’d said last night.

you startled so hard you hit your head on the underside of your desk.

“good—ouch!” you winced, clutching your scalp with one hand and your pride with the other. “good morning, mr. jeong.”

he kept walking. didn’t glance down at you. didn’t smirk. didn’t check if you were okay. he passed your desk like any other morning, like he hadn’t proposed to you over beer and smoke and shared loneliness.

a few coworkers peeked over their partitions, concerned. you gave a shaky thumbs-up and a whispered, “i’m fine,” even though you felt anything but fine.

you weren’t like this. not at work. not ever. your name was synonymous with precision. discipline. control. and here you were, dropping papers and bumping into furniture like your brain had short-circuited.

you finally gathered the reports and brought them to his office.

he was seated at his desk, focused on his screen, the sleeves of his dress shirt still rolled to his elbows. your eyes caught briefly on the line of his forearm, the watch still there, still ticking.

“these are the reports from last month,” you said, setting the folder down.

“thanks,” he replied without looking at you.

you lingered.

“mr. jeong.”

he finally looked up.

his eyes were calm. cool. like nothing was wrong. like he hadn’t detonated a bomb and walked away from the wreckage.

you hesitated, your throat dry. “about what you said last night—”

his expression didn’t change.

“we’re at work,” he said simply. “i’m being professional.”

you blinked, almost offended. “so that’s it? you say something that insane and then just—go back to normal?”

“we’ll talk after work,” he said, returning to his screen. “if you want to.”

you stood there, gripping the folder even though it was already out of your hands, heart thudding with something sour and hot and unnamable. frustration? humiliation? confusion? all of it?

he was treating you like you were the one out of line. like you were being inappropriate for even bringing it up.

you turned around without saying anything else and walked out of his office, pulse hammering in your ears. the rest of the day dragged like wet cement. you couldn’t concentrate. you couldn’t remember what you were supposed to be doing half the time. you reread emails four times before hitting send. and every time someone walked past your desk, you wondered if it was him, if he’d say anything, if he’d look at you, if he even remembered what he said or if the memory of it belonged to you alone now.

you’d never felt so out of control.

you didn’t know what was worse—his silence or the fact that you wanted him to break it.

you tried to focus. god, you really did. you stared at spreadsheets until the numbers blurred into static. you answered emails with words you didn’t remember typing. every time the phone rang, your heart jumped, irrationally convinced it might be him—even though you were in the same building, separated by maybe thirty feet of glass, air, and unspoken tension. it felt like the longest day of your life. your temples throbbed with a slow, building ache, like your thoughts were pressing too hard against the inside of your skull.

you popped two painkillers around lunchtime, washed them down with lukewarm water from your reusable bottle, but they didn’t help. not really. because the pain wasn’t just physical—it was mental. emotional. a kind of pressure that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed.

your mind wouldn’t shut up.

you kept looping the same questions, over and over again, like your brain was stuck on a carousel with no exit.

why would he say that? why now? why you?

he already told you he'd wait. seven months. seven impossibly long, slow-burning months.

so why talk? why meet? it wasn’t for him. it didn’t serve him. he’d been clear. he had time, he had patience. this conversation—it was for you. you were the one desperate to make sense of it. to understand his motives. to justify the insanity of it all.

but how were you supposed to justify something that made no sense?

he’s twenty-seven. handsome. polished. wealthy. he could have anyone—literally anyone. girls younger than you, brighter than you, women who weren’t crawling toward their thirties with a fading list of half-achieved dreams and a fridge full of takeout leftovers. why you?

a mid-level employee in a department no one paid much attention to. someone who had to fight tooth and nail just to be noticed in board meetings. someone who had accomplishments but no one to toast with. someone who fell asleep most nights with their phone face-down and on silent because no one was texting anyway.

why you?

you didn’t have an answer.

you finished your tasks—barely—and the moment the clock hit the end of your shift, you shut your computer down with shaky fingers and grabbed your bag. your steps felt heavy, reluctant, as you made your way through the hall toward the entrance. part of you wanted to bolt, to pretend nothing had ever been said, to go home and crawl into bed and put on a show you wouldn’t really watch. to sleep off the confusion like a bad hangover.

but the doors opened before you could entertain the thought. those clean, automatic glass doors slid apart with a hiss, and there he was.

leaning casually against one of the white pillars just outside, his suit jacket draped neatly over his forearm, his other hand gripping his sleek black briefcase like it weighed nothing. he looked like something out of a commercial—well-dressed, composed, the perfect image of success. but when his eyes met yours, something flickered beneath the surface. maybe restraint. maybe tension. maybe nothing.

he walked toward you calmly, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the smooth tile.

“get in the car,” he said, voice even. “we’re going to talk. like you wanted.”

not a question. not a request.

he turned without waiting for your answer and made his way to a parked luxury sedan—shiny, deep black, windows tinted so dark you could barely see the interior. he opened the passenger door for you, as if the conversation that waited inside was just another part of his routine.

you hesitated, only for a second.

but then you followed.

because no matter how messy your thoughts were, no matter how terrified or confused or unworthy you felt, one truth cut through the noise:

you wanted to know.

you slid into the passenger seat, trying to calm the way your heart was sprinting inside your chest. the door closed beside you with a quiet thunk, sealing you into a space you weren’t sure you were ready for.

he walked around the front of the car and got in behind the wheel, smooth and unhurried.

you stared straight ahead.

ready—or not—to finally ask the questions that wouldn’t leave you alone.

the silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable. not exactly. but it was dense—like fog inside your chest, heavy and silent and there to stay.

you stared out the window as the city drifted past, familiar buildings made foreign by the storm in your head. beside you, jaehyun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. there was music playing—low, jazzy, old—but he didn’t speak. not until you passed a traffic light and he tilted his head, casually.

“did you get enough sleep last night?” he asked, like he was commenting on the weather.

you didn’t look at him. “not really.”

“figured,” he said, turning smoothly into another avenue. “you looked like hell.”

you gave a humorless chuckle, resting your elbow against the door and propping your chin in your hand. “thanks for the compliment, sir.”

“anytime,” he said dryly.

and that was it. that was all the small talk he offered. nothing personal. nothing intimate. just an acknowledgment that he saw you. that he’d noticed.

the drive was short, and before you could make sense of anything, you were already parking in front of a modest little korean restaurant tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore. it smelled like steam, garlic, and simmered bone broth. a place where people went for real food and no-frills comfort.

“this place has the best gomguk in the city,” jaehyun said, grabbing his briefcase from the back. “been coming here since i was a teenager.”

you hesitated at the door. “you like bone soup?”

“love it.”

you wrinkled your nose. “i can’t stand that stuff. never could. not even as a kid.”

he paused mid-step and gave you a look, slightly amused. “well,” he said, “there’s our first disagreement as a couple.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “what?”

“now i know you don’t like gomguk. guess i’ll have to avoid cooking it for you.”

you said nothing.

because he wasn’t joking. not really. not entirely. and that was the part that made your mouth dry.

how could he say things like that so easily? so naturally? as if you hadn’t spent the entire day unraveling at the seams while he strutted through the office like nothing had happened?

he sat across from you at the table, unbothered, scanning the menu like it wasn’t even necessary. he already knew what he wanted. meanwhile, you still didn’t know why you were there.

you picked something else. kimchi jjigae, maybe—safe, familiar, strong enough to mask the taste of your confusion.

once the server took your orders and disappeared behind the curtain, you leaned forward, folding your hands together to stop them from trembling.

“why me?”

his eyes lifted slowly from the empty table to your face. “there’s no reason,” he said. “i just want to give you what you want.”

“do you say that to all women?”

he smirked. “if i did, i’d probably be married to half the city by now.”

you shook your head. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“don’t treat this like a mission,” you snapped, trying not to raise your voice. “i don’t need your pity. i shared something vulnerable with you, yeah. but that doesn’t mean you have to swoop in and rescue me from a miserable life of solitude by offering a ring. this isn’t some fairytale. i don’t need a man to save me.”

“i never said you did.”

you exhaled slowly. “i want to love and be loved. to build something. something real. not this... whatever this is. a contract. a deal. a deadline to escape loneliness.”

his expression didn’t shift. not a single flicker. but his voice softened.

“then let’s say this. if in seven months, you still haven’t found someone—someone who makes you feel like you can build something... try it with me.”

you stared at him. hard. trying to read every intention in the lines of his face.

“just like that?”

“just like that.”

you couldn’t look away.

and then he said it. the words that settled into the cracks of your resolve like warm rain after a drought.

“we can love. i can love you. you can love me, if you want to. if you want to date, we can date. you don’t have to feel pressured. i just think... you’re worth the risk. and i don’t think you should torture yourself every day that passes just because you haven’t ‘settled down.’ opportunities don’t always come twice. sometimes you have to grab them while they’re here. or regret it forever.”

your lips parted, but nothing came out.

you looked at him then—not as the cold, polished man who walked the halls like a ghost in tailored suits. not as your boss. not as someone who confused and overwhelmed you.

you saw him as a man.

a man who knew what he wanted. who wasn’t afraid to take action. who looked you in the eye and offered you something you weren’t even sure you deserved.

his jawline. his eyes. the little wrinkle between his brows when he got serious. the calm way he listened. the confidence. the clarity.

you saw him differently.

you weren’t ready to give him an answer. not yet.

but something inside you had shifted.

you just didn’t know what to call it.

he didn’t rush you.

he didn’t push.

he just sat there across from you in that tiny booth, his sleeves rolled up and his tie slightly loosened, waiting with the kind of quiet confidence that only made your heart beat louder. he stirred his soup gently, letting it cool, occasionally taking a sip without ever looking away from you for too long.

and then he said it—casually, as if proposing something as simple as lunch next week.

