Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Frustration tainted the air of the bunker, radiating from the library walls. As the clock ticked past midnight, blue-white light mingled with the orange of the table lamps, bathing Sam's face in a steady glow as he hunched over his laptop, engrossed in a tireless search. Dean, meanwhile, paced the floor, book in hand. Each footstep reverberated inside his skull, adding to the collective headache. The brothers' current case—a woodland haunting across state—had led them down a dead-end, fueling their late-night study.

Sam furrowed his brow, silently mouthing as he read the contents of his latest webpage. "Dean…" he called, eyeing the screen in concentration. "Think I’ve found something… a Dr. Y/L/N at KU, Lawrence. Might be a long shot, but his research might tie in with our case."

Dean glanced up from his book with a raised eyebrow. "A doctor? How's he connected to our ghost problem?"

"Not a medical doctor, genius... A History PhD… His studies focus on historical folklore. There could be a link between the local legends and our haunting. It's worth a shot, right?"

"Okay, well..." Dean nodded, clapping his book shut. "It's the only lead we've got right now. Let's hit him up."

Sam danced his fingers across the keyboard, crafting a persuasive pitch in their email. "Alright, here goes nothing," he muttered, hitting 'send' with hopeful anticipation, his eyes strained, heavy. 

"Hey, we're not just any journalists," Dean interjected, reading over Sam's shoulder. "We're the duo that digs deep into untold stories. Our quest? Unveiling the hidden truths woven into the fabric of this town..."

Sam smirked at Dean's embellishments. "Right, 'cause nothing grabs a scholar's attention like a good ol' fashioned mystery. Hopefully, this Dr. Y/L/N will bite."

Dean chuckled, slapping his brother on the back. "Lighten up, Sammy. Who could resist the allure of two charming reporters like us?"

Sam rolled his eyes, closing his laptop with a yawn. "Sure, whatever. Let's just hope for a response. I'm off to get some shut-eye."

The next day, after his morning run, Sam sat in the bunker's kitchen, opening his laptop to a reply in his inbox. Taking a sip of his coffee, he ran a hand through his hair, optimism growing with each word he read. 

"Dean!" he yelled, a spark of excitement coloring his voice. "Dean... We got a reply!"

Dean emerged from the hallway with a yawn and creased pajamas. He had only just got up—having medicated last night's headache with trash TV and beer. "Sup?"

“We've got a meeting... this afternoon." Sam rose an eyebrow, eyeing the screen with intrigue. "Dude seems pretty interested..."

Dean stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Great, well... better hit the road, I guess. But Sammy, we're grabbing grub on the way."

After a few hours' drive—including a pit stop for food—the Winchesters arrived in Lawrence. Clad in their finest 'reporter' outfits, they paced the university corridors where they eventually located the history department. There, amidst the academic bustle, they requested to meet Dr. Y/L/N. 

"Y/N!" the receptionist called, turning her head to the staff room behind her. "Your 3 o'clock is here!"

"Thanks Janice, I'll be right there!"

You emerged from the staff room carrying a large pot of coffee, your presence immediately capturing the attention of the brothers.

"Hey! You must be Tom and Jack. Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N." You greeted them warmly, charm evident in your smile. "Come on in, take a seat… I hope you like coffee!"

Sam and Dean exchanged a surprised glance, momentarily taken aback as you beckoned them to follow you into a nearby office. You were not what they had expected, that's for sure.

"You're Dr. Y/L/N?" Sam asked, as you closed the door of the small room behind them. 

"This is she," you said, sensing their unexpected reactions. "Is... there a problem?"

"No, no!" Sam reassured, trying to mask his surprise with a charming smile. "We just expected someone... older."

You smirked, taking a seat across from them behind the small desk. "And... with a penis?" you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Sam coughed, smiling awkwardly, clearly embarrassed by his sexist assumption, whilst Dean scratched his head, trying to think of a witty response.

"I'm just messing with you...” you teased, chuckling at their reactions. “I get that a lot. Anyway, how can I help? Your story sounds interesting..."

Over cups of coffee, the brothers tactfully explained their ‘research’ and the answers they were seeking.

“Hm, from what you’ve told me, the haunting sounds connected to an old legend rooted in the area…” You pulled out a book from your bookshelf, tracing your fingers over the weathered text. “Ah, here!” You placed it on the desk in front of them, gesturing to the page as you spoke. “This passage here... it speaks of spirits being tied to the ‘earthly realm’...”

The brothers listened intently, their focus on the information you provided, but Sam couldn’t help but feel uncharacteristically distracted, stealing small glances at you as you spoke. 

“According to the lore of the local tribe,” you continued, running a hand through your hair, “the spirit seeks ‘retribution for an ancient injustice.’”

Hm, interesting... Sam mused, darting another glance your way.

“Is there any way to stop it?” Dean leaned in slightly, urgency lacing his words. 

You straightened in your seat, taken aback by this new line of questioning. “What paper did you say you worked for again?”

“The Eureka Herald”, “The Wichita Eagle,” they replied in unison, gritting their teeth for blowing their cover.

You paused for a moment, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’re ghost chasers, aren’t you?” you asked, eyeing them with suspicion, leaning back in your chair. 

Sam and Dean shared a look, a mixture of surprise and caution in their eyes. 

“What makes you think that?” Dean asked, his posture more guarded, his tone casual, yet wary. 

You took a sip from your mug. “It’s not hard to put two and two together,” you said, trying to hide your smirk as the brothers faltered over their cover story. “Plus, you’re not the first ghost chasers I’ve encountered…”

Sam and Dean exchanged another glance, a silent agreement passing between them. They were used to keeping their true identity under wraps, and were surprised by your directness—your ability to see through their façade. But there was something about your demeanor that made them feel a level of trust…

“Okay, you got us,” Sam admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But we’re not exactly ‘ghost chasers’… we’re hunters.”

“Hunters?” You raised an eyebrow.

Dean nodded, his expression more serious. “We’re not the kind of hunters most people imagine... We’re here to make things right, to put spirits to rest, to protect people from the crap they don’t even know exist.”

You listened intently, shifting slightly as you processed their words. “So... you hunt the things that go bump in the night? And in this case, you’re here to put an ancient spirit to rest?”

“That’s the plan,” Dean confirmed. “So... think you can help us, or what?”

You hesitated, chewing on your lip as you considered their request. You’d known ghosts were real, yes, but, hunting them...? This was all new, and... exciting.

“Alright,” you relented, undeniably curious. “I’ll try my best to help, but promise you’ll respect the history, the people involved?”

Sam leaned in, interjecting your thoughts, gently. “We promise,” he affirmed, his tone earnest, as he looked into your eyes. “We’re not just seeking closure for the spirit, we’re aiming for closure for the tribe, too.”

You paused for a moment, your gaze softening as you regarded the younger brother with a newfound respect.

“Yeah, exactly,” Dean added, nodding towards his brother. “What he said...”

You took a deep breath, giving in to the excitement you couldn’t deny. “Okay then... let’s uncover the truth behind this thing.”

“Great!” Dean exclaimed, visibly relieved as he slapped his hands on the sides of his chair.

Sam smiled, silently mouthing a gentle “thank you” in your direction.

You smiled back, but quickly averted your gaze, feeling a sudden blush rush into your cheeks. “Well,” you rose from your seat, trying your best to ignore whatever that was. “I’m afraid my office hours are over… I have to head back to work, but, I’ll be in touch.”

Sam stood, unconsciously mirroring your stance. “Yeah, yeah—of course.” He cleared his throat, reaching for the book on the table, directing you a gentle glance. “Would it be okay to take this?” 

“Yeah, sure... anything that will help. In fact... here... have these...”

“Thanks,” Sam smiled, as you passed him a few more books from your bookshelf.

“We’re staying at a motel just out of town for a few days,” Dean explained, handing you a scrap of paper with their contact details on it. “Let us know if you find anything.”

“Of course,” you said, glancing at the note in your hands. “Sam and Dean Winchester?” You swear their names sounded familiar...

“You can never be too careful in our line of work, lady,” Dean joked, as they finally introduced themselves properly.

As you walked them out of the department, Sam turned to you, shifting the pile of books under his arm. “See you soon, Dr Y/L/N, thanks again.”

“You’re welcome, Sam, but please, call me Y/N. I’ll never get used to being called Dr... it sounds waay too formal.”

Sam smiled, but quickly looked away as you returned his gaze, suddenly feeling rather warm.

“Right, let’s make a move.” Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder, snapping him out of his haze. “See ya later doc,” he saluted, turning to walk away, Sam by his side.

You chuckled as they left, your eyes lingering on the taller brother as they faded from your view, disappearing round the corner.

Back in the Impala, Dean turned towards his brother with a sly grin. "So, Sammy... You seem to have taken quite a liking to Dr. Y/L/N back there... not just interested in her research, huh?"

Sam's eyes widened, trying to mask his embarrassment. "What? No, Dean—it's not like that."

Dean chuckled, giving Sam a playful nudge. "Come on, man! I saw the way you were blushing back there. I've never seen you stumble over your words like that. Plus, you've been staring more than the ghost we're hunting."

"I... I wasn't stumbling, or staring!" Sam contested, despite knowing full well that his attempts to deny it only made it more obvious.

"Sure Sammy, whatever you say," Dean teased, enjoying every moment of his brother's discomfort.

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to play it off. "I was just being polite! She's knowledgeable and helpful, that's all."

"Uh-huh, sure… whatever helps you sleep at night… Bet you'll be dreaming of that helpfulness tonight, huh?" Dean smirked, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I mean, she's hot... I'll give you that."

Sam groaned, realizing there was no getting out of this conversation. "Can we just focus on the case, please? We have a haunting to solve."

Dean laughed, giving his brother a playful punch on the arm. "Alright, alright, Mr. 'I-Don't-Have-A-Crush’. Let's get back to business..."

Despite his attempts to steer the conversation away, Sam couldn't shake off the heat rising to his cheeks, knowing full well Dean would continue to tease him for the rest of the day. But as they drove off to pursue the leads you had provided, he couldn't help but feel optimistic, wondering what might come of this partnership.

Chapter Text

Back at the motel, Sam retrieved the materials provided by you from his bag and set them on the wooden table, preparing for an afternoon of research. The sterile glow of the ceiling lights lit up the otherwise dim room, highlighting the mound of books, journals and ancient manuscripts.

Dean sat back in a chair, flipping through the pages of a weathered journal. "Seems like this tribe has quite a history," he remarked. 

Sam nodded, tracing his fingers over the illustrations in one of the books. " Yeah... let's dig deeper... see if there's any mention of an event that might have triggered this haunting."

The hours slipped away quietly in their motel room as they immersed themselves in the writings—Sam diligently jotting down notes whilst Dean cross-referenced multiple sources. The details gradually revealed layers of forgotten tales and unresolved conflicts rooted in the regions past.

"This could be it, Dean." A spark of excitement energized Sam's voice. "This part here," he pointed, tracing a line in a fading manuscript. "It mentions a tribal conflict that led to an act of betrayal."

Dean's eyes widened as he read through the passage. "Sounds promising."

"We've got to visit the site of the conflict, see if there are any clues left behind," Sam suggested, a glimmer of hope in his voice.

Dean nodded in agreement, his jaw set with determination. "Tomorrow, first thing."

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Sam's inbox chimed with an email. He glanced at the screen, surprised to see it was from you. Opening the message, he read your words with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

[y/f/i.y/l/[email protected]] [4 attachments]

"Hi Sam,

Just wanted to drop you a line to let you know I've found some extra notes on the tribe. I've attached what I can, but there are some older records in the department. Feel free to pop round tomorrow if you're interested.

Best wishes,

Y/N"

As Sam typed out his reply, Dean leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse of the conversation. "Whatcha writing there, Shakespeare?"

Sam shot him a sideways glance. "Just a thank you. Y/N found more on the tribe. She's offering to help tomorrow."

Dean's curiosity peaked. "Seems our charming reporter act paid off, huh?"

"Seems that way." Sam hit 'send', confirming their meeting for tomorrow. "We'll swing by before the stakeout—better to be prepared."

The following day, sunlight filtered through the motel's windows as Sam got ready. He'd already been on his morning run and spent a little longer in the shower than usual. He also spent an extra moment fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, an unconscious effort to look more put together.

“Taking your time there, Sammy,” Dean said, eyeing his brother with a smirk. “Someone got a date with the good doctor?”

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to brush off Dean’s teasing. “Can you give it a rest, please?”

“Sure, sure,” Dean teased, his grin widening. “Just making sure you’re looking your best for our ‘scholarly rendezvous’, that’s all.”

Sam shook his head, sighing deeply as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “Let’s just go, Dean.”

The drive to the university was filled with Dean’s jokes and Sam’s continued attempts to redirect the conversation back to the haunting. Despite his adamancy that he was not phased, Dean was not fooled, watching Sam repetitively fidget with the sleeve of his jacket from the corner of his eye. 

They arrived at the history department and were welcomed by you greeting them with a warm smile. "Hey, Sam, Dean. Glad you could make it. Come on in."

Sam's heart skipped a beat in your presence, but he quickly pushed aside his nerves, focusing on the task at hand.

As they settled into your office, you laid out the notes you'd found, detailing the tribe's history and their interactions with the land. Your passion for history was evident in the way you spoke, and Sam found himself admiring not just your knowledge but also your dedication to your work. Sam contributed his thoughts and ideas, occasionally catching your eye. He tried to push aside any distracting thoughts, reminding himself they were here for the case. 

After a lengthy discussion, you glanced at your watch. "I hate to cut this short, but I have a meeting in... two minutes..." Shit! "I hope this has been useful?"

Sam nodded, grateful for your help. "Thanks, and definitely... We really appreciate all your help."

Dean chimed in with a charming grin. "Yeah, thanks for shedding more light on this Doc."

You smiled warmly. "Of course, I'm grateful that my work can make a difference."

Sam smiled. "We're heading to the woodland later, so what you've told us about these landmarks will really help".

"Oh, great, just…well, be careful," you said, cringing as you spoke. These men were hunters—they've dealt with dangers you've never even contemplated and you're telling them to 'be careful'? You felt like crawling into a hole and dying from embarrassment.

"We always are, Doc. Right Sammy?" Dean slapped his brother on the shoulder.

A warmth spread through Sam's chest. "Thanks Y/N, we will be."

"Let me know how it goes? If you don't mind...? I feel like I'm invested in this case now," you chuckled, tentatively.

"Uh, yeah, absolutely," Sam said. "Pop your number in and I'll update you once we're safe, how's that?" Sam passed you his phone, a tentative proposition to get your number.

"Sure" you smiled, catching a glint in Sam's eye as you tapped in your details.

"Thanks." As you passed him back his phone, your fingers unintentionally brushed against his, a pang surging through you both as you locked eyes. You quickly averted your gaze, feeling the intensity of his stare. Out of the corner of your eye, you swear you see him smile.

With a final nod, you headed off, a faint blush spreading across your face as you hurried to your meeting.

As you left, Sam couldn't shake off the nervous excitement tingling in his veins. He glanced at Dean, who was sporting a mischievous smirk.

"What?" Sam asked, slightly on edge from Dean's expression.

Dean chuckled, "smooth moves, Sammy."

Sam's cheeks flushed slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on! 'I'll let you know when we're safe'... You're smooth with the ladies."

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to suppress a grin. "I was just being polite!"

"Sure, sure," Dean teased. "She seemed into it, though. Who knows, maybe she'll slide into your DMs?"

Sam chuckled, feeling both amused and hopeful. "Can we focus on the case, please?"

"Alright, alright..." Dean laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But first—lunch! I'm a starved man!"

Sam and Dean decided to grab a quick bite at a nearby diner. Dean had a burger and fries whilst Sam ordered a protein salad. As they sat in a booth, Sam picked at his food, lost in thought about the case and… the way your hand had felt against his skin. Dean, on the other hand, was more focused on the plate of fries in front of him.

"You're quiet, Sammy," Dean noted, dipping a fry into ketchup, "thoughts on the case?"

Sam looked up from his food, taking a moment to compose his thoughts. "Uh... yeah... all this new information definitely adds up. Y/N really knows her stuff."

Dean nodded in agreement, "absolutely... she's got a knack for details."

"And... she seems genuinely interested in helping us." Sam added, casting a glance at Dean.

"Yeah, she's passionate about her work, just like we are."

Sam nodded, becoming lost in his thoughts once again. Maybe she's the missing piece in solving this mess...

The day had transitioned into a dull, rainy afternoon. Dean maneuvered the Impala through the foggy roads, the rain tapping a steady rhythm on the car's roof. A soft grey hue veiled the horizon, the dimming daylight casting an eerie glow over the landscape. As they arrived at the woodland, the rain surpassed into a fine drizzle, surprisingly refreshing against their skin. 

Sam carried his phone, having snapped a picture of a map detailing the landmarks associated with the tribe. An ancient tomb, nested at the edge of the clearing, held the most hope, so they began their search there. 

Sam consulted the map under the dimming light, occasionally glancing up to gauge their surroundings.

Dean squinted through the drizzle, his eyes darting between the rocks jutting from the ground barely visible in the fading daylight. "This place gives me the creeps... Feels like something's watching us."

"Yeah, well, that's kinda the job description."

They pressed on, their boots squelching in the soft mud. The mist thickened, swirling around them, adding an eerie quality to the already haunted scene.

Suddenly, Sam stopped, his gaze fixed on a moss-covered stone embedded in the side of a hill. "Look Dean! Here… this sigil, it matches the one in Y/N's book earlier."

"I'll be darned." Dean peered at the rockface, raindrops trickling down its weathered surface. "Think it's safe to assume that it's not going to be a straightforward 'dig and burn' situation?"

Sam nodded. "Records suggest the tribe burn their dead. The spirit must be tied here another way."

Dean nodded, as he pulled out the EMF. It buzzed straight away. "Well, I think we've struck gold, this is definitely the place".

They kept up their guard, looking out for potential danger, but none came.

"Strange" Dean mused. "There hasn't been a sighting in a few weeks, but the dude's clearly here. Ever heard of a shy vengeful spirit?"

"Beats me... Come on, let's head back, no need to piss him off before we know how to finish him".

As they returned to the rundown motel room, the rain picked up again, the sky deepening. The brothers kicked off their boots and shrugged out of their wet jackets.

Dean lounged on a creaky chair, flicking on the TV as he kicked his feet on the table. Sam sat on the edge of his bed, taking his phone from his pocket. He scanned through his contact list to find your name and typed out a message.

[Unknown number]

"Hey Y/N, it's Sam. We're back, safe and sound! Thanks again for all your help. Hope your meeting went well?"

A few minutes later, a notification buzzed. Sam quickly unlocked his phone to read your reply.

[Y/N Y/L/N]

"Hey Sam! Glad to hear you guys made it back safely. My meeting was fine, thanks! How'd it go? Did you find what you were looking for?"

Sam smiled at your response, your enthusiasm evident even in the text. He started typing out a reply when Dean interrupted, flicking through the channels with a bored expression.

"Sammy, what are you grinning about over there?"

Sam remained focused on his phone screen. "Uh, nothing... Just catching up on messages."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "Uh-huh, sure. Anything interesting?"

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, trying to play it cool. "Just updating Y/N like I said I would. Nothing major."

Dean chuckled, turning back to the TV.

Sam rolled his eyes and continued tapping out his message.

[Sam Winchester]

"We found the tomb-definitely a ghost there, but as there's no bones, I'm thinking we're going to need a spell of some sort."

As the evening passed, Sam eagerly checked his phone, awaiting your next reply. But none came. After a few hours he resigned himself to thinking that you must be busy, asleep, or uninterested, until his phone started to ring. He glanced at the caller ID, eyes torn from the crappy TV show Dean was watching. It was you.

Butterflies formed in his stomach as he straightened up from where he had been reclining against his bed. "Hey, Y/N, what's up?"

Dean's ears pricked up.

"Sam..." Your voice came through with a hint of excitement and breathlessness. "Hope you don't mind me calling, but after your message, I had a look through some old texts, and… I think I've found something… a spell…I think... I'm not too sure..."

Sam's heart quickened at the prospect. "What?! Really?!"

Dean eyed Sam with curiosity.

"Are you busy? I mean…It's just that, I think you need to see this, like…now."

"Uh, okay, yeah, of course, we'll be right there. Where shall we meet you?".

"I'll text you my address, thanks Sam…see you soon."

"What's going on?" Dean asked, pressingly, as a text lit up Sam's phone. 

"Y/N thinks she's found a spell... we need to go!"

Chapter Text

The Impala rumbled through the streets, the engine's purr resonating through the rainy night as Sam and Dean navigated towards your address. The houses stood in neat rows, each one barely distinguishable from the next in the dimly lit neighborhood. As they pulled up outside your modest townhouse, the porch light cast a soft glow, illuminating the rain as it fell.

You met them at the door, hurrying them into the kitchen where an array of old texts and manuscripts lay, covering the table and floor.

"Wow, you've really gone to town" Dean remarked.

The three of you gathered around the small kitchen table, the air thick with anticipation as you laid out a leather journal and a few worn manuscripts in front of you.

A touch of nervousness colored your voice as you continued. "I've been studying these texts for a while and have never been able to make sense of them, but when you mentioned a spell... well, take a look..."

Sam leaned forward, recognizing a familiar seal on the journal. "Are these… Men of Letters materials?"

Your confusion was evident as you locked eyes.

"You know about the Men of Letters?" Dean's tone was laced with both concern and intrigue.

You nodded. "I've been quietly researching their history for years. It's not something openly discussed in academic circles... it's often dismissed as mere conspiracy or myth."

Sam's eyebrows rose in interest. "What got you interested in their research?"

"I stumbled upon obscure references during my doctoral studies. It was like uncovering a hidden world of knowledge. But the deeper I delved, the more I realized how deliberately it was obscured. My colleagues shrugged it off, but I sensed there was more… and… I'm sensing that you know more than you're letting on?" You looked between the brothers as they glanced at each other, silently contemplating whether to reveal their connection to the secret organisation.

Sam leaned forward as he explained. "The Men of Letters, they've been around for centuries. They've catalogued knowledge about every kind of supernatural entity you can imagine. They're like a secret society, guarding information that most people can't even imagine."

Dean, nodding in agreement, added, "They've got archives full of books and lore from all over the world. But they keep it under lock and key, hidden from the public eye."

You listened intently, visibly intrigued. "So, you're saying that this organization has been safeguarding knowledge about the supernatural for generations?"

Dean chimed in. "It's not just about information. They've got tools, spells, ancient artefacts—stuff that's pretty powerful if it falls into the wrong hands."

Your eyes widened slightly. "How do you know all of this?"

"We've had our fair share of encounters with the Men of Letters," Sam began, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "In fact, we live in one of their old bunkers."

"Yeah, it's our headquarters. It's packed with centuries-old knowledge, weapons, spells—everything we need for our... line of work. Where did you say you found this?" Dean's voice turned accusatory as he picked up the journal.

"It was donated by a member of the public… I reached out for information on local folklore and someone handed it in. There should be a name in the cover, hold on…" You flipped to the back page. "Donated by a Mr. Henry Win… W... Winchester".

A silence settled between the three of you. Sam and Dean gaped.

"Henry Who?" Dean asked, not believing his ears.

"Henry Winchester." You gulped, watching the brother's shocked expressions.

"Huh." Sam huffed, visibly baffled. "Henry Winchester is… or was… our grandfather". 

"Wait, so you're telling us that you just happen to have our missing Men of Letters' journal, donated by our grandfather?!" Dean accused. "Who are you working for lady?".

"What?! No one… I mean, I work for the university… No one else... I'm just as confused as you are right now!" You sat back in defense, noting the concern in their eyes.

"Not many people even know about the Men of Letters, let alone actively research them" Sam added, searching your eyes.

You looked at him pleadingly. "I swear Sam, I wouldn't lie about this..."

Sam calmed, noticing the panic in your eyes. "Hey, hey… it's okay, I believe you Y/N." I don't know why, but I just do. Sam soothed as he looked into your eyes.

Relief washed over you and Dean appeared to calm, trusting Sam's intuition.

As the tension lifted, a sense of understanding gradually filled the room. Sam's unwavering belief seemed to bridge the gap, diffusing the suspicion that lingered moments ago. The relief in your eyes mirrored Dean's easing stance.

"So, you're like… guardians of this hidden world?" You asked, reigniting your conversation.

Sam exhaled through his nose. "More like janitors, cleaning up the messes others can't handle."

"It's not always glamorous," Dean teased with a smirk. "But someone's gotta do it." The hint of humor in his tone reassured you that his earlier suspicions had dissipated. "Anyway, back to this spell…"

"Right, of course..." You pulled the journal towards you.

Sam leaned forward, studying the text intently as you pointed out the details you had identified. Aided by Sam and Dean's knowledge, you worked together to translate the details of the spell. 

The spell involved a meticulous process- a ritual, cleansing a site with specific herbs and offerings, all of which had to align with the energies of a full moon.

Hope colored Sam's voice. "This is incredible... So the spirit's energy is tied to the full moon?"

You nodded. "Lore states that the tribe worshiped the full moon, and when a member died and their bones burned… their souls transcend there…Somehow, this dude got trapped on earth"

"Huh" Dean mused. "Sounds like a sci-fi movie".

Sam huffed, "Are you forgetting that Vampires exist, Dean? Werewolves, Demons, Angels...?"

"Angels?!" You blurted, shock evident on your face.

The brothers chuckled in unison. "Why is it always the Angels that shock people?" Dean smithed.

You squinted at Sam, tilting your head to the side in mock suspicion. "Angels, really!? You're not getting out of that one easily, I'll have questions later."

Dean winked at Sam.

"Anyway moving onnn…" Sam pressed, placing his hand on the table. "This explains why there have been no reported sightings in a few weeks. No full moon = no spirit."

"So… yeah, this spell… the moon." You stumbled over your words, a hint of reluctance in your expression. "Basically… it seems the spell can only be performed on a full moon. And, well, the next one is... tomorrow."

Dean's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Tomorrow? That soon?"

You nodded, feeling the weight of time. "I'm sorry I didn't mention this earlier. That's why I called you over so urgently."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, understanding the sudden rush. "Thank you Y/N. We owe you big time for this."

You glanced at the clock on the wall. "Soo… we should get cracking then. We'll need to gather the ingredients and prepare for the ritual before sunset tomorrow".

Sam and Dean exchanged a concerned glance. "Y/N... This ritual, it might not be safe. We can't guarantee what we'll face there."

Dean's expression hardened as he chimed in, his jaw set firm. "Sam's right, we can't risk putting you in harm's way."

You met their concern with an unwavering, resolute look. "I understand the risks, but I called you here for a reason. I want to help."

Sam sighed deeply, his concern etched in his furrowed brow. "We appreciate that, but this is our job—our responsibility. We can't involve you in something this risky."

"But… I've been studying these texts for years... I know the history," you insisted firmly, your determination shining through. "I can be an asset, not a liability."

Dean shook his head, his reluctance evident. "We can't take that chance. Our line of work, it's not for everyone."

You stood your ground, your stance holding a mix of frustration and resolve. "I understand the risks, and I'm willing to take them."

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing look, silently acknowledging your unyielding determination. With a heavy sigh, Sam relented, albeit with lingering worry etched on his face. "Okay. We'll need to gather the ingredients, and rehearse the spell."

Your eyes lit up with gratitude. "Thank you. I won't let you down."

After a tense pause, Sam spoke in a softer tone. "We'll prepare everything. But promise us, if it gets too dangerous, you'll stay back."

You nodded firmly. "I promise. I'll follow your lead."

Dean, uncomfortable with the tension in the air, decided to excuse himself. "Hey Sammy… as you’re the bookish one, why don't you stay and get clued up on this spell. I’ll head out to grab the herbs and shit". Dean shot a reassuring look at Sam, a silent encouragement to handle the situation, before swiftly leaving to gather the required supplies.

As the sound of the closing door echoed through the room, the atmosphere seemed to ease a bit. Sam met your gaze, his concern softening into a reassuring smile. "He's got a way with words, hasn't he?"

You chuckled softly, the tension easing a little. "He sure does. Is he always that direct and to the point?"

Sam let out a breathy laugh. "Yep"

You mirrored his amusement.

Sam leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as he regarded you. "You really shouldn't have to do this. It's not your responsibility."

"I know," you admitted, a hint of weariness in your voice. "But I can't stand by knowing that I might know something that could help."

Sam's expression softened, understanding the depth of your commitment. "We appreciate your willingness to help. But you have to understand, this world we deal with, it's dangerous. We've seen things that... no one should have to."

You nodded solemnly. "I get it. But sometimes, doing what's right means taking risks."

Despite his concerns for your safety, your words resonated with him deeply. "We'll do everything to keep you safe, Y/N. That's a promise."

A faint smile touched your lips. "I trust you."

With a newfound understanding, you focused on the task ahead together. Time passed swiftly in your combined efforts, Sam absorbing every bit of information like a sponge, whilst you offered clarifications and insights from your research. 

As you discussed the finer points of the ritual, your voices softened, the air thickening with a palpable chemistry, unspoken yet undeniable. Your forced proximity seemed to heighten the charged atmosphere. An accidental brush of hands while reaching for a text, or a fleeting touch as you exchanged notes, sent jolts of awareness through you both.

Sam caught himself lingering on your words longer than necessary, admiring the intelligence and passion in your eyes. He tried to concentrate on the ritual details, but his thoughts occasionally drifted to the way your eyes sparkled with enthusiasm or the way you ran your fingers through your hair in moments of deep contemplation.

You too, couldn't help but notice the intensity in Sam's eyes as he absorbed the information. His focused demeanor was intriguing, and the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration was oddly endearing. You found yourself drawn to his earnestness, dedication, and the way he spoke with a gentle authority.

"Y/N," Sam began hesitantly, breaking the intensity of your study, "I owe you an apology. When we first met, I... I made a mistake, misgendering you. I'm truly sorry. I haven't stopped thinking about it… I'm pretty embarrassed actually."

Your expression softened, surprise flickering briefly before a reassuring smile tugged at your lips. "Honestly, forget about it… titles can be deceiving."

Sam exhaled through his nose. "It must suck though, right? That people still make assumptions like that".

"I guess so, I just try not to think about it."

"Yeah, yeah, right, I'm sorry."

You chuckled. "Stop apologizing... It's all good."

"Good." Sam smiled, unsure where to lead the conversation next. He hoped he hadn't ruined the vibe.

Sensing Sam's hesitancy, you shuffled in your seat. "Um, I don't know about you, but all this reading is making my head fuzzy. Do you…fancy a beer?"

"Uh, yeah… sure." Sam rose from his seat, unconsciously mirroring you.

"Awesome, you relax Sam, I'll grab them."

"May I use your bathroom?" Sam asked, ever so politely.

You chuckled. "Yeah of course, up the stairs, first door on the right."

Once in the bathroom, Sam closed the door and stared at himself in the mirror. He felt like a teenager on a first date, full of butterflies. He tried to calm himself down, splashing some cold water on his face and checking his teeth. Taking a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in his chest, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to compose himself. He couldn't deny what he was feeling- he was head-over-heels crushing on you.

As he tried to steady his racing thoughts, Sam couldn't help but replay the moments you had shared—your smile, the accidental touches, the way you seamlessly connected over shared enthusiasm. 

"Pull yourself together, Sam," he muttered to his reflection. He couldn't afford to let his feelings interfere with the task ahead, especially when danger might loom.

Taking another deep breath, he straightened his posture and splashed a bit more water on his face, letting the coolness soothe his nerves. "Just a crush," he reminded himself firmly, though his heart wasn't completely convinced.

Downstairs, you were gathering drinks from the kitchen, your own thoughts a mix of excitement and nervousness. You had sensed a shift in your interaction, and now, with Sam excusing himself, you tried to contain your own flutter of anticipation. The prospect of spending a casual moment together felt oddly thrilling.

With two bottles in hand, you made your way to the lounge, taking a deep breath to calm your nerves. You set the bottles down on the coffee table as you heard Sam's footsteps coming down the stairs.

"In here!" you called, signaling Sam to turn right, instead of left back into the kitchen. "Needed a change of scenery" you smiled, trying to ease the tension as you both sat on the sofa.

Seated next to each other, you took sips from your drinks. 

"Sooo, besides solving supernatural mysteries, what else do you do?" you asked, attempting to break the ice.

Sam chuckled softly, grateful for the shift in conversation. "Well, it's pretty much a hunter's life for me—saving people, hunting things, 'the family business', as my brother likes to say."

You grinned. "Saving people, huh? That's quite the noble endeavor. But what about when you're not hunting?"

Sam paused, considering the question. "I guess I try to keep some sense of normalcy—reading, jogging, that kind of stuff. Dean says I'm a bit of a nerd."

You chuckled. "Sounds like a good way to balance out the otherworldly chaos."

Sam's gaze softened, memories of a different path flickering in his eyes. "I had another life planned before all of this... I was studying to be a lawyer."

Your eyebrows rose in surprise. "Really? What made you change course?"

"Family duty." Sam's reply was tinged with melancholy and regret. "Some things happen, and you find yourself down a different road. Dean and I… well, we took on this legacy, and it became more than just a choice."

You nodded, sensing the depth behind Sam's words. "It takes a lot to give up one path for another."

"Yeah, it does," Sam agreed softly, a hint of sadness in his tone. "But I guess in the end, we all have to make sacrifices for what we believe in."

You considered him for a second, admiration in your thoughts.

"Anyway... enough about me…what about you? Besides being an encyclopedia of hidden knowledge, what fills your days?"

You blushed. "Well, you know... the simple things—hiking, painting, exploring new cafes..." A soft smile graced your lips. "Oh, and I have this habit of binge-watching crime documentaries. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure."

Sam chuckled. "Oh yeah?"

You exhaled in amusement. "Yeah, um... I know it sounds so cliché, but understanding the human mind, motivations—it's fascinating."

Your conversation flowed effortlessly, each question peeling back another layer, revealing more about your lives, interests, and aspirations. 

Dean eventually returned, laden with an assortment of herbs and artefacts. You were so engrossed in your conversation that you didn't even hear the door open.

"Got everything we need. What'd I miss?" Dean's grin widened as he surveyed the room, sensing the intimate atmosphere he'd stumbled into.

Sam cleared his throat, a faint flush of embarrassment tingeing his cheeks. "Uh, we finalized the spell... Y/N here kindly offered up a beer."

"Yeah, we were just winding down... Are you a true crime fan too?" You asked with a playful smirk.

Dean's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "True crime, huh? You've been holding out on me with that one Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"No need to explain, Sammy. Just remember, if you ever need pointers on a real hunt, I'm your go-to guy." Dean winked and headed to the kitchen, focusing on arranging the herbs and artefacts he'd gathered.

You and Sam exchanged a glance—an unspoken acknowledgment of the moment you had shared, now shelved in the wake of the imminent task ahead.

Chapter Text

The next evening, an hour before sunset, the three of you arrived at the haunted woodland. The October air was cool against your skin as you followed the brothers to the site of the tomb, boots squelching as you trailed through the mud.

Sam and Dean had picked you up after spending most of the morning snoozing in their motel, in preparation for tonight's ritual.

After all of the excitement and tension of yesterday, you had only managed to get a few hours of sleep.

The brothers had left yours at around 2am this morning, after further clarifications and rehearsals of the spell, fueled by late-night takeaway pizza. You were thankful it was a Friday.

After heated discussion, a gameplan was devised for tonight. Sam was to take the lead, reciting the spell incantations, whilst Dean would make the herbal offerings, all whilst maintaining the safety of the site. You were to help set up, but otherwise wait by the car.

You had argued that you could help Sam with the offerings, freeing up Dean to keep watch, but you were quickly shot down due to concerns for your 'safety'. You resigned to your part, exhaustion taking over, thankful that they were even allowing you to tag along at all.

You scanned the scenery vigilantly as you walked, taking note of salient landmarks, painting a mental map in your mind.

Dean had parked the Impala as close to the edge of the clearing as possible, so his "baby" could be seen at all times from the tomb site. You had been taken aback when he proposed this, unaware that "baby" was his nickname for his beloved Impala. Sam had to hold back a laughing fit as he explained that Dean wasn't referring to you.

Arriving at the tomb site, you helped Sam arrange the ingredients on a makeshift altar as Dean drew protective sigils around the perimeter, salt-loaded shotgun slung over his shoulder.

As the sun started to set, the atmosphere became tense. The sky began to blend shades of orange and pink, casting elongated shadows across the clearing.

Sam's nervousness was evident in the way he watched over you- not even trying to hide it. You found his protectiveness frustratingly endearing.

Dean gave a final check to the salt sigils, his movements confident and precise, but his eyes betrayed a hint of anxiety. "Everything set?" 

Sam scanned the perimeter for any signs of disturbance. "Yeah, just about." 

Dean stepped back, finally satisfied with the protective measures. "Alright, we're as ready as we'll ever be."

As Sam walked you back to the Impala, he gave you another pep-talk about what you should do if things go awry, but then reassured you. "It should all go smoothly, it's just a ghost at the end of the day."

You raised your eyebrows. "Just a ghost?" 

Sam chuckled. "Oh, we've dealt with much worse..."

"Like those Angels and Demons you mentioned? I still need to pick your brains about that."

You wished Sam luck as he left you by the car, watching as he made his way back to Dean.

As the skies darkened, the moon appeared, glowing iridescent overhead. It's eerie glow highlighted the solemnity of the woodland as you settled by the Impala, feeling a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. In the distance, Sam and Dean began the ritual, Sam's mantra carrying through the air as he commenced the incantations. The wind whispered through the trees, adding an extra layer of mystery to the atmosphere.

Minutes turned into what felt like hours as you watched with bated breath, unable to tear your eyes from the unfolding scene. Faint glimmers of light flickered amidst the darkness as unease settled in the pit of your stomach.

Suddenly, a distant rumble echoed through the woodland, sending a shiver down your spine. You strained to make sense of the sound, your heart pounding in anticipation. Before you could work out where it came from, a chilling gust of wind swept through the clearing, causing the leaves to rustle and the branches to rattle. Your thoughts raced as you crouched by the Impala, trying to discern if it was part of the ritual or an unforeseen occurrence.

In the midst of the chaos, a deafening silence descended and an uneasy sensation of being watched sent a chill down your spine. You gripped the hood of the Impala, eyes darting between the tomb and the surrounding woods as a sudden surge of energy pulsed through the air. The faint glow around the tomb intensified, casting an ethereal aura, and the ground beneath your feet trembled. Your heart raced as you waited with suspense.

Suddenly, Sam and Dean's voices rose in unison, chanting words that echoed through the night, their figures bathed in an eerie glow. They stepped forward, each carrying an offering as detailed in the Men of Letters texts. They moved closer to the tomb, their voices resonating with purpose. Sam reached out to the spirit, offering heartfelt sentiments in light of the betrayal that had bound it to this earthly realm, seeking to right the wrongs that had tethered it.

The atmosphere crackled with an intense energy as the spirit appeared with an ethereal rage that distorted its form. Its anguished cries echoed through the woods, grating on your nerves. Consumed by its torment, it lashed out violently with tendrils of spectral energy. Sam and Dean stood their ground, expertly dodging it's attacks as they continued their efforts to calm the spirit's rage. Their voices resonated stronger as they pleaded the spirit to let go and transcend to the moon, where closure finally awaited.

In a burst of radiant energy, the spirit finally relented, its anguished cries fading into a haunting whisper. A moment of uncertainty hung heavy in the air, and then, as if moved by an unseen force, the spirit began to ascend. A serene calm washed over the woodland as the spirit, enveloped in the radiant glow, gradually ascended toward the full moon.

The ritual had worked.

With the night now quiet, you took this a sign that it was now safe. You ran towards the tomb site, where Sam and Dean were standing, recovering from the ordeal.

As you were approaching, Sam looked up to meet your gaze, and he smiled wide, his expression a mixture of triumph, exhaustion and gratitude.

The moon cast a watchful glow across the clearing as the three of you cleared the remnants of the ritual. You glanced up, whispering a message of awe and gratitude.

Dean was practically bouncing off the walls, his energy infectious as he packed things back into the Impala. "Did you see that, huh?" he exclaimed, flashing a grin. "That's how it's done, baby!" He slammed the trunk shut, his enthusiasm reverberating in the night air.

Meanwhile, Sam was quietly content, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Thanks for all your help." He directed his gaze to you, gratitude shimmering in his eyes, his voice carrying genuine appreciation. "We honestly couldn't have done it without you."

Dean, still hyped up, threw an arm around both of you. "The night's still young, and we deserve a celebration. Let's hit a bar, have a few rounds. What d'ya say, guys?"

"Absolutely!" You chimed, unable to contain your enthusiasm. "I'm in!"

Sam nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes at Dean's excitement. "Sounds good," he agreed, his smile widening a fraction as he glanced in your direction.

Chapter Text

The drive back to Lawrence was filled with Dean’s classic tunes blasting through the speakers. You couldn't help but join in with his infectious energy, laughter bubbling from the high of the success at the woodland. The brothers were surprised to find that you shared some taste in music with Dean, although preferring the more progressive side of 80's rock.

"I didn't take you for a Rush fan," Dean observed with a grin, turning his head towards you in the back seat.

You smirked. "There's a lot you don't know about me, boys."

"Well, we'll have to tease some secrets out of you tonight then, right Sammy?" 

Sam chuckled, a glint in his eye. "Oh, absolutely." 

The Impala pulled up to a bar that you suggested, not far from your home. It was in a quaint spot, dimly lit with a rustic charm that made it the perfect place for a celebratory drink. The bar was busy, but not rowdy, filled with the clinking of glasses and murmurs of lively conversation. Dean immediately took charge, ordering a round of drinks for you all.

Still unable to contain his energy, Dean challenged you both to a game of pool, his competitive nature coming to the surface. Sam, ever the strategist, offered pointers while sipping his drink, occasionally joining in with a smooth shot that surprised you all. You on the other hand, well… pool was not your forte. This amused the boys to no end.

Another round of drinks came, and Dean ordered food for the table. Conversation flowed as Sam and Dean shared stories from past hunts, the weight of the evening’s events momentarily forgotten. Their stories were a mix of heart-pounding adventures and comical mishaps, each tale drawing you in further. You found yourself laughing along, reveling in the shared joy. In the midst of the shared laughter, you caught Sam stealing glances your way. There was a silent understanding in those moments, a connection beyond words that spoke volumes.

As you settled into the confines of a booth, the atmosphere felt different, more relaxed and intimate. Dean noticed the unspoken connection between you and his brother and skillfully excused himself, engaging the bartender in lively conversation.

Alone now, save for the ambient buzz of the bar, you and Sam found yourselves drawn into an easy conversation, sharing stories and exchanging smiles, the air brimming with an undeniable chemistry. Sam appeared genuinely interested to learn more about your life, and you about his.

"So, have you always lived in Kansas?" Sam asked, taking another sip of his beer.

"No actually, I grew up in Virginia. A small town called Mystic Falls."

Sam looked at you blankly.

You chuckled. "I don't expect you to have heard of it, nothing exciting happens there."

Sam smiled. "Mystic Falls... Sounds cozy."

"Yeah, you could say that." Your heart fluttered as you felt the weight of Sam's gaze, his attention focused completely on you.

In that moment, your phone started to buzz on the table. You glanced down at the caller ID - Bonnie. You decided not to answer, flicking on Do Not Disturb.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah, it's just my friend, Bonnie. She's probably wanting to tell me about her date. She can wait." You smiled cheekily, putting your phone in your jacket pocket and turned towards Sam. "So...enough about me. I want to hear about you. Where's this mysterious bunker you live in?" 

"Lebanon. Not far from here actually, just a few hours' drive. It's a pretty strategic location, right in the center of the country, which is pretty ideal for our line of work, and for the Men of Letters before us."

"Huh, makes sense. I still can't believe you live in the Men of Letters headquarters, that's crazy!" 

"I'm sure I could convince Dean to let you see it at some point. You know, for your research. If you wanted?"

You smiled, meeting Sam's eyes. "I'd love that."

Your shared gaze held a subtle acknowledgment of the budding connection between you. Sam's tentative proposal felt like an invitation to something more than just a tour of a secret hideout—a chance to bridge the gap between your worlds.

As the night deepened, the connection between you grew like a magnetic pull, his presence an enchanting force gently drawing you nearer, the closeness inevitable, yet beautifully mesmerizing.

"Do you go back much? Back home?" 

"Yeah, pretty often--whenever I have the chance really. My parents are still there, I like to help them out as often as I can, and I have a great bunch of friends still in the town."

Sam nodded, listening to you intently. "You sound like you had a good life there."

"Yeah, I um... I moved to Lawrence when I started my masters, and just ended up staying. I miss my friends, but the opportunities here were better, and the University are really good to me."

Sam nodded, thoughtfully.

"What about you? Do you see much of your family? You mentioned something about a family business?"

Sam's gaze dropped to where his hands were resting on the table, a hint of grief behind his eyes as he sighed a half-smile.

"Dean's my only family....well... the only family I have left." He looked up at you with a faux smile, attempting to hide the pain he felt from the memories that had plagued his whole life, but his eyes betrayed him. He had always been bad at hiding his feelings when he'd been drinking.

You felt the grief in his words, and the look in his eyes made a well of sadness form in your stomach. "Oh, Sam, I'm sorry... I never meant-"

He cut you off. "Stop... Please don't apologize."

"I'm s.... okay." You had to cut yourself off from apologizing for apologizing.

Sam fiddled with his watch and took a deep breath before speaking. "Our mom died when I was a baby. She was killed by a demon. We lost our father a few years ago. It's complicated... And kinda the reason why we do what we do."

You didn't know what to say. You couldn't think of any words that could do justice to what he just told you, so you reached out to him, placing your hand gently on his forearm, a gesture of compassion and understanding.

Sam's eyes met yours as he gave you a half smile, placing his opposite hand upon yours.

He brushed his fingers over your knuckles in unspoken reciprocation, his touch feather-light but purposeful. 

This is the first time he has touched you intentionally, you realized, and he felt electric.

He gently parted your fingers with his, twining his hand against yours in an unexpectedly intimate gesture.

In that moment the world stopped spinning.

You could no longer hear the bustle around you, your attention completely zoned in on him.

You sat like that, hands clutching onto each other for what felt like an eternity.

You started to feel woozy. It wasn't from the alcohol.

Heat rose to the surface of your skin, snapping you out of your haze as you became increasingly lightheaded. 

"Hey, um… it's getting a bit stuffy in here… fancy a walk?" You slowly relax your hand out of his grip and straighten up in your seat, acutely aware of the blush staining your cheeks. 

"Uh, yeah, sure." Sam's eyes snapped back into reality from his glassy haze. He scanned the room, searching for Dean as he rose out of the booth, but he was nowhere to be seen. He checked his watch, completely disorientated to the time. 11:31pm. How long had Dean been gone? He had no idea.

The night air offered a semblance of relief, cooling your skin and calming your nerves.

Sam slung his jacket over his shoulder with a grateful sigh, also clearly enjoying the cooling sensation.

You walked slowly, side by side, the weight of your earlier interaction on your minds.

You looked up at Sam beside you. "Hey, I really appreciate your openness in there. You didn't have to-"

"I wanted to," Sam said, cutting you off gently. "I… It's hard to keep things bottled up all the time. I have to be strong. For Dean." He glanced down at you. "Thank you for being there".

You smiled softly. "Of course."

As you walked, you tried to grapple with the feelings you were having. You liked Sam. That was clear. He seems kind, and is clearly intelligent... Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. What harm could it do, huh?

A kaleidoscope of butterflies flapped their wings in your stomach as you tentatively invited Sam back to yours for 'coffee'.

"Coffee? You sure we need caffeine right now?" Sam laughed, playing it cool. Must not appear too keen...

"I have decaf" you countered, with a cheeky smile. Is he serious? "Or tea if you'd prefer that. Or more beer, the night's still young."

Sam chuckled softly at your quip, a subtle smirk tugging on his lips. “Decaf sounds perfect”.

Under the moonlit sky, a comfortable silence settled between you, the presence of Sam beside you a quiet comfort, but you couldn't suppress the flutter of anticipation in your stomach. 

A yawn escaped your lips, your lack of sleep finally catching up with you. Or was it because you were nervous? It was hard to tell.

You let out a small chuckle, apologizing for your yawn. "Sorry..."

Sam chuckled back with an amused smile. "Come on, let's get you home."

As you stepped into the warm haven of your home, a comforting embrace of familiar scents and soft lighting welcomed you. You brewed two cups of coffee and settled on the sofa in the lounge.

With each passing minute, the barrier of formality dissolved as you shared thoughts, dreams, and fears. Stolen glances and tender touches punctuated the moments, the magnetic pull between you impossible to ignore.

As the clock ticked past midnight, a subtle tension crackled in the air, a grounding reminder of the night slipping away.

You shifted closer, your knee grazing his thigh, his arm resting behind you.

Sam's gaze rose to your eyes, then dropped to your lips.

Your behaviors unconsciously mirrored his, the two of you completely in sync. He was the earth, and you were the moon, completely bound in his orbit.

Your hand slowly rose to his face to gently brush a lock of hair from his eyes.

"Y/N, I...." Sam breathed as he gazed at your mouth.

"Stop." You mirrored his earlier words as you cut him off with a gentle press of your lips to his. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and he tasted of coffee. Slowly, you pulled back to search his eyes. "Tell me if I'm wrong," you whispered, brows furrowing slightly.

His breathless reply brushed against your lips as he drew you closer.

"You're not wrong," he finally rasped, a confirming murmur against your skin as he crushed his lips to yours.

Chapter Text

The kiss was needy, although agonizingly tender; the resolution of a dissonant chord that had been building since you met.

Despite his strength, Sam's touch was gentle as he cupped your face, pulling you closer into his starved embrace.

Your lips moved in tandem, a push and pull, request and answer to each other's desire, echoing the shared sentiment that had finally found its voice.

As you parted for air, a shared smile danced between you, the unspoken tension now replaced by a new, exhilarating energy. 

Sam's warm breath grazed your ear. "Let's not rush..." He whispered, tracing his thumb over your mouth so your lips parted slightly. "But let's not wait either..."

You shuddered inwards, his words and actions only adding fuel to the flame that was igniting within you.

You gazed up at him under hooded eyes, biting your bottom lip as you slowly rose to your knees, hitching your leg to settle on top of him.

God he is tall…and strong… As if you hadn't noticed the first time you laid eyes on him. You had, of course, but now, your impressions were confirmed.

You felt his hard shoulder muscles and ironed biceps flex and extend as his hands found your waist, pulling you closer, unyieldingly into his lap.

You leaned into his embrace, surrendering to his magnetic pull that was imploring your senses. He cradled you to him, as though he couldn't get close enough.

Now in his arms, you realized that, if he wanted, you were completely at his mercy. The thought flooded your bloodstream with a dopamine-adrenaline cocktail as you joined your lips back with his.

This kiss was different. Craving. Demanding. A newfound confidence igniting in you both.

As your tongues met, you automatically rolled your hips, feeling Sam stiffen against you.

His hands travelled from your waist, down your back, to rest on your ass. A throaty moan escaped your mouth as he squeezed, eliciting a breathy chuckle from him against your lips.

As you again parted for air, hot breath mingling, your eyes locked and reality seemed to snap back into place for a brief moment. You became acutely aware of the fire burning within you, and the distant ringing in your ears.

Wait... it wasn't just in your ears. Sam could hear it too. His eyes darted behind your shoulder, towards the source of the sound in the hallway. You tilted your head in the direction he was looking, finally identifying the sound was coming from your landline phone.

You turned back to Sam with a confused expression then shrugged, leaning back into his touch.

"Do you usually get calls at this time of night?" Sam chuckled between breaths as he peppered a trail of kisses along your jaw and began to nibble at your earlobe.

"No!" you squealed, still catching your breath, squirming into his ticklish kisses.

"Not unless..." Shit... you thought, remembering that you had left your phone on Do Not Disturb. 

"Unless what?" Sam mumbled against your jaw.

"Uh, nothing, never mind." You shrugged, before grabbing his face and returning your lips to his, becoming increasingly drunk on the taste of him.

The phone went silent, then started to ring again. A coil of anxiety spiraled in your stomach. What if it's mom? Has something happened to dad?

"Hey... hey..." Sam half mumbled, noticing the change in your demeanor as he gently broke the kiss. "Maybe you should get that? Sounds like someone's really trying to get hold of you". Despite his dilated pupils, and obvious arousal, a gentle concern touched his face as he caressed your jaw with his thumb.

You looked at him with a gentle plea, reluctant to leave his touch, despite the worry that was now evident on your face.

"I'm not going anywhere" he smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You directed him a knowing smirk before reluctantly sliding out of his lap.

You swayed into the hallway, Sam's gaze lingering on you the whole way.

You cleared your throat then picked up the phone apprehensively. Your voice came through slightly crackled as you answered. "Hello?" 

The voice that met you was laced with concern. "Y/N? Finally… Where have you been? We've been trying to get hold of you all night".

"Bonnie...? Why, who has?" Your confusion was evident in your tone.

"Me, Caroline, Matt, Ric… have you not checked your phone?" 

Anxiety built in your chest as you walked over to where you had tossed your jacket over a chair in the kitchen and took out your phone from your pocket.

11 missed calls, and 58 unread messages... Shit. Panic rose in your throat as you scrolled through the group WhatsApp.

"Bonnie… what's going on?" Panic was now evident in your voice.

Sam, noticing the change in tone, got up from the sofa and followed your path into the kitchen, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes.

"It's Elena… she was in a car accident this evening…Grayson and Miranda…didn't make it" Bonnie choked.

You froze for a second. "What?" 

"Yeah."

You trembled. "Oh my god. Is she…?" 

"She's in hospital, but uninjured… no one knows how she made it out… but I've never seen anyone like this Y/N…"

There was a tense pause as you tried to keep up with what Bonnie was saying. 

"Sorry, I know it's late but... we didn't want you finding out after…we... we knew you would want to be here".

You ran a hand through your hair. "Oh my god, Bonnie… of course… I'll… I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks Y/N, we all need you."

"Of course, I'll catch the next flight… hold on… okay?".

"We're trying..." Bonnie sniffled. "See you soon… I love you".

"I love you too."

You held the phone in your hand in silence for a few seconds after Bonnie had hung up, the echoes of your conversation lingering in the hollow space around you, as if the walls themselves absorbed the weight of the news.

Elena, your oldest friend, in a living hell, while the lives of her parents had met a tragic end. Each syllable uttered by Bonnie etched deeper into your chest, tightening an invisible vice around your heart.

Sam, catching the last part of your conversation, stood in the doorway, watching you with concern. "Y/N… What's wrong?" he asked tentatively as he approached you slowly.

You felt numb. Your gaze was still glued to the phone in your hand. "It's Elena… She's in hospital… a car crash. She's alive… but, her parents are... dead."

The lack of intonation in your voice filled Sam with dread.

Your gaze finally met his as he stood at your side. Cortisol flooded your system as the reality of the situation came crashing down upon you. You had known Miranda and Grayson your whole life; they were like second parents to you.

You felt the burden of helplessness pressing in, a suffocating awareness that you were far from where you should be, distant from the ones who needed your presence, your support.

Guilt gnawed at your insides, coiling and twisting, as if accusing you of not being there when it mattered the most.

You clutched the phone tightly, as if by sheer willpower you could alter the reality painted by Bonnie's trembling voice.

You shook your head, unable to get your words out, unaware of the tears starting to roll down your cheeks.

Sam's instinct to comfort kicked in, and he gently placed his hand on your trembling shoulder to calm you.

Sam's touch triggered something in you and you began to sob, the cocktail of hormones and alcohol in your system overwhelming you.

Sam gently pulled you towards him before cradling you against his chest, rubbing comforting circles on your back. "Hey… take a breath…that's it, breathe…"

Seeing you like this felt like a punch to the gut. Sam simply held you to his chest, holding back his own emotions as he let you process yours.

You sniffled into his shirt, breathing in his scent. "I'm sorry" you breathed, finally gaining control of your breath.

Sam stroked your hair. "Shh... You've got nothing to be sorry for".

You straightened up, trying to compose yourself, wiping your tears on your sleeve. "I… I have to go home... My friends need me".

"Of course... We'll get you where you need to be, alright?" He said as he wiped a stray tear from your cheek.

The next ten minutes passed in a flash. As you tried to gather yourself, Sam remained by your side, a calming presence in your time of need. He swiftly moved to help you pack, gathering your essentials and helped you book a taxi to the airport without hesitation. Although the thought of being torn apart from you pained him deeply, he knew he would do the same if it was Dean in hospital. Unfortunately he didn't even need to imagine.

As the taxi pulled up to your house, Sam accompanied you outside, carrying your bags. 

As you stood on the sidewalk, the weight of this evening's events crashed down on you. You felt torn. Dissonant, once again. 

You peered up at him through bloodshot eyes. "Thank you."

"No need." Sam shook his head with a tentative smile, his eyes reflecting concern and empathy.

In a moment of quiet reassurance and longing, you gently reach up, cupping Sam's face in your hands, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was a gesture of appreciation, and an unspoken acknowledgment of the connection you shared.

Sam lips lingered against your forehead for a moment, fighting against the aching part of him that didn't want to let you go.

"Stay in touch, okay?" His voice was tinged with concern as he stroked your cheek.

You nodded, forcing a smile and with a final lingering look, you stepped into the waiting cab, a whirlwind of emotions accompanying you.

As the car pulled away, Sam stood on the curb, a silhouette against the fading streetlights, a steadfast presence etched in your memory.

Sam's eyes lingered on the vanishing cab and deep sigh slipped past his lips. His mind swirled with concern, a persistent ache in his chest, praying for your comfort and resilience amid the turmoil awaiting you in Mystic Falls.

Chapter Text

SAM

Sam arrived back at the motel, the weight of the night heavy on his shoulders. As he opened the door, he was surprised to find Dean slouched on his bed, engrossed in an old rerun playing on the TV. He stunk of weed, munching through a bag of tortilla chips.

Dean observed Sam's return with a raised eyebrow, barely glancing away from the screen. "Woah, Sammy, didn't expect you back so soon. Did you scare her off already?" 

Sam sighed, kicking off his boots by the door.

"Hey, you didn't pull that kinky shit on her did you? I told you man, some chicks just aren't into that."

Sam sighed. "Not now, Dean. It's been a rough night."

Dean glanced up, noticing the weariness etched into Sam's face.

"Hey, what happened?" His teasing tone evaporated instantly, replaced by concern for his brother.

Sam perched on the side of his bed, opposite Dean.

Dean shuffled upright, trying to make an effort to compose himself and listen to Sam.

Sam looked down and creased his brow as he recounted the situation.

"Shit, that's rough, man. I'm sorry." He sat up, turning off the TV, giving Sam his full attention.

Sam sighed heavily. "Yeah... she looked real shook up... I had no idea what to do."

Dean's expression softened. "You did what you could, Sammy, being there for her... That's what matters."

Sam nodded thoughtfully, going over the nights events in his head. "Yeah. But it's tough, you know? Feeling helpless, unable to do more..."

"I get it. But sometimes all we can do is be there for someone, even if it doesn't feel like enough" Dean reassured, uncharacteristically sentimental.

Sam nodded, thoughts and feelings clouding his mind. 

"You did good, Sam. Now get some rest. You look like crap."

A faint chuckle escaped Sam. "Thanks Dean... Appreciate it."

"No problem brother." Dean smiled, eyes like saucers.

Sam huffed in amusement. "Hey, what's up with you anyway? Why are you back, high as a kite? No luck with that bartender eh?" 

"Afraid not Sammy. Turns out she was engaged... fiancé turned up and kicked me out the bar".

"Wait, what?! When did all this happen?!" 

Dean scoffed another handful of chips. "Just after I saw you leave with Y/N."

"I looked for you... couldn't see you anywhere!" 

"Probably because I was busy out back" Dean winked.

Sam scoffed. "Real classy, Dean, as per."

"Hey, don't blame me! I was just trying my luck, it's not my fault she wasn't wearing her ring!"

With that, Sam yawned, headed for the bathroom, feeling a mix of exhaustion and gratitude for having Dean to share the weight of the world with, even if he was stoned out of his mind.

YOU

You stir to the chime of the seatbelt sign being turned on, followed by the blaring announcement from the pilot that you were soon to be landing. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you glance out the window, greeted by the sight of a landscape far removed from where you started. Mystic Falls - now within reach, and Kansas - now a world away. 

As reality set back in, you are met with the familiar feeling of anxiety pulling you under the current, filling your lungs. You fight back against the tide trying to drown you, the fear of giving in to its pull even more frightening than the feeling itself. You had been down that path before and it terrified you to death.

You check your phone. 05:44am. Great. You caught the earliest flight you could, but it will take you at least another hour and a half to get to Mystic Falls, and you were exhausted. The few hours of disrupted sleep you had managed to get on the plane did not make up for your sleep deprivation and the emotional roller-coaster you had experienced over the last few days. At least your parents were expecting you and had prepared your old bedroom for you to stay. I am so lucky, you thought, thinking of your parents. Then another wave of anxiety rushed over you as you thought of Elena… Miranda... Grayson. Gulp.