“let’s do this. i’ll pick you up after work from now on. we’ll go out. have dinner. spend time together. see what happens. let it unfold naturally.”

just like that.

your breath caught. “i… i have doubts,” you admitted, almost in a whisper. “i don’t know what to say. i don’t know what to feel. this is all so sudden, so... fast.”

he nodded, unbothered. “that’s okay.”

you blinked. “that’s okay?”

“yes. it’s not a race. but you heard what i said—opportunities don’t always knock twice. you don’t have to say yes right now. just think about it.”

but you were thinking. too much.

his voice played on repeat in your mind: we can love. i can love you. you can love me. and god, wasn’t that the exact thing you’d been terrified of never having?

your fingers trembled under the table. your palms clammy, your mouth dry. you rubbed your hands together slowly, grounding yourself in that simple motion, trying to breathe.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t ask again. just kept sipping his soup, patient as stone, like he’d already accepted whatever answer you’d give him.

you stared at your food, at the steam rising, the way the aroma filled the space between you and him like something sacred. you still couldn’t stand bone soup. but somehow, being across from him made it smell less... offensive. less like something to run from.

and you remembered.

all those nights crying in silence.

all those mornings brushing your teeth with tears stuck in your throat because you didn’t know if ever would come.

ever finding someone.

ever being enough.

ever being loved without begging for it.

maybe he wasn’t what you imagined.

maybe he was better.

you looked up at him.

“okay,” you said, softly. then stronger. “okay. i’ll try. i’ll let you pick me up. we’ll go on these dates. maybe… maybe i can love you. maybe i can let myself be loved by you.”

he paused mid-sip, eyes lifting.

your voice cracked slightly when you added, “maybe i can stay with you.”

for a beat, the world went still.

he didn’t smile wide. didn’t gloat or tease.

he just gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. his eyes warm, deep, but controlled—like someone who’d been expecting this moment and didn’t want to scare it off.

“good,” he said. “that’s all i needed.”

you swallowed hard.

and for the first time since that strange proposal, something in your chest loosened.

you weren’t sure if this was love.

but it was a beginning.

the next morning. everything is different.

you walk into the building like you own the damn place—heels sharp, suit immaculate, makeup clean and fierce, ponytail slicked high like a crown. the memory of yesterday—your stumble, your throbbing head, your wandering thoughts—now felt like a distant, irrelevant dream. that wasn’t you. this was.

a woman who knew what she wanted.

a woman who said yes.

you smiled to yourself in the elevator. not just any smile—that kind. the kind that curled at the corners, the kind that held secrets, the kind that felt like sin dressed in silk. the kind that belonged to someone with a man waiting outside a restaurant, ordering bone broth, and talking about love like it was something simple. doable. inevitable.

you were early. again. not by accident this time, but by choice.

you slid into your desk, organized, efficient, present. the hum of the office hadn’t started yet, and you took advantage of the calm, catching up on reports and scheduling the week like the good girl you were trained to be. but this time, it was different. you weren’t surviving the day. you were anticipating it.

and then—at exactly the hour—he walked in.

jung jaehyun.

same black suit. same silver watch. same air of cool detachment.

but today, when he passed by your desk and muttered his usual, “good morning,” you didn’t just nod like before.

you stood up—too fast.

too happy.

“good morning, mr. jeong!” you sang, voice lilting and almost musical, like you’d just won the lottery.

it was instinctual. not calculated. just... you.

the entire floor stopped.

heads turned.

some eyebrows shot up. a few eyes narrowed.

jaehyun himself halted in his tracks, looking back at you slowly, his brows drawn together in the tiniest frown. he cleared his throat.

“everyone, back to work,” he said, voice firm. and then, after one last look—eyes narrowed at you in something between confusion and amusement—he turned and walked away.

you bit your lip so hard it almost hurt, barely suppressing the giggle building in your throat.

the memory of last night echoed in your mind, maybe i can love you, maybe i can stay with you—and now here you were, trying not to beam like a teenager with a crush. you watched his back disappear into his office, and your lips curled up, despite yourself.

you could still feel his eyes on you. even if he wasn’t looking.

after work, you waited by the entrance as the glass doors slid open.

he was already there—like he promised. leaning casually against his car, black coat folded over one arm, briefcase in hand, gaze scanning the horizon like the perfect ceo out of a drama. but as soon as his eyes met yours, they softened—barely, subtly—but you noticed.

“get in,” he said, opening the passenger door for you.

you slipped in without protest, heart beating faster than it had any right to.

once the car pulled away from the curb, the silence settled—but it didn’t last long.

“you can’t do that,” he said, not harshly, just... firm.

“do what?” you asked, knowing damn well.

“greet me like that. like that.” he glanced at you sideways. “at work.”

you shrugged. “what? we’re dating now. aren’t we?”

“we’re seeing where this goes,” he corrected. “but we still have to be professional. people talk. your position can be affected. and mine—”

you cut in, not harshly but with a certain fire. “i’m not going to apologize for being happy.”

“i’m not asking you to apologize.”

“then don’t ask me to pretend. i’ll dial it down, sure. but i’m not going to act like you don’t mean something to me when we’re under the same roof eight hours a day.”

he stayed quiet for a beat, tapping the wheel with one hand, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile.

“is this how you are with all your boyfriends?”

you grinned. “i’m worse.”

he laughed. actually laughed. that deep, velvet sound you hadn’t heard much outside of formalities.

“well, i’ll brace myself,” he said. “i might enjoy it.”

you turned to the window, hiding your smile. this was really happening.

the drive back was quiet at first—a comfortable silence that didn’t demand immediate conversation. the kind of quiet that says: you don’t need to perform, just exist here with me.

the radio was on. a soft playlist of english ballads played in the background—songs about longing, beginnings, maybe even second chances. you doubted jaehyun picked them himself. it was probably just the algorithm. still, the timing felt so precise… so intentional, that you wondered if the universe was helping him out tonight.

you played with your fingers over your thighs, crossing and uncrossing your legs slowly, watching the night pass outside the window. city lights in the distance. trees swaying softly in the wind. you tried to guess where he was taking you next, but the truth was… you didn’t really care.

not knowing was part of the charm.

“where are we going?” you finally asked, unable to resist the curiosity.

he smiled without turning to look at you, eyes steady on the road ahead.

“it’s a secret,” he said. “you’ll have to wait and see.”

you squinted at him with mock suspicion, amused—and yet, inside, your heart started to thump a little faster with every mile.

there was something strangely beautiful about not being in control this time. about letting yourself be taken somewhere, not out of submission, but out of trust. you weren’t used to that. you weren’t used to letting anyone drive. but tonight, you wanted to believe you could lean back and just... be.

and then… the car turned down a dark, barely lit road, and you saw it.

a wide, open lot. a giant projector screen glowing at the far end. dozens of cars parked in neat rows, some with trunks open, fairy lights, blankets, snacks. couples curled together under the stars.

it was a drive-in movie. like something out of an old romance film.

you gasped, both hands flying to your mouth as you turned to him.

“oh my god. no way. are you serious?! i love the movies—but i've never done this. i’ve always wanted to, but… i don’t know. it just never happened.”

jaehyun glanced at you sideways. and this time, he smiled. really smiled. not the polite, composed smile he wore in the hallways or meetings—but something warm. something real.

“then it was a good idea,” he said simply.

he parked in the middle row. good view of the screen, but far enough for privacy. you were already melting—and then he popped the trunk.

a thick blanket. two small pillows. a tote bag with snacks—popcorn, a big soda bottle, even the exact chocolate bars you’d once said you liked during a random, probably drunk, late-night conversation. you didn’t even remember mentioning it.

he did.

“did you plan all of this?” you asked, curled slightly sideways in the passenger seat while he arranged everything with care between you.

“i just wanted you to be comfortable,” he said. “i wanted it to be... special.”

no posturing. no hidden motive. just sincerity. you felt it in the way he unfolded the blanket and draped it gently over your lap. in how he checked the window—cracked just enough to let in the breeze, not enough to let in the cold. In how he handed you the soda first, before even opening his own drink.

the movie started. some lighthearted rom-com with ridiculous dialogue and cheesy plot points, but it didn’t matter. it was perfect. low-stakes. no pressure. you curled your legs under you, blanket snug, the flickering light from the screen dancing across your skin.

every once in a while, you’d glance at jaehyun. and more than once, you caught him watching you instead of the film.

“are you bored?” you whispered.

“not even close.”

“you haven’t laughed once.”

he turned to you, that sarcastic little smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth, eyes narrowed just slightly.

“you’re already making enough noise for the both of us.”

you gave him a playful slap on the arm, pretending to be offended.

“that was a compliment,” he added, amused.

you rolled your eyes—but smiled. god, you smiled so much that night.

as the credits rolled, something shifted in the silence. the mood thickened—not heavy, just… deeper. weighted with something. a moment hanging on the edge of change. your head leaned against the window as the screen dimmed, your eyes distant but your heart so very full.

he still didn’t touch you.

he didn’t grab your hand. didn’t lean in.

but his presence wrapped around you all the same—solid, patient, waiting. not pushing, just there. learning how to be near you without demanding anything in return.