You reach for your water bottle and pop your daily antidepressant whilst you remember. No doubt you'll be preoccupied once home.

Home. You still called Mystic Falls home. You'd made a life in Lawrence for the past few years, but it still did not feel like home to you. Home to you had always been connected to people, not a place.

Your train of thought subsequently wandered to Sam and another pang of anxiety hit you as you recalled the events of last night. Everything had happened so quickly... you were struggling to connect the events in your head. Now, 10,000 ft in the air, most of it felt like a dream, or a distant memory. You didn't know what Sam was to you, it was all so fresh. You wondered if the universe was signaling to you that the course you were on last night was not one to venture down. You take another gulp of your water, trying to shake off the thoughts. You were not in a good place to be making important life decisions right now.

As the plane made it's descent, your dissonant behaviors reflected your inner turmoil. You gripped onto the armrest whilst staring out the window, silently contemplating whether you were about to meet your untimely demise. Despite your dark thoughts, the feeling of flying had always made you feel liberated, detached from your real life. The feeling of being completely out of control, of surrendering your fate to the actions of someone else or the universe, somehow relieved a pressure within you and calmed your nerves.

For as long as you could bring yourself to remember, you had been a perfectionist—always striving for success in everything you do, be it work, friendships, hobbies, relationships—you placed an immense amount of pressure on yourself that you had never been able to shift, your own feeble attempt to repress the guilt deep inside of you. Whether or not that perfection was ever realized was another matter, but the intentions were always there, gnawing away, refusing to grant you peace, and supplying an endless amount of shame when you didn’t live up to them. As macabre as it was, that shame had been fairly successful, reaping you rewards in certain areas, but less in others. It was also, according to your therapist, one of the myriad reasons why you were so prone to bouts of anxiety and depression.

As the wheels hit the tarmac, your thoughts grounded too. You composed yourself, reminding yourself that you had to be the best version of yourself for your friends.

You made your way through the arrivals gate in record time. The airport was quiet, fair for a few early morning travelers. You arrived outside just as the sun was starting to rise, a faint orange tinge in the horizon, as you boarded a cab and headed to Mystic Falls.

You arrived at your parents' house just before 08:00am. They were up and ready to greet you as you walked through the front door, ever the early risers.

"Hey honey, come here." Your mom opened her arms to you in a welcoming embrace.

"How are you holding up sweetheart?" Your Dad trembled from behind, walking aid in hand as he made his way over to you from the lounge.

"Hey dad." You pecked him on the cheek. "I'm holding on. Just need to see Elena..."

"Of course." Your mom pursed her lips. "What happened to Grayson and Miranda… it's truly terrible. I keep thinking of poor Elena, and Jeremy…"

"I know mom" you sniff, leaning in for another hug.

"I know you need to head off sweetie, but please… stay for some breakfast first and maybe a shower?" Your mom scanned you over, noticing yesterday's mascara smudges still on your face.

You snort out a laugh. "Yeah sure. Thanks mom".

As you set your bags down in your childhood bedroom, you let out a loud sigh.

You perched on the end of your bed, pulled your phone out your pocket and shot Bonnie a text.

[Y/N]
"Hey Bonnie, just arrived at my parents. Going to grab a quick bite and freshen up but then I'm free. Any news?xx"

A reply pinged back almost immediately.

[Bonnie]
"Hey Y/N, hope your journey was ok. Stayed over at the hospital last night, they wanted to keep Elena in for observations. We should still be here by the time you get here, but I'll let you know otherwise. Room 102, E floor, North Wing xx"

[Y/N]
"Thanks beaut, see you soon xx"

As you hovered over your open chats, your gaze fixated on Sam's name. A wave of uncertainty washed over you, each keystroke feeling like a monumental decision. Stay in touch, his words echo in your mind, but you lingered, teetering on the edge of hesitation. You sighed, succumbing to the indecision, locking your phone and plugging it in for a charge before jumping in the shower.

SAM

Sam stirred from his restless sleep, the faint light filtering through the motel's curtains signaling the dawn. Dean's snoring, an orchestra of snores more accurately, provided the morning's soundtrack from the bed next to his.

With a groan, Sam rubbed his eyes and fumbled his hand on the nightstand. Anxious anticipation coursed through him as he unlocked his phone, followed by disappointment as he found no new messages. He sighed, realizing it might be too early for you to reach out after everything that had happened. Nevertheless, he was still left with a sinking feeling, an unease settling in the pit of his stomach.

With a deep sigh, Sam dragged himself out of bed, his feet heavy as lead as he ambled towards the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face and glanced at himself in the mirror, the events of last night playing like a reel in his mind. Worry was etched into his tightened brow, and his eyes felt hot and heavy. 

As he left the bathroom, Dean's snoring intensified for a brief moment, before stopping. 

"Morning, Sunshine." Dean groaned, stretching his arms wide. "You look like you got hit by a train."

Sam managed a faint smile. "Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, I guess."

Dean's eyebrows raised in mock suspicion. "Or maybe someone's been obsessively checking their phone since the crack of dawn?"

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to mask his disappointment.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Relax, Sammy. Give her some time. She'll reach out when she's ready."

Sam nodded, knowing Dean was right, as much as he didn't want to admit it. 

"Anyway," Dean said, sitting up. "We've got a few things to check out today. Might as well grab some grub before we hit the road."

Sam nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. 

As they readied themselves for the day ahead, Sam couldn't shake the worry gnawing at him. He hoped you were okay and that you'd eventually reach out. For now though, they had their own obligations to attend to, another day in the life of hunters.

YOU

"Breakfast's ready! I've made your favorite!"

Your mom's voice echoed through the house as you scuttled down the stairs, freshly dressed after your much-needed shower.

You plonked yourself at the kitchen table and picked at your food, the weight of the day ahead looming in your mind.

Breakfast with your parents was usually a comforting affair, a familiar, predictable routine that grounded you in the present. Today, however, even your mom's blueberry pancakes were tasteless, the sweetness soured by the nerves knotting in your stomach.

The journey to the hospital was a blur, each minute clouded by the gravity of what awaited. As you arrived at Elena's ward, your heart raced at the sight that met your eyes. Your friends gathered in the waiting room, each of them wearing their own tell-tell signs of concern. 

Caroline, always the supportive force, enveloped you in a tight hug, her worry evident in her restless movements and babbling mouth. "You've just missed Jeremy and Jenna... They'd been here all night... They've gone home to get some rest... Are you hungry? There's a cafe down the hall... I can grab you something, if you want?"

Bonnie's eyes mirrored yours in a silent storm of anxiety as she faked a smile your way.

Matt, Elena's off-and-on again boyfriend looked sickly pale as he sat in a chair, and Alaric—Ric, your ex-turned-'friend' carved concern into his brow as he approached, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Y/N, she's not doing well. Losing her parents... it's hitting her hard."

Ric's hand on your shoulder sent unease through you, offering little comfort as the concern for Elena weighed heavily on your mind.

"She's asking for you," Bonnie added softly, her eyes conveying a silent plea for your support.

Swallowing hard, you nodded, making your way down the corridor to Elena's room. 

As you pushed the door open, your heart sank. She looked so rough... broken. She tried to put on a brave face, but the pain was etched in her eyes, her usually vibrant spirit subdued by grief and exhaustion.

"Hey..." Your voice quivered, emotions swelling within you.

A fragile smile graced her lips as she attempted to mask her pain. "Hey, Y/N. I'm so glad you're here..."

You hurried to her side and wrapped your arms around her, trying to hold back your own tears as she started to cry.

"I'm here, Elena. Always," you whispered, holding onto her, offering what little comfort you could. Words were never enough. You knew that well.

She nodded, releasing her grip on you to wipe away her tears.

You sat in the chair beside her, trying your best to distract her from the pain. You shared stories and attempted to lift her spirits, but it was no use. Her eyes looked glazed, her face void of expression. 

Your friends eventually made their way into the room, their support and care radiating off the walls. 

"They say I can go home today" Elena announced, her breaths shaky. "But I don't think I can go back on my own." Her eyes met yours, filled with grief. "Jenna says I can go back to hers but… being around family, it… I… I think I need a distraction right now".

You squeezed her hand. "You can come stay with me, I'm sure my parents won't mind..."

"No, Y/N… I can't do that. Your folks have enough to deal with..." Elena reminded, referring to your dad's recent Parkinson's diagnosis.

You pursed your lips then opened them, beginning to retort before Bonnie cut you off. "You can stay with me. For as long as you need... We can have a girl's night, like the good old days. What do you think guys?" Bonnie asked, looking between you, Elena and Caroline.

"Sounds great!" Caroline chimed. "We can bake cupcakes, braid each other's hair, paint each other's nails…" She chuckled. 

You smiled softly at Caroline's joke. "I'm in."

Ric winked. "Sounds right up my street."

You rolled your eyes.

Elena chuckled lightly. It was great to see her smile. "Sounds great Bonnie, thank you".

"Not a problem, it will be nice to have some company... I should head home then, if that's okay? I'll set up the room, grab some food, tidy up a bit?" Bonnie looked towards Elena for reassurance.

"Of course Bonnie, don't go to too much trouble…Thanks for staying last night… I... I don't know what I'd do without you guys..." Elena trembled, choking up at the end of her sentence as she looked at all the faces here for her. She started to weep and Matt stepped in to comfort her.

The rest of you took this as a signal to leave the room momentarily to give them some privacy. You were out of the loop regarding the situation between Elena and Matt, but it didn't feel right to ask.

"Hey..." Caroline turned to you as you entered the corridor. "I'm gonna go help Bonnie set things up for tonight, you'll be alright here, won't you?" She asked, directing a subtle glance towards Ric.

"Yeah yeah, I'll be fine" you reassured despite your apprehension. "I'll see you guys later," you assured as you embraced both Caroline and Bonnie in a hug.

As your friends made their way down the corridor, unease rose within you, a tension that made you clench your teeth.

"Hey..." Ric's voice broke the midst, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for unspoken answers in your expression. "How have you been?"

You turned to face him tentatively, memories resurfacing of the years spent together; summer of senior year... studying at Duke... You had battled for a long time to leave these memories behind but you were acutely aware of the sentiments Ric refused to let slide. 

"I've been… coping..." Your words skirted the edge of the truth, a surface-level response to shield the deeper currents swirling within you. "And you?"

"Busy, but... I've missed having you around." Ric's gaze appeared to soften, as if in longing, but you knew better than that.

His words hung heavy, tainting the air you breathed. Your history with Ric was... complicated, to say the least. You tried your best to avoid him at all costs, yet now, with him in front of you, you were forced to confront him, along with your own insecurities. 

"I've missed it here" you admitted, in a purposely vague reply. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing how much he vexed you. "But life takes us on its own journey, doesn't it?"

Ric nodded, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "It does indeed."

Before the conversation could deepen further, a nurse flurried past, pulling you both back into the present. Taking this as an opportunity to escape, you excused yourself with relief. 

You gestured vaguely toward the room where Elena and Matt were. "I should..."

"Yeah, of course" Ric sighed, his reluctance evident. 

At that, and with a faux, fleeting smile, you turned away, not once looking back. 

SAM

As the Impala cruised down the winding road, Sam gazed out the window, staring at the passing scenery. Dean drove with his usual swagger, classic rock blasting from the speakers. Despite the familiar routine, Sam couldn't shake the weight of worry that settled within him. He fumbled with his phone, thumb hovering over the screen, contemplating whether or not to send a message.

Dean glanced over, noticing the familiar conflict written all over his brother's face. "Hey, you good, Sammy?"

Sam sighed, glancing at his phone before slipping it back into his pocket. "Yeah, just thinking."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "About her?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah... It's hard not knowing if she's okay."

Dean turned down the music, his expression shifting from playful to serious. "Sam, you did what you could. Sometimes people need space, especially during tough times."

"I know," Sam murmured, fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. "But I can't help worrying."

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter. "We'll find out soon enough. Just gotta focus on the job at hand for now."

Sam tried to heed Dean's advice, diverting his attention to the details of their current case. Yet, every road sign, every passing mile seemed to echo with thoughts of you, pulling his focus away from the present.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Sam's resolve wavered. He pulled out his phone once more, thumb hovering over the screen. After a brief moment of introspection, he began typing a message.

[Sam Winchester]
"Hey, hope you're doing okay? If you need anything or want to talk, I'm here, thinking of you x"

Sam stared at the message for a moment, contemplating whether to send it or not.

Dean glanced over, noticing the shift in Sam's demeanor. "You sending that?"

Sam hesitated, the internal debate playing out on his features. "I don't want to intrude, you know? She might need space after everything that's happened."

Dean nodded in understanding. "True, like I've been saying... but, you're gonna send it anyway, aren't you?"

Sam pursed his lips contemplatively, then nodded in admittance.

"See, I know you Sammy," Dean sighed. "Just send it, if it makes you feel better. Who knows? A simple 'how are you holding up?' might mean a lot to her. Just... don't get too upset if she doesn't reply."

Sam nodded slowly, the advice sinking in, his fingers hovering over the keys before he ultimately pressed 'send'.

As he tucked his phone away, he hoped for a response, longing to ease the aching worry that tugged at his heart.

YOU

The crisp evening air embraced you as you stepped out of the hospital, Elena right beside you. Matt and Ric had left about an hour ago and Caroline waited in the parking lot to pick you up. With Elena's discharge papers safely tucked away, you piled into the car, ready to pick up your belongings before heading to Bonnie's. 

The drive was heavy; a combination of uncomfortable silence and tentative chat. Caroline attempted to lighten the mood with silly stories and the occasional joke, but it was to no avail. Elena remained solemn, staring out the window, lost in her thoughts. 

In a moment of silence, your phone vibrated against your side. You pulled it out your jacket to find a message. It was from Sam. Anxiety built in your chest as you read.

[Sam Winchester]
"Hey, hope you're doing okay? If you need anything or want to talk, I'm here, thinking of you x"

Your heart pounded in your throat and your palms became sweaty. He's thinking of me...? You didn't know what you to make of it. You quickly locked your phone and shoved it back in your jacket, wiping your hands on your jeans.

As you approached Bonnie's house, you pushed the text to the back of your mind, focusing on your friends around you. Avoidance was your thing. 

A warm glow spilled into the night as Bonnie opened the door, anticipating your arrival before you could even knock. 

"We made it!" Caroline announced, flashing a cheerful grin.

"Hey, guys! Come on in!" Bonnie greeted, ushering you all inside. 

As you stepped into Bonnie's cozy home, your senses were immersed, bathed in a calming, earthy aura. Scented candles burned on the mantlepiece, flickering softly alongside feel-good Indie music. The big light was off, and her lounge was transformed into one big bed. There were cushions, and blankets. Piles and piles of blankets. She'd really made an effort. 

Elena managed a small smile as she took in the space around her. "Wow... Thanks for this Bonnie... I really appreciate it."

"Always, Elena... We're all here for you, okay?" Bonnie reassured, embracing Elena in a warm hug.

Elena nodded, pulling away softly with a sniffle. 

"Alright then!" Caroline exclaimed. "Let's get this girls' night started! Cupcakes, movies, bonding time, here we come!"

Following a comforting dinner of spaghetti and baking in the kitchen, you all freshened up and settled in the lounge, cups of Bonnie's Grams' specialist herbal tea in stow. 

Bonnie took a bite out of a freshly baked cupcake, her legs cocooned beneath the many layers of blankets. "So, Care, any tales from the dating front?"

Caroline giggled, adjusting her seat. "Just a few casual outings, nothing too serious... keeping it light! How about you, Bons? Didn't you have a date recently?"

"Ah, don't even go there!" Bonnie chuckled, wiping a smudge of frosting from her lips. "Absolute disaster, I tell you... The worst date, hands down..."

"What happened?" You and Elena asked in unison, joining in the playful exchange. This spurred a wave of laughter as Bonnie recounted her disastrous date. You'd heard worse, but it was funny, nonetheless. 

As the laughter settled, Caroline chimed in. "On the topic of dates... any news, Y/N? Elena?"

You paused for a moment, considering what to say, before Elena cut in. "Matt's been really supportive, even before all this..."

Caroline nodded. "He's a good egg, isn't he?"

You nodded, taking a sip of your tea.

"Speaking of support, how's everything with you, Y/N? I know you've been juggling a lot lately..." Bonnie asked, a mixture of curiosity and concern in her eyes. 

"Um, yeah... It's been a bit hectic lately, with my dad and everything, but he's doing okay... Work's been demanding too, but I've been managing..."

Bonnie nodded, her lips pulling downwards in consideration as she looked you over. "Okay... well, just.. remember to take breaks for yourself... I know what you're like..."

"I do my best," you replied with a wistful half-smile, wishing for a change of topic. 

"Switching gears..." Caroline interjected, also keen to lighten the dampened mood. "You didn't answer my question, Y/N! Any romance brewing in your life?" She winked playfully.

You shuffled in your seat. "Well, uh... there is... someone..." you admitted, a subtle blush creeping onto your cheeks. "But um... it's all quite new..."

"Ooh, spill the tea!" Caroline urged, sporting a mischievous grin.

You giggled. "Well, we... um, met through work," you began, choosing your words carefully.

Bonnie leaned forward. "Oh yeah? What are they like?"

"He's... um..." So tall and handsome as hell.

You swallowed, suppressing a laugh at the lyrics that unexpectedly crossed your mind when thinking of Sam. 

"Kind... smart... tall...and freaking gorgeous..." You giggled, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush.

"Sounds dreamy," Elena remarked with a soft smile. 

"Yeah, he... he really is..." You exhale a gentle laugh, blushing slightly at how much he has affected you. "Like I said, it's really new... but it's been surprisingly.... intense."

Caroline raised an eyebrow, her curiosity evident. "Intense...? How?"

You tried to articulate your feelings. "It's...like we understand each other without having to say much... We connect so....effortlessly. It's, um, really... different."

Caroline directed you a knowing smirk. "Hmm, not having to say much, huh? So... have you guys, you know...?" 

"No, um..." you giggled, feeling surprisingly flustered. "We haven't gone there... not quite."

Caroline snorted. "Not quite?"

You looked away, running your fingers through your hair as you contemplated telling the girls about last night.

"Ooo, he's really got you in a flush, hasn't he?" Caroline observed, giggling.

You relented. "Okay. Guys... you know when you couldn't get hold of me last night?"

The girls exchanged knowing glances. 

You nodded. "Yeah... Not. Quite." 

"Ah" Bonnie sighed, the realization hitting her. "He was there when I called?"

Caroline sniggered. "No shit, Bonnie!"

"How did he take it?" Elena probed, genuinely curious. 

"He was fine about it, honestly," you reassured, sensing the guilt in her question. "He was really understanding..." Perfect, actually.

"Sounds like you really like him?" Bonnie observed with a soft smile. 

"Hm, yeah, I... I guess I do..." you reflected, momentarily lost in admiration. "But it's all so... unexpected.... my mind's all over the place if I'm honest..."

Elena leaned forward. "You don't sound confused about him... Have you spoken to him since?"

"Not since last night" you admitted, regrettably. "But, he, um, sent me this earlier..." You tapped on your phone, bringing up Sam's recent message.

The girls leaned in, sharing knowing glances as they read.

"Awh, that's really sweet of him... He... Sam... seems genuinely caring" Bonnie remarked, glancing up at you with a warm smile as she read his name.

Caroline nodded in agreement. "Yeah... he seems really thoughtful. That can be rare to find these days..." 

Elena directed you a small smile. "How come you haven't replied to him yet?"

You sigh, looking down at your phone in your hands. "I… just...I don't know... I just don't want to mess anything up... I have a habit of doing that..."

"It's... not anything to do with Ric, is it?" Bonnie asked, fiddling with her bracelet. 

"Ha, god no. That ship sailed a long time ago..."

Caroline raised her eyebrows. "Maybe for you it did." 

You groan, looking between your friends. "It's that obvious?"

They all nodded.

Great. 

You buried your face in your hands. "It's been seven years! Seven years! He needs to get over it..."

Caroline played with your hair. "Who can blame him though? You are gorgeous, and wonderfully smart..."

"Not helping!" You give her a playful nudge, biting back your self-reproach. 

Caroline giggled.  

You couldn't blame her, really, seeing as you'd never revealed the whole truth. It was easier for you to pretend those years never happened. 

"Maybe hearing that you're with someone else will give him the push he needs?" Elena suggested.

You sigh. "It's way too early for anything like that. Me and Sam aren't... together... I don't even know what we are... I may just be another girl to him..." A well formed in your stomach at the thought. 

"Well, you'll never find out unless you reply to him!" Caroline pressed.

You huff, noting the obvious truth in her words. "Yeah... you're right. God, I'm so pathetic..."

"You're nothing of the sort" Bonnie reassured.

You smiled softly. "Thanks guys... I'll drop him a text in a bit..."

As the night wore on, conversations slowed and eyes grew heavy. Elena was the first to succumb to the embrace of sleep, her soft breaths a quiet comfort as you lay there, eyes glued to the cheesy romcom Caroline had put on the TV. You weren't really watching. Instead, you silently mulled over your conflicting thoughts. You still hadn't replied to Sam. You didn't know why; it didn't really make sense. 

As the weight of the day gradually settled on your eyelids, you let your eyes fall shut, unable to keep them open any longer. Your consciousness waned, plunging you into a deep, but restless state.

Noticing your sleeping state, Bonnie and Caroline exchanged concerned glances.

"Do you think Y/N's okay?" Caroline whispered, glancing towards you. "I know she said she is but… what do you think?" 

Bonnie sighed softly. "I don't know... She's been through a lot lately... I remember how she struggled before... I just hope she's managing everything okay now."

"I know... She's been trying to keep it together, but, today must have been tough for her..."

"Hmm... we need to make sure she knows she's not alone in this."

"Absolutely. We'll be there for her, however she needs..."

As you drifted deeper into sleep, your subconscious mind painted pictures so vivid, they might have well have been real. You found yourself in familiar surroundings, the comforting embrace of your home in Lawrence. Sam hovered before you, eyes filled with warmth and tenderness, drawing you closer in an irresistible pull. Your lips met in a kiss, the connection electric and passionate, but then, an unexpected wave of panic swept over you.

Your emotions surged, overwhelming you with a flood of memories and fears.

You pulled away abruptly, your breaths coming in rapid gasps, your heart thundering in your chest. 

"Sam, I can't..." you stammered, your voice tinged with regret and turmoil. "I can't be with you. I'm sorry..."

Confusion clouded Sam's eyes as you pushed him away, your emotions spiraling into chaos.

As the dream fragmented and dissolved, you awoke in a state of panic, the remnants still vivid in your mind.

You looked around. The girls were all asleep.

As you tried to calm your breaths, regret gnawed at you, the ache of losing Sam in your dream haunting your waking mind. 

With trembling fingers, you reached for your phone, urgency pulsing through every tap of your thumbs.

[Y/N Y/L/N]
"Hey Sam, sorry if I wake you but I need you to know how much I appreciate you being there for me. I'm dealing with some things atm but I hope we can reconnect when I'm back?x"

You stared at the screen, at your unsent message. '...hope we can reconnect when I'm back?x'...??? What if he forgets me...? 

The words didn't look right, didn't feel right... You wanted to open up to him, to reveal the true depths of your feelings, but something inside prevented you, leaving a hollow ache in your chest. 

With a shaky sigh, you eventually pressed 'send', watching the message disappear into the late-night void. 

As you lay there in your sorry state, you hoped and prayed for understanding, desperate for a chance to salvage what you feared losing before you'd even had it in your grasp.

Chapter Text

YOU

Hours turned into days, and days turned into weeks. You'd remained in Mystic Falls longer than you'd anticipated, but as arrangements for Miranda and Grayson's funeral were well underway, you decided to stay until they had been laid to rest. 
 
Elena had remained at Bonnie's for around two weeks before ultimately moving in with her aunt Jenna. You all checked in on her regularly, Matt especially, who seemed to be a permanent edition to the household. Between therapy sessions and funeral planning, Elena appeared to be doing okay, although she was still unable to recall any details of the accident, including how she survived without a scrape.
 
Despite the circumstances, you were thankful for the opportunity to be with your friends and family, a rare hollow carved out in time. You were never completely at ease, however, as a constant niggle in your brain signified that you were somehow out of balance. You tried your best to ignore it, filling every waking hour to distract yourself from the clashing tides within. 
 
During the day, you had been able to work remotely from your parent's house and the local library. You were grateful the university allowed you this flexibility and thankful for some semblance of normality amidst the chaos. Alongside balancing work, you spent your days supporting Elena, attending to your parents, and even dodging Ric's not-so-subtle vies for your attention. It was exhausting, but worth it; anything to deter the impending numbness that threatened to consume you. 
 
In the aftermath of your dream-induced panic, you and Sam had exchanged several messages. His words were a lifeline, reflecting genuine compassion and understanding, yet the feelings they evoked scared you as much as they reassured. You yearned for deeper connection, yet feared unveiling the depth of your feelings, trapping you both in a cycle of superficial exchanges. Guilt nagged at you relentlessly, the weight of concealing your true vulnerabilities taking a toll on your conscience, manifesting in a dissonance that left you vying for an escape.  There were moments you almost called him, but refrained, burying your deepest hopes and fears.
 
As the day of the funeral dawned, you busied yourself alongside Bonnie and Caroline, arranging flowers and organizing food for the wake. The service itself was a somber affair, unfolding in a wave of emotions as Elena, Jeremy, and Jenna struggled through their tearful tributes. You tried to keep it together but failed. The combination of your friend's heartache and your parents silent tears became too much to bear, releasing a river that cascaded down your cheeks. 
 
Back at Jenna's for the wake, stories of Miranda and Grayson's kindness and warmth flowed, tales of cherished moments that now felt both precious and fragile. It was heartbreaking, yet oddly comforting,  a testament to the strength found in vulnerability and the support of loved ones. It was in these moments that you felt a subtle shift within yourself. Life, you realized, was way too unpredictable and fleeting to hold back on what truly mattered, leaving you with a resolve to embrace the present without reservations. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you bid lingering goodbyes, and eventually stepped back into your childhood bedroom. A rush of relief and exhaustion settled over you as you readied for bed, feeling the weight that had made its home on your shoulders lift ever so slightly. You slowly changed into your PJs, washed your face and brushed your teeth, before collapsing onto your mattress. 
 
As you stared at the ceiling fan, a surge of clarity washed over you, as if you were now seeing clearly for the first time in weeks. Restlessness gnawed at you as you lay there, urging you to move, to do something, igniting a spark of confidence that spurred you to reach for your phone. 
 
You crunched against the headboard, tucking your knees to your chest as you unlocked the screen and navigated to your contacts. You froze for a second, doubting yourself by habit, but before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers moved of their own accord. 

"Fuck it" you muttered, as you ultimately tapped call next to Sam's name. 
 
The ringing echoed in your ears, each tone adding to the pounding of your heart as the seconds passed, blurring the lines between excitement and anxiety. 
 
You nervously twirled a strand of hair around your finger as your thoughts raced, wondering whether he would answer or if the call would go to voicemail.  
 
Then, just as you were about to give up hope, a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. 

SAM

Blood splattered on Sam's face as he swung his blade, the head of a vampire rolling to the floor at his feet. With a starved breath, he wiped the blood from his brow, the metallic scent hanging heavy in the air.

Dean stepped closer, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder with a grin, surveying the now still nest. "Nice one, Sammy. That’s the last of them."

Sam nodded, feeling a surge of relief mixed with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Right, let's hit the road!" Dean exclaimed. "If I put my foot down, we'll make it back before sundown."

Sam nodded. "Sure thing."

As they settled into the Impala, Sam felt the weight of exhaustion settle in his bones. Despite the successful case, a profound weariness settled in, leaving his mind vulnerable to the thoughts he had been trying so hard to repress. Thoughts of you tugged at the edges of his mind, as they always did in moments of solitude. He wondered what you were doing, how you were, whether you thought of him as much as he thought of you. No, I doubt that... Maybe I should let go of this idea? It never ends well for me anyway... 

Despite these intrusive thoughts, he yearned to reach out, but a persistent sense of restraint anchored his desires, burying them beneath the demands and harsh realities of the hunter's life.

As his mind continued to wander, the steady hum of the Impala's engine lulled him into a drowsy state, offering him an escape route from his restless mind.

Dean glanced over, concern evident in his tone as his voice broke through the haze. "Hey, you good?"

"Yeah, just... tired..." Sam mumbled, his words trailing off as he let exhaustion claim him.

Dean chuckled softly, glancing at Sam now asleep in the passenger seat. "Rest up, Sammy. We'll be home soon."

As the Impala rolled to a stop in front of the bunker, Dean turned off the engine and glanced at his brother, still slumbering in the passenger seat. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. We're back."

With a nudge, Sam stirred, blinking sleepily as he rubbed his eyes. "Mmm, we're back already?"

"Yeah, buddy. Time flies when you're catching some Z's…" Dean chuckled, patting Sam's shoulder before grabbing the takeout he'd picked up, slamming the driver's door shut.

Sam yawned and stretched, dragging himself out of the car, the weariness still evident in his movements.

As they approached the bunker's entrance, Dean nudged Sam playfully. "Bet you a burger you'll be asleep before you finish chewing your dinner."

Sam chuckled weakly, the corners of his lips curling up. "You're on, Dean. But I'm holding you to that, even in my sleep." 

As they made their way inside, the routine clunk of boots against the metal stairwell announced that they were finally home, followed by a familiar voice greeting them from below. 

 "Sam, Dean. You're back."

"Nice observation, Sherlock" Dean quipped.

"Hey Cas" Sam acknowledged with a nod.

After dumping his bags and, to Dean's dismay, successfully devouring his share of the takeout, Sam made a beeline for the shower. 

Stepping into the embracing warmth, he closed his eyes, surrendering to the steam and familiar routine. The hot water cascaded over him like a balm, washing away the remnants of dirt and dried blood, offering a momentary respite from the chaos of their recent hunt.

Now, freshly scrubbed, the scent of sandalwood lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of steamed water that clung to his skin. His hair, still damp from the towel, carried the crisp scent of mint shampoo, it's faint residue refreshing his senses as he slid into his bed.

Soft cotton sheets welcomed him, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of the shower. Exhaustion settled over him like a weighted blanket, but, before sleep could claim him, he was startled by a vibration on the nightstand.

He shot his hand out, instinctively reaching for his phone in the darkness, anticipating another update from one of their contacts. 

Suddenly, he was wide awake, his eyes widening in surprise as your name lit up the display.