“thank you,” you said softly, voice almost too quiet to hear. “for this. for everything.”

“you don’t have to thank me.”

“yes, i do. it’s not every day someone goes out of their way like this.”

he paused before answering. his tone was steady, but low.

“i want this to work,” he said. “and if that means planning teenage-level dates with blankets and popcorn, then… yeah. i’ll do that.”

you laughed, eyes dropping to your lap.

“you’re doing well so far.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

and then you looked at each other. just looked. no words needed.

but inside… you felt it.

your shoulders, usually tense, were light. your heart, bruised and cautious for so long, was opening again. quietly, but surely. as if whispering, i’m still here. i still want to believe.

you weren’t sure where this would go. if it would last. if it would end in tears or something worse.

but right now, in his car, under the stars, with the last notes of the film still echoing through your skin…

you wanted to find out.

you wanted to try.

the next morning at the office felt different—less chaotic, more grounded. you greeted the receptionist with a small smile, your heels clicking softly against the marble floor as you made your way in, clutching your coffee cup like a security blanket. you weren't glowing, exactly, but something about you was… softer. less guarded. like a petal finally relaxing in the warmth of spring after a too-long winter.

jaehyun noticed immediately.

you caught him watching you from the glass-walled conference room as you entered the bullpen. he didn't stare, not in a way that would make it obvious to others—but his eyes followed you, just long enough to clock the change. your navy blue pencil skirt hugged your hips, the slit in the back offering just the right amount of grace as you walked. the cream blouse you wore was modest but elegant, the top button left undone, showing the delicate line of your collarbone. your hair was half-up, your makeup minimal, professional—but the gloss on your lips and the quiet shimmer on your eyelids betrayed a whisper of mischief. not overt. just enough for someone paying attention.

you met his gaze briefly through the glass and raised your brows in a silent hello before looking away, sipping your coffee with forced nonchalance.

by the time you crossed paths an hour later—both of you heading into a smaller briefing room—he gave you that look again. the one that asked, really? amused, but faintly disbelieving.

"good morning, mr. jeong," you greeted him politely, eyes straight ahead as if you hadn't spent the last night wrapped in his blanket, watching a movie with your legs tangled under it.

"miss y/l/n," he replied, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he held the door open for you. “very formal today.”

you didn’t rise to the bait. just gave him a brief, professional smile and walked past, heels clicking, not looking back. you were committed to the bit.

the meeting was brief, technical—a review of deliverables, some feedback loops, nothing out of the ordinary. you contributed where you needed to, kept your tone measured, avoided lingering glances. even when he made a rare joke and the room chuckled, you only allowed yourself a small, polite laugh, hands folded neatly on the table.

he didn’t push. but when you passed each other near the coffee station later, his voice dropped low, just enough for you to hear.

“you’re really leaning into the whole executive assistant with boundaries thing, huh?”

you smirked as you refilled your mug, still not looking at him. “just trying to keep things professional, mr. jeong.”

“of course.” he nodded once, pretending to adjust his tie. “wouldn’t want to cross any lines.”

you bit your lip to suppress your grin. the game was on.

at 3:47 PM, your phone lit up with a text from his office number: meeting with the department heads in fifteen. boardroom. don’t be late. signed J.J.

you rolled your eyes but your stomach did a little flip.

the 4 PM meeting dragged—there was a lot of back and forth over campaign numbers and rollout schedules, but you held your own, taking notes, speaking clearly when your insight was needed. you could feel jaehyun watching you when others weren’t—his gaze warm, grounding—but he didn’t speak to you directly unless it was related to the discussion. you appreciated that. It let you stay in control, let you breathe.

after everyone had trickled out and the room was quiet, you stayed behind a moment, closing your laptop and straightening the chairs without a word. he didn’t move from his seat at the head of the table, just watched you as you moved, his fingers idly spinning a pen.

“dinner?” he asked eventually, breaking the silence.

you didn’t look up right away. “are you asking as mr. jeong or...?”

he tilted his head, eyes playful. “just jaehyun.”

you looked up, meeting his eyes. something flickered between you—recognition. of the past few days, the softness in your chest, the way your shoulders had finally stopped bracing for disappointment.

“okay,” you said quietly. “dinner.”

he didn’t take you to a fancy restaurant or anywhere showy. just a quiet little rooftop place downtown, dim lights and mellow music, open air and the sound of the city below. you sat across from him at a small table, knees brushing under the surface. you shared dishes, laughed softly, talked about nothing and everything. he asked about your childhood; you asked about his first heartbreak. there was no rush to get anywhere. just being there—together—was enough.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you.

at some point, after dessert and a second glass of wine, the conversation quieted. the city stretched around you, glittering and alive. jaehyun leaned back in his chair, watching you with that open expression he reserved for moments like this—unguarded, gently curious.

“you said you grew up outside the city,” he said, casually swirling the remnants of his drink. “what about your parents?”

you set your fork down and rested your elbows lightly on the table, exhaling. “they still live in the same town. a couple hours from here.”

he nodded. “siblings?”

“one,” you replied. “older brother. married. two little boys.”

jaehyun smiled at that. “you’re the cool aunt.”

you laughed softly, the sound bittersweet. “i try. i send them stickers and weird snacks from the city. but i think i’m mostly the mysterious aunt who lives alone in seoul and doesn’t have a husband, which is a major point of concern for my parents.”

jaehyun raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “concern?”

“oh, huge.” you leaned back, crossing your arms with a mock-serious nod. “they think i’m one heartbreak away from crawling back into my childhood bedroom with a suitcase and giving up entirely. i get the same call every weekend—‘have you met someone yet?’ and ‘when are you coming home, sweetheart?’ like my single status is a national emergency.”

you smiled, tried to make it sound light. funny. but the knot in your chest tugged a little tighter with each word. because underneath the teasing tone, it hurt. the weight of expectation, of having let them down without really meaning to. you’d always thought, by now, you’d have that picture-perfect family. a husband. maybe a child. but life had taken its own sharp turns, and somewhere along the way, you'd lost the map.

before your thoughts could spiral too far inward, you turned your eyes toward him and asked, “what about you? any siblings?”

he shook his head. “only child.”

“wow. that explains the drama,” you teased.

he grinned, playing along. “what drama?”

you shrugged, playful. “the perfectly tousled hair. the quiet confidence. the whole mysterious boss with a tragic past vibe.”

jaehyun laughed, the sound low and warm. “nothing tragic, thankfully. my parents own a condo complex back in busan. they keep to themselves. ever since i moved out, they’ve stayed out of my decisions. no guilt trips. no blind dates.”

he smirked a little, taking another sip. “which is great for me.”

you smiled at that, but there was something about the way he said it—casual, yes, but laced with a kind of loneliness you recognized. the kind that came with being left alone a little too much. with being successful but still carrying a shadow no one quite asked about.

you watched him for a second longer than necessary. then nodded slowly. “that does sound kind of great.”

he looked at you then, really looked, and the silence between you shifted—deeper now. heavy with things not said.

the city hummed around you. glasses clinked from other tables. somewhere, a violinist was playing faintly near the street below. but you only heard the soft cadence of his breath, the way it matched your own.

and then he stood and offered you his hand.

you didn’t hesitate this time. you let him lead you to the edge of the rooftop, where the view was clearer, the air colder. your arms brushed as you looked out together, shoulder to shoulder, warm skin against cool wind.

he turned to you first, eyes darker now, thoughtful. “you don’t need to rush anything. marriage, or whatever they want from you. you’re… okay. just as you are.”

you looked at him slowly, your heart caught somewhere between gratitude and ache. “thanks,” you whispered. “sometimes i forget.”

he stepped closer—barely—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

you met his gaze, and something shifted between you again. tighter. stronger. the kind of tension that doesn’t demand to be broken, only… felt.

he leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. you didn’t.

your lips met his softly, a single, tentative kiss that carried the full weight of everything left unspoken. sweet, searching, the kind of kiss that says i see you. that says stay.

and when you pulled back, your eyes didn’t dart away.

they lingered.

because something had begun. and neither of you was pretending anymore.

there was no big speech. no sudden declarations.

just the quiet gravity of this moment. the closeness. the way his eyes searched yours with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

april melted into may in soft, golden increments—like a candle burning slow at both ends. the weather grew gentler, the evenings warmer, and with each passing day, your relationship with jaehyun unraveled in small, tender pieces that neither of you rushed to name.

you had more dinners together. nothing extravagant—he wasn’t the kind to impress with grand gestures—but always thoughtful. ramen tucked away in a quiet corner shop with mismatched stools. a spontaneous detour after a work meeting that led to an art gallery’s closing hour. coffee at a tiny cafe with mismatched mugs and jazz playing softly from a dusty speaker. with every outing, something softened between you. the way you spoke to each other, the way you lingered a second longer when saying goodbye, the way your eyes found his in a crowded room and stayed there.

still, at work, everything remained perfectly composed. restrained. you never touched, never called him anything but mr. jeong. no one suspected a thing—and that secrecy gave it all the thrill of something sacred. childish almost. like passing notes under a desk. a shared joke disguised in a spreadsheet. your fingers grazing when you exchanged documents. a glance too long in the breakroom when he poured your coffee before you even asked. you could feel it in the air, that charged silence of two people pretending to be just colleagues, and failing quietly, deliciously.

the project itself was moving well—smooth timelines, promising data. it gave you an excuse to spend more time in his office, laptop open across from his, sometimes both of you too focused to speak for long stretches. sometimes one of you talking while the other typed, nodding with half-listening affection. sometimes, on the slow days, the lines between work and personal conversation blurred gently, like ink on damp paper.

today was one of those days.

you sat across from him, legs crossed under the conference table, scrolling through performance reports while he adjusted a chart on his screen. outside the windows, the afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting pale lines across the carpet and the sleeves of his shirt. he leaned back, stretching slightly, then caught your gaze with a small smile.