His mind raced, wondering what had brought on your call. Was it urgent? Had something happened? 

He sat upright, propping himself against the headboard, the faint glow of the phone screen illuminating his face as he swiped to answer your call.

YOU & SAM

"Y/N?"

The room felt suffocating as your breaths grew shallow, your pulse pounding in your ears, drowning out everything but Sam's voice. You took an uneven breath, attempting to steady yourself, but your voice betrayed your anxiety. 

"Hey Sam..." 

Sam listened intently, sensing your unease. "Hey... Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine..." You rushed to reassure him, but unease settled in your stomach as you caught yourself in a lie. "Well, actually… it's been a long day, I just wanted…" You paused, considering your words. "Can we talk…?"

Sam's voice held a mixture of surprise and anticipation as he raked his fingers through his damp hair. "Yeah... yeah of course... It's... nice to hear from you. How are things?" 

The conversation started tentatively, the initial discomfort evident in the pauses and careful choice of words, but as the minutes passed, the awkwardness melted away, replaced by effortless familiarity and understanding.

"The funeral was today?" Sympathy radiated from Sam's voice as he tucked his hair behind his ear. He sounded as genuine as you remembered him being. 

You reply softly, touched by his concern. "Yeah... It was rough… but... Elena will be okay, she's strong".

Sam nodded. "She sounds it... She's lucky to have a friend like you."

"If you say so..." You smile, not fully believing his words.

"How have you been holding up?" 

You thought for a second. "I've been…okay... I'm doing better now, anyway. It's been nice to spend time with my family and friends, you know? We've all helped each other".

Sam hummed in understanding.

"And, my work has been a bit of a distraction... This new project I'm working on… it's demanding, to say the least, and I'm still adjusting."

"Hmm, change is always hard... Especially with everything you're dealing with on top of it".

You sigh. "Yeah I guess so... Anyway, how are you? Any interesting cases lately?" 

"Well…today it was a Vamp nest, pretty standard."

"Yeah, Vampires… standard, right..." You laugh, hearing Sam chuckle down the phone.

It's so nice to hear her laugh, Sam thought, smiling to himself.

"But uh... we've been seeing a lot of Castiel recently, which has been… interesting..."

"Castiel?" You were intrigued by the unfamiliar name.

"He's an Angel," Sam explained, noticing your curiosity. "He's been helping us out with something… biblical..."

"Oh, right… one of those Angels you mentioned… I bet that adds a whole new dimension to your hunts?"

Sam chuckled. "You could say that... It's always eventful with Cas. He's been hanging around the bunker lately, something to do with 'watching over Dean'. It's a bit off putting, in all honesty."

Whoa. "So… you're basically living with an Angel?" You couldn't hide your astonishment. 

"You could… meet him, you know… that offer still stands, about visiting the bunker…"

"That's umm… quite an offer... I… I've never been the most religious person... I might need some time to prepare..."

Sam exhaled through his nose. "Cas… doesn't judge. He may speak his mind, but he's… a goofy puppy".

"So... no need to go to confessional...?" 

"Absolutely not!" Sam laughed, as he wondered what you could possibly need to confess.

You mirrored his amusement before pausing, taking a moment to steady your swirling nerves. 

"So... I'm actually flying back to Kansas tomorrow..."

Sam's heart began to beat a little bit faster. "Oh? How are you feeling about that?"

There was a momentary silence, an unspoken pause filled with the weight of unsaid words as you considered your response.

Throughout your conversation, the depth of your connection had started to rekindle, bridging the gap that had widened in recent weeks. Sam's voice was a soothing balm to your troubled mind, and gradually, you found the courage to consider opening up to him completely. Your heart raced and your palms became sweaty as you considered how to approach this.

"Y/N?" Sam said your name softly, brow creased with anticipation as he sensed your nervousness through the line. "Are you alright?" 

"Um, yeah, I…" You pause, anticipation coursing through your veins as those butterflies began flapping their wings frantically. You unconsciously clutched the phone tighter, your knuckles turning white.

Should I tell him? Maybe it's too soon? What if I'm misreading everything?  You debated your thoughts internally, but the ache in your chest compelled you to open up, to take the risk and lay your true feelings bare.

You relented, the words tumbling out with a mixture of urgency and vulnerability. "I've been thinking a lot lately... About... everything. I've been distant... I know, but… I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, Sam… about... before I left... about you… about… us…"

The distant hum of the bunker's generator seemed insignificant compared to the rush of emotions surging through Sam with every word you spoke.

"And I know it sounds crazy... and I know we hardly know each other, so stop me if I'm completely overshooting the mark but... I've missed you... Like really missed you. And I... I can't explain it... I just..."

Your thoughts spiraled, doubts and uncertainties clouding your mind. Am I saying too much? Is this the right time? What if this ruins everything? Your heart pounded with each passing second. You bit your lip, anxious about how Sam would respond.

Sam's eyes widened, a mixture of shock and elation flashing across his face as he heard your confession and the desperation in your voice. His head spun as he clocked the implications of what you were saying, realizing that he had not been making it up at all.

Sam shifted on his bed as his thoughts flooded with memories of you... the passion in your voice as you spoke about your interests... the glint in your eyes when he caught your gaze... the way your face felt in his hands, delicate and stunningly beautiful... the taste of your lips... your body against his...  

He yearned to touch you, to hold you, to reassure you that he felt it too; this magnetic attraction and burning desire that had sparked the moment he laid eyes on you. He felt it in his bones.

I need to tell her... Sam's thoughts echoed with urgency, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his bedsheet.

He cut in, a stark determination lacing his voice. "It's not crazy... At least, if it is, then I am crazy too..." He exhaled frantically. "I've missed you too, Y/N... So fucking much. Every single day. I can't get you out of my fucking head." He spoke earnestly, his words coursing through you as he breathed out a laugh of relief.

There was a heavy pause as you took in his words, the urgency in his voice.

"Really?" You tremble.

"Yes, really" Sam chuckled, feeling a knot of tension unwind as he spoke his mind.

A sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders relaxing as Sam reciprocated your feelings. A weight lifted off your chest, but your stomach was alive with nervous excitement.

You pause for a breath, gathering your thoughts. "Well... I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner..."

Sam sighed. "I am too..."

You lingered, the tension between you now sparkling with a newfound hope, connection, and…desire.

Sam breathed softly down the line, his words bringing goosebumps to your skin. "I wish I could be there with you..."

You sighed, the longing unmistakable in your voice. "I wish you were too..."

"When can I see you?" Sam's voice held a hint of desperation.

"Tomorrow too soon...?" you suggested, not even joking.

Sam chuckled. "Not soon enough."

You let out a soft laugh, a blend of joy and nervous anticipation swirling within you, making it difficult to form a coherent response.

"When does your flight land? I'll be there..." 

"Sam, you don't need to—"

"—Oh, I do." Sam interjected, determination lacing his words as his voice dropped to a low, longing whisper. "I need you, Y/N. So bad."

Your breath hitched, a rush of emotions overwhelming you as you shivered at his words, and the silent sentiments that laced them. 

You trembled, your voice betraying the emotions you struggled to contain. "I'll... I'll send you the details..."

"I'll be there" Sam assured firmly.

"Okay," you breathed, feeling a sudden rush of submission at the authority in his voice.

A thick pause lingered, before Sam's voice cut through the undeniable tension, carrying an unmistakable tone of arousal and longing. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, then..."

You chuckled lightly, sensing the heat in his words. "Yes... yes you will..."

A breathy laugh escaped Sam down the line. His voice oozed desire, his thoughts wandering to places he knew he shouldn't dwell. "Sleep tight, Y/N..." 

You breathed shakily, feeling the charged energy between you through the line. "I will now..."

You sensed his smile, his voice warm as he finally bid you "goodnight".

YOU

With a shaky sigh, you put your phone down and nestled back into the comfort of your bed, a faint smile gracing your lips as adrenaline coursed through your blood.

Despite your weariness, you were unable to shake this newfound energy. Anticipation bubbled within you as your mind raced with thoughts of Sam, imagining what tomorrow would bring. 

You turned on your side, clutching the duvet, and squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for sleep to claim you. But it was not your time.

...'I missed you too Y/N'...

Sam's words played on repeat in your mind as you clutched the duvet to your chest.

...'So fucking much'...

Heat rose to the surface of your skin as you tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable.

...'I can't get you out of my fucking head'...

Goosebumps appeared as your sweat cooled, covering your body from head to toe, aching to be warmed away.

This is useless, you thought, as you rolled, fighting against your bedsheets.

You finally settled on your back and exhaled deeply, moving your hand from its vice grip on the duvet to rest on your abdomen.

...'Not soon enough'...

You slid your hand lower, your fingers tracing below your stomach. God help me...

...'I need you, Y/N. So bad'...

He needs me...? I need him. Right now.

Your fingers slipped below the waistband of your underwear, then further... a bit further...

You held your breath as you dipped your finger into your molten core.

You found yourself completely soaked—pure liquid. 

Fucking hell... I am definitely going to have to go to that confessional, you thought, as you held your breath, trailing a finger through your slick.

You let out a shaky breath, relieving  your body of tension, as you slip your fingers up and down your inner folds, coating yourself in your own juices before you begin to trace circles around your sensitive clit, humming softly—your fingers smooth and dripping.

You closed your eyes, continuing to rub circles around your now swollen clit, silently wishing your fingers were Sam's. 

You imagined what it would feel like, for his strong long fingers to glide against you, slippy and silken against your aching pussy, hot, wet and desperate for his touch. 

You slipped a finger inside of your hot, aching walls, kicking out of your underwear and sleep shorts in a haste.

Now unrestrained by your clothing, you spread your thighs wider, shifting your hips to reach a deeper angle as you curled your finger upwards, towards that sensitive spot. Sam wouldn't have this trouble, you thought. His fingers could reach areas that I've never been able to reach... and those lips... that tongue, so soft and skilled against your mouth, your neck... You longed to know what they could you to you elsewhere.

You slipped in another finger as you picked up the pace, the sounds emerging from you completely obscene, turning you on even more than you already were.

You palmed your clit as you fucked yourself with your fingers, the spiraling coil of pleasure inside you starting to come undone. 

Your other hand reached for your breast and you pinched your hard nipple between your thumb and forefinger and rolled.

You pinched harder, imagining what it would feel like to have your nipple between Sam's teeth. 

You thought back to that night, on your sofa... Sam underneath you, hardening against you...

You added a third finger to your core, wishing it was Sam's cock that was stretching you out. 

You thrummed your sensitive spot rhythmically, imagining what it would feel like for Sam's cock to be fucking you into pure bliss.

Your breaths grew shallow as you turned your face into your pillow to obscure your breathy moans, trying your best to keep quiet. 

Your muffled moans vibrated into the pillow as you continued to stimulate your g-spot, curling your fingers, stroking yourself closer to the edge.

You longed for Sam's hand over your mouth, around your neck, telling you to be quiet whilst he did everything in his power to make sure you weren't.

Dear fucking god, I am going to hell.

The spiral in you unwound even further, causing you to squeeze your legs together, aching for more friction.

You withdrew your fingers to focus on your clit, allowing your legs to squeeze closer together.

A wave of pleasure washed towards you and you tried to catch it, squirming against the ripple pulsing through you, desperately begging for that relief you craved.

You missed it. Shit...

Another wave of pleasure rose to meet you.

It washed away. Fuck, no, please...

...'I need you Y/N'...

Sam's voice echoed in your head.

A tide surged towards you as you assaulted your throbbing clit.

You squeezed your thighs tighter, crushing your hand between your legs.

...'So bad'...

You caught it.

You clamped your legs together completely, riding that wave of pleasure all the way into your climax.

You writhed, as your orgasm wrung you out; legs trembling, chest heaving, dopamine flooding your nervous system.

You gasped, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, and with one last strained exhale, you finally relaxed into the mattress, your crushed, wrinkled fingers falling to your side.

You finally catch your breath, coming down from your high, contemplating how Sam had managed to get you off, despite being a world away.

Jesus fucking Christ. If that's the orgasm you can have just from thinking of Sam, what the hell would it be like to actually fuck him? Fuck.

You lay there for a few minutes, feeling like jelly as you slowly recover from your post-orgasm high.

Once grounded, you rolled to your side, swinging your legs out of the bed and padded towards your bathroom to clean yourself up.

As you emerged from the bathroom, the faint buzz of your phone echoed in the quiet room. Your steps muffled against the carpet, carrying you towards your bed where your phone screen illuminated a simple message:

[Sam Winchester]
"Don't forget to send me those details, will you? X"

A grin slowly tugged at the corners of your lips, a blush rising to your cheeks. Slipping under the covers, you opened the airline app to check your flight details and quickly tapped out a response to Sam, confirming your flight number and landing time. He replies almost immediately.

[Sam Winchester]
"Thanks xx"

[Y/N Y/L/N]
"No problem xx"

[Sam Winchester]
"Why you still up?xx" 

You blush.

[Y/N Y/L/N]
"Can't sleep xx"

[Sam Winchester]
"How come?xx"

[Y/N Y/L/N]
"Thinking...of you xx"

You bit your lip as you pressed send.

[Sam Winchester]
Sam is typing...

...

Sam is typing...

...

Sam is typing...

"Same here xx" 

Sam is typing...

"You should sleep though. You'll need all the sleep you can get for tomorrow xx"

Omg. You giggled. Can he mean...? You flush. You decided to feign innocence.

[Y/N Y/L/N]
"Oh yeah? Why's that?xx"

[Sam Winchester]
Sam is typing…

…

Sam is typing…

"Long travel day? 😉 xx" 

Fuck. You see right through him. He does.

Your mind raced, trying to think of a witty reply but came up blank.

[Y/N Y/L/N]

"I could say the same for you... You'll need all your energy for all that driving you'll be doing 😇 xx"

[Sam Winchester]

"Touché, Dr 😉 But seriously, get some sleep, I'll see you at the arrivals gate xx"

[Y/N Y/L/N]

"Yes Sir 😉 xx"

A mischievous smile crept onto your face as your thumb hovered over 'send'. You pressed it, a wave of lust overriding your logical brain. I may regret that, you thought, but your grin lingered.

[Sam Winchester]
Sam is typing…

…

Sam is typing…

…

"Sweet dreams, Princess 👑xx"

Your brain screamed. Right call, right call!! But fuck, you were getting no sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

SAM

Sam’s eyes widened, practically popping out of his head as he read your reply. If he wasn’t hard for you already, he sure as hell was now. 

If she’s trying to tell me what I think she’s trying to tell me, then I’ve hit the fucking jackpot, he thought, as his mind dove to the gutter. 

He bit his lip, a devilish grin forming as he typed out his reply, then pressed send, praying that he hadn’t read too much into your message. Fuck, I hope I haven’t… he thought, whilst his mind was already racing with visions of you, all hot and longing to bend at his will.

God, I am the worst, he thought, chastising himself for his depraved imagination.

Mustn’t get ahead of myself…

Definitely...should not...assume… 

He continued to lecture himself, as he was already stroking himself into his climax.  

As Sam stepped out of his second shower of the evening, Dean emerged from the hallway.

“Didn’t you already shower?” Dean asked, looking Sam up and down.

“Uhh, yeah.. there was a lot of blood today, y’know, vampires and all... Needed a good cleanse…”

“Uh huh, sure…” Dean eyed his brother with suspicion before turning towards the sink to brush his teeth.

He turned back. 

“Hey, did I hear you on the phone earlier?”

“Um, maybe,” Sam said, as he wrapped himself in a robe, avoiding Dean’s eye contact.

“You...gonna tell me who you were talking to, or...?”

Sam cleared his throat. “Um, I was actually catching up with Y/N…” A small smile formed on his lips as he said your name. He tried to hide it.

Dean raised his eyebrows.

“She’s um, flying back to Kansas...tomorrow,” Sam added, fumbling with his robe ties.

“Huh…” Dean thought for a moment, watching Sam intently as he somehow struggled to secure his robe. “And let me guess...you’re abandoning me tomorrow, am I right?” he asked, directing Sam a knowing look.

Sam huffed with a half-smile, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. “It’s that obvious?”

“Crystal. I know that look, Sammy... Don’t fall too hard,” Dean said with a smirk, turning back to the sink.

It’s a bit late for that, Sam thought, as he turned, making his way back to his room.

 YOU 

The jarring sound of your alarm gradually cut through your consciousness, dragging you awake. With a groan, you fumbled for the snooze button, craving just a few more moments of respite from the restless night.

07:30am. The last time you checked it was 3. You counted the hours in your head, calculating how much sleep you had had. Four and a half hours to work with... Today will be a test of endurance. 

Last night was a whirlwind of tossing and turning, your restless mind refusing to grant you peace. Thoughts of Sam persisted, lingering despite your efforts to shake them off, your mind a slave to the dopamine rush in spite of your body’s fatigue. 

As sleep eluded you, a restless energy spurred you to spend the early hours packing your bags. At least that’s one less thing to worry about this morning, you thought, as you dragged yourself out of bed. As your feet met the floor, the reality of the day ahead settled upon you and your butterflies awoke, fluttering that familiar surge of nervous anticipation around your body. Despite the familiarity of your childhood bedroom, it suddenly felt foreign in the wake of your tumultuous feelings. The thought of seeing Sam again both excited and terrified you—it was exhilarating and nerve wracking all at once. 

You swallowed your anxiety, along with your antidepressant, before stepping into the shower, readying yourself for the day. The hot water helped balance your emotions as you breathed in the steam, effortfully composing your thoughts. You spent extra care shaving your legs, underarms and your bikini line, and, as you dried yourself off, moisturized your legs for the first time in… you can’t even remember. 

As you fumbled through your suitcase, you made a conscious decision about what underwear to wear, picking out a simple black cotton bra and thong from your luggage. This will have to do, you thought, as you looked yourself over in the mirror. You hadn’t exactly packed your finest lingerie. After dressing, you applied your skincare and make-up, and fixed your hair in your usual style, aiming for the simple, but clean look that you loved.

Now ready, your suitcase packed with nervous precision, you made your way downstairs to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee—a familiar morning ritual at your parents’ home. You had woken early on purpose, so as to spend some quality time with them. Although you would be returning soon with the holidays approaching, you savored these moments, knowing they were fleeting. 

Just as you were finishing the last sip of your drink, Caroline’s car pulled up in the driveway. You had made plans with the girls to grab a coffee before you left, and Caroline had kindly offered to drop you off at the airport after. What have I done to deserve such good friends? you wondered. You were almost as thankful for the extra dose of caffeine you will be getting.

With a glance at the clock, you realized it was time to leave so you rose from your seat to say goodbye to your parents.

Your dad’s voice quivered, carrying a blend of paternal pride and care. “Take care, sweetheart. Have a safe journey.”

You smile softly, a hint of moisture touching your eyes. “Thanks Dad, I’ll see you soon... I’m so proud of you, and remember, I’m just a call away, if you need anything, anytime...”

“That goes for you too honey,” your mom reassured as she brushed a strand of hair from your face.

With a nod, you promised to keep in touch and headed toward the waiting car. Caroline greeted you with a warm smile, and helped load your luggage into the trunk.

“Ready for that coffee date?” she asked as she opened the driver’s door.

“Absolutely,” you replied.

Just as you slid in beside her, your phone vibrated with a new message. You pulled it out to take a look, silently smiling to yourself as you read.

[Sam Winchester]
"Good morning, hope you slept ok? Have a safe flight xx"

So fucking polite... The corners of your lips tugged downwards to suppress a giggle as you tapped out your reply, conveniently avoiding his question.

[Y/N Y/L/N]
"Good morning! Thanks, and you drive safe. See you soon xx"

As you settled into the passenger seat, a surge of anticipation coursed through you, roaring alive with the rumble of the engine as Caroline turned the keys.

 
“So, any plans for when you’re back in Lawrence?” Caroline glanced your way, a smile playing on her lips as she steered the conversation. 

A ray of sunlight spilled through the window, lighting up the side of your face as you sat nestled in a cozy corner of your favorite coffee house.

You hesitated for a moment, a small smile gracing your lips as you swirled the remnants of your latte in the cup. “Work, mostly... and, um… I’ve actually arranged to catch up with Sam”.

“Ooh, spill the tea!” Caroline leaned in, a playful glint in her eye.

Bonnie and Elena were seated beside you, listening intently as they sipped their drinks.  

“Well, I finally grew some balls and called him last night…”  

“Finally!” Bonnie grinned. “You’ve been dancing around this for a while now.”  

“I know,” you groaned, frustrated with your previous lack of confidence.  

“Assumingly it went well?” Elena questioned, a knowing smile on her lips.  

You grinned coyly. “You could say that... I’m seeing him tonight...”

Caroline’s grin widened. “A date, then?”  

“Sort of, I guess...? He’s meeting me at the airport,” you confess, smiling down at your empty cup.

“Awh, that’s adorable!” Bonnie teased, nudging you playfully. “You nervous?”

“A little...” you admitted, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

“You’ve got this!” Elena reassured with a supportive smile.

“Just be yourself.” “I hope so,” you replied, trying to mask the flutter of nerves. “I’m looking forward to getting to know him better.”

“I bet you are…” Caroline teased, spurring an eruption of giggles from Elena and Bonnie.  

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” you teased, grateful for their banter and Elena’s laughter.

Deep down, you knew Elena carried remnants of pain, scars that may never heal completely, but the Elena seated before you today was a stark contrast to the fragile figure you met in that hospital room a few weeks ago. She served as a reminder for the strength and resilience that can be found in difficult times.

“No, seriously, we’re so happy for you girl!” Caroline chimed.  

“Keep us in the loop, huh?” Bonnie pressed.  

“Yeah, of course,” you smiled.

“And remember, we’re here for you, whatever happens,” Elena said amongst the giggling, her words a comforting embrace.

The energy around the table was bittersweet, the genuine happiness of being reunited with your friends conflicting with the challenging circumstances of your arrival and your imminent departure. Despite these conflicting emotions, an undeniable current of excitement lingered within you, coloring every move you made and every word you spoke.

You smiled, a reassuring warmth filling your chest. “That goes for you guys too! We’ve always got each other’s backs.”
 

SAM

Last night, after crawling back into bed, Sam had slept like a log. After using up all his energy yesterday, his second shower had soothed his muscles, lulling him into a lethargic state.

When he woke, he felt surprisingly energized, the anticipation of seeing you infusing him with an extra dose of energy. 

He stretched, leaped out of bed, then conscientiously planned out his morning, making sure to allow himself enough time to be at the airport for your arrival. You weren’t landing until late afternoon, so Sam had some time to spare this morning.

His morning run felt effortless as he jogged through familiar paths, the crisp morning air filling his lungs, energizing him even more. 

Now sat in the bunker’s kitchen, he devoured a hearty bowl of oatmeal along with his coffee, smiling to himself as he scrolled back through your messages from last night. 

Dean strolled in, sensing his brother’s energy, his boots clicking against the floor, his usual cocky grin already in place.

“Someone’s chirpy this morning,” Dean remarked with a sly smile.
 Sam’s grin widened involuntarily, barely able to conceal his feelings, as he quickly locked his phone after pressing ‘send’ on a new message.

“Look at you, Sammy… You’ve got it bad for her, haven’t you?” Dean teased, a mischievous glint in his green eyes.

“Shut up,” Sam retorted, though a smile still lingered.

“Dude, I’m happy for you,” Dean reassured, giving Sam a friendly shoulder squeeze. “Just promise me you won’t go pulling any stunts I wouldn’t approve of.”

“Leaves me plenty of options then,” Sam quipped, shooting a glance at Dean.

“You got that right,” Dean winked.

“Alright… that’s enough,” Sam chuckled, backing out of Dean’s touch, rising from his seat to pour himself a refill. 

Dean chuckled. “No need to play coy, Sammy. I mean, you’ve practically been eye-fucking the chick since we first met her. You deserve to get your dick wet for once.”

Sam choked on his coffee. 

“Really, Dean?” he managed, coughing as he struggled to regain composure.

“What? It’s not like you’re subtle about it...”

Sam’s gaze shot daggers, a mixture of embarrassment and shock coloring his face. “Jeez, Dean, some things are better left unsaid…”

Dean’s grin widened, clearly relishing the discomfort he’d caused. “Can’t help it if the truth’s right there, Sammy...”

Sam shook his head, eager to steer the conversation away from the awkward turn it had taken.

At that moment, the door swung open, and Cas strode into the room, his usual stoic expression softened by a faint hint of curiosity.

“Morning, Sam, Dean,” he greeted, his gaze shifting between the two brothers.

“Morning, Cas,” Sam replied, grateful for the interruption as he began to wash up his breakfast bowl.

Dean flashed a quick nod. “Hey, Cas.”

Cas, perceptive as ever, picked up on the mood in the room. His eyes lingered for a moment longer on Sam, catching a hint of unease in his demeanor.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, concern evident in his tone.

“Just the usual... Dean, being... well, Dean,” Sam answered with a half-smile, attempting to downplay the previous conversation.

Dean rolled his eyes playfully. “Hey, I’m just keeping things interesting around here.”

“I see...” Cas nodded, a small smile gracing his lips. “Indeed, Dean’s unique ways are something to behold.”

Sam chuckled as he placed the bowl on the drying rack. “You can say that again.”

Dean smirked, leaning back with an air of mock offence. “Hey, I’m the epitome of charm and subtlety, thank you very much.”

Cas couldn’t suppress a faint chuckle. “Your definition of charm and subtlety is certainly...distinctive, Dean.”

Dean’s smirk widened, a hint of pride evident in his expression. “You’re welcome, Cas. I aim to impress.” Dean joked as he scoffed a blueberry muffin. “What brings you here anyway? Another celestial emergency or just missing the excitement of our company?”

Cas’s lips twitched faintly, a subtle hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Neither, actually. I just wanted to discuss something about our last case,” he replied, casting a knowing glance at Dean.

Dean leaned back, feigning nonchalance. “Ah, the good old ‘let’s talk about work’ routine. Riveting...”

Sam stifled a chuckle, appreciating the redirection.
“Right,” he said as he dried his hands. “I’ll leave you two to catch up, I’m…taking the Mercury…” He rattled the keys he’d already stashed in his pocket, knowing Dean would never agree to him taking the Impala. 

“Sure thing Sammy” Dean said, patting his brother on the back. “Sweep her off her feet won’t you?”

“That’s the plan” Sam breathed a laugh, before walking out the kitchen door, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket.

“Hey!” Dean called after Sam. “When will you be back?”

“No idea,” Sam yelled back, a small smile gracing his lips as he leaped forward into the unknown. 

YOU

As you stepped onto the airplane, a mix of excitement and nerves bubbled up inside you. Finding your seat next to the window, you settled in and clicked your seatbelt into place, feeling a rush of anticipation for the journey ahead.

As the plane taxied on the runway, you stared out the window, gripping your armrest as the engines roared to life. The familiar thrill of takeoff took hold, once again distancing you from the world below.

As the altitude increased, you watched the world blur by, the suburban sprawl fading out, gradually replaced by patches of greenery and winding rivers. And the clouds, once a part of a patchworked sky, now hung below you, revealing the gentle blue above. You found comfort in this moment, the fine line between anxiety and excitement blurring into one.

Amidst the gentle rumble, you suddenly felt hopeful instead of scared, endless possibilities flooding your mind as you found comfort in the promise of new beginnings.

Thoughts of reconnecting with Sam, of visiting uncharted territories, although inherently nerve-wracking, now filled you with a tantalizing energy that tugged on the corners of your lips.

You smiled to yourself, embracing the uncertainty instead of hiding from it, mentally preparing yourself for whatever awaited you in Kansas.

SAM 

Sam slid into the driver’s seat and adjusted the rearview mirror, his reflection revealing a mixture of nervous energy and determination. He turned on the ignition and pressed his foot on the gas, the car roaring to life as he set off on his journey. Although not as iconic as the Impala, the Mercury held its own charm, it’s sleek lines glinting in the fading daylight as Sam navigated the familiar roads towards Lawrence.

As he drove, his thoughts were firmly fixated on you. He couldn’t deny that he was a little nervous, the imminence of seeing you in the flesh, of confronting the depth of his feelings, laid bare a vulnerability that made him fidget in his seat. He raked a hand through his hair and took a steadying breath, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter as he tried to push any doubts to the back of his mind.

There were no doubts about you, only doubts about himself. He clearly wanted you, in more ways than he dared to admit. This was new to him, and he wasn’t exactly sure what he was getting himself into. He wondered what your expectations were, and if he could offer what you were hoping for. Maybe it was selfish, but nevertheless, he couldn’t help himself, his usual self-control replaced by an insistent desire to see this through, whatever the consequences. He was usually so composed, so logical, but now, when it came to you, he’d somehow let his logical brain dissolve.

The hours passed and Sam finally arrived at the airport, the sky now a dusky backdrop against the setting sun. He found a spot in the parking lot and, with care, nestled the Mercury between other vehicles.

Once parked, Sam sat in quiet contemplation, taking a moment to compose himself. He straightened up, once again trying to steady his racing thoughts. Before he could dwell too much, he reached for the door handle, an irrefutable force driving him forward. Then, with one last quick exhale, he opened the door, stepping out into the fading sunlight.

The airport was busy, bustling with activity as people moved with purpose, reuniting with loved ones and setting off on new journeys. As Sam navigated through the terminal, his heart beat a little faster with each step that he took. His eyes scanned the arrival boards, tracking the incoming flights, searching for yours amongst the arrivals.

As he stood there, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, finding a new message from you.

[Y/N Y/L/N]
"Hey! Just landed - won't be long xx"

Sam smiled, a mixture of relief and anticipation settling upon him as he tapped out his reply.

[Sam Winchester]
"I'm here, see you soon xx"

The minutes ticked by, each second stretching into an eternity. With each passing moment, Sam’s anticipation swelled, a blend of impatience and exhilaration tightening his chest. He fiddled with his watch, an unconscious attempt to dampen the whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. And then, amidst the steady stream of passengers, he spotted you, your presence immediately captivating. 

For a moment, he stood frozen, taken aback by your sheer presence. God, she is even more beautiful than I remembered, he marveled, a rush of adoration sweeping through him. How is that even possible?

An invisible force drew your eyes together and Sam’s heart skipped a beat as he broke into a wide grin, reciprocating your smile. Your energy was infectious, even from a distance. 

As you drew closer, Sam felt a sense of completeness wash over him, sweeping away every lingering hesitation and flicker of doubt in his mind. It dawned on him then, that this moment, this meeting—it wasn’t just where he wanted to be—it was where he was meant to be, as if the universe itself had conspired for this very moment, a convergence of fate that whispered its significance to his soul.