“so…” he said, voice lower than usual, “what are you doing this weekend?”

you glanced up, biting your lip to hide a smile. “why? do you need me to run more numbers?”

“maybe,” he said, teasing. “but i was thinking something less tragic. maybe the museum? or that poetry cafe you mentioned.”

you shrugged, trying to sound casual. “depends. are you asking as mr. jeong or as… jaehyun?”

he smirked, eyes playful. “i guess that depends on your answer.”

you were about to respond when the door opened without a knock. both of you sat up straighter instinctively, like students caught passing notes. the supervisor from the analytics division stepped in, scanning the room with barely concealed curiosity.

“mr. jeong,” he said, tone clipped, “the director wants to see you.”

jaehyun stood immediately, buttoning his jacket with an easy nod. “i’ll be there in a moment.”

the supervisor looked at you then. his eyes lingered—not long, but long enough. something unreadable passed over his face. “you’ve been spending a lot of time here,” he said, like it wasn’t a question.

you gave him your most neutral smile. “just supporting the project. we’re on a tight schedule.”

“mm.” he said nothing more, just nodded once and stepped out.

jaehyun glanced at you before leaving, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe. or quiet warning. you went back to your laptop, fingers pretending to type while your heart tried to calm its sudden gallop.

the evening found you both in his car again. the sun had already begun its descent, turning the sky a soft shade of apricot. you slid into the passenger seat, closed the door behind you, and without thinking too much, leaned over to kiss his cheek.

his skin was warm under your lips.

he blinked, clearly caught off guard, and for a second, he forgot to hide it. the tips of his ears flushed red. he cleared his throat and reached for the ignition, like nothing happened, but his smile lingered, crooked and faint.

“you keep doing that,” he murmured, not looking at you.

“doing what?” you asked innocently.

he shook his head, eyes on the road. “making it hard to pretend we’re not dating.”

you grinned and didn’t answer.

he drove you to the han river, where the breeze was cool and kind, and the crowds were light enough to feel private. you sat cross-legged on the grass, sharing tteokbokki and fried dumplings from paper trays, watching cyclists blur past under the lamplights. a small speaker nearby played an old ballad, sweet and melancholic, and you leaned into his shoulder without needing permission.

“i like this,” you said softly.

“what part?” he asked.

“this part. where everything’s… quiet.”

he didn’t speak immediately. just reached over and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“me too.”

you looked at him, really looked—and it hit you in that moment how far you’d come. from formal greetings and polite distance to soft laughter and shared silence. from stolen glances to kisses on the cheek that left him blushing.

and somehow, without realizing it, you’d stopped keeping count of how many times you thought about him during the day. because now he was part of your days.

and you didn’t want to imagine them without him anymore.

june arrived with a subtle shift in rhythm—projects moved faster, deadlines drew closer, and the sun stayed longer in the sky. the office felt heavier in the afternoons, warm with late spring air and the quiet hum of new beginnings.

one of those beginnings came in the form of kim jungwoo.

he was transferred from the incheon branch—a bright-eyed analyst with quick wit and a laugh that filled corners. you were told he'd be supporting the data team, and since your department handled most of the projections, he was placed right in front of your desk, where your eyes met every time you looked up. your first impression of him was that he was disarmingly charming—too friendly, too easygoing for the stiff, quiet culture of the office—but undeniably efficient. he asked questions that made sense, learned fast, and had a way of easing tension with a joke delivered just under his breath.

you kept things professional, as always. showed him how you sorted the quarterly metrics, how to navigate the company’s outdated database system without crashing it, how to color-code your sheets for easier reading. he listened, smiled, nodded. and eventually, he joked. made you laugh when you’d been staring at the same budget chart for hours. brought you coffee with your name scribbled on the lid in dramatic calligraphy. sometimes too much, sometimes exactly what you needed.

you liked him. platonically. comfortably. it was easy to like jungwoo.

but jaehyun noticed. of course he did.

at first, it was subtle. he’d call you into his office more frequently, asking for reports he usually didn’t request until later in the week. you didn’t think much of it—until you realized he was keeping you in there for hours. even when the topic had already run dry, even when both of you were silently pretending to still be discussing something relevant. you’d glance at your watch, mumble about needing to check on jungwoo’s progress, and jaehyun would give you this look—tight-lipped, unreadable, almost irritated.

the third time it happened, you couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“are you seriously going to keep me hostage in your office every time jungwoo asks me a question?” you asked, laptop balanced on your knees, arms crossed.

jaehyun didn’t answer right away. he leaned back in his chair, one hand draped lazily over the armrest, watching you. but there was tension under his cool expression, the kind that coiled in his jaw.

“you’re my girlfriend” he said, voice low, measured. “even if we have to act like colleagues in this building, you’re not just anyone to me.”

your breath caught. not because of what he said—because of the way he said it. with that sharp, quiet certainty, like it wasn’t up for debate.

“you’re jealous,” you muttered, trying to smile, to turn it into something lighter.

“of course i’m jealous,” he said, leaning forward. “he’s new, he’s charming, and he’s looking at you like he already knows what you taste like.”

your face flushed.

you looked away, but only for a second.

because when you met his eyes again, he stood.

in two strides he was in front of you, taking the laptop gently from your knees and setting it on the coffee table without a word. then he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you—deep, slow, and hungry. there was nothing tentative about it. it wasn’t sweet or shy. it was possession, poured soft and molten through the shape of his mouth on yours. you sighed into it, hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulse thudding in your throat.

he pulled away just enough to speak, voice rough. “don’t tease me about this.”

you nodded, breathless. “okay.”

and then he kissed you again.

the kiss tasted like all the things you weren’t allowed to say out loud. frustration. longing. the ache of pretending, day after day, that you were only what the world let you be. his thumb stroked your jaw as his mouth opened against yours, deeper now, slower. you felt your knees weaken and your thoughts scatter, all logic melting into the heat of the moment.

that night, like every night since the start of your secret, you met him outside the office. his car waited at the edge of the lot, tinted windows and the soft thump of quiet music playing through the speakers. you slid into the passenger seat, your heart already dancing.

this time, he didn’t say hello.

he reached over and kissed you—harder than before, lips parting yours in a way that made your body sing. the car wasn’t moving. neither of you were thinking. you kissed like it was all you knew how to do. mouths hungry, breath shallow, his hand tracing the edge of your thigh just enough to make you gasp. every time you pulled away for air, he followed. every time he groaned into your kiss, you shivered.

he never rushed.

never crossed that line you hadn’t yet spoken about.

but you felt how close it hovered. just under the skin.

and as your lips brushed his one last time before pulling back, your forehead resting against his, you whispered, “i like it when you get jealous.”

his smile was crooked. dangerous.

“you better not like it too much,” he said, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth, “because next time… i might not let you leave so easily.”

thursday crept in quietly, with no big plans or messages of anticipation. the city, usually loud and hungry for excitement, felt unusually tame that week—like it had spent itself on too many events, too many evenings out, too many people chasing novelty in crowded cafés and rooftop bars. maybe it was just you, though. maybe everything had started to feel dull because your world had shifted to revolve around something—someone—entirely new. and nothing outside of that circle could compare anymore.

you barely spent time in your apartment lately. always out. always in his car, in places that weren’t quite home but felt more real because he was there. so on that afternoon, with your head tilted against the cold surface of your desk and your brain spinning from spreadsheets, you blurted it out between quiet keyboard taps.

“don’t make any plans tomorrow night.”

jaehyun glanced at you from across his office, pen in hand, eyebrows drawn. “should i be worried?”

you smiled without looking up. “you’re staying over. the weekend. at my place.”

the pause was heavy. not uncomfortable, but... loaded. you didn’t dare lift your head until he spoke.

“wait—what?”

and there it was. you looked at him finally, biting your bottom lip to keep from smiling too wide. he looked stunned. genuinely caught off guard.

“you heard me. pack a bag. pajamas. toothbrush. snacks. i don’t know. whatever you need to survive two days with me.”

his face went red. a deep, rich pink that spread across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. you laughed. he was thinking things.

“ya, what were you imagining?” you teased, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk.

“nothing!” he defended too fast. “i just... i didn’t expect we’d be spending the weekend... alone like that. it’s not a bad thing. i like it. i like the idea. i just—i mean, we’ve been doing great. this relationship. it feels good. real. and... if it keeps going like this, who knows—maybe one day we’ll get married.”

you froze.

he didn’t say it as a joke. it was quiet. casual. but he meant it.

married.

you hadn’t thought about that in weeks. you’d been so swept up in the rush of the new—new glances, new kisses, new secret dates and stolen evenings. but that word made your heart skip, stumble, leap. it opened a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

married to jeong jaehyun. walking down an aisle. your coworkers gasping. your parents trying to stay calm. him lifting your veil. kissing you like it was the beginning of forever. sunday mornings with kids and cartoons and coffee. vacations. shared bookshelves. him waiting at the door when you got home.

you shook the image out of your head.

“you can’t just say things like that,” you whispered, barely breathing.

“why not?” he asked softly, his eyes sincere. “it’s where we’re going, right?”

friday night came like a slow exhale.

he arrived with a small black duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a sheepish grin. you wore mismatched pajamas—striped pants and a faded hoodie from a school club you barely remembered joining. the sight of you like that made him laugh, and the sound was so unguarded it made your chest ache with affection.

you stayed in. ordered too much food. picked a cheesy rom-com that made you cry halfway through. he kept making sarcastic comments at first, trying to pretend he didn’t care, until somewhere in the middle he got quiet. his hand found yours under the blanket, warm and steady. when the credits rolled, your head was on his shoulder and your eyes were puffy.

“i hate that you made me cry,” you sniffled, wiping your face.

“i didn’t make you cry. blame julia roberts,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

the rest of the night blurred. an improvised dinner of instant noodles and wine, soft music from your phone speaker, him dancing stupidly in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, trying to make you laugh. and you did. hard. the kind of laugh that made you forget to be careful.

when it got late, and the lights dimmed, the kisses came back. slow. long. searching. his hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, breathing each other in like you were afraid to stop. the heat built, like always, but neither of you pushed further. it wasn’t time. not yet. but god, it was close.

saturday was lazy and warm and beautiful.

you woke up tangled in the blankets, his arm draped over your stomach, his breath soft against your neck. the kind of morning you never thought you’d get to have—where nothing was urgent, and everything felt right.

you took turns in the shower, argued over who finished the milk, and spent an hour sitting on the floor flipping through old photo albums you’d forgotten you had. you didn’t plan to show him—but he insisted. and once he started looking, he didn’t stop.

“wait... this is you in high school?” he asked, pointing at a photo.

“yeah,” you said, embarrassed. “why?”

“you were so cute.”

you rolled your eyes. “i wasn’t popular or anything. i had one boyfriend. lasted a week.”

he stared. “a week?”

“he said i was too uptight and boring.”

jaehyun’s mouth dropped open. “that guy was an idiot.”

you laughed. “no, he was probably right. i’ve always been... structured. controlled. even back then. guess that’s why i’m like this now—such a workaholic.”

he didn’t laugh. instead, he kept looking at your photo—finger brushing over the glossy paper like it meant something.

“if i had met you back then,” he said quietly, “i would’ve fallen in love with you. no doubt.”

your breath caught.

he didn’t look away. “i wouldn’t have let you go. not for a second.”

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, unsure what else to say.

“i do,” he said, firm. “you’re not boring. you’re brilliant. you’re thoughtful. you see things no one else sees. you work harder than anyone i know. and... you make me want to be better.”

tears pricked your eyes again. not from sadness. just—too much emotion. too much truth.

“you’re going to make me cry again,” you whispered.

“then cry,” he said, pulling you close. “but only if you let me hold you through it.”

the rest of the weekend passed like a dream.

grocery runs in sweatpants. a half-burnt attempt at making pancakes. arguments over which playlist was better for cleaning the kitchen. you wore ridiculous socks with cartoons on them. he made fun of you until you found his even worse ones.

you kissed between chores. kissed while brushing your teeth. kissed while folding laundry.

it wasn’t glamorous.

but it felt like home.

and when sunday night came, and he packed his bag again, you didn’t want him to go. not because of the sex, or the thrill, or the high of newness. but because somewhere between instant noodles and high school photos, you realized something terrifying and beautiful—

you were falling in love.

for real.

for the first time.

towards the end of the month, your phone rings. you’re in your apartment, folding laundry with the window cracked open to let in the soft breeze of early summer. the sunlight filters through sheer curtains, painting everything in golden hues. you glance at the caller id and feel a knot tighten in your stomach. mom.

you answer.

“it’s your father’s birthday this weekend,” she says, skipping greetings as always, her voice a mix of cheerful anticipation and subtle reprimand. “you should come visit. he’s been asking if we’ll see you.”

you agree, almost without thinking, but then comes the dreaded question.

“and? have you found a boyfriend yet or do i need to talk to mrs. lee again?”

you rub your temple. “mom—”

“her son is still single, you know. owns a good piece of land. sells vegetables to that big food corporation. you’d be set for life.”

you exhale deeply, eyes closing in frustration.

“i’m… i’m seeing someone.”

a pause. then her voice lights up like fireworks. “you are? oh, this is wonderful! finally, you’re not wasting away alone up there in that office job.”

“mom, we’ve just started seeing each other,” you say, hesitating. “it’s too soon to—”

“no,” she cuts in firmly. “you don’t have time to be unsure. the train is about to leave the station, sweetheart. you either get on or it’s gone. bring him. we want to meet him.”

before you can argue, the call ends with a clipped goodbye, and you’re left staring at your phone, pulse racing and chest tight.

the rest of the week, you feel like a ghost of yourself. distracted at work, distant on your dates with jaehyun, your mind spinning in loops. he notices immediately—of course he does—and it only takes one missed joke and a quiet dinner for him to call you out on it.

you’re sitting across from him, poking at your food. the restaurant is softly lit, cozy, but there’s a distance in your eyes.

“y/n,” he says, setting his chopsticks down. “what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you mutter, but he leans in.

“don’t give me that. we’re together now, remember? you can talk to me. or… if you’re second guessing this… if i’m moving too fast, just tell me. i can handle it.”

your heart aches at his words. you reach across the table, grabbing his hand.

“it’s not that. i’m not doubting us,” you say quietly. “it’s just… my mom called. she wants me to visit this weekend for my dad’s birthday. and she… kind of expects me to bring you.”

he blinks. then, without hesitation, he says, “okay. then i’ll come.”

you blink right back. “wait, seriously?”

“yes. if it means that much to them—and to you—I want to go. i want to meet your family, y/n. it feels right.”

your chest swells with something warm and terrifying. you nod, silently.

friday comes and your suitcase is zipped and ready by the door. you’re wearing a floral summer dress, light and breezy, with your favorite pair of nude heels that make your legs look longer than they are. your hair is pinned loosely, lip tint soft and rosy. there’s a nervous flutter in your chest when you step outside.

jaehyun is already waiting beside his car, leaning casually against it like he belongs in a photoshoot. he’s in cream linen pants and a sage green button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, collar open at the throat. his sunglasses reflect the afternoon sun, and he looks, frankly, too good to be standing in your quiet little street. you gulp.

“need help with those?” he says with a grin, reaching for your bags before you can answer.

the ride is filled with music, laughter, and long, thoughtful silences. the kind that don't feel awkward, but full. pregnant with meaning. he holds your hand on the highway, thumb stroking the back of it lazily, his warmth anchoring you through your nerves.

when you pull up to your parents' house—a modest home with stone finishings and a neat little front garden—your heart thunders. everything feels smaller, more fragile, like stepping back in time. your mom rushes out first, apron still tied around her waist, eyes wide and wet with excitement.

and when she sees jaehyun? she nearly cries. “you’re real,” she says, pressing her hands together like she’s witnessing a miracle. your dad comes out next, chuckling as he wipes his hands on a dish towel.

“so this is the young man,” he says with a knowing nod, clapping jaehyun on the back. “your mother hasn’t shut up about you since she found out.”

inside, the dining table is set with your dad’s favorite dishes. everything smells like memory. you sit in the living room afterward, your parents across from you, jaehyun beside you on the couch, close enough to feel his knee brushing yours.

he speaks up first, voice calm and clear.

“i just want to say that i’m very serious about your daughter,” he says. “i have genuine intentions. we’re still getting to know each other, but… if things keep going the way they are, i’d like to build a future with her.”

your mother gasps, reaching for a tissue. your father nods slowly, visibly moved.

“this… this is the best birthday gift i could ask for,” he says.

you shrink into the couch, cheeks burning, while jaehyun’s hand finds yours again and squeezes gently.

then comes the chaos.

your older brother, baekhyun, bursts through the door with his wife and two kids in tow. he takes one look at you and smirks.

“who’s the guy and what have you done with my perpetually single little sister?”

you groan. “shut up, baek.”

the two of you bicker like teenagers, tossing playful insults back and forth while your nephews cling to your legs, shouting your name with delight. you hand them the toys you brought and their eyes light up like it’s christmas.

jaehyun watches it all, amused, until one of the boys climbs into his lap and hands him a toy too.

he freezes.

and in that moment, something shifts in him. the sound of children’s laughter, the image of you with a soft smile, cradling one of your nephews in your arms. the warmth of this home, the love in every corner. he imagines it—having this with you. kids with your eyes. a house that’s yours. your framed wedding photo on the wall. vacations. birthdays. late-night talks in bed. wrinkles and silver hair, but still loving you with the same fire.

he blushes.

and you notice.