YOU & SAM

You stood before him now, glancing up at him, silently taking in his expression. 

She’s radiant... breathtaking... mesmerizing… Sam’s mind wandered as he again stood frozen. Have her eyes always been this illuminating...?

You averted your gaze, feeling the weight of his attention completely on you. This is really happening... It wasn’t just a dream. This is real... Undeniably and unequivocally real.

“Hey,” Sam breathed, snapping out of his haze. His voice carried a blend of relief and excitement, and a slight embarrassment touched his face as he realized he’d been staring.

You replied with a soft smile, a blush staining your cheeks as you again met his gaze, his hazel eyes piercing into you. “Hey...”

The moment lingered as you took in each other’s presence, the air thick with an undeniable tension.

“Good flight?” Sam asked, breaking the midst with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Yeah, not bad,” you smiled. “How was your drive?”

Sam replied with a casual shrug, though his eyes sparkled with unspoken delight. “Can’t complain.”

You marveled at the subtle beauty of the moment—the unspoken longing, the quiet exchange of smiles, the anticipation of what was yet to come... Your stomach knotted, your butterflies twisting and turning within you as you gazed up at him. Dreamy indeed...

“Hey, let me take that...” Sam gestured to pick up your bags, ever the gentleman. 

“Oh, yeah… thanks.” You passed him the handles, blinking out of your lavender haze. 

Your hands brushed in the exchange, sending that familiar surge of electricity coursing through you both in unison.

Oh fuck...

There was a shared understanding in that moment, a silent dialogue weaving between your glances.

You both breathed out a laugh, repressing the innate desire to touch each other, hold each other, right there in the busy terminal.

“Come on,” Sam chuckled, placing his hand on the small of your back. “Let’s get you home...”

I already am, you thought, as you followed his lead to the car. 

Chapter Text

"Nice wheels!" The words escaped your lips in a frosty breath as you reached the car, the winter air painting your breath in delicate wisps. The setting sun cast elongated shadows over the parking lot, compounding the chill in your bones. 

"Thanks," Sam chuckled, flashing you a grin as he loaded your bags in the trunk. "It's not quite the Impala, but... it's got its own charm."

"Dean wouldn't let you take his 'Baby,' huh?" you asked, a playful tease leaving your lips as you recalled the conversation before the ritual.

"Absolutely not!" Sam laughed, his amusement resonating in the crisp air. "He's more attached to that car than he is to me..."

Your laughter mingled with the chilly breeze, prompting you to hug yourself tighter for warmth, despite your layers of clothing. 

Sam, attuned to your discomfort, hurried to open the car door for you. "Hey, jump in, you look freezing..."

You complied, gratefully. Winter had arrived a little earlier here, the languid transition between seasons knitting at the seams, fully commited to their joining. In Virginia, fall seemed to stretch on forever, fraying until finally breaking its tether. You’d always been like that—holding on to things long after you should have let go. Old routines, old places, old people. Clinging to the familiar, even when it unraveled before your eyes. But this—choosing to be here, with Sam—felt immediately different. Seamless, somehow.

As you slid into the passenger seat, the faint scent of aged leather mixed with traces of Sam's cologne greeted you, adding a touch of familiarity to the vintage interior.

Sam closed your door with a gentle click before rounding the car to take his place behind the wheel. As he settled next to you, the outside world faded into insignificance. The interior seemed to shrink, the confined space transforming into a sanctuary of shared intimacy as the proximity between your bodies, the mere inches that separated you, became supercharged with an undeniable energy.

Sam started the ignition, the engine roaring to life before he fumbled with the heater settings. A small trickle of warm air finally emerged from the vents, offering a feeble reprieve from the cold that lingered within the car.

"Sorry..." Sam said, glancing at you apologetically. "The car may have its charms, but the heating system is not one of them..." he chuckled, a hint of self-deprecation in his tone.

A shiver ran down your spine, the winter chill seeping through the car's thin insulation. "It's fine, Sam... I'm fine," you reassured with a faint smile, though your chattering teeth betrayed you.

"You're an awful liar," he teased, observing your attempt to brush off the discomfort.

A rueful smile graced your lips. "Guilty as charged..." you admitted, concerning to the truth.

Sam huffed in amusement. "Wait here," he said, hopping out of the driver's seat to pop open the trunk.

He returned swiftly, bearing a large, black, woolen trench coat.

"Here" he said, as he offered you the coat.

"Thanks," you murmured, as you immediately wrapped it around yourself like a burrito.

The coat was thick and warm, and it took the edge off your chill. It also smelt like him, a fact that warmed you in a different way.

"Better?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.

You met his gaze with gratitude, a cheeky smile playing on your lips as you clutched his coat to you. "Much better, thanks..."

Sam chuckled, a gentle shake of his head accompanying his amusement.

"What?" you prodded, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

"Ah, nothing..." Sam deflected with a smile, glancing in the rear-view mirror.

"Come on..." you nudged him teasingly beneath the cocoon of the coat.

"I'll tell you later..." Sam's gaze held a glint of mystery as he started reversing the car out of the parking spot.

Later... The promise lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the night that stretched ahead.

As Sam navigated onto the road, your anticipation eclipsed the cold, infusing you with a newfound warmth that had nothing to do with the coat.

With the sun setting even further below the horizon, you snuck a glance at the man sitting beside you, his profile bathed in the soft, waning daylight, and a sense of awe enveloped you as you mused at his beauty. You couldn't help but find him captivating. You observed the way his fingers gripped the steering wheel with confident control and the subtle determination etched into his hazel eyes as he focused on the road. His focus was unwavering, you realized, a faint smirk touching your lips as you sensed his extra effort to concentrate. This is as hard for him as it is for me...

The remainder of the drive slipped away in a haze. Lost in thought, you barely registered the transition from the freeway. Conversation between you remained on the surface, deliberately restrained, as if tiptoeing around uncharted territory, afraid to plunge too soon into the depths where unsated desires dwelled. Instead, the journey became a myriad of fleeting glances and escalating tension, each stolen look adding fuel to the fire that was already burning your insides. Thank God it was only a short drive back to your house. Any longer and you thought you might explode.

As the Mercury pulled to a stop outside your house, your mind flashed back to the last time you were here; stood on the sidewalk, leaving Sam behind to go to Mystic Falls. Jeez, was that really a month ago..? Being with Sam again made it feel like no time had passed at all.

"Home sweet home..." Sam remarked, his voice soft as he cast a tender glance your way.

You replied with a smile, unwrapping yourself from his coat with a thankful look.

"Thanks for this," you said, folding the coat neatly in two. As you did, something slipped from its pocket, landing in your seat.

You raised an eyebrow as you inspected the fake FBI badge that had fallen out.

"Agent… Smith?"

"Can't always be Bonham and Peart" Sam retorted with a smirk, knowing you'd appreciate the joke.

"Fair point," you chuckled, slipping the badge back into its pocket.

Sam slipped out of the car and swiftly gathered your bags from the trunk.

You hurried to assist, eager to share the load. "Hey, I'm pretty strong, you know!" A hint of pride laced your tone. "I can handle a few bags."

Sam flashed you a smile, a playful glint in his eye. "I don't doubt that, but... save your energy," he advised, a small smirk tugging at his lips as he began striding toward your house.

Save your energy...? His words echoed in your mind, a teasing jab that made your knees tremble.

You hurried after him, bounding up the steps to your front door.

You fumbled with your keys, sensing Sam's lingering warmth behind you, the anticipation too much to bear. 

As you stepped inside, the warmth of your little townhouse hit you in the face. You had left in such a rush you hadn't even thought to set your heating to holiday mode. Shit...

Before you could dwell on the oversight, Sam closed the front door behind him, the sound snapping you back to the present moment.

As you turned to face him, your heart raced, a whirlwind of adrenaline and lust consuming you, dispersing all logical thought from your brain.

"So, um…" Sam's voice broke the silence, attempting to bridge the gap with conversation. "How does…"

Sam's eyes widened for a split second as he registered the look on your face. His sentence stood no chance.

You were on him in a heartbeat, straining on your tiptoes, tugging on his jacket, aching for the taste you so badly craved.

He yielded immediately, dropping your bags to the floor as he crushed his lips to meet yours in a fiery, desperate kiss.

Sam's hands gently cupped your face as he reluctantly pried your lips from his. You panted, catching your breath, lips flushed red with the heat of your blood boiling under the surface.

"Hey…" Sam whispered between his own breaths, forehead resting on yours as he caressed the side of your face. "Are you sure about this?"

You pulled back slightly to look him in the eye. "I've never been so sure about anything in my life," you said, with complete conviction. "What, are you not...?" You creased your brow, a hint of worry  in your eyes as you looked back at him, wondering why he was even questioning this.

Sam, immediately taken aback by the hurt in your expression, rushed to reassure you.

"Y/N..." He leaned in to whisper your name in your ear, his hand tracing down your arm to grip your fingers. "Does this… feel like I'm unsure?" He asked, grabbing your hand and pressing it against his straining arousal.

Your breath hitched as you felt the outline of his erection in your hand.

God, he felt huge. You gulped.

Sam breathed in your ear, before moving his lips to your neck. "Feel what you do to me...? Of course I'm sure..." he mumbled against your skin.

Each coming phrase that left his lips was punctuated with agonizingly tender kisses, and nibbles to your neck.

"I've been sure…" Kiss "since the day…" Kiss "I fucking met you." Nip.

A breathy moan escaped your lips as you felt his cock twitch under your hand.

"I need you, Y/N…" He stared into your eyes then, as he said your name. "I can't control it…" he purred, gently caressing your face with the back of his fingers.

Your head spun. He is such a fucking tease... And you were lapping it right up.

"Then don't.. " you whispered, as you palmed him through his jeans, staring him dead in the eye.

He groaned.

Heat pooled between your thighs.

"You might regret that..." he warned, in a low, longing tone as he stared down at you with a fiery gaze, now caressing your hair.

The bastard... He knows very well what he's doing...

You bit back, squeezing your hand a little firmer as you peered up at him with your best 'fuck-me' eyes. "Try me."

He all but pounced on you then, pinning you back into the wall, his eyes clouded, heavy with lust. You clung onto his shoulders as he hitched your legs around his waist, pressing his body firmly against you, holding you up by your ass.

Whoa. You suddenly felt very small… delicate… breakable… useable. It was a fucked up thought, but it turned you on to no end.

You could feel his cock against you, just a few layers of clothing between where you needed him... craved him.

He ground his hips into you and you moaned, tilting your head to the ceiling, exposing your neck fully.

Sam seized the opportunity, burying his face into your neck as he kissed… sucked…nibbled… eliciting a series of breathy whimpers from you, as you twined your fingers through his hair.

You strained to roll your hips back into him, but the hold he had you in would not allow for it.

"Samm..." you breathed against his hair.

"Yes, Princess?" he mumbled against your neck.

Fuck. A rush of dopamine flooded your nervous system as you hear him pet-name you.

You panted, your words coming out in a series of breathy whispers. "Need you.... need to feel you... everywhere..." 

Sam removed his mouth from your neck and peered up at you. Jesus, she looks even more hot and desperate than I imagined... She's practically begging me to fuck her...

Sam felt a drop of precum leak at the thought. Shit... not yet. We've waited so long for this…. need to make this good for her... 

"Is that right?" Sam breathed against your lips as he squeezed your ass, your upper back still pressed hard against the wall.

"Mhmm..." you hummed in response.

"Huh? What was that?" Sam teased, a telling shade in his voice and glint in his eye as he scanned your face with a collected calm.

Gulp. You knew that look—that possessive stare and authoritative tone only found in someone who could scratch that itch you so desperately craved. Fuck... I knew it. You couldn't help the small smile that formed on your lips as you averted your gaze in submission.

You feel his gaze rake over you, neurons short circuiting as he took in your response.

You felt his cock twitch again, against your thigh.

Slowly, he relaxed his grip on you, letting your feet meet the floor and your arms fall from his shoulders.

He towered over you now, staring you down.

You kept your glance lowered, pining at the loss of contact, sucking on your bottom lip as you anticipated his next move.

Sam raised his hand to your face, raising your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze.

You noticed the corners of his lips twitch upwards. He was struggling to maintain his cool, you realized. You chewed on your lip, suppressing a smile.

"Well?" He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. "What is it that you... need?"

You looked up at him defiantly and said, with absolute determination:

"I need you to fuck me, Sam. Now."

Chapter Text

You squealed as Sam threw you over his shoulder, ducking as he carried you through the doorframe into the lounge.

He set you on the couch, back against the cushions, prying apart your legs as he kneeled at your feet. He leaned in, torso between your legs, hands pinning your arms at your sides, capturing your mouth in a slow, longing, sloppy kiss that made your blood fizz and your heart flutter.

Those damn butterflies had risen to your throat, threatening to choke you if you didn't get the release you so desperately needed.

And it wasn't just about the sex. It was Sam. You craved Sam. Deep in your bones.

Your chest tightened. Fuck. I'm really in it deep now, aren't I...? 

Sam released his grip on your arms, as he trailed his kiss from your mouth, down your neck, to your collarbone. You immediately gripped onto his shoulders, clinging on to him with a newfound urgency.

He kissed and sucked at your collarbone, and began tugging on your clothes. Yes, get these off... you thought, suddenly realising how warm you were.

You leaned forward into Sam's feverous kisses, as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you upright as you shrugged yourself hastily out of your jacket, chucking it to the floor.

Sam was also yet to rid himself of his. I mean, you hadn't exactly given him a chance; hell, he'd only just made it inside the door before you'd leaped on him.

You tugged at the edges of his jacket, pushing it down his shoulders and he sat back on his knees to remove it completely, never once taking his eyes off you.

You bit your lip as you returned his stare, pulling your sweater, along with your top, over your head, revealing your simple, black bra.

The look he gave you then, upon seeing your bare flesh for the first time, was as if you were bathed in gold.

He was back on you in an instant, his hands cupping your tits as his mouth found your chest. You released a breathy sigh at the returned contact, closing your eyes as you buried your fingers in his hair.

Sam swiftly unclipped your bra and you shrugged it off your shoulders, tossing it to... you don't even know where.

Sam sat back on his heels for a second, admiring the sight of you, now bare from the waist up. "So beautiful..." he murmured, leaning back into you, this time taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

You hummed softly, before returning your hands to his hair.

His mouth was soft, and warm against your already peaked, hard nipples. He alternated between softly sucking, and swirling his tongue, as he took your other nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and rolled.

You arched your spine, pressing your tits into him.

He let loose a chuckle at your response, then tentatively, at first, closed his teeth in a gentle nip. You flinched at the shock of it, a sharp intake of air passing your lips.

He chuckled again. She's putty in my hands, he thought, as he clamped his teeth harder.

You moaned, clearly this time. That's it… good girl... he thought, as he soothed his bite with a kiss.

He repeated his actions on your other nipple, eliciting nothing but encouraging responses from you.

God, he was so hard. It took him every inch of willpower he had to not just flip you over and fuck you right there, but he had to restrain, longing for your pleasure as much as his own.

Sam withdrew from your breasts, only to meet your mouth again, in another, sloppy, sinful kiss. He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth and bit down gently before releasing.

You panted against his lips, a desperate look in your eye. "Samm…" 

"Shh…" Sam hushed, placing a finger over your lips, before beginning his trail of kisses again, down your neck, to your collarbone, between your breasts, now down your abdomen…

You trembled a little, anticipating where this was leading.

Sam's mouth reached the waistband of your jeans. He paused, before gazing up at you, noticing you staring down at him with intense concentration and apprehension. He smirked as he unbuttoned your jeans and undid your zipper. As he tugged your jeans over your hips, you raised yourself hastily, eager to assist, kicking off your boots in the process.

She's so fucking desperate... Bet she's soaked… He was enjoying every single moment of this.

Now, rid of your jeans, you sat there, exposed, in your little black thong. You blushed, feeling a trickle of self-consciousness trying to evade the fragile constraints in your mind, but Sam's actions repressed it before it could surface.

Sam looked your over, raking his gaze over your bare skin, lust and... adoration in his eyes. God, she's radiant... 

He slowly positioned his head between your knees, placing a tender kiss on each of your kneecaps before gazing up at you again with a subtle smirk, silently conveying 'I'm gonna drag this out for as long as I can'.

Fuck, why is he doing this to me? I need him… now.

Sensing your impatience, Sam chuckled lightly and began to caress your thighs and pepper kisses in a slow, torturous trail, towards your core.

You shivered at his actions, each kiss sinfully sweet, physically preparing you for the coming sensations you so deeply desired.

Now, a breath away from your underwear, Sam gently stroked his thumb along your covered folds, before placing a feather-light kiss to the clothed bundle of nerves at your apex.

You tensed up, whimpering softly at his touch, silently begging for more contact. Oh my God, he is torturous...

Sam's eyes darted to your face, checking your expression, his gaze holding a silent plea for permission.

You nodded quickly in response, urgency shining in your eyes.

At this, Sam continued, hooking his fingers under the band of your underwear, sliding them off your legs.

Ever attentive, Sam also helped you out of your socks, eliciting a giggle between you, before he caressed and pressed tender kisses to your calves and ankles.

Sam gently placed your legs back down, and again, settled between your thighs, your core now uncovered and… glistening.

Your cheeks flushed under Sam's glassy gaze as he took in the sight of you, now bare and fully exposed, all for him. You felt… vulnerable. And it felt so good.

"You have the most beautiful pussy I have ever seen," Sam stated, as if it was the most obvious fact in the world.

Your blush deepened to crimson as you smiled, turning your head to hide in the sofa cushions.

Sam sensed your embarrassment. She doesn't believe me, he thought. I must make her.

"I mean it, Y/N..." Sam purred, as he returned sweet, longing kisses along your inner thighs. "It's perfect…" [kiss] "… you're perfect…" [kiss] "…so fucking perfect…" The last word was muffled, as he mumbled against your mound, sending a shiver through your whole body. "And so... wet for me…"

Your breath hitched as Sam trailed two fingers through your folds, coating himself in your slick.

You watched him intently, your mouth falling open.

His eyes met yours, heavy with lust, as he slowly brought his fingers to his mouth and proceeded to suck your wetness off of him.

Dear lord. It was completely debauched. He was driving you insane.

You melted, trembling at the obscene sight of this beautiful man, sucking your pleasure from his fingers.

A breathy whimper escaped you as you committed the scene to memory, and before you could prepare, Sam's mouth was on you, licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit.

Fuck. You gasped.

Sam's tongue was soft and warm, yet strong and skilled. He started at your inner folds, then turned his attention to your clit, initially kissing softly, then swirling his tongue, skillfully applying just the right amount of pressure to make you arch into him. He clearly knew what he was doing.

His lips and tongue moved in succession, tightening the ever growing knot inside of you.

After a while, Sam replaced his mouth on your clit with his thumb, rubbing gentle circles before plunging his tongue inside of you.

You whelped, and Sam hooked his arms under your thighs, lifting your feet, pulling you even closer into his face, as though he couldn't get close enough. His nose bumped against your clit as he spread you open, eliciting a needy moan from your throat. You instinctively reached out for something to grip onto, your hand meeting Sam's, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. He automatically twined and tightened his fingers with yours, and you held on for dear life as he devoured you like a man starved.

"You taste divine," Sam gasped, as he eventually surfaced for air.

The glossy sight of your slick covering Sam's lips and nose almost had you crashing over the edge right there.

You were panting at this point, unable to verbalize a cohesive response, so simply bucked your hips in appreciation, aching for continued stimulation.

"So needy..." Sam smirked, as he returned his mouth to your clit, sucking as he inserted a finger into you.

You whimpered, your walls clenching around his skillful touch as he explored, stroking and smoothing as he mapped the contours of your body into his mind. Locating your sweet spot, he increased his pressure, dragging his finger towards you before inserting a second finger to stretch you out.

You were right, he could reach… everywhere...

Sam beckoned his fingers inside you, and...

"Oh fuckkk..." you whined aloud. It's like he instinctively knew how to make you squeal.

Sam began to pick up the pace, pulsing his fingers rhythmically whilst his lips and tongue devoured your clit with a dedicated fervor. 

You cried out in pleasure, writhing under his touch, lifting your hips, pressing even further into his face, your knuckles turning white as you squeezed the life out of his hand in your grasp. The sound that came out of your mouth was obscene, and drove Sam fucking wild.

"Fuck," Sam groaned as his mouth popped off you, followed by a hot chuckle against your throbbing clit.

He wrangled his hand out of your iron grip to place a firm hold on your lower belly to keep you in place as you squirmed beneath him.

"That's it.... right there, huh?" Sam gasped, whilst fucking you unrelentingly with his fingers.

Your legs shook as you kicked your feet into his back, aching for some kind of leverage.

"Easy there, firecracker..." Sam warned, gazing up at your convulsing body.

"Sammm…" you cried, as you again clutched his hand, now pinning you down. "Sam…I'm…d-don't…st..."

"Yes, baby?" Sam muffled, mouth against your clit.

You gasped. "Samm… don't stop… I'm so close…"

"I know, Princess," Sam mumbled, continuing to pleasure you the same way that had you writhing.

You gasped as your walls started to spasm. "Samm, I'm…"

"Hmm, baby… you're doing so well," Sam praised, spurring you on, continuously kissing your clit whilst pounding you. "Come around my fingers, Princess... that's it… good girl…"

Sam's words sent you crashing over the edge, and you came uncontrollably hard and fast around his fingers and on his face. Your blood sizzled as Sam rode you through your high, never missing a signal for anything you needed.

Jesus fucking Christ God damn fuck. You tried to wrap your head around what he'd just done. You'd never had an orgasm like that, ever.

Fucking hell... this man. Where the fuck has he been my whole life?

As your breathing and heartbeat slowed, Sam rested his cheek on your lap, trying to catch his breath himself—chest heaving—cock straining against his pants—his hand still bound with yours.

You stayed like this for a few minutes, coming down from your high, trying to compose your spinning thoughts, before you reached your other hand down to gently play with his hair.

Sam turned his head to look at you. His lips were red, his cheeks flushed pink, and a drop of your slick still glistened on his chin. He didn't seem to mind.

As your eyes met his, the fire inside you instantly reignited. Blazing within you. Roaring fiercely. Consuming you whole.

You pulled Sam towards you, reclining horizontally on the sofa as he climbed over you and cradled your face. You met him in several deep, slow, long, appreciative kisses, tasting yourself on his mouth. You hummed in pleasure, potentially signaling that you were enjoying this a little too much.

"Fuck baby, I'm starting to think…" Sam paused, hesitating for a moment as he searched your face for a flicker of recognition, testing the waters. When he saw it, he finally smiled, and whispered, "That you're a filthy little slut, aren't you?" 

Your breath hitched as you heard him degrade you. You were so into it. Hell, you were so buzzed out that he could slap you silly and still have you begging for more.

At your wry smile, Sam knew he had judged the vibe correctly.

"You are!?" Sam exclaimed, grin now spreading from ear to ear.

"Yes, Samm, slut for you..." you whimpered, high on dopamine.

"Fuck..." Sam chuckled, unable to retain his composure. She is slamming every one of my buttons, he thought, as his thread of restraint started to fray.

"Is that right?" He half-teased, half-chuckled, as he rose to his knees, beginning to unbuckle his belt.

"Mmhum," you hummed, gazing up at him, doe-eyed as you bit your bottom lip.

"Uh-uh..." Sam tsked, shaking his head. "Use your words," he drawled, as his cock sprung free of his pants.

He was huge—unsurprisingly—and... beautiful.

You swallowed, as you gaped at the sight of him. "Yes, Sir, your slut…"

He quickly rid himself of his shirt, and kicked the rest of his clothes away, but stopped for a second, searching for a condom in his wallet. 

Catching onto what he was doing, you reached for his hand. “I’m clean,” you reassured with a nod, then tugged him back towards you greedily. "And covered."

Sam acknowledged your reassurance, and his cock twitched in anticipation. 

You noticed. 

He noticed you notice.

And maybe he should have pushed, should have insisted on protection. But in that moment, his mind couldn’t keep up with his body. He was heady, and needy, and the thought of being inside you, bare and unrestrained, was irresistible. An urge he had to quell. It wasn’t a want anymore, it was a need. Having any kind of barrier between you felt wrong, somehow, no matter how illogical.

Continuing where you left off, Sam grinned maniacally. "You like that, huh?" he asked as he spread your legs and positioned himself between them, a slave to his impulses. "Being called a dirty little slut?"

Your breath caught in your throat as the head of his cock made contact with you with the first time. He was warm, and hard, yet velvety soft, and dear lord you needed him inside you.

"Yes, sir." 

"Good," Sam said, coating his cock in your wetness then rubbing teasing circles on your clit. "Because that's what you are... My little slut." He lightly slapped the head of his cock against you, causing you to suck in a breath, followed by a desperate moan slipping through your lips. You couldn't control yourself around him, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second. 

"That's it," he growled. "My desperate little slut. Coming around my fingers... My tongue... Begging to be fucked."

He teased the head of his cock inside you slightly and you whimpered at the tight stretch. 

"You think you can handle me, huh? Think you can take my cock, inside your tight little pussy? You're so pretty, baby, I'd hate to ruin you."

Fucking hell. He was not holding back. Who'd have thought he'd have such a filthy, arrogant mouth? It was wholly unfair; no one could be this perfect.

You nodded eagerly, despite the lump in your throat that formed as you considered the size of him. It was going to hurt, but you were ready, and willing.

"You sure about that?"

"Yes, Sir. Please."

"Please, what?"

"Please, Sam—sir… I need your cock… please…"

He pushed in a little further, before fully withdrawing.

You gulped, followed by a strained exhale.

"Fuck, Sam… I need you now, please…"

Fucking hell, how many more times is he going to make me beg?

"Shhh…  steady now..." Sam gripped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, lifting your head to look at him from where you were staring at his cock nudging against you. "I've been waiting weeks for this moment. Let's not be hasty now."

"But Samm… Please..."

He considered you for a moment, the last frays of his thin thread of restraint breaking.

God, he wants this as much as I do - your last thoughts before your brain turned to mush.

"Sammm..." you rasped, "ruin me," you beg, looking him dead in the eye.

It snapped.

"Fine, seeing as you've asked so nicely…" Sam snarled covetously, his words a stark contrast to the fierce tone in his voice.

His actions mirrored his growl as he impulsively grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he forcefully thrust his cock into you, straight to the hilt, jolting your whole body into overload.

Your sensory neurons set alight, sending shockwaves through your nervous system, an explosion of sensations erupting within you.

You screamed.

You felt small, weak, and defenseless... as Sam pinned you down with a raging fire behind his eyes. A cocktail of shock, pain and... elation surged through you as Sam overpowered you, your body reacting to the sharp, but oh so sweet pain from the stretch of him inside you. You felt whole.

It wasn't just the physicality of the moment that overwhelmed you; something in your emotional control center triggered a cascade of chemicals that overrode your system. It was intense, too much to handle; you had zero control over it. Hell, you struggled with managing your emotions on an average Tuesday, so now, in this moment, you stood no fucking chance.

Sam reflexively shot out his hand to cover your mouth, muffling your scream, eyes widening for a fraction of a second as he met your gaze. He was not expecting the feral sound that tore from you and a wave of guilt rushed over him. 

Shit, I've gotten ahead of myself haven't I? Rookie error, Sam... We haven't even discussed this stuff... Fuck.

"You good?" Sam asked, breaking his façade. His brows furrowed in concern as he removed his hand from your mouth and freed his grip on your wrist, trying his best to mask the panic in his thoughts. Can't risk this, not with her, can't lose her...

Tears spilled from your eyes, but your smile reflected pure bliss.

"More than good," you managed, as you trembled.

Sam stilled, still seated inside you, not fully convinced as he wiped a tear from your cheek.

"You sure?" he said, still searching your face.

"Certain" you replied, meeting his gaze, your body slowly adjusting to the emotional bomb that had exploded within you.

"Okay," he replied, tentatively. "But…" he slowly pulled out of you. You whimpered at his withdrawal, partly at the sting, partly at the loss of completeness you felt.

Sam picked you up in his arms and shuffled his position, so he was seated on the couch, his back to the cushions, in your previous position.

He slowly lowered you into his lap—your legs straddling his—your knees softly sinking into the sofa, as he gently caressed your hair—intentionally putting you in a position of control.

"I… I want to hold you, Y/N…" Protect you...

He kissed your lips in a loving, almost romantic gesture. Forgive me, he pleaded, the unvoiced thoughts echoing in his mind.

"Okay…" you breathed, as your lips parted, and your heart swelled. 

You were way past being in too deep.

Your eyes met in that moment, a shared understanding passing between you.

You both nodded, in acknowledgement, as you reached for his cock, and slowly, this time, lowered yourself onto him.

You both let out sighs of relief and pleasure as you settle into each other's bodies, the initial sting fading into a delectable, dull ache.

Sam cradled you to his chest as you began to roll your hips, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you.

Your walls clenched around him, eliciting a throaty groan from Sam that made you arch your back, angling him even deeper.

God, she feels incredible, he thought, as you start to come undone again, chasing that blissful high.

He muffled your breathy moans with his mouth on yours, knowing full well that…

Oh fuckk… he could feel his release uncoiling with every movement. He moved his hands to your ass, gripping as he lifted you up slightly, as he bucked his hips upwards to meet yours, driving you both closer to the edge.

Your combined groans of pleasure mingled with the sounds of slapping flesh as Sam's thrusts became harder, more demanding, driving you straight into your second climax.

Feeling you contract around him sent Sam tumbling over the edge, but his protective hold on you never faltered, even as he gripped you tightly to his chest, and fucked you both into oblivion.

Chapter Text

The kiss Sam gave you, after spilling inside you, following your second explosive orgasm, threatened to steal every last oxygen molecule from your lungs. His lips met yours with a tender urgency, a silent confession conveyed through every deliberate parting of his lips and stroke of his tongue. The journey of his kisses transcended beyond your mouth, mapping the contours of your chin, nose, forehead and eyes, before delicately brushing against the backs of your fingers.

You had never been kissed like this, not once in your life.

Sam's actions spoke volumes, but you were too fucked out to hear clearly, your hearing muffled as your head whirred in dizzy circles. You collapsed into him, body limp as a rag, and he held onto you like it was his last day on earth.

That's it - you had officially drowned, and there was no hope on heaven or earth that could pull you from the depths of this ocean.

You stay like that, collapsed into each other, a sticky mingle of sweat, cum and tears for... you don't even know how long. Time ceased to exist in your little bubble.