“what?” you whisper as you lean close.

he shakes his head, smiling to himself. “nothing. just… i really, really like this. all of it.”

the night unfolds gently. dinner turns into stories, stories into laughter, and soon the sun has long set and the house is lit with warm yellow lights. you and jaehyun sit outside for a moment, watching the stars.

he wraps an arm around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

“you feel like home,” you whisper, not even realizing the words have slipped out.

he turns to look at you, eyes soft. “so do you.”

and in the quiet, with the cicadas singing and the echo of your family’s voices drifting from inside, you know.

this might just be the beginning of everything.

the months of july passed by with little to no complications. your parents were pleased with jaehyun, and you could tell that their approval meant the world to him. jungwoo, on the other hand, was playful and teasing, but with a newfound sense of respect, especially as jaehyun started to show more signs of being protective, making sure that jungwoo didn’t cross any boundaries. you were still professional with everyone at work, but the chemistry between you and jaehyun was undeniable. nights together were spent laughing, and weekends were filled with stolen moments of joy, where you both shared something more than just professional courtesy.

jaehyun had made a habit of calling you during the day, just to check on you, and you found yourself doing the same. the conversations were simple, but they felt important. visits to his office became more frequent, sometimes just for work, but other times, it was an excuse to sneak in a kiss or two. the passion between you two continued to build, a slow, steady fire that became increasingly hard to ignore.

one night, a wednesday, you both ignored the weather forecast and decided to take your date out in the city. the air was warm, and the lights of the city sparkled as you walked the streets together. the mood was light, but as midnight approached, the weather took a sharp turn. dark clouds rolled in, and soon, rain began to pour, turning into a violent storm. the wind howled, and the streets quickly flooded. jaehyun’s car struggled against the force of the water, and you couldn’t help but grip the seat, anxious.

jaehyun tried to keep calm, glancing at you with a reassuring smile. “it’s okay, nothing’s going to happen,” he said, though you could tell he was also feeling the weight of the storm.

the rain pounded against the windows, and the car barely moved as the currents began to grow stronger. after what felt like an eternity, you both agreed that waiting in the car wasn’t safe anymore. as you both discussed where to go, a motel appeared in front of you. it seemed like an odd choice, but the parking lot was dry, and there were few other options at that hour. both of you hesitated, unsure of what to do. it was a strange situation—neither of you wanted to suggest anything that could be misinterpreted.

jaehyun was the one to break the silence. “let’s just use the parking lot, at least we’ll have shelter from the rain,” he said. “and if it lasts all night, we’ll have a warm place to stay.”

you nodded, a little nervous. “yeah, i mean, we’re not going to do anything else, right? just sleep, then in the morning, we’ll head back to our places and go to work, right?”

jaehyun smiled at you, trying to ease your nerves. “of course, just a safe place to wait out the storm. no pressure.”

you both parked and got out of the car, a little stiff from the tension, but the moment you entered the motel, things started to feel different. jaehyun took the lead, making sure you were comfortable and settled in, giving you space to breathe. He didn’t rush you, always checking to see how you felt.

both of you were tired from the day, and the weather didn’t help the situation, so after some brief, awkward glances, you both decided to take separate showers to unwind. you both changed into something more comfortable, but since it was summer and it was warm, you decided to just sleep in your underwear. when you looked at jaehyun in his, the moment felt almost surreal. his gaze lingered for a moment before he quickly turned away, as if both of you were still trying to adjust to how close you had become.

“you know,” he said softly, his voice breaking the silence, “you don’t have to feel awkward. we’re taking things at our own pace.”

you smiled, feeling your heartbeat quicken at the sound of his voice. “what if i want to go faster?” you said, your words surprising even yourself.

jaehyun looks at you, eyes widening slightly before they darken with something deeper—something he’s clearly been holding back. “are you sure?” he asks, voice low, almost trembling with restraint.

you nod, stepping closer, your fingers brushing against his bare chest. “i’m sure.”

his hands find your waist gently at first, testing the waters, but when you lean into him, he pulls you in like he’s been waiting forever to hold you like this. his lips find yours in a kiss that starts soft, exploratory, but quickly deepens, hungry and needing. he walks you backwards slowly until the back of your knees hit the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp, taking him with you.

his hands roam your body, reverent and slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you. he whispers your name against your skin, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, and lower still. your breath hitches when his mouth lingers between your thighs, his eyes meeting yours, waiting for any sign to stop—but you nod again, your fingers threading into his hair, guiding him closer.

what he gives you isn’t rushed. it’s worship. like he’s been dreaming of this moment for too long to waste it. you lose yourself in the rhythm of his mouth, the way he listens to your body, adjusting, teasing, giving. he doesn’t stop until your thighs are shaking and your voice is broken with moans you couldn’t hold back.

when he finally crawls back up your body, his lips kiss yours again, slower this time, tasting you. he whispers, “still okay?” and you nod, pulling him closer.

when he slides into you, it’s not hurried or careless. it’s deep, slow, and overwhelming in the best way. you cling to him, breathless, as your bodies move together like they were made to. he holds your gaze, foreheads pressed together, sweat-damp skin sticking in the summer heat, but neither of you care.

you whisper his name like a prayer, and he answers with yours, over and over, like he’s trying to brand it into the moment.

you fall apart in his arms, not once, but twice, and he follows soon after, burying his face in your neck as he trembles against you.

his lips are still on yours when he pushes deeper inside you, and this time, there’s no hesitation. your body arches under him, the stretch of him delicious and overwhelming all at once. he fills you slowly, inch by inch, like he wants to feel every reaction he pulls from you.

“fuck, you feel so good,” he breathes out, forehead resting against yours. “been thinking about this for so long.”

you moan softly, nails dragging down his back as he starts to move, slow at first, rolling his hips into you with precision that makes your legs tremble. he kisses down your throat, biting softly at your skin as he picks up the pace, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. the headboard taps gently against the wall, a quiet rhythm that matches the sound of your breathy moans and his soft, low groans.

your fingers clutch the sheets, the pleasure building with every thrust. jaehyun’s hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider for him, and the new angle has you gasping his name, your voice breaking. he doesn’t stop—he can’t stop—lost in the feel of you, the sounds you make, the way your body clings to his like it’s the only place it belongs.

he pulls out just enough to see the way you take him, watching your slick coat his length before sliding back in with a filthy, wet sound that makes your toes curl. “look at you,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip, eyes locked on yours. “so fucking beautiful like this.”

when he shifts, propping one of your legs over his shoulder, the angle has you crying out, your whole body shuddering. “you’re so deep,” you whimper, and he groans, hips snapping faster, harder, chasing both your highs like a man starved.

your climax hits hard—white-hot and blinding—as your walls clamp down around him, dragging him over the edge with you. he cums with a strangled moan, burying himself to the hilt, his hips stuttering as he spills into you. he stays there, chest pressed to yours, breathing heavy, hearts pounding in sync.

after a few moments, he pulls out slowly, carefully, kissing your shoulder as he lies beside you and pulls you into his arms.

your body’s still trembling when he runs a hand down your spine, voice low and thick with affection. “think we’re still just sleeping?”

you laugh softly against his chest, lazy fingers tracing circles on his skin. “not a chance.”

he kisses the top of your head. “then let’s not sleep yet.”

and before you can even respond, he’s already kissing down your body again—because one round clearly wasn’t enough.

you barely have time to catch your breath before jaehyun’s mouth is back on your skin, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your chest, between your breasts, over your stomach. his hands roam your thighs with greedy fingers, and even though you’re still sensitive, your body responds instantly—needy, aching, already ready for him again.

“you’re still so wet,” he murmurs, spreading you open with his fingers, dragging two of them slowly through your folds. “fuck, baby… you’re dripping.”

your hips jerk when he circles your clit, light and teasing, and you whine, fingers gripping the sheets. “j-jaehyun…”

he smirks, dark eyes meeting yours as he sinks his fingers into you—slow, deep, curling just right. “you can take it, can’t you?” he says, voice thick with lust. “you want it again.”

you nod helplessly, mouth parted as your back arches off the bed. he fucks you with his fingers until you’re trembling again, begging for him, grinding down onto his hand like you can’t get enough—and you can’t.

when he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up again, there’s no patience this time. he pushes in all at once, rougher, deeper, making your breath catch in your throat. the stretch, the pressure, the heat—it’s almost too much, but you crave every second of it.

he fucks you like he owns you now, one hand on your hip, the other pressing down on your stomach so he can feel himself inside you. “you feel that?” he groans. “you’re taking all of me.”

your moans turn shameless, high-pitched and raw, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with every thrust. the bed creaks, the headboard pounds against the wall, and you don’t care who hears. he flips you onto your stomach without warning, pulling your hips up, and slides back into you from behind.

you cry out at the new angle, your hands clawing at the sheets as he drives into you, deeper than before. “god—jaehyun, i’m gonna—”

“cum for me,” he growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your head back to kiss the side of your neck. “cum all over my cock, baby.”

your orgasm hits like a shockwave, blinding and hot and overwhelming. your whole body shakes, legs giving out beneath you as he keeps fucking you through it. he follows moments later, groaning your name as he fills you again, hips jerking against your ass, the sound of it all so filthy and perfect.

this time, when you collapse together on the bed, everything is soaked in sweat and heat and the scent of sex. your body is limp, your mind dazed, and he just pulls you close, wrapping you in his arms like he’s never letting go.

“okay,” you whisper, laughing breathlessly. “now we might need to sleep.”

he chuckles against your hair, voice rough. “maybe. after round three.”

that night at the motel changed everything.

it wasn’t just the sex—though, god, it was incredible. it was the way his hands learned your body like a second language, the way he whispered your name like a secret, the way you both let yourselves fall without fear. that night was messy, breathless, and soaked in want. but more than anything, it was a turning point—a quiet, unspoken agreement that this was no longer just something casual. not for either of you.

after that, the line between love and lust blurred beautifully. sex became part of your rhythm, part of how you communicated. stolen glances in the office turned into stolen kisses in the elevator. late nights became sleepovers, and every morning-after was filled with lazy touches and knowing smiles. you memorized each other’s moans like favorite songs, found new ways to say i want you, even when the words themselves weren’t spoken.

but there was one night that stood out. the one you still think about more than any other.

it was the night you stayed over at his apartment—just the two of you, no distractions, no storms outside, only the slow burn between your bodies. dinner turned into kisses. kisses turned into the first round on his kitchen counter, then the second in the shower, steam fogging up the mirror as your bodies tangled and slipped together like water and flame.

by the third round, it was past midnight. you were already sore, breathless, but insatiable. he pulled you back into bed, whispering things in your ear that made your skin burn. he was rougher that time—hungrier—gripping your hips as he fucked you deep and slow, drawing out every moan until your voice was hoarse and your mind was gone.

you were on top, riding him with lazy, desperate rhythm, your head thrown back, your nails digging into his chest. he looked up at you like you were something divine, his hands guiding your pace, eyes locked on the place where your bodies met.

and just when your orgasm started to hit—when everything went hot and tight and unbearably good—the words slipped out of you.