"Y/N...? Baby?" Sam's whisper cut through your consciousness as he swept the knotted mess of your hair from your face and placed a delicate kiss to your temple. "Hey... we can't stay here all night..." He spoke softly, as he strained to look at your face. "Let me take care of you..." 

You groaned groggily, as he gently lifted you off of him, your combined pleasure seeping from you as he pulled out. Sam reached for his boxers that he had flung off earlier; luckily they were just in reach to mop up the mess before it ruined your sofa. What a gentleman.

He scooped you up in his arms and carried you up the stairs, straight to your bathroom. Of course he knew where it was, he had been here before, after all.

As your feet met the cold floor tiles, your legs trembled, and Sam had to catch you as you swayed.

"Whoa, steady there… Think you can manage a few minutes in the shower?" he asked, attentively scanning your features.

You didn't even know at this point.

"I'll try..." You smiled hazily up at him, slowly coming back down to reality. "Um… I have, uh… there should be some fresh towels in the airer… I'll just…"

"I'm on it," he said, before you could even finish your sentence. "I'll give you a few minutes..." he mumbled, kissing your forehead, his fingers brushing your arm as he walked away, stark naked and beautiful despite looking like he'd just ran a marathon.

You smiled faintly, thankful for a few minutes alone to gather yourself.

As Sam left the room, your head spun; a whirlwind of thoughts spiraling in your mind. That was way more than just sex... you mulled, turning on the shower to heat up, before attending to your immediate needs. I mean… you'd had good sex before, but nothing compared to … that. Nothing that… intense... consuming.

Sam returned a few minutes later with a clear knock on the door, interrupting your trail of thought. He waited for your response before entering, fresh towels in hand.

You snapped back into the present. "Thank you," you smiled, taking the towels from him and placing them on the towel rail, just as the room was beginning to steam up.

"Ready?" you asked, extending your hand in eager invitation.

He nodded. "After you..." he smiled, taking your outstretched hand, following your lead into the shower.

The warm cascade of water enveloped you, a soothing embrace that seemed to wash away not just the physical residue but also the remnants of any lingering tension. It was a tight squeeze, but you managed; your forced proximity somehow humorous, in light of what you'd just experienced together.

A laugh danced between you, as you glanced up at Sam, watching his hair grow limp with every droplet of water that touched him. That smile. Oh lord, it was enough to wake your butterflies up from the sex coma you'd put them in. It was nice to know they were okay, though; they'd been your constant companions since you were twelve, after all.

Sam, determined in his care, insisted on washing your hair, and with a patience that rivaled his strength, meticulously detangled each strand with conditioner. His care and attention knew no bounds, it seemed. Grateful for his efforts, you decided to return the favor, Sam obediently ducking for you to reach properly, spurring a cascade of playful laughter between you as you lathered in the shampoo.

"Close your eyes," you instructed, as you prepared to rinse out the suds. Sam complied, only to be surprised by the touch of your lips on his. It was an opportunity too good to miss, you thought, as you savored the addictive taste of him. He hummed into you, circling your waist with his hands. You pulled away slowly, directing him a playful smile and... Oh.

"Your hair looks longer when it's wet..." You spoke without thinking, rinsing out the last remnants of his shampoo, feigning naiveté at the obvious signal of his enjoyment.

"That's kinda how it works," Sam snickered, squinting as he dodged the aim of your shower head.

"Shut up!" you chuckled. "Conditioner?" you offered, raising an eyebrow as you reached for the bottle.

"Of course," he winked.

Whilst you teased a small dollop of conditioner through his locks, Sam indulged in the scent of your shower crème, lathering it up in his hands before starting to massage it onto your skin. His touch was delicate as his hands glided over your body, emitting an unspoken signal that caused the steady glow inside of you to burn brighter.

"You've got an incredible ass, you know that right?" Sam commented as his hands moved to massage the creamy lather onto your ass cheeks.

"You think so?" You cast him a teasing look, as you begin to lather up his chest.

"I know so," he stated as he leaned down to whisper in your ear. "I've been thinking about it for weeks..." Squeeze.

Fuck. You felt the evidence of Sam's reawakened arousal prod your stomach, now impossible to ignore, along with the wetness that had returned between your legs.

"Are you always this insatiable?" You smirked as you pressed up against him, his erection now straining against your abdomen.

Sam released a breathy sigh. "It's just you... you're impossible to resist," he finished, giving your ass another squeeze as he returned his lips to yours.

You held in a moan, pulling away, only to trail the soapy lather down his toned abdomen and wrap your fingers around the base of his cock.

His breath halted, the rhythmic patter of the shower water enveloping you both in a hypnotic trance as you slowly began to move your hand up and down the length of his shaft.

"Is that so...? Because I've found it pretty hard to resist you, myself," you said, as you continued to pleasure him. "I've thought about you a lot..."

Sam let out the breath he'd been holding unknowingly. "Oh yeah?" he managed. You could hear the gravel in his voice.

"Mhmm," you hummed, biting your bottom lip, knowing that it drives him crazy. "In fact, I thought about you a hell of a lot last night..." You smirked up at him coyly, finally meeting his gaze as you made fluid movements with your wrist, angling the shower head away with the other.

Understanding shone in his eyes as they widened slightly, and the next thing he knew, you had sunk to your knees, trailing your tongue up the length of his shaft, before taking the head of his cock into your mouth.

"Oh fuckk," he groaned, as he peered down at you, trying your best to make this work despite the confined space.

You swallowed his cock eagerly, taking him as deep as you could. He tasted salty and slightly sweet, the faint residue of your shower crème still clinging to his skin.

He gathered up your wet hair in his hands as you worked him with your mouth. You were already practically deep-throating him, and there was still more of him to spare.

You added your hand to his base, now pleasuring him with your mouth and hand in succession. The throaty groans emerging from him had you dripping, and not from the shower.

Your knees were beginning to ache as they pressed into the shower floor. Remind me next time, to do this on carpet, or the bed, you told your brain, just as his cock hit the back of your throat and you almost gagged. You withdrew from him with a splutter, coughing as he pulled you to your feet. He waited for your throat to clear before he spun you around, clutching you to his body, his cock pressed against your ass.

"Couldn't wait to get a taste of my cock, huh?" he graveled in your ear.

You squealed. "You really weren't kidding, were you?" you half-gasped, half-giggled. "When you told me to 'save my energy...?"

"No, I really wasn't," he groaned, as he bent his knees, doing his best to angle his cock against your entrance despite the obvious height difference. "I knew as soon as I got my hands on you, I wouldn't be able to stop myself," he breathed, as he slowly pushed inside you.

You let out a wispy moan, bracing your hands against the glass.

"Yeah?... and why's that?..." you mewled, as he started to move behind you, in slow, sensual thrusts.

"Because you drive me crazy, Y/N… What's with all the questions?" he groaned, as he bottomed out.

"Just… trying to… ah fuckk…get in your head…" you managed, as he began to pick up the pace.

"You're already in there, Princess… Now close those pretty lips and come around my cock again," he groaned, as he reached around your thigh to massage your clit.

"Fucking Christ!" you exclaimed, catching your breath as Sam pulled out. You leaned back against his chest with a euphoric smile, followed by his arms instinctively wrapping around you. You had come in less than a minute, Sam following shortly after.

He laughed softly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Better than last night?" he smirked knowingly.

"You know it," you teased, spinning around to plant an excited kiss on his lips.

He smiled against your mouth. "I guess we better get lathered up again," he chuckled, reaching for your shower cream.

"Any excuse to smell of raspberries, huh?"

"You betcha."

After cleansing every inch, wrapped in the sweet, comforting fragrance of raspberry and vanilla, you were both ready to step out of the shower's steamy embrace. Your water bill was going to be as high as your heating, but honestly, you couldn't give a shit.

Sam got out first, quickly wrapping a towel around his waist before holding yours out for you with outstretched arms. You stepped into it, laughing as Sam wrapped it around you, hugging you to his chest. "My little burrito," he mumbled, smiling as he placed a kiss on your wet hair.

You sighed, smiling into his chest as your joyful tears mixed with the droplets of shower water that clung to Sam's skin.

You sat on the edge of your bed, having changed into a comfy pajama short set after drying from the shower. Your body was still buzzing, but you also felt kind of numb, and completely exhausted as you inevitably started coming down from the emotional high. As you sat there, you mindlessly twirled a strand of damp hair around your finger, contemplating how surreal this all was. The way you behaved around each other, the familiarity you shared, despite only having spent a few days together previously, boggled your mind. It was as if Sam had an innate ability to anticipate your needs, to sense your unspoken desires; a cocoon of understanding that enveloped you in a sense of belonging, a rare and precious sanctuary in the chaos of the world.

Having heard the faintest of rumbles from your stomach, Sam declared that he was going to order takeout, seeing as the only food you had in was five-week-old moldy bread—that you had inevitably neglected to chuck out before leaving for Virginia—so was busy on his phone, placing your orders. You hadn't even noticed you were hungry. Sam could sense your weariness, so held himself back from bringing up the elephant in the room, telling himself you'd talk about it tomorrow. Making sure you were cared for, right now, was his top priority.

Now, in the cozy confines of your kitchen, you and Sam found yourselves nestled around the small wooden table, bathed in the soft glow of the pendant light overhead. Sam—having changed into comfortable sweatpants and a grey fitted t-shirt that accentuated all the right places—exuded a casual charm that matched the tranquil domesticity of the room. Each familiar gesture between you resonated like a well-practiced duet, as if you had both done this a thousand times before. Smiles exchanged and subtle nods spoke of a mutual understanding, countering the nervous excitement that accompanied the manifestation of your feelings.

The air was filled with the savory aroma of vegetable chow mein as you opened the takeout box, triggering an audible growl from your stomach. Unsurprising, given that you hadn't eaten properly since breakfast.

"Not hungry, huh?" Sam's chuckle filled the air as you practically woofed down your noodles.

You shot him a playful glare, feigning indifference with a noodle dangling from your mouth. "Starving..." you managed between bites, your eyes twinkling with shared amusement. "I owe you one."

Sam's laughter deepened as he reached for a fortune cookie, cracking it open with a flourish. "Let's see what wisdom the universe has in store for us tonight," he quipped, offering you yours with a teasing grin.

Anticipating the revelation, you took the cookie from Sam's outstretched hand and cracked it open, unfolding the paper inside.

"What's it say?" Sam's eyes gleamed with curiosity as he leaned over your shoulder, peering at the fortune in your hand.

You read it aloud, "The truth always shines through." Pausing, you considered it for a moment. "Fair." You nodded in appreciation. "How about yours?"

Sam cleared his throat. "You will stumble into the… happiness of your life..." he read, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Glancing at you, a quizzical expression danced in his eyes, a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

"C'mon, it doesn't say that… let me see!" With a playful grin, you reached across the small table, your fingers finding his as you plucked the strip of paper from his grasp.

You unfolded the paper with theatrical flair, your eyes widening as you read the message to yourself.

Sam leaned back, an amused smirk gracing his face as he observed your reaction. "So, what do you think? Am I destined for accidental happiness?"

You paused, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Wait… you think this..." you gestured between the two of you, "was… an accident?" you questioned, feigning offense.

Sam's eyes widened slightly. "What? Hell no!" 

"Chill out, I'm only kidding," you reassured with a nervous laugh before continuing. "Well, they do say fortune cookies are never wrong, right?"

"Who says that?" Sam teased, his tone back to its usual playful banter.

You grinned, a mock air of pride coloring your smile. "I do."

"You don't really believe in that stuff, do you? Horoscopes and all?" he scoffed.

You met his skeptical gaze, a silent affirmation glowing in your eyes.

"Oh come on, I expected better from a post-doc!" he teased, injecting a playful mock seriousness into his tone.

"Says the guy who hunts vampires!" you retorted, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes.

The playful banter continued, weaving a light-hearted thread through the air as you both savored the last bites of your noodles.

As the laughter subsided, a comfortable silence settled between you. Sam's gaze wandered around the kitchen, absorbing the familiarity of the surroundings. His hand sought yours upon the table, fingers intertwining in a silent promise. "This does feel right though, doesn't it...?" he mused, his gaze locking with yours.

A fuzzy warmth formed in your chest, prompting a subtle nod. "More than right," you admitted, your heart feeling like it had found its long-sought home.

After tidying the kitchen and bashfully clearing your strewn clothing from the lounge, you and Sam decided to watch a film together in bed. Scrolling through Netflix, you both settled on The Fellowship of the Ring, having confessed your mutual love for LOTR in a previous conversation.

Knowing that you probably wouldn't make it through the first five minutes, you nestled into Sam's side under the covers, your eyes growing heavier with every passing second, succumbing to the comforting weight of drowsiness.

The soft glow of the screen illuminated your faces, casting shadows that danced in rhythm with the flickering images. The familiar tale acted as a lullaby, weaving dreams around you, and just as Isildur lost the ring, you found yourself drifting into the deepest sleep you had had in months.

Sam, attuned to the subtle changes in your breathing, glanced down at your restful complexion. A gentle warmth spread through his chest, a silent acknowledgment of the peaceful moment. Sinking deeper into the bed, he closed his eyes, immersing himself in the symphony of your breathing. Holding you close, he too succumbed to the sandman's embrace, falling asleep before the hobbits had even left the shire.

Chapter Text

YOU

Eight years ago, Duke University, Durham, North Carolina.

"Y/N... please..."

You clenched your teeth, your knees pulled close, crushing your chest as you sat on the edge of your dorm bed, your heart pounding in sync with the distant thuds of footsteps in the hallway. The sterile scent of the room—a mix of dorm life and your most recent bout of depression—hung heavy in the air.

Ric's hand reached for your arm. You recoiled at his touch, flinching away, a pathetic sniffly sob escaping from your throat, the sound echoing in the cramped space.

"Please Y/N... Listen to me. I can explain..."

You couldn't hold back the tears that had pooled in your eyes now, as they rushed down your cheeks— the bubble in your throat growing thicker as secretions built in your airway. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in on your shattered world.

"I can't, Ric... not again," you choked, your gaze darting around the room, memories of shared laughter and stolen kisses now tainted by the betrayal.

You caught a glimpse of Ric's defensive stance and the disbelief in his eyes, always playing the angel as if he could do no wrong—as if it was all your fault he'd fell and slipped into that first year's bed.

"Y/N… come on... Let me speak..." Ric griped as he settled himself next to you on the bed. The faint aroma of his cologne still lingered on your bedsheets, a cruel reminder of the love that had soured.

You timidly began to inch away, but Ric's grasp halted your retreat, twisting your shoulders towards him as he pleaded with you to look at him.

As he spoke, the distant hum of the university outside seemed to fade into the background— replaced by the thudding of your own heart and the shuddering breaths you struggled to control. The flickering light from the overhead lamp cast shadows, dancing along the edges of your tear-streaked face, as you grappled with the emotional tempest raging within.

"Y/N, please..." he implored, his eyes searching yours for a hint of understanding.

The room seemed to close in further as you reluctantly met his gaze. His eyes—once a source of comfort—now looked desperate and hollow.

"I messed up, I know, but it didn't mean anything. It was a mistake..." His hand—still firmly on your shoulder—was unnervingly calm as he continued to try and justify his actions.

You pulled away, a mixture of self-doubt and sorrow welling up within you. The room felt colder, the warmth that once existed between you two replaced by a chilling void.

He sighed, his expression shifting between apparent remorse and frustration. "I never meant to hurt you. It was a moment of weakness, and I regret it."

Your heart—already battered by insecurities— fractured further at his feeble attempt to downplay the severity of his actions.

"Regret won't undo what you've done, Ric. You can't just sweep this one under the rug and expect everything to be okay..."

Ric's grip tightened, but it wasn't one of reassurance; it was a desperate attempt to hold onto something slipping away.

"I love you, Y/N. Can't you see that? And… that girl… she means nothing to me… just some dumb blonde… she's nothing compared to you. You… you're beautiful, intelligent… the best thing that's ever happened to me," he groveled.

"Please Y/N… Can't you find it in your heart to forgive and work through this with me?"

The irony of his words wasn't lost on you. He claimed to love you, yet his actions spoke otherwise, and the way he spoke about that other student left a sour taste in your mouth.

"You love me?" you retorted, your voice gaining strength, bitterness lacing your tone. "Love shouldn't hurt like this, Ric… Cheating is a betrayal, and you knew what you were doing… I… I trusted you, and you shattered that trust."

He reluctantly released his hold on you, and you stood, creating distance between the two of you.

"You're joking, right?" Ric's jaw clicked, the intensity of his gaze feeling like daggers piercing through you. His fists clenched at his sides as he slowly rose from the bed. "Relationships are supposed to be a two-way street, but from where I'm standing, it's felt more like a one-way road for quite a while now." His tone turned merciless as he raised his voice, sending waves of panic through you. "I've stood by you, Y/N, through all your... crap." His eyes roamed around your room, taking in the disarray of laundry, scattered notes, and used cups. "So what if I've slipped up? Maybe I wouldn't have if... if I hadn't felt so fucking neglected."

The room felt like a vacuum as Ric's words cut—sliced deep into you. The impact was visceral, the weight of blame suddenly settling heavily on your shoulders. The harsh reality of his accusations reverberated within you, each syllable becoming a heavy chain, binding you to a growing pool of guilt.

As your eyes darted around the room, they landed on the remnants of your life scattered about. A sudden realization struck you, a pang of self-awareness that twisted the knife of guilt even deeper. You wondered if these chaotic surroundings mirrored the chaos within you, if the disarray of your world had played a part in the unravelling of your relationship.

Was it genuinely all my fault? Did I really push him into the arms of that first-year girl, or had this destructive pattern been his to own all along?

Doubt clawed at the edges of your conscience, wrapping around every ounce of confidence you once possessed. Shame flooded your senses, each drop carrying a piece of your self-worth away.

"Ric… I…" you choked on your words, each syllable caught in a web of emotion.

"You know what, spare me your pathetic excuses. Call me when you're out of this... rut," he spat, his gaze reducing you to nothing more than a smudge on the sole of his shoe. The door slammed shut behind him as he left muttering obscenities under his breath, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence of the room, his disdainful words, coupled with the weight of your own self-loathing, reverberating in your ears.

Retreating to your bed, you crawled under the covers, pulling them up to your chin. You clutched your knees to your chest as you started to cry, sobs escaping you like a relentless storm as you wished… prayed that the ground would open up and swallow you whole, putting you out of your misery, whilst your heart shattered into a million pieces.

As the weight of heartbreak settled inside your chest, the following week became a relentless struggle, each moment feeling like wading through emotional quicksand. The once-cozy confines of your dorm room now seemed oppressive, with drawn curtains and flickering lights casting shadows upon your discarded notes.

You wallowed in your misery, a hopeless mess entangled in rumpled bedsheets, only leaving your room to eat when the pangs of hunger became too unbearable to ignore. You even skipped class, a sacrifice you only made when things got really bad. Against this backdrop, Ric not once checked to see that you were okay, but you, in your state, ignored this indiscretion, placing the responsibility firmly on your shoulders to get your life back together.

In a relative moment of weakness—or clarity—as you thought back then—you succumbed to your loneliness, the fear of being alone outweighing the tumultuous, yet predictable familiarity of having Ric in your life.

You spent the rest of that day tidying and cleaning your dorm, organizing your notes meticulously and scrubbing your skin red raw—your actions reflecting a desperate attempt to single-handedly glue the fragments of your life back together. You poured your heart out on the phone to Ric, pathetically pleading for him to take you back. He agreed, of course, and came straight to your dorm after his last class, singing your praises and professing his undying love.

"Don't you see? You need me, Y/N… Like I need you." His poisoned words whispered against your skin as he pressed familiarly toxic kisses against your neck.

"I know," you whimpered in reply, succumbing to his touch as he pushed you to the bed, his hands rising up the front of your skirt.

Chapter Text

YOU & SAM

Present day, Lawrence, Kansas.

The next morning, you awoke with the side of your face smushed into your pillow, a small trickle of drool escaping the corner of your mouth. The winter sun seeped through your bedroom curtains, casting a dappled, hazy glow across the room, adding to your momentary disorientation before you remembered that you were in Lawrence, not Mystic Falls.

As awareness rushed back, you hurriedly wiped away the traces of your slumber, squinting against the stark morning light as you stirred, rolling over to seek assurance that yesterday's events had actually transpired and weren't mere figments of your creative imagination.

There, in front of you, you received it: tangible confirmation that your memories were real and not conjurations of your besotted brain. It wasn't just a fever dream, you assured yourself, pinching your skin a touch as you took in the view before your eyes. There, beside you, Sam lay, engrossed in a weighty book, his shirtless form basking in the morning rays, skin akin to a Greek God.

Holy fuck, he's beautiful. How long had he been awake? 

You squinted again, your eyes still adjusting to the light, attempting to make out the title of the book he was reading. 'Twilight of the Immortals: The Scientific Study of Vampirism in the Modern Age- Evolution in the 21st Century'. Definitely not one of yours. You weren't judging, too hard.

"Morning, sleepyhead." Sam's voice halted your monologue, greeting you with a warm smile. He placed his book down gently on the nightstand as he turned, shifting his attention completely to you.

"Morning..." Your voice carried a hint of sleep-induced haziness as you groaned softly, stretching out your limbs.

Sam shuffled under the covers to be at your level. "How'd you sleep?" 

"Hmm, like a baby" you hummed in satisfaction, nestling into his side.

Sam chuckled as he tucked you under his arm. "Yeah, I'd say… you've slept for 11 hours..." 

Your eyes widened in surprise. "What?... What time is it?"

"It's 11:30." Sam mumbled his words with a gentle kiss to your head.

"Wow. I can't remember the last time I slept that long..." you reflected, resting your head against his chest. "Did you sleep well?"

 "Yeah, it was nice… peaceful" Sam replied, the gentle rise and fall of his chest anchoring you to the present.

"I don't snore then?" You smirked, knowing full well you did; Caroline had told you that you snored like a train, not that long ago.

"Oh, you have a gentle snore, like a lullaby. It's quite soothing, actually..."

You grinned. "Good to know, I wouldn't want to ruin your peace..." Caroline does have a tendency to exaggerate...

"Nah, you only added to it" Sam remarked, drawing circles on your back with his fingers. "Besides, it's a small price to pay for the pleasure of waking up next to you."

A warmth spread through you, a fuzzy feeling that made you tingle.

"Have you been awake long...?"

"Not long… just enough time to get in some light reading, so… an hour, or two…"

'Light' reading? Yeah right. He's more of a workaholic than I am...

"Two hours?! Really? You should've woken me".

"And risk you drifting off within five minutes of the movie again? I don't think so. One does not simply leave Lord of The Rings unfinished. Plus... you look cute when you drool..." 

"Oh my god, Dean is right; you are a nerd! And… gross!" you giggled, as Sam licked his thumb and wiped a smudge from your cheek.

"Hey, you got the reference, that makes two of us!" 

As your laughter settled, a comfortable quiet lingered, your eyelids growing heavy again as Sam began to trace his fingers lightly through your hair.

"Mmmm, stop that… you're gonna send me back to sleep..." You peered up at him, with a half-giggle, half-yawn.

"It's a Saturday, relax. Unless… you've got plans...?" Sam asked, a quizzical expression on his face as he gazed down at you with intrigue.

"Hmm… no plans beyond this…" You turned in his arms, capturing his mouth in a sleepy, lazy kiss.

The taste of Sam's lips instantly energized you, spurring your body to push for more… demand more. Gods, will I ever get enough of him...?

You shuffled onto your side, hitching your leg over his, coaxing him into you.

Sam hummed against your lips, responding to your lure, moving closer as his hands trailed down your back. "Someone's awake now, huh?"

"Mhmm… " you hummed. "And by the looks of it… I'm not the only one," you observed, rolling your hips into Sam's already hard cock.

Sam half-groaned, half chuckled as his hands found your hip to steady you. "Is that a surprise to you? Like I told you yesterday… you're irresistible... even with drool on your face..."

"Is that so? You really should've woken me..." you teased, straining to roll into him despite his continued restraint on your hip.

Steady now... "I'm a patient guy, what can I say?" Sam quipped, attempting to continue the dialogue despite the niggle that lingered in the back of his mind.

You stilled, sensing a subtle tension in his demeanor, a faint line of concern creasing your brow as you relaxed your hold on him. "I'm gathering that… Is… something wrong...?"

Sam swallowed, wondering how best to approach this conversation. It needed to be had.

"Hey, what's on your mind?" you pressed gently, reaching your hand to caress his face, searching his eyes for cues, a coil of anxiety building in your stomach.

Sam paused for a second before clearing his throat. You'd noticed he did that when he was nervous. It was kinda cute, if not telling.

"Listen…", he started, reaching for your hand, avoiding your gaze. "Last night… downstairs…" He squeezed your fingers. "If… if I took things too far I'm sor—"

"—You didn't!" you interjected, sensing where this was going.

He looked at you with a silent question, spurring you to elaborate.

"Sam… don't… apologize. You… you didn't do anything that I wasn't… asking for," you reassured with a sheepish smile. Heat rose to your cheeks as you recalled how desperate you had been that you had literally begged for his cock, pleaded for him to fuck your brains out, to wring you dry.  "I… I was… persistent…" you admitted, certain you were blushing now as you recalled how unhinged you had been. Persistent is putting it lightly...

Sam chuckled a breath of relief, revealing a bashful smile amidst the ongoing question in his eyes. "Thank God… cause, you had me worried for a second there. I… I thought I'd hurt you... like, for real." Sam furrowed his brow, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

A lump formed in your throat as you considered the genuine concern in his expression, the unwavering truth shining in his eyes.

"You can hardly blame me baby, I mean, you... cried…?"

Fuck… me again… ruining everything. Can't I just be normal for once? And wait... since when has he been calling me 'baby'?

"Yeah… about that… sorry… I… I'm not the best with… emotional regulation," you cringed, scrambling to reassure him as best you could,  remembering you needed to take your meds. "I'm fine, Sam, really. But… thanks… I… appreciate your concern," you reassured with a tentative smile. "Sorry for worrying you… pushing you, I was--"

Hot as hell... "--Baby, it's cool..." Sam interrupted, stroking your hair. "As long as I didn't hurt you, and you're sure you're okay with… that kinda stuff… it's cool with me, if… that's what you want…?"

Gulp. Gods yes. You nodded, chewing on your lip to hide your nerves.

Sam nodded, taking in your response. "Okay, well, if that's the case… I guess we need to discuss a few things then? You know… if… you wanna continue… down that line… we need to be sure we're on the same page."

"Definitely," you agreed, a pang of guilt rushing through you as you considered how shit it was of you to put him in that position in the first place. Hell, what if I'd spiraled? He hadn't stopped? I'd needed to safe word? Said something stupid? Said something like…? No. I wouldn't do that. Would I? What would that do to him? Would he leave me? Shit. No. He wouldn't do that. He's... different. He's too smart, too considerate. I trust him. Completely. Why do I trust him? I hardly know him... Am I completely out of my mind? Fuck, what's wrong with me?

"Baby...? Are you okay…?" Sam asked, noticing your detached expression as you ruminated, doubts and intrusions clouding your mind.

Oh fuck. You sighed as you pursed your lips and turned your head to the side, a feeble attempt to once again hide the emotions that were building within you.

Sam's expression softened, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that escaped your eye. "Hey, hey," he whispered, pulling you closer into his embrace. "What's all this?" He held you to his chest as salty pearls started to run down your cheeks.

I don't deserve him, you thought, as every insecurity, every thread of self-doubt collided within you, weaving their way out your throat, out your eyes, as your body tried to dispel the traumas that you had long tried to repress.

"Sam.. I'm so sorry… you must think I'm pathetic..."

"Hey, none of that," he soothed. "I think you're wonderful, Y/N…" He kissed your hair as he spoke. "And… whatever this is… You don't have to explain anything if you don't want to... but… if you do… I can deal with it… we can deal with it… together."

Together... Gulp.

Sam held you tighter, his heart aching at your inner turmoil, feeling it as his own as he wondered what shit you'd been through to make you this fucking fragile. She's been through a lot lately, yes, but... this… runs deeper... seems… entrenched... I've got to protect her. Make her feel she's worth it all, worth the stars, the universe, worth more than my battered soul.

Your breathing started to slow as the weight of Sam's words settled over you like a warm blanket, providing a sense of security that you hadn't felt in a long time. The vulnerability you showed was met with understanding rather than judgment, and it stirred emotions you had kept buried for too long. He saw you. Made you feel. Made you feel something other than the dark void of emptiness you masked every single day of your pathetic little life. It felt terrifying, but… freeing, your chest somehow feeling lighter with each tear that escaped you.

"Thank you," you sniffed, your voice barely a whisper. "It's just that... it's been a while since…  someone... understood... I'm… I'm not used to it."

"Well, get used to it," Sam said with a reassuring smile, his fingers gently brushing patterns on the back of your hand.

 "Okay," you whispered, feeling a sense of acceptance and warmth that slowly chipped away at the walls you had built around yourself.

Sam raised your hand to his mouth and pressed a tender kiss to your fingers, lingering there as he spoke. "Good. Now… I want you to know that you never have to pretend with me, Y/N. Please don't hide... Okay?" I accept you. Unconditionally.

"Okay," you agreed as he twined his fingers with yours. Is he for real?

You lay there, your cheek pressed up against Sam's sternum, hand in his, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart as you contemplated his words, your discarded tears clinging to the hairs on his chest.

"How many times have I cried on you now?" you asked, a feeble attempt to inject some humor into the situation as you gently stroked his fingers between yours.

"Um… three…?" He stroked your hair as he humored you.

"Four, actually, I think..."

"Four, hmm?"

"After the shower. Last night."

"Oh. I didn't realize…"

"It was wet," you half-smiled, exhaling a stifled laugh. "Plus, they were happy tears..."

"Yeah, I guess it was," he huffed in amusement. "You'll… let me off, then?"

You nodded, wiping your eyes, leaning back on your elbow to take a deep breath. You straightened up, feeling lighter now, having had some time to process your emotions. 

"You okay?" Sam asked with a gentle smile.

You nodded. "Thank you..." And then, with a slightly embarrassed, yet appreciative look, you leaned forward, palm outstretched, and wiped your fallen tears from his chest.

A chuckle danced between you; mirth amidst the melancholy, a tender recognition that you were ready to move on.

"Good, and… no need," Sam reassured with a smile that made your heart flutter. "Now… how about we get freshened up, grab some breakfast, and some fresh air? Stock up your kitchen? That sound good…?"

You nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Good," he smiled, before kissing your forehead. "Then... we can come back… relax… finish that movie?" he winked. "And… maybe later, if you want to... we can… discuss those things we need to talk about…?"

You chuckled, the sound escaping despite your attempts to contain it, as an overwhelming mix of disbelief and gratitude flooded your senses. The unprecedented compassion, patience, and understanding Sam exhibited left you questioning your worth, yet again. I don't deserve this, I really don't deserve this…

"Yeah, sounds great... I'd like that… very much..." you confirmed, despite your insecurities.

You had to pinch yourself again as astonishment swirled within; a current so strong it made it hard to believe that you weren't actually dreaming.

Definitely awake.

Shit…

Anxiety surged again as you confronted the fear you'd kept tightly locked away; the thing you'd vowed to bury, to not let see the light of day.

Who the fuck does he think he is? Stumbling into my life… treating me like this…? How did I let this happen?

Shit, shit, shit…

I'm a hopeless fool.

I'm so fucking weak.

Of course I'd do it…

Of course I'd fall in fucking love with him.

Chapter Text

YOU

Twelve years old, Your parent's house, Mystic Falls, Virginia. 

The night hung heavy with an eerie silence as your body lay captive to the paralysis of sleep. Your eyes twitched rapidly behind your closed lids, painting a picture in your mind as vivid as the movie you had watched last night. But this was not Disneyland. It was not even close.

You found yourself standing in a vast hall, dressed head to toe in black, the skin around your fingernails raw and bloody from where you had been picking them. Mournful whispers filled the space, echoing through the stillness, the air thick with sorrow as your steps inched forward. 

Suddenly, the sound of your mom's voice rang in your ears, reverberating trembling sobs throughout the room. "Y/N, get back! You shouldn't have to see this ..."

She gripped your shoulder and tried to pull you away, but you resisted, slinking out of her grasp to confront the sight that lingered before you.

Heart throbbing in your chest, you peered into the small, black coffin and were confronted by the lifeless figure of your six year old brother. The vision was vivid, each detail saturating your mind's eye with cinematic precision. Your eyes widened at his inert skin, the mottled purple bruising encircling his eye, the stillness of his fragile frame. A miniscule suit--one he'd never worn in his brief existence--now draped over him in his eternal slumber. Powder clung to his features in patches, a feeble attempt to conceal the grim truths of death. He looked like a doll. A battered, broken doll. You felt sick.

Bile churned in your stomach, and your breath caught in your throat as you battled to keep it down.

No... This can't be real...

Abruptly, the vision dissolved and you were jolted awake, cold sweat clinging to your skin as you gasped for air and slowly adjusted to the familiar surroundings of your bedroom. Moonlight filtered through your curtains, painting everything in shades of silver, and you were once again drowning. Was this real? Was this reality, or was this part of the dream?

Raising a hand to your chest, you felt the residual echoes of your heart hammering beneath your ribs, as if your body was somehow clinging onto those morbid hallucinations. You lingered at the threshold of wakefulness, haunted by the images you had seen, the remnants of the nightmare refusing to vacate your waking mind.

Slowly, but with a force enough to mark, you curled your fingernails into your palm and prayed for pain. It came, and relief flooded through you. You'd read somewhere that you couldn't feel pain in dreams, and the throbbing red-moons now gracing your palms served as grim confirmation that you were really awake. 

After doing it again, and pinching yourself for good measure (a girl can't be too careful), you took a shaky breath. You were awake, that you now knew, but Eddie? You couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right, so you needed to check... 

With a deep breath, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, adrenaline still clinging to you as your feet met the carpet. Almost instantly you became aware that you were bleeding. A crimson patch clung to your nightgown, a sticky red mess between your legs that had seeped through to your bedsheets. Gulp. Now? Really? You knew you were growing up, but you never expected your first period to come with such accompanying fear. I'll have to deal with this later, you thought as you stuffed a tissue down below and headed for the door. I need to know he's okay...

As you moved through the familiar hallways, the soft glow of the nightlight in your brother's room served as a beacon of comfort. Relief washed over you at the sight of his peaceful slumber; the rise and fall of his chest a reassurance that the nightmare was nothing more than a creation of your mind.

You closed his door with care and returned to your own room, the familiar carpet a grounding force beneath your feet as you replaced your bedsheets and changed into clean clothes. You applied a sanitary towel to your underwear, just like your mom had taught you in advance. You sighed before washing your hands, and closed in towards your bedroom window, looking down at the moonlit garden. You stood there for a while, gazing out at the tranquil world, unaware of the turmoil twisting within you. 

In this moment of solitude, you let your mind wander and a shiver ran down your spine as you battled with the images that had invaded your sleep. In the quiet of the night, you were unable to shake off the feeling that the boundary between dreams and reality was now thinner than ever.

Why did it feel so real?  It felt weird, like the dream was still here. Dreams aren't supposed to do that, right…? 

You returned to your bed and nestled back under the covers, trying desperately to shake off the lingering unease in your stomach. The rational part of your mind whispered that dreams were just illusions, but the shadows of the night played tricks on your thoughts. As you lay there, the weight of the unknown pressed against your chest, and you grappled with the unsettling truth that dreams could leave scars on the waking world.

Four months later, Archer and Sons Funeral Home, Mystic Falls, Virginia.

The days that followed the incident blurred into a somber sequence of condolences; condolences that felt like echoes playing on repeat in your mind.

The air hung heavy with grief as you walked through the sea of black-clad mourners, your parents on either side. Each step felt like an eternity, the unescapable reality sinking in with each passing moment.

As you approached the open coffin, realization struck you; the events unfolding were exactly like you'd pictured months prior.

Your mom's hand tightened around your shoulder, her grip firm and insistent. "Y/N, get back! You shouldn't have to see this ..."

With a subtle but firm pull, you freed yourself from your mom's grip, determined to confront the chilling reality through your own eyes.

I need to see... I just need to know...

As you gazed upon Eddie's lifeless body, a sickness retched within you, and your heart shattered. "No..." you whispered, your voice barely audible. "This can't be real…"

It was the same. All the details were the same, from the stillness of his small frame to the mottled bruising around his eye, mirroring the haunting vision that had tormented your sleep.

A guttural cry, raw and unrestrained, tore from your lips as the confirmation engulfed you, the weight of your premonition pressing down on you like an insurmountable burden. Your wailing outburst shattered the mournful silence, causing a scene that turned heads and drew concerned whispers from the congregation.

"I saw it, I saw it!!! I knew he was going to die! I should have stopped it! I should have stopped it, mom! I should have done something!"

“Shh, honey,” your mom said, grasping you by the wrist and pulling you towards her.  Her face was etched with pain as she tried to calm your hysteric cries. “It’s not your fault. It’s okay…”

“It’s not okay!” you cried, struggling in your mom’s grip. “ I saw him, mom… In my dream. Dead—just like this!”

Amidst the chaos, your mind raced, questioning the blurred line between dreams and reality. How could this be real? How could a nightmare predict this? 

Your dad's reaction was a mixture of frustration, grief and disappointment. "Oh, just let her go, Michelle!" he hissed, addressing your mom as you struggled in vain against her hold. "She's a disturbed child."

Your mom, tears streaming down her face, took offense to his callous remark. "She's just grieving, Ted! Take pity on your daughter!" she sobbed, her attempts to comfort you now clashing with the rift emerging between your parents.

"She's not my blood!" your dad shouted in haste. "Not like my Eddie. My little miracle…" The words hung heavily in the air as he stroked your dead brother's face, a river of denial trailing down his cheeks.

The revelation hit you like a second blow, a sudden realization that your world had been built on secrets and lies. You retched, throwing up in your mouth as your mothers' apologetic sobs buzzed incomprehensibly inside your skull. You broke free of her hold, stumbling out of the sickening hall and into a cold, unfamiliar, mournful world.

And that's how you found out you were adopted. The same day your first dream came true; the day you laid your dear brother to rest.

Four months later. Your parent's house, Mystic Falls, Virginia. 

Days turned into months, the weight of grief bearing down on you like a relentless storm. The vivid dreams persisted, each night a new reel of memories and visions, blurring the lines between the waking world and the realm of nightmares.

One night, as sleep enveloped you, the familiar scene unfolded. The haunting memories of Eddie's death replayed in excruciating detail. The mournful whispers, the bloody fists, and the chilling certainty of your helplessness in the face of fate, as a boy three years your senior, beat your little brother to a pulp.

Another night, a vision of your dad, aged and worn, haunted your dreams. Lines etched his face, burdens too heavy for his shoulders. His eyes, once filled with warmth, now reflected a weariness that transcended time.

Then came the dream that sent shivers down your spine. A pale-skinned man with bloodshot eyes, and pointed teeth, dripping with blood, protruding from his mouth. A second man, urgently calling your name, desperately trying to pull you away, and a third, hovering on the precipice. And there, a woman with black silky hair, haunted, and pursued by a sense of impending doom. Elena, they called her. Wait, Elena? No… Elena was your age, your best friend. This woman was an adult…

"The cure, Dean. We need the cure!" the tall man pleaded, fear etched across his face.

"It's too late, Sam, she's fed..." The man he called Dean replied, his voice carrying the weight of resignation.

"There must be another way!" Sam's desperation echoed in your mind.

"You know there's not, Sammy... we've got to do what we've got to do..." Dean's words hung in the air as he drew a blade, a chilling resolve in his eyes.

"NO!!!" The scream tore through your throat, jolting you awake.

Your parents, alarmed by your distress, rushed into your room in well-practiced routine.

"Shouldn't she have outgrown these night terrors by now?" your dad asked, concern etching lines on his forehead.

"She's grieving, Ted!" your mom defended, her voice a soothing but strained attempt to explain away the nightmares.

"This is not normal, Shelly. She's disturbed, like I told you. We’re taking her to Dr. Wells tomorrow. I just hope it’s not too late.”

Three months later, Mystic Falls, Virginia. 

Life settled into a new normal, the nightmares that once haunted your every night silenced by prescribed serenity. As the weight of grief seemed to lift, your parents, once burdened with worry, found solace in the semblance of normalcy that medication brought to their troubled child.

Your visits to the psychiatric pediatrician became routine, a ritual in the pursuit of stability. The diagnosis – PTSD with psychotic features, brought apparent clarity to the events that had transpired over the last year. The pills they prescribed, small and unassuming, became a daily ritual, a lifeline to a world where nightmares no longer encroached upon your reality.

Unbeknownst to you, however, the pills were not merely quelling the nightmares, but were suppressing the very fabric of your psyche. As your dreams became colorless, so did the whispers of the future that had once haunted your sleep.

As time wore on, the memories of your turbulent dreams faded like distant sirens, their unsettling details replaced by a thick, foggy haze. The episode, akin to fragments of a supernatural thriller, faded into nothingness, and the faces and names once so vivid, now eluded you, lost in the recesses of your mind.

Over time, you genuinely came to believe that this intense episode in your life had been a manifestation of mental turmoil, subdued by the miraculous intervention of pharmaceuticals. And so, you resigned yourself to the routine, accepting the pills as necessary burdens needed to maintain the fragile peace within your mind. But little did you know, the veil of medication was a delicate façade, concealing the dormant threads of a psychic realm, patiently awaiting the chance to awaken once more.

Chapter Text

YOU & SAM
Present day, Lawrence, Kansas. 

"It's strange, y'know…" Sam's voice warmed the air as you walked, his tall frame shielding you from the gentle breeze. "I may have been born here, in Lawrence, but, I never really got to know the place—livin' on the road an all... It's nice to take it all in..." He brushed his fingers against yours, coaxing your hand into his, a telling smile accompanying his confession.

You returned his touch with a gentle squeeze, a coil of awareness forming as you considered the sentiments behind his words, a notion you could relate to, in part, but not fully.

Despite the circumstances of your troubled childhood, your parents had provided you with a stable home that had gotten you to where you are now. They'd chosen you, after all—a luxury not many could claim. Sam, on the other hand, had never had a home, not really…

Your steps naturally slowed as you turned down a quiet side-street, the gentle flicker of the festive lights lining the town, now fading out into a soft, ethereal glow.

Amidst the atmospheric haze, your thoughts wandered to the conflicting emotions this season stirred. You used to love the winter and everything it brought—the festivities, the early nights, the cozy feeling it evoked as you curled on the sofa—Elena on one side, Eddie on the other. Yet, in recent years, you had come to despise it—winter carrying a dark, sterile shadow making introspection inescapable—an unwelcome companion that turned your stickiest thoughts to glue.

Sam, likewise, hated this time of year—the festive season bringing back memories of exclusion, envy, and instability, rooted in an upbringing that was far from typical, to say the least. What was supposed to be a joyful time often left him feeling deflated and alone, haunted by a life he could never control.

Despite the weight of these feelings, you never would have guessed it—the radiant glimmer in your eyes' dispelling any evidence of the experiences that plagued you both.

This winter is going to be different, you thought. In fact, it was already proving to be so, indeed…

You clutched Sam's hand a little tighter, peering up at him with a tentative smile. "Well, fancy making up for lost time?"

He turned to you, halting your steps mid stride. "Definitely," he breathed, gazing down at you with those enchanting hazel eyes. "...'specially as I've now got a reason to be here..."

That fuzzy feeling returned, a stark contrast to the crisp air that lined your lungs. You took a deep breath, looking down at your boots, tiny mountains forming as your hairs stood on end. Why the fuck am I embarrassed? This is the least compromising position he has had me in...

You let out a breathy chuckle, heart thumping in your chest as you peered back up at him, swallowing your nerves. "Well… I believe lost time can be recovered, 'specially when you've got the right company..."

Sam tilted his head, a playful smile gracing his lips. "Is that another 'fortune cookie special'?"

"Maybe…" you smirked, "but… it's true. I mean, I really do believe it..." I have to believe it...

You took a step closer, your hand finding its way to Sam's face, your newfound confidence taking you by surprise. "Lawrence may have missed out on you before, but I have no plans to…" You gently caressed the stubble on his cheek, the coolness of his skin contrasting with the warmth of your touch. "Make new memories, with me?" Oh god, did I just say that out loud…?

Sam's eyes held yours, steadfast and reassuring as a tender smile spread across his face. He recognized the plea in your words, the desperate attempt to hold onto hope—the same undying optimism he saw in himself.

"I'd like that..." he replied, leaning into your touch, his hands finding your waist, slipping through the open seam of your coat.

You giggled as heat rushed to your face. This kind of romanticism was reserved solely for movies, was it not?

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, noticing the pink on your cheeks, even brighter than the cold could account for.

You dipped your chin, hopelessly repressing your lingering smile. "You are!"

"Oh yeah? Well… I'm glad I can provide some amusement..." With a grin, Sam glanced down the street to check no one was around. Confirming you were alone, he tugged you to the side and kissed you, long and deep.

You couldn't stop giggling as his lips parted yours, his hands brushing up your sides, eliciting a shudder as his fingers grazed your skin, finding the boundary between your layers of clothing.

God, her laughter is musical... If she was mine I'd make it my life's mission to kiss that sound every single day...

"You're so beautiful…" Sam mumbled, his thumb smoothing your cheek as he stared at your lips, now bright pink from the blood drawn to the surface.

"Oh, give over!" you flout, gracefully slinking out of his touch, a gentle gust tousling your hair as you glanced away. "I'm nothing special."

Sam sighed, his face a painting of endearing frustration as he reached out to tuck a loose strand behind your ear. "I mean it, Y/N... How can't you see it?"

You shrugged, as his tender touch shook you up like fizzy water. He's… something else... Could he be feeling the same...? He's almost making me believe it...

Sam pursed his lips, shaking his head as a wry smile formed on his face.

"What?" you prodded, noticing his unnerving expression from the corner of your eye.

Sam took a step back, pulling out his phone from his pocket, navigating to his photos in a few quick swipes. With a final tap, he turned the screen to you, revealing a candid he'd taken in the café earlier.

Your eyes darted between the screen and Sam's smug face, widening a fraction as you took in his amusement. 

"You're sneaky!" you jabbed, nabbing his phone from his hand to take a closer look.

The photo was... flattering—even you had to admit that. He'd somehow timed the shutter just perfectly as you looked away—laughing at one of his jokes, perhaps?

Sam peered down at you, leaning over your shoulder. "I couldn't help myself, you're just captivating…"

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushing scarlet. "If you say so... You haven't taken any more, have you?"

Your question was redundant as you turned away, your finger tapping the arrow in the corner of the screen, revealing the contents of his photo gallery.

"Nah, just the one… I was gonna show you anyway, can't have you thinking I'm some kinda cree—"

"—What the fuck is that?!"

You squinted as you brought the screen closer to your face, unable to tear your eyes off the image in front of you.

"Is that… a head?"

"Woah..." Sam cautioned, rushing to your side, slipping the phone straight out of your hands.

You stood frozen for a second, staring at your empty palms, cogs turning as you processed what you'd just seen.

Sam furrowed his brow, glancing between you and his unlocked phone screen. "But uh, yeah… that's a vamp's head, if you really have to know… didn't want you seeing that, if I'm honest…"

Your eyes met his, curiosity getting the better of you, despite his clear discomfort. "Why not?"

"Really?" Sam scoffed. "No one should have to see this kinda thing..."

You leaned towards him, sneaking another glance at the screen. "Why take a picture of it then?"

"Research," he stated, stuffing his phone back in his pocket, face cool in defense.

"Research?" You raised an eyebrow. "Like that book you were reading earlier? What was it...? 'Evolution of Vampires in the 21st Century', or something?"

Sam's expression softened, his resolve dampening despite his frustration. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

You simpered, noting the irony in his words seeing as you had failed spectacularly at detecting his secret photography sesh. Nevertheless, you decide to play along. "I like to think I have good observation skills."

You smirked as Sam crossed his arms, his stance an unspoken challenge as he looked you up and down. "Yeah? What else have you observed about me then?"

You glanced around, noticing a few people now walking down the street, a mischievous spark kindling behind your eyes. "Uh… I'll tell you when we get home, and you can show me if I'm right. Deal?"

Sam's lips twitched, betraying his attempt at seriousness as understanding breached his mind. He was back at your side in a flash.

"Deal." He squeezed your fingers, leaning down to whisper in your ear, breath hot and longing, fuel to your flame. "But, we better make it back quick, 'cause you've made me very curious."

You chuckled, unable to hide your satisfaction. "So, it's fine for you to keep me waiting, but heaven forbid I leave you 'curious'?"

Sam shook his head, grin spreading from ear to ear. She's impossible... infatuating...

You grinned, coaxing him along with a gentle tug as you pressed on, unprepared to let your curiosity slide. "So, what are you researching, anyway? I thought you knew everything there is to know about vampires?"

Sam huffed. "You really are persistent, aren't you?"

You shrugged, feigning indifference. "It's a character trait, so I'm told..."

Sam stifled a laugh. "Yeah, you've got plenty of those..."

You held back a smile, amusement brimming though you kept your eyes glued to the street. "Have I? You'll have to enlighten me... But first, shopping... and, you can answer my question."

"Pft!" Sam tsked. He'd forgotten all about the food. And where had this fighting spirit come from? He wasn't sure, but either way, he was into it. "Okay, fine..." he relented. "But don't hold it against me?"

"Huh?" you questioned, visibly confused.

Sam tucked his chin towards you, lowering his voice so no one could overhear. "Remember that vamp nest I mentioned, the other day?" he whispered, waiting for your nod before continuing. "Well, it wasn't as straightforward as I made it out to be... Those vamps, they weren't the easiest to..."

Sam found himself scrambling for the right word, a fragile attempt to deter from the fact that he was a cold hard killer. He didn't want you thinking of him that way, despite the truth of it.

"—Kill?" you interjected, your footsteps slowing along with his.

Sam's grip on your hand tightened. His efforts were futile.

You rolled your eyes—you knew what he was doing.

"Sam… you don't have to protect me... I can handle the truth."

Sam sighed. She has a point… How can I expect her to be open with me if I'm not open with her?

You looked up at him, a gentle plea in your eyes. "...and the truth always shines through, remember?"

Sam chuckled, succumbing to your charm. Despite his resolve, he didn't need much convincing—he was sick of keeping secrets. "Okay, fine… I don't know what you already know about vampires, but, most of the lore out there is full of crap."

"Huh, figures..." you huffed, a small puff of air escaping your mouth.

Sam raised his eyebrows, noting your cynicism. "You know more than you're letting on, huh?"

You'd encountered stories, of course, an inevitability in your line of work. The field was saturated, however, inundated with falsified accounts that made finding reliable sources damned near impossible.

"I've read a bit, but, I'm no expert," you shrugged, pulling yourself closer into his warmth. "Not like you..."

Sam chuckled, taken by your flattery. "Well, Dean and I have been hunting them for years, yes, so on the whole, they're usually pretty easy for us to capture... They stick to the dark, and a quick decapitation is enough to kill them, but, these ones… they had… abilities... abilities we've never seen."

You looked up at him, a new spark of intrigue coloring your expression. "What kind of abilities?"

Sam's body tensed, concern evident in the tightening of his grip. "They seemed to… brainwash their captors… possess them, or something… it's like the victims wanted to be there…"

"Hmm... some kind of Stockholm Syndrome, maybe?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah, we've seen that, trust me… This was... different… plus, they could walk in the sun, which should burn them, by the way."

"Right, so... you think they're changing? Evolving?"

"That's what we're tryna figure out… We've also found evidence of magic, which is unheard of, really. They had these... rings, that seemed to protect them. That kinda shit can only be forged by witches, and witches, and vamps never usually collaborate—they hate each other."

"Huh, interesting..." you mused, lips tugging downwards.

Sam scoffed. "A fucking pain in the ass is what it is… They're popping up everywhere..."

Your expression wavered, sensing his concern.

"...plus, they can pass as human, so we could be walking among them, even now."

You shuddered, quickly glancing around you as your heartbeat quickened.

Shit... I've said too much, haven't I? Sam winced, voice filled with regret. "Sorry... I didn't mean to scare you…"

"It's fine, Sam, really. I'm not scared," you claimed, just as your hands went clammy. Crap... "Anyway, even if I was, it'd be my own fault—I asked—I wanted to know." For fuck's sake, why am I always sticking my foot in it?

Sam sighed as you extended your fingers, loosening your grip. She really is a fucking terrible liar...

"Well, if it's any consolation…" Sam began, the weight of guilt pushing down on him. "These vamps appear to be a bit more sophisticated in their… habits."

You glanced up at him, a silent question in your eyes.

Sam continued, reluctantly—he'd dug himself into this one... "They seem to keep their victims alive for longer, feeding on the same people for days, weeks, months even... some even let them return to their normal lives, effectively operating in plain sight..."

He paused, eyes searching yours for understanding. 

You gazed back at him, a tremor of uncertainty still lingering despite his attempts to ease your worry. "Is that supposed to reassure me?" you asked, letting out a nervous laugh. "'Cause that sounds terrifying..."

"If anything happened to you, I would know," he clarified. "So, you can tell me not to protect you, Y/N, but, I will, at all costs, plus..."

He turned to you, eyes burning with determination.

"I'd slay the shit out of anything that hurt you."

You stopped in your tracks, suddenly forgetting how to walk, legs feeling leaden as his words rang in your ears.

Why did that make you feel… special? Excited, even…? It was wrong, so fucking wrong, on so many levels…

Sam stroked your face, his touch gentle as he traced the contours of your cheek. "So please, try not to worry?"

You swallowed, your mind raging havoc. You should be running right now, but instead you nodded, helplessly bound in this beautiful man's troubled world. At this point, you'd rather be six feet under than be lonely. It was completely absurd, yes, but, you knew, more than anyone, that the heart and mind don't always see eye to eye.

"Good, now, no more vampire talk, okay? I promise to put the book away for the rest of the weekend..."

You lowered your head, releasing a small, hesitant chuckle, as all your past problems blew away with the breeze, now feeling comparatively insignificant. "Okay, but… if this thing is really a problem… are you sure you can afford to be here, with me...?" You glanced up at him, the whites of your eyes shining with regret. Please don't leave...

Sam sighed, his fingers now braiding the tassels of your scarf. "Look... they'll always be monsters out there, whether I'm here or not, and I know where I'd rather be..." His eyes met yours, a shared look brimming before he continued. "Plus, Dean can handle himself. He'll call, if he needs, but, I don't think he will…" Sam smirked. "He better fucking not…"

A chuckle danced between you, the weight of worry gradually lifting from your chest. With Sam beside you, the world felt a little less daunting, and life, a hell of a lot more manageable. His world may be troubled, yes, but, it was your world too, and you'd dealt with monsters of your own. What's a vampire in a world, already overrun with monsters, made out of living flesh, blood and bone...?

"We all good?" Sam asked, his hopeful smile a beacon amidst the waning daylight.

"Yeah," you affirmed, straightening up as you exhaled a sharp breath. "Sorry for being a stubborn ass… I need to learn when to stop..."

Sam laughed, the sound warm and deep, a reassuring resonance that calmed you to your core. "It's fine, honestly... I wouldn't change you, not for the world."

 
One hour later...

Sam sauntered, a lingering warmth behind you as he helped pack the last of the shopping away in your kitchen. You'd made it through the store in record time, with Sam's eager assistance and long strides, propelling you down the aisles at lightning speed. He was keen to get back before dark, lest you fade away with the sunlight—a silent testament to his continued disbelief that this was now his reality. 

"Didn't you wanna finish that movie?" you teased, as he wrapped his arms around you, nuzzling his face into the side of your neck.

"Thought we'd parked that for later...?" he mumbled, eliciting a giggle as his warm breath tickled your skin.

Curious indeed... You turned to face him, your arms finding their place around his shoulders. "Yeah? What are we doing now then? Remind me…"

With that, and in one smooth motion, Sam lifted you by the backs of your thighs, propping you up on the kitchen counter, your face now level with his.

"We... were gonna have a little chat, remember? And you... had some observations to share...?" He inched closer, his presence filling the space between your legs.

"What do you wanna know?" you baited, combing your fingers through his soft strands.

"What have you observed about me, Princess? I'm dying to know…" Sam's eyes bore into you, dilated and unwavering, causing your butterflies to swirl like crazy.

Princess... Fuck. We're doing this now, then…

You flushed as your mind raced, your thoughts an incoherent tangle of excitement as you felt your body react, fighting the sudden urge to cross your legs. 

"You first…" you blurted, attempting to mask your pounding heartbeat, praying to God he wouldn't notice. Damn him for turning me into a fumbling mess!

"Hey, that wasn't the deal!" Sam exclaimed, looking rather put-out.

You simpered, observing the mixture of frustration and amusement in his expression, noting one of your many observations. He just wants to hear me say it—filthy words, thoughts—he really gets off on it—the beautiful bastard.

You decide to push your luck, a spark of determination overcoming you as a smirk slowly crept upon your lips. 

"I don't always play by the rules…" you stated, luring him in, straight into your net.

Sam raised his eyebrows, clearly already tangled. "Oh? You play that way, huh?"

Like he didn't already know…

You were a sub by nature, yes, but had a rebellious streak for sure, and Sam gave you the confidence to let that part of you shine through. You couldn't deny the satisfaction you gleamed from provoking a reaction—taunting and teasing until you were given no other choice but to submit. It gave you a thrill like no other, and Sam, to your elation, seemed like the perfect playmate. It was the contrast, you concluded—the contrast of his tenderness and caring nature, that when flipped, led to an aggression that felt oh-so heavenly. You'd had a taste of it last night, and hadn't been able to get it off your goddamned mind since. Was it messed up? Maybe... Probably... But, if he was into it...?

"I can be a good girl too..." You shrugged, biting your lip, your 'fuck-me' eyes out in full force as you reeled him in. "It just depends..." 

Sam leaned in, visibly intrigued, brushing the tips of his fingers along your collarbone. "Depends on what, darlin'?"

You shivered at his touch, trying to hide it with a shrug as adrenaline coursed through your bloodstream.

"On what mood I'm in, and..."

Hmm… Shall I…? you pondered, subtly shifting your weight, your body's reactions now glazingly clear, plunging any lingering timidness into the background. Oh, what the hell…

"On what the punishment is."

Sam gaped, his mouth hanging open at your response. He had to admit that he loved a challenge. The pleasure he derived from reducing defiance to desperation was next level, and everything multiplied when it came to you. Fuck, she's gonna be the death of me, he thought. But I'll take that death sentence gladly… How ironic would it be though, defying the odds every day just to perish between the legs of the woman I l—Wait... what?! Oh shit... If I don't die here tonight, Dean will kill me for this...

You giggled, noting the dumbfounded expression on his face. Riling him up is so fucking satisfying…

Sam cleared his throat before leaning in closer, brushing his hands up your thighs, once again entangled in a web of his own contradictions. "Hmm... what kinda punishments are we talking?"

"That... also depends..." you mewled, tracing your finger over his lips, eyes flicking between his mouth and lust-laden eyes. He could give you what you needed, you knew it. He just needed some reassurance and a little... push. "What are you willing to do to me, 'darlin'...?"

Sam huffed, his voice turning serious as he grasped your wrist. "Nuh-uh, that's not how this works... You tell me what you're comfortable with, Princess, then I'll take it from there." If I'm gonna do this, you can bet to hell I'm gonna do this right... 

There it was... that tone. The tone that gave away he was a Dom, through and through, and a respectable one, at that. Another observation confirmed, it seemed?

"Fine…" you groaned. "We'll play by your rules then… but first, get me out the kitchen, please…?"

You shifted slightly, feeling the warmth of his body pressing against yours as he drew you snugly against him, hands sliding to your ass. 

"Where would you like me to take you, Princess?"

You instinctively wrapped your body around him, hooking your ankles around his back, clinging on like a koala as he lifted you, effortlessly.

"Hmm, your call, but, maybe not the sofa, this time…? I think we're due an upgrade, baby—don't you?"

Chapter Text

YOU & SAM

Your bedroom, Lawrence, Kansas.

Boundaries had never been your strong suit. You’d gotten yourself into enough shit to know that, let alone the regular reminders from your therapist. Sam, however, was giving you no choice in the matter, insisting on a thorough exploration of your preferences and limits, leaving no stone unturned.

He had always been this way—a stickler for the rules. At least that’s what he’d been told—a narrative he’d ingrained from an early age. Maybe it was rooted in good intentions, or some misguided atonement for past transgressions, but nonetheless, he’d never been opposed to a little bending and breaking, especially when discussed beforehand. He never aspired for a life of crime, studying law and all. Then again, he never expected he’d be conversing kinks with an enigmatic academic, yet here he was.

You shifted on the bed where you sat cross-legged, causing your bedsheets to wrinkle—the same ones Sam had neatly tucked into place this morning. He fixed you a look, and you took a deep breath, fiddled with the ring on your thumb, then continued your account—in excruciatingly painful detail—of the ways you like to fuck. It was humbling. He was taking none of your shit. Every attempt to brush off a question was met with another, as if he was determined to conquer the depths of your psyche in addition to your body.