“i love you.”

your voice cracked around it, high and trembling, your body still grinding against his, your climax crashing over you like a wave. for a split second, everything stopped. you felt him freeze beneath you, heard the sharp intake of breath, saw the shock in his eyes.

you hadn’t meant to say it like that. not in the middle of fucking. not when you were bare in every sense of the word.

it was reckless. vulnerable. raw.

but not wrong.

his hands gripped your waist tighter, and then he was sitting up, arms wrapping around you, thrusting up into you so hard and deep that you sobbed out his name.

“i love you too,” he groaned against your neck. “fuck, i love you so much—too much.”

and then he came—hard and fast, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

afterward, you just lay there on top of him, chest to chest, skin to skin, hearts pounding in unison. there was no awkwardness. no regret. only this strange, beautiful calm that settled over the room like dawn.

it was in that moment you realized just how deep your feelings for him ran.

what had started as a simple plan—just something to avoid growing old alone—had become the best part of your life. somewhere along the way, between the office visits and shared glances, motel rooms and quiet mornings, you had fallen hopelessly, madly in love with jaehyun.

and the craziest part?

you couldn’t imagine ever thinking of anything—or anyone—else but him.

august wrapped around you like a golden ribbon, thick with heat and filled with the kind of breathless anticipation that only comes after months of hard work. the project was done—finally—after weeks of stress, endless reports, last-minute corrections and late nights. but it was done. and not just done, but successful. glowing feedback, client satisfaction, numbers that sang. it was more than you had dared to hope for.

and then—the email.

subject line: promotion confirmation.

you stared at it for a full minute before opening it. and when you read the words “congratulations, supervisor,” your breath hitched. you covered your mouth. you gasped. and then you ran.

jaehyun wasn’t even at his desk anymore, he was just walking into the hallway when you caught him. “jaehyun!” you called, your voice trembling with a kind of joy that had nowhere to go.

he turned, concerned for half a second—until he saw your face. and then you said it.

“i got it.”

“you got what?” he blinked, confused.

“the promotion.”

his eyes widened. he froze for a second. and then—his arms were around you before you could even finish breathing. he lifted you, spinning you once, twice, both of you laughing as you clutched his shoulders and buried your face in his neck.

“oh my god, baby—you did it! i knew it, i knew you would!”

you were dizzy, and not just from the spinning. he kissed your cheek, your temple, your lips. everything was warm and golden and right.

he took you out that night.

you didn’t go anywhere fancy—jaehyun insisted that celebrations should be personal, not performative. so he drove you to that one little pizzeria you loved, the one that made the potato crust just the way you liked it. he ordered your usual without asking, and when the wine came, he raised his glass first.

“to you,” he said, his eyes soft and gleaming under the low light. “my brilliant, unstoppable, incredible woman.”

your heart swelled so fast it almost ached. the clink of your glasses felt like the sound of a new chapter opening.

“i’ve never had this before,” you confessed, fingers curling around the stem of your glass. “celebrating something this big. with someone i love. it feels…” you laughed, shy and overwhelmed. “it feels like everything’s different now.”

jaehyun reached for your hand, his thumb stroking the back of it slowly.

“it is different,” he said. “because now, every good thing that happens to you—we get to celebrate it. together.”

you stared at him, your chest tight with emotion, with the kind of love that had no bottom, no edge. just more.

you leaned across the table, kissing him slow, deep, grateful. pizza between you, wine in your veins, your laughter echoing off the walls of that tiny booth.

you didn’t need fireworks.

this was better.

this was yours.

mid-september arrived with a softness that clung to the air—warm enough to feel like summer still lingered, but mellowed by the early hints of fall. the leaves hadn’t turned yet, but something in the wind carried change. maybe that’s what had been stirring inside you all week—a restless certainty that had taken root in your chest and bloomed with every kiss, every sleepy morning wrapped around each other, every whispered i love you that escaped your lips without hesitation. it had been five months, five months of chaos and clarity, of fire and softness, and you knew now—you didn’t want to wait anymore.

you wanted jaehyun. not in a month. not after careful plans. now.

so you climbed the steps to his office, heart thudding like a war drum, nerves tangled with determination. you paused outside the door, breathed once, twice, and knocked.

“come in,” his voice called, muffled behind the heavy door.

you stepped in and found him at his desk, back slightly hunched, focused on the glow of his screen. he looked up, and the moment he saw you, he smiled—that slow, dazzling smile that always made your knees feel like melted wax—and stood immediately, walking toward you without hesitation. he cupped your face, leaned in, and kissed you like he’d been waiting to do it all day.

“jaehyun,” you said, voice almost trembling, more from the gravity of what you were about to say than nerves. he pulled back slightly, tilting his head.

“yeah?”

you met his eyes and, without giving yourself the chance to second-guess it, you let it fall from your lips.

“i want to marry you.”

his lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across his features. he blinked, as if trying to be sure he heard you right.

“i know, baby,” he said, a soft chuckle lacing his words. “that was the whole deal, right? but remember—we said after november. we’d have more time to plan, get everything ready—”

“no,” you interrupted, stepping forward, clutching his hands tightly. “i don’t want to wait till november. i mean it. i want to marry you now. today, tomorrow, next week—i don’t care when or how. i just want to be yours. forever.”

he stared at you, quiet. processing. his brows drew together, and then lifted again like the meaning had just landed fully. his hands gripped yours tighter.

“but—what about the wedding? your parents, mine—”

“we’ll figure it out,” you whispered. “but this... this love we have, i don’t want to keep treating it like something that needs to be scheduled. it’s real. it’s now.”

he took a breath, deep and full. and then, his expression softened into something vulnerable and glowing—his eyes shone with something deeper than just affection. he leaned his forehead against yours and whispered, “you want to be my wife.”

you nodded, lips brushing his as you breathed, “more than anything.”

his thumbs brushed over your cheeks, as if committing this moment to memory. “then we’ll do it. not because it’s rushed, but because we know. we’ve known. and if you want to be my wife now... then i’ll make it happen. we’ll get married. i promise.”

and he kissed you again, this time slower, as if sealing an oath between your mouths.

the proposal happened three days later.

he told you it was just a normal date—dinner, then a walk somewhere scenic. no pressure. he even played it off by wearing something casual: a white linen shirt, sleeves rolled, soft beige slacks, and the cleanest pair of loafers you’d ever seen. he looked devastatingly handsome without trying.

he picked you up and drove toward the edge of the city, toward the river trail where the summer festivals were usually held. the area was quiet now, early autumn having driven the crowds away. but fairy lights still dangled from the trees, twinkling faintly as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, casting a warm, honeyed hue over everything.

he walked with you along the wooden path, your fingers tangled. his hand was slightly clammy. you noticed, and your heart fluttered, thinking—he’s nervous. the realization made you giddy.

and then, just as you reached the little bridge that overlooked the water, he stopped.

“wait here,” he said softly, squeezing your hand. “don’t move.”

he jogged a few steps ahead, ducked behind a low fence near a cluster of trees, and returned with a bouquet of peonies—your favorite. you hadn’t told him that. he remembered.

your eyes began to water.

he handed them to you, smiling shyly, and then pulled something out of his pocket.

a velvet box.

he opened it without a speech, without fanfare. his voice was soft, his eyes locked on yours like the world outside didn’t exist.

“you already said yes,” he whispered. “but i want to do this right.”

he got down on one knee, the gravel crunching beneath him, and held the ring up.

“y/n, will you marry me—not next month, not in theory, not in some future we’re still trying to picture... but now. for real. because i’m yours. and you’re mine.”

you didn’t cry. you sobbed. like an idiot. like a girl who had waited her whole life for someone like him. you nodded so fast your vision blurred and fell into his arms, and he kissed you like he was promising you the rest of forever.

in that moment, september never felt sweeter.

telling the company was a whole thing.

it started with a scheduled meeting—a weekly operations check-in with the usual suspects: team leads, upper management, the supervisor, and a couple of sharp-eyed executives who never missed a detail. it was jaehyun’s idea to make it official at work, to do it clean and direct and proudly. no rumors. no hiding. just the truth, glowing and solid like the ring that now lived permanently on your finger.

you both walked into the meeting room together, which wasn’t unusual, but something in the way your hands brushed as you took your seat already had jungwoo giving you the side-eye.

the presentation started, charts and projections lighting up the screen behind jaehyun as he stood with calm confidence. it was business as usual—until the last slide.

"before we wrap up," he said, glancing back at the room, his eyes finding yours briefly before turning to the group again, "i have one personal announcement to make."

you swallowed. jungwoo leaned forward like a damn hawk. mr. choi narrowed his eyes suspiciously, as if he'd been waiting for this moment since spring.

jaehyun smiled—soft, boyish, unbothered. “as some of you may know… or have guessed," he said, and gave jungwoo a teasing look that made him gasp, "i knew it," he muttered dramatically—"y/n and i have been seeing each other for a while.”

the room exploded. a gasp from the secretary and the supervisor actually choked on his coffee. someone in the back whispered “what the fuck” under their breath.

jaehyun held up a hand, a little smug, a little amused.

“and, as of last weekend… we’re engaged.”

your cheeks were burning. your heart thundered. you expected chaos, maybe disapproval, but what followed was—

cheering. clapping. wide eyes and stunned smiles. even mr. choi looked like he was trying very hard not to grin.

“you’re marrying jaehyun? our jaehyun?” he blinked at her, then looked at jaehyun like he’d just discovered a double life. “okay, i knew something was going on. i’m not blind. but marriage? dude, that’s insane. like, insane in the good way, but—holy shit.”

you stood up, feeling brave. “we just didn’t want to hide it anymore,” you said. “we’re really happy. and we hope you’ll be happy for us too.”

the room burst into applause again. someone shouted, “wedding invites or we riot!”

the parents came next.

you visited your family first. your mom opened the door and immediately noticed the ring. she gasped, dropped the dish towel she was holding, and squealed in that way only mothers can. within seconds, your dad was there too, grinning, eyes glossy, holding jaehyun’s shoulder like he was already part of the family.

"are you kidding me," your mom kept saying. "you're engaged? oh my god, you're engaged!"

you nodded, trying not to cry as she hugged you so tight it hurt.

“he’s everything i ever wanted for you,” your dad told you quietly, before giving jaehyun a very serious handshake. “you take care of her.”

“always,” jaehyun promised, voice thick with sincerity.

then it was his parents' turn.

you were more nervous, but you shouldn’t have been. the moment jaehyun’s mom saw you, she pulled you into a hug, muttering in korean how beautiful you were, how she’d been praying her son would be smart enough to not let you go. his dad was more reserved, but the sparkle in his eye said everything. when jaehyun said, “we’re getting married,” his mother clapped her hands and screamed like she’d just won the lottery.

“we’re so happy,” she said, eyes shining. “you are already family.”

they brought out food, wine, photos from jaehyun’s childhood. his mom made you take home a tupperware of kimchi and a crocheted doily she claimed she made for whoever he married one day. she said she just had a feeling it was going to be you, and jaehyun turned red.

it turned out that weddings—real weddings—took a lot more time to plan than y/n had expected. even with jaehyun’s calming presence and the help of a surprisingly competent wedding planner, the months passed like petals falling from a tree: softly, quickly, too beautifully to hold onto.

they settled on march 28. it gave them just enough time to breathe, to build, to dream together.

from the moment they told everyone—first their friends, then their families, and finally, in a hilariously formal email, the entire company—the whirlwind began. the announcement caused a stir so loud in the office that y/n had to leave her desk just to get some peace.

the directivos were equally shocked, though mostly amused. her supervisor just nodded sagely, like he’d been betting on this since the beginning.

“you two were always ‘too in sync’,” he said, raising his coffee mug in mock toast. “i give it six months before one of you becomes the other's boss at home too.”

and then came the parents.

jaehyun’s mother cried when she met y/n, tears slipping down her cheeks as she hugged her tight and whispered in korean, “you’re even more beautiful than he said. and i knew he was in love the first time he said your name.”

her own parents, after recovering from the initial shock, became obsessively involved in the planning, sending flower samples, playlist suggestions, and opinions on wedding favors at all hours of the day. but none of it was overwhelming. not with jaehyun there, always pulling her back into calm. always making sure this was their wedding, not anyone else’s.

they chose a venue outside the city—a small vineyard with soft hills, blooming wisteria, and golden light that melted everything it touched. march 28 arrived with the scent of earth and lilac, a warm wind, and the sky so blue it almost hurt to look at.

y/n stood before a mirror in a white gown that made her feel like everything good in the world had been sewn together just for her. she could hear the quiet rustle of guests arriving, the soft music playing in the distance, the laughter of children running between the rows of flowers.

and then, jaehyun.

when she saw him waiting at the altar, dressed in a suit that fit like second skin, with his hair slightly tousled and a look in his eyes that could undo galaxies—she forgot how to breathe.

he mouthed “you’re perfect” as she walked down the aisle.

she mouthed “you’re mine.”

the ceremony was intimate, emotional, wrapped in vows that made everyone cry—even jungwoo, who tried to play it off by pretending he had allergies.

“i promise to protect your dreams as fiercely as my own,” jaehyun said, voice trembling slightly, “and to always make sure your pizza has the right amount of potato crust, even when we’re eighty.”

“i promise to choose you, even on the days we forget how lucky we are,” y/n replied, tears in her eyes. “and to never let the fire between us die, even when we’re old and gray.”

they kissed.

and the world felt new again.

their first dance was under strings of fairy lights, barefoot on the grass. the song was soft, a slow jazz tune that jaehyun had played for her once in the car when she’d been crying. now, with her head against his chest, they swayed like the wind had been made just for them.

“we did it,” she whispered.

“we did,” he said. “and i’d marry you again tomorrow if i could.”

the honeymoon came a few days later. they chose santorini, greece, not for the postcard beauty or luxury, but because y/n had once told him, offhandedly, that she always dreamed of watching the sun melt into the sea from a white rooftop. he remembered.

their suite was perched on a cliff, overlooking the caldera, with white walls and blue domes and windows that opened to eternity. the first night, they sat on the balcony with a bottle of wine, their feet touching, their hands always searching for each other.

they kissed under sunsets and made love under stars. they danced in narrow streets, shared kisses between sips of ouzo, fed each other olives and sweet baklava. they were ridiculous. and in love. and utterly themselves.

“this is the life i want,” y/n whispered one night, tangled in cotton sheets, her cheek against his chest.

“then it’s the life we’ll have,” jaehyun said. “forever.”

and this time, forever didn’t sound like a fairytale.

it sounded like a promise.

three years passed like chapters in a love letter—written slowly, lived fully.

you and jaehyun made a home out of a sleek little apartment tucked into the rhythm of the city. it was all black wood and soft gray, velvet cushions and open windows where sunlight poured in like gold. it wasn’t big, but it held your whole world. your toothbrushes leaned against each other. your shoes tangled by the door. your laughter lived in the walls.

mornings were sleepy and soft—coffee mugs clinking, your legs wrapped around his under the kitchen table, newspaper pages ignored in favor of each other’s eyes. nights were even softer—blankets twisted around you, movie soundtracks playing in the background while your fingers danced across his skin. the kind of love that didn’t need grand gestures—just the warmth of his palm on your thigh and the way he said “come here” like home itself.

but then, one evening, the quiet changed.

you were in the bathroom. pacing. heart in your throat. your phone timer ticked like thunder in the silence. the test rested on the sink, small and still—like it held the weight of the universe. you sat on the edge of the tub, knees pulled up, trying to breathe.

when the timer stopped, you moved like you were underwater. slow. hesitant. scared.

two pink lines.

you stared. blinked. stared again.

your lips parted, the shape of a whisper you couldn’t form. your hands trembled, and for a moment, the whole world tilted—just you and that tiny piece of plastic and everything it now meant.

you stepped out of the bathroom, barefoot, holding the test like it might shatter.

jaehyun was on the couch, lounging with his phone, one leg bent lazily, hair tousled from running his hand through it too many times. he looked up. paused. frowned softly. “baby… what is it?”

you didn’t answer right away. just walked toward him—slow, like the floor might disappear—and placed the test in his hand.

“we’re gonna be parents!!”

the silence cracked. and then—

jaehyun surged forward, arms wrapping around you so tight you gasped. he lifted you off the ground, spinning you around the living room like a kid on christmas morning, laughter bursting from his chest, from yours, from some place deep inside where all the hope had been hiding.

you were both crying. laughing. kissing. saying “we did it!” over and over again like a prayer you never thought you’d get to say out loud. he pressed his forehead to yours, voice shaking, “we’re having a baby.”

“we’re having our baby,” you whispered.

months passed like petals falling from a blooming tree.

you were glowing. exhausted, but glowing.

your blush-pink maternity dress clung gently to your growing belly, printed with tiny white florals that made jaehyun smile every time he saw you in it. your feet were bare, your ankles swollen, your back ached constantly—but he was always there, hands rubbing your spine, lips on your shoulder, whispering, “you’re magic, you know that?”

the nursery was nearly finished—lavender walls painted with care, gold stars twinkling on the ceiling, and a soft mobile that played lullabies like stardust. the crib waited, delicate and perfect, with a plush bunny nestled in the corner.

jaehyun was kneeling by the dresser, sweat on his brow, tongue between his teeth as he finished the final drawer. he looked up, eyes finding you immediately, and god—he looked at you like the whole sky lived inside your smile.

“she’s gonna love this room,” he said, standing to press a hand to your belly. his palm warm. grounding. full of quiet awe. “our little moon.”

you leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “i hope she gets your eyes,” you whispered.

he smiled, eyes soft with wonder. “and your heart,” he murmured. “especially your heart.”

the room went quiet again—except for the soft hum of the mobile spinning slowly above the crib. gold stars turned, catching the light.

and in that moment, just one suspended, breathless moment, everything was still.

you. him. her.

and the love that built it all.

finally. completely.

beautifully yours.

#sam soft hours #sam cute fics #sam fluff

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