Despite your reservations, the way he listened to you reassured you, and he never once made you feel ashamed. You wondered if this was how it was meant to be all along, if maybe you’d been a bit too forgiving during past encounters, if maybe you were destined for hell after all, if only for your sheer ignorance.

After heated discussion, and several clarifications—including reassurance that your newfound God couldn’t give a crap about how you got each other off—key boundaries and limits were established.

You’d recounted a list of the suspected things—no sharp objects or substances that could inflict permanent damage; no bodily fluids except the usual contenders; and no enclosed spaces—you were claustrophobic, so that was a big no. You’d also ruled out foot stuff—you just weren’t into that—and specifically requested that he never call himself ‘Daddy’—that made you kinda uncomfortable, you didn’t know why. He was to be ‘Sir’, or just ‘Sam’, depending on the situation, and you were cool with whatever. ‘Princess’ suited you, he said. But so did ‘baby’, ‘darling’, ‘sweetie’... along with all the others he’d whispered in your ear with a dark look in his eye. Any name that came out of his mouth sounded like music to your ears, so you left that to his judgement, gladly.

There were some gray areas, naturally, to which Sam was quick to renounce to your list of soft limits. For instance, you didn’t want anything put in your ass without prior discussion. You’d tried it before, but still weren’t sure about it.

Your established list of kinks, however, were far easier to pin down. If yesterday was anything to go by, Sam already had his suspicions, and when you did indeed confirm them, his face went all twitchy in an attempt to hide his smile. He couldn’t conceal the excitement in his eyes though. You thought it was rather cute.

Restraint, sensation and impact-play all made the cut—your ‘unholy trinity’, so to speak. Alongside that, words of praise and degradation also added fuel to the flame, brewing an aphrodisiac that bound to space you out. You couldn’t help but chuckle as you tried to articulate your feelings, once again struck by the dissonance that seemed to define your being. Despite your independence, you yearned for affection, acceptance, reassurance, yet in the heat of the moment you also loved being debased. You didn’t know why, and it had shamed you for years, until you came to accept that what you liked in the bedroom didn’t reflect how you wanted to be treated in ‘real life’. It was hard to explain, and you’d never been great at expressing your feelings, but Sam seemed to get it, reminding you that outside of this arrangement you were equals, and that he’d never intend to disrespect you ‘for real’.

Sam had his own boundaries, of course, but thankfully most of what you’d detailed fell within them—the riskier shit he’d deal with another day. He wasn’t completely averse to it, but he wasn’t prepared to risk you passing out on him, especially not today. You were still new to each other, after all—a fact he had to keep reminding himself.

In light of everything you’d discussed, you’d established safe words—verbal and non-verbal—and agreed to use the traffic light system for check-ins. Sam was taking no chances. He didn’t want a repeat of last night, despite your reassurance that your tears were just a way of processing your emotions. It was kinda cathartic for you, you explained, telling Sam he should take it as a compliment, not a warning sign.

As your conversation began to draw to a natural close, you found yourself growing increasingly restless—anticipation bubbling within you like a dormant volcano, ready to erupt. Sam, on the other hand, remained calm—cool as a cucumber. He really wasn’t kidding when he said he was patient—it was infuriatingly frustrating…

“Come onnn,” you groaned, as you climbed on top of him, gazing down at him with a wanton expression. “We’ve been over this like five times already... I’m tired of talking.” You inched closer, your knees falling on either side of his waist. He may be an expert in restraint, you thought—he’d told you so—explicitly—but, he’ll crack, soon...

Sam chuckled, shuffling up the bed so you were now in his lap. “This stuff is important, baby... I need to make sure I’ve got it right, to keep us both... happy.” He gently brushed your hair out of your face, his expression soft, considerate. “Just a few more questions, ok?”

“Ugh, fine…” You let out a deep sigh and rolled to the side, settling back next to him against the headboard. “Hit me.”

Sam huffed in amusement, reaching for his phone on the bed beside him. “Right, well, first…” he said, scrolling through the handy ‘checklist’ he’d been consulting. “Is there any medical stuff I need to be aware of?”

“Medical stuff?” You pulled your knees to your chest, meeting his eyes with a bemused expression. “What do you mean?”

“Y’know... any injuries? Areas I need to be careful with? Any medication I need to make sure you take?” He leaned in slightly, awaiting your response, a solicitous look on his face.

“Huh, you really are a lawyer, aren’t you?” You giggled to yourself, then pursed your lips to mask your smile, meeting his tolerantly reprimanding look. “But, uh… no injuries, so please, go to town… and just my anti-depressants—nothing major—but I’ll manage them fine on my own, thank you very much.” You straightened up, nose held high, exuding a false sense of confidence.

Sam raised his eyebrows, shaking his head in exasperation. “Nothing major? Huh...” He made a mental note, placing his phone down on the duvet. This is exactly why I need to know this kinda stuff… Was she even gonna tell me?

You shrugged, noting his expression. “I figured you’d find out... eventually. If you hadn’t already noticed, that is. I can be a bit… ‘unhinged.’” You rolled your eyes, recounting the words you had heard a thousand times before. “Plus, I have the coil, so you won’t be getting me pregnant if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Sam sighed, his voice soft, yet serious. “I trusted you with that one,” he admitted, albeit prematurely. “And whoever told you you’re ‘unhinged’,” he frowned as he said it, “sounds like an ass.” He gave you a knowing look, making you cringe. “But... I need to be open to all possibilities… y’know…” In case you drop, or anything... “I need to know what to expect and how to take care of you.”

You stilled, suddenly feeling rather guilty. “Oh. Yeah. Umm... I’m sorry, I should have—I didn’t think...” No one’s ever asked me that before…

Sam shook his head. “It’s not an easy thing to talk about, I get it, but... It’s just important that I know, okay?”

You chewed on your lip, nodding subtly to yourself, recognizing there was no getting out of this one. “Okay,” you said, shuffling across the bed, reaching to grab your med bottle from your nightstand. “I just take one a day—by the way—and I keep them here...”

Sam smiled, directing you a gentle look. “Noted.”

You returned his smile but quickly averted your gaze, repetitively picking at the label on the bottle. “I um... I’ve been on them for quite a while... and I guess they’re working...” You paused for a second, casting a glance at Sam to check his expression. “I had bad night terrors as a kid, but I mostly take them for my mood now.”

He nodded, listening intently.

“I’m okay, though, really... I haven’t had a breakdown in almost a year,” you stated, lacing your confession with a grin and a mock air of pride. “That’s quite an achievement, ‘y’know’...”

The corners of Sam’s lips twitched, noting the humor in your tone. “Yeah? Well, I’m proud of you,” he said. She’s already doing better than me...

“Yeah, um, well... I’ve been ‘working on myself’,” you admitted with a bashful smile. “Therapy, meditation, yoga—all that shit. I know how it sounds, but I think it helps... I still get anxious at times, but the lows aren’t half as bad as they used to be.”

Sam nodded, regarding you with a thoughtful expression.

“Anyway... Aren’t you gonna write that down? Unless... I haven’t scared you off, have I?”  A subtle grin tugging on your lips as you nodded towards his phone.

Sam directed you a reassuring smile. “You couldn’t scare me off if you tried...” His eyes locked with yours, the weight of his words settling on your chest. “Thank you for telling me, I know it’s not easy to open up.”

You shrugged, smoothing over part of the label where you’d peeled it up. “It wasn’t too bad...” There’s no one I’d rather open up to than you... Your gaze shifted to his lips, then back to his eyes, his gaze once again reducing you to a fumbling mess.

“Hey, um... can I ask you something?” You tried hard to conceal your stutter, feeling a desperate need to disperse the weight in your chest.

“Of course,” he said, “you can ask me anything.” Rolling to his side, Sam propped himself on his elbow and watched as you stashed your med bottle back in the drawer.

Swallowing your anxiety, your turned to him, your fingers grazing your cuticles unconsciously. “This thing between us... It’s more than just the physical, right...?” Your eyes held a hint of desperation, reflecting the innocence of your question.

Sam shuffled closer, holding your eyes in an intense gaze. “I think you know the answer, baby...” His hand sought yours, stilling your nervous fingers with an intentional touch. “And if you don’t, well... Your observation skills clearly aren’t as good as you think they are.”

Letting loose an unrestrained chuckle, your nerves instantly dissapated, replaced by a new kinda feeling that you, once again, found it hard to articulate. “So, um...” You slowly rose your head, eyes meeting his with that familiar pang and an unmistakable tang of hope. “What does that mean, exactly?”

Sam smiled, brushing your thumb with his. “It can mean whatever you want it to mean, baby.”

“Whatever ‘I’ want it to mean?” You squinted, meeting him with a suspicious look. “But... what do YOU want?”

Is it not crystal clear? Sam thought. I’ve been trying to show her all fucking day...“You. I want you. In every way possible.”

Your eyebrows shot up, your breath catching in your throat as you stumbled over your words. “Y—you—you mean...?”

“—Yes,” Sam replied, mumbling his answer with a kiss to your fingers.

“But... you didn’t let me finish...”

“I didn’t need to,” he assured. “The answer would be the same. I’d say yes. Yes to everything.”

Gulp. “That’s... a bit reckless, don’t you think?” you asked, eyes like a hawk, watching his every move.

“It may be, but... I don’t care.” He leaned towards you, caressing your cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Whatever you want, baby, whatever you need... I’ll be that for you, if you let me?”

—The fuck is this?? Aren’t I meant to be submitting to him?

“You’re crazier than me!” you retorted, letting loose a nervous giggle, as the most mesmerizing man you’ve ever met laid his heart at your feet.

“That, I am,” he stated. “Conventional has never been my style, darlin’, and you’re anything but...” He moved his face closer to yours, his mouth meeting your jawline with a prickling heat. “I want you so bad, it’s borderline unhealthy...”

“Oh fuck,” you gasped, just as Sam buried his face into your neck.

“You make me fuckin’ ravenous, Y/N... You do realize that, don’t you?” he groaned, lapping his tongue at your neck as he pushed you down against the bed.

You squealed, as you let him have at you. “Where’s the gentleman gone, huh?” you giggled, tangling your fingers in his hair, just as he sucked on that sensitive spot above your collarbone.

Sam chuckled, each vibration coursing through your body like a riptide. “Don’t get me wrong, Princess, I’m always a gentleman...” he drawled, trailing his torturous trail of kisses to purr in your ear. “And a gentleman knows when to take care of his girl, and when to fuck her senseless. So don’t you worry, sweetie, I’ll look after you. You’ll get what you need.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, your brain taking a minute to process what he’d just said.

His girl...? That’s what you were focusing on?? And when to what...?

Fuck. He’d really listened.

You pulled away, only removing his mouth from your neck to look him in the eye.

“Your girl... Is that what I am?”

“You tell me." Sam shrugged, casually, despite his heart battering his ribs and the tent in his pants. "Is that what you want, Y/N? Are you... mine?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you cowered, a trembling mess of thoughts and desire beneath him. You’d already agreed to be his sub, yes, but this... this involved more than just your body. You’d never done this—not quite this way. You’d explored the scene a bit, having taken some time to ‘find yourself’ when you first moved to Lawrence, but none of your previous encounters had ever led to anything more than a satisfied body—your heart remaining untouched—locked away as you deemed safe. But now… Sam… Well... He either held the key, or the world’s strongest crowbar, having irrefutably managed to pry the bars apart, wrenching it straight from your caged chest, and into his longing hands. It was too late to stop it now, you knew. You just prayed he had a steady grip.

“Y/N?” he whispered. “You can’t leave me hanging... not with this one.”

The way he looked at you then—eyes like searchlights—made your soul leave your body, leaving behind an empty shell only he could fill. You knew your answer—it was clear as day, yet you couldn’t prevent the strange feeling welling in your chest, an unnerving sensation you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Sam furrowed his brow, continuingly searching your expression, pulling you closer in an irresistible pull. “You gonna talk to me, baby? Or just—”

You cut off his words with your lips on his, stealing his breath and thoughts in one swift motion.

He kissed you back, electric and passionate, igniting a fire that left you wondering how the hell you had ever survived without this.

As his tongue invaded your senses, adrenaline coursed through your blood, and the feeling grew, strangely familiar, as if crawling from the depths of your subconscious. Was it fear? Excitement? Déjà vu...? It was hard to tell, so let’s go with the second one...

You pulled away abruptly, your breaths coming in rapid gasps, your heart thundering in your chest.

“That answer enough?” you gasped, smiling wide. “Of course I’m yours.”

And like the decisive arrival of winter in Kansas, you committed yourself to him, fully, any lingering liminality foregone in favor of the cold, sharp, clarity of ‘yes.’ You didn’t have to pull at loose threads or wonder if they’d hold. Somehow, you just knew.

Sam beamed, his eyes like wildfire. “My girl," he said, looking contemplative, voice carrying that familiar gravel that made you reel. “Hmm, I like that on you...” Moving his hand to your face, he parted your lips with his thumb, just like he had all those weeks ago when you first got a taste of him. "We’re gonna have so much fun together, you and I...”

Holy shit.

Okay, okay... ‘calm the fuck down!!’ you screamed to your racing heart.

“Did-didn’t you have more questions?” you stuttered, pulse through the roof.

“You stole my last one,” he stated, praying his own heart wouldn’t give out. “And you just answered it.”

“Huhh...” you whimpered, completely mindfucked.

Fucking adorable... I’m gonna make her cum so hard she forgets who she is.

“Ready to be my good girl now?” he asked, sitting back on his haunches, staring you down like you were his last meal.

“Samm, I’ve been ready for—” you began, tugging on the fabric of his shirt to drag him back down towards you.

“—Uh,” he hushed, returning his thumb to your lips as he steadied himself on his elbow. “What did we just talk about?”

“Sorry, Sir...” You swallowed, simpering at his change of demeanor. “I’ll be good... Promise,” you assured, before peeking out your tongue to lap at his digit.

Sam smirked at your response. Huh, she really can’t help herself, can she? “Right, so... you’ll do as I say?” he asked, swiping his wetted thumb across your lips.

You fluttered your lashes up at him, eyes wide, playful. You’d probably cringe if you weren’t so turned-on, but alas, you were, so you trashed that thought, going full-on slut-mode. “Yes Sir... anything you say.”

Hmm, we’ll see about that, Sam thought, not completely convinced. “Good... now, take this off,” he demanded, tugging at the fabric of your shirt.

You raised your eyebrows, but did as he said, leaning forward to pull your shirt over your head in one fell swoop.

“And these…” he said, tugging on your jeans.

You rolled your eyes, but complied, shimmying out of your jeans with a giggle. “You’re getting bossy…”

Sam huffed in amusement, now raking his eyes over you—his own personal show.

“Keep going…” he smirked, clearly enjoying the performance.

“Sam, really?!” you exclaimed, catching the look in his eye. You were making this way too easy for him. “After all this, you’re really just gonna sit there and make me undress myself? What happened to me making you ‘fucking ravenous’?”

Sam tsked, crossing his arms over his chest. There she is... “Yes, really. And this will take a hell of a lot longer than I planned if you don’t just get on with it.”

You huffed, then muttered under your breath. “So fucking rude...”

“And you’ve got a filthy mouth. But that’s not gonna get you anywhere quicker, darlin’...”

You blinked as you met his authoritative stare—frustrated yet completely compelled.

Sam raised his eyebrows expectantly, and you caved, peeling off your underwear—your bra, followed by your thong—dropping them to the floor with a deliberate sass. “Happy now, big boy?” You reclined on your pillow, chest puffed proud, nipples hard as rocks, pretending you weren’t phased by his attempt at intimidation.

Huh, nice try... “Almost,” he stated, suppressing a smile. “Now, spread your legs and show me what you did the other night.”

Your smile dropped. “Wait—What?!”

“You heard me. I wanna see what you did whilst you were… ‘thinking of me’...”

You flushed red, your face a painting of surprise and embarrassment. Not knowing what to do with your face, you turned your head to the side, covering your eyes with the back of your arm.

“Hey… where’s all this shyness come from, huh?” he asked, slowly crawling over your cowering, naked body. “You weren’t this shy a minute ago, when you were asking me to do all those… ‘unholy things’...” he sniggered, using your own words against you, clearly amusing himself to no end. “You can’t hide from me, darlin’…” We both know you’re soaked…

Your blood boiled as you met his gaze, letting your arm fall to the side. “I’m not shy!” you claimed, despite having no evidence to the contrary. “I... I just… I want youu…” There was no point denying it.

“C’mon baby, do this for me,” he pleaded. “It’ll be worth it, trust me.” He looked at you then, in a way you couldn’t refuse.

Goddammit!! Your cheeks flushed red again, leaving you with no fucking choice. If you weren’t touched soon, you feared you might combust. And you did—trust him—that is, more than you probably should.

You let out a sigh, finally giving in to his wishes as you began to trail your hand down your chest. Letting your legs fall open, you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of Sam’s gaze on you as you exposed yourself to him, drowning your insecurities beneath waves of lust.

“Good girl,” Sam purred, spurring you on, eyes like a magnet, soldered to your fingers.

You gushed at his words, your hand sliding lower, down your abdomen, below your navel, over your mound, sucking in a breath as your fingers met your clit.

Sam tensed, cock straining against his pants. “This is what you did, huh?” he asked, watching you intently as you covered yourself in your wetness. It was almost painful how hard he was.

“Yes, Sir...” You let loose the breath you were holding, tracing gentle circles, your bud swelling with every stroke.

“Hmm, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Playing with your pretty little pussy, all alone...”

Damn him... ‘No, Sir…” you whimpered, just as goosebumps rose to your skin. It was humiliating, and the way he was looking at you utterly perverse, but it turned you on all the same.

“Fuck, baby, look at you…” Sam drawled, palming his cock through his pants to relieve the pressure. “You’re a goddess.” And she’s mine? I’m the luckiest man alive...

You let loose a breathy giggle, turning your face into the pillow to mask your embarrassment.

It was hopeless.

“Nuh-uh... that won’t do...” Sam crawled up the bed, turned your face to his. “Eyes on me. Need to see your pretty face...”

You did as he said, blinking up at him in a haze.

Your eyes, dilated as black holes, mirrored his own desire as he gazed down at you, oxytocin raging rife.

Fuck, he couldn’t help it—seeing you like this—it was all too much—he just had to kiss you.

“Keep touching yourself darlin’,” he rasped, before claiming your mouth with his tongue.

You melded into the kiss, and obeyed, shifting your hips as you inserted a finger inside yourself, but wondered why the fuck he wasn’t fucking you himself.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Fuck yourself good for me, but tell me when you’re close. No cumming without me.”

Oh God... of course he was into denial… Of course he fucking was!

“Samm... please...” Sweat beaded on your brow, his words grinding you to the core. You were already so close to the edge, you didn’t know how long you could possibly hold on for.

“Patience, baby...” He closed his teeth around your bottom lip, nipping down gently as he sucked your flesh into his mouth, drawing your blood to the surface.

You rolled your hips automatically, reaching that sensitive spot, making you moan out in pleasure, but he reached for your hand, and pulled it away, just as your walls started to clench.

It was fucking torture. All of it.

“Samm!” you whined. “Please... I can’t wait any longer... Just touch me for fuck’s sake!”

Sam chuckled, staring down at your heaving chest. “Such a desperate little slut... And she’s got a mouth on her too...”

“Fuck!” you squealed, as he reached down to pinch one of your nipples, rock hard between his fingers.

“You’re brave, y’know, making demands like that...” He twisted—harder—making you yelp.

“That hurt, Princess?” he asked, watching your every move as you squirmed beneath him.

“Yes!” you groaned. “Hurts so good!”

“Is that so?” he asked, lowering his mouth to your chest. “In that case, you won’t mind it if I—”

You wailed, as he clamped your other nipple between his teeth.

It was sharp, painful, yet utterly glorifying.

“Color?” he asked, sealing his bite with a kiss.

“Green!” you heaved, tangling your hands in his hair.

“Good girl,” he praised, placing an affectionate kiss to your sternum.

You clutched his head to your chest, wrapping your legs around him in a frenzied state, pulling him off balance so he fell into you.

“Y’know, I wasn’t gonna do this so soon,” he chuckled, detangling your pussy soaked fingers from his hair. “But seeing as you’ve messed me up already...” He paused, placing a kiss to your glistening knuckles, before taking your fingers into his mouth, and hungrily sucking them clean. “What d’ya say, darlin’...” He swallowed. Pointedly. “Want my mouth on your cunt?”

You gaped, eyes wide.

This man... Fucking hell. And I’m the one with the filthy mouth...?

Jesus Fucking Christ.

“Well?” he asked, glaring down at you, a tainted smile on his lips. “Do you?”

You blinked, gathering your thoughts for only a second before your reply barreled from your throat. “Yes...” you rasped, “oh my god, yes!”

Sam chuckled, inching down your body, your legs parting oh-so obediently for him.

“Thought so,” he purred, trailing a stream of sloppy kisses down your stomach. “And I can’t fucking wait to taste you again.” He hovered, an inch away from your throbbing clit, so close you could feel his breath on you. “Just one last thing, darlin’... Lemme hear you say it.”

“Huh?” you whimpered, knowing full well what he was after.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” he warned, “we both know you’re not. Use your words, Princess. Tell me where you want my mouth.”

Sweat cooled on your brow as you gazed down at him—longingly—frustratingly. You were playing a game, yes, and he was beating you to it.

Or was he? Considering you never intended to win.

“You’re so cruel...” you whined, with a playful wrinkle of your nose. “You’re making me blush!”

“Blush away, Princess… I like to watch you glow. Now say those dirty words for me.” He pouted, protruding his bottom lip, his expression comical, in light of what he was asking. “Please?”

“Oh god, fine!” you relented, a sucker for his charm. Such a bastard...

“I want your mouth on my cunt,” you stated, foregoing all your shame. “Now!”

“Thank you baby,” he smirked, mumbling his words as he lunged forward, straight into you.

You gasped as his tongue breached your slit, rolling your head back in due surrender.

“Oh god!” you wailed, as he lapped up your juices, his neglected stubble scratching against your thighs. “I... Oh... Samm!”

“Mmm,” he hummed, “I can see why you’re so needy, darlin’, you’re an ocean down here...”

“I... of course I am,” you panted, gawking as he sat up briskly to remove his shirt. “What do you expect when you’ve been edging me like that?”

Sam chuckled, positioning himself back between your thighs, draping your legs over his shoulders so your feet could no longer reach the bed. “You call that edging, darlin’? Maybe you do need to learn some patience...” He smirked, before trailing his tongue up your folds again, then around your clit, sucking down on you with a gentle pressure.

You pressed your hips up into him, losing all will to argue.

“Luckily for you,” he mumbled, each vibration rippling straight through you, “I’m in a giving mood.” He pushed back, increasing the pressure on your clit, placing his palm below your navel, then slipped in a finger, just where you needed him to…

“—Ah!” you cried. “Samm... I’mm...” You clamped your thighs around his head, pulling him in closer with your feet, your walls spasming uncontrollably.

He didn’t fight it, or pull back, just buried his face in deeper as your release came, crashing through your body like a tidal wave.

“What the fuck?!” you exclaimed, when you finally surfaced from the flood, looking down at him with a bewildered, blissful expression.

“Told you it’d be worth it, didn’t I?” he smirked, ever so smug, like he didn’t even care that you’d almost suffocated him to death.

“Yeah...” you heaved, admitting defeat. “Sorry for doubting you... I won’t ever do that again, I promise.”

“Tut tut...” Sam tsked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Naughty girl... stop making promises you know you can’t keep.”

You swallowed, biting your lip as he crawled towards you. “Ah,” you sighed. He’s got me all figured out...

“I’m sorry, Sir... Let me make it up to you...” You traced your hand down his abs, reaching for the buckle of his belt.

Sam hummed, pausing your ascent with a touch to your wrist. “We’ll get there, I promise, but...” He shifted upright, grasping you by the waist to pull you into his lap, nestling your back against his now-bare chest. “I’m not quite finished with you yet...”

Your breath hitched as he parted your legs, hooking them over his knees, wondering what the hell he was planning next.

“Relax, baby...” he soothed, noting your apprehension. “Think you can do that for me?” He mumbled, placing a kiss to your sweaty temple.

“Uh... I’ll try...” You released a shuddering breath as you succumbed to his touch, reclining your head back to rest on his shoulder. It was kinda hard to relax though, with all the bonding hormones raging through your system, not to mention his still-clothed cock digging against your ass like a steel rod.

“That’s it,” he praised. “Gonna make you feel so good, sweetie.” He whispered in your ear, smoothing your hair against his palm whilst his other hand trailed down the planes of your stomach. "Ready for round two?”

Chapter Text

An unspecified amount of time later…

You were many things, but patient wasn’t one of them. Temperance? That was just another heavenly virtue you failed to possess. And the one Sam seemed insistent on testing.

“Trust me,” he’d said. “It’ll be worth it,” he’d said.

And you were trying. Like hell, you were trying. He may have the self-restraint of a saint, but dear lord, yours was wearing thin. Fraying at the edges like a worn piece of cotton.

Still in his lap, his vice of an arm wrapped snugly around your middle, you tried your best to contain yourself as he toyed and teased with all the places that made you gasp and writhe, but never quite enough to satisfy you fully.

He played you the way a musician might an instrument: fingers dancing deftly across your skin, tweaking and tuning, until you were vibrating at the right frequency—the frequency he desired. And what he desired, apparently, was a symphony of verses; choruses delayed. The melody was sweet, yet unresolved, teetering on the knife-edge of pleasure.

It was an agonizing bliss. Agonizing in all the ways you’d expect, but blissful because it promised more. The anticipation itself was half the high.

It pleased him tremendously, you knew—having you one twist of a wrist away from nirvana at all times. The power was getting to his head.

And to his cock …

“God, you really are a bastard.” You let out a sigh, trying to steady your breath along with your thunderous heartbeat that was now pulsing in your ears. He’d denied you once again, bringing you close to the edge just to leave you longing, your attempts to ride the wave crushed by the sudden absence of pressure between your legs. There was no real malice in the words, no true disdain, just a playful punch that you’d hoped might knock him from his high horse, if only a notch.

But if Sam was offended by your quip, he made no fuss of it. He just laughed, whispering softly against your temple. “Careful,” he said, the words coming out more like a caress than a warning. “I’ll remember all this badmouthing, even when you won’t.” Once I’ve fucked you senseless …

He moved his mouth to your neck, grazed his teeth against your skin. A threat, whispered as a promise, and sealed with a kiss. He was trying to be intimidating, but still, you weren’t phased. Not in the slightest. At least that’s what you told yourself. In reality, it only made you even more aroused. Even more frustrated. He played this game a little too well.

His palm was where he left it, resting nonchalantly between your legs. As though it meant nothing. As though you were the problem. A thing to be tamed. You tried to arch into him, chase the stimulation you so desperately craved, but it was no use. He would not give in that easily.

His hand slipped to your thigh, and the arm around your waist came to rest across your hips. You tried your best to wriggle, but you were anchored against him; his big, strong hands forcing you down and open. In this position, you could get no purchase, no reprieve. You couldn’t even squeeze your legs together as they were still hooked over his knees. You were completely at his mercy. Powerless in his arms. A toy for him to play with at his leisure.

Despite your continued frustration, a thrill surged through you, tingling the back of your skull and down your spine. It alighted that primal desire you had. The one where you’d gladly give up any hint of self-preservation to be thoroughly, and utterly ravaged.

But the way he commanded you, with his calm, yet subtly condescending style of domination, spoke to the brat in you that so desperately wanted to rile him up. You knew he had a fiercer side within him. You’d seen glimpses of it, and could feel it bubbling under the surface of his pretense of control. He wasn’t giving you any of that satisfaction, and it was grinding your gears. What would it take, to break that shiny mask of his?

He waited for you to relent before speaking again, releasing his arm from your hips to brush the hair that was now slick with sweat from out of your face. You wondered whether he could hear the cogs turning in your head, the dizzying labor of your breath. “Shh,” he said. “You’re only making things harder for yourself. Be a good, patient girl, and I might just let you come again before morning.”

The heat between your legs throbbed—ached, more like, and you literally groaned at the thought of being strung out for that long. You were desperate to come again, yes, but you also ached for his cock in your mouth—against your tongue—a chance for you to watch him groan and whimper whilst you tested his patience as much as he’d tested yours.

You rolled your eyes, called his bluff. “You’re all talk,” you said, trying your best to steady your voice as his fingers trailed lazy lines up and down the length of your inner thigh. He may be big, and intimidating, but he wasn’t actually that cruel, was he? Plus, he’d need to sate his own desire sooner or later, or risk a rupture in his pants. You could feel him underneath you, all twitchy and angry, yet he didn’t let it show. What had the guy been through to be able to execute this level of self-restraint? It was impressive, honestly. If not a little disconcerting. Maybe he wasn’t bluffing after all … How well did you know the man, really? Enough to surrender your body to him, agree to be ‘his girl’, and—

The thoughts abruptly left your head as his fingers waltzed back over your clit, continued their languid, lazy dance that made your whole body tense and tingle with want.

“Am I?” he purred. “That’s awfully judgmental.” His touch was feather-light, deliberately restrained, and you had to bite your lip and curl your toes to stifle a whimper.

Your skin was on fire, the heat burning up from your belly and turning inside out. You thought you might explode. Everything felt too tight. Your skin didn’t fit.

He chuckled in your ear then, a sickeningly smug sound, clearly reveling in the effect he was having on you.

And you took the bait.

“Oh, fuck you,” you snarled. But your voice was but a breath, the sound coming out much weaker than you intended. Suddenly, you realized that everything was clenched—your teeth, your jaw, your toes, your fists in his thighs, your pussy around … nothing.

No wonder he found the whole thing so damned amusing. You were sating his ego. He loved to see you all up tight and desperate. He reveled in it.

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” he said, with all the confidence and bravado of someone who knows they’ve already won the game. “Just gotta teach my girl some control, first. She’s very … needy.” And then, as if he had all the time in the world, he slid his hand lower, gathering your increasingly endless supply of slick on his fingertips. He glided them up and down your aching core, before making teasing movements at your entrance. He dipped inside just enough to get your hopes up, before ultimately retreating.

Here we go again, you thought. When would he relent? You’d lost count of how many times he’d gotten you here, just to divert the destination. What would be enough to satisfy him?

As though he could read your mind—he seemed to have an uncanny ability to do that— he sighed, then said, his tone firm, “You can come when I say you can come. Starting from today,” he clarified, “you’re not to come without my permission. Do you understand?”

When you didn’t reply, too distracted by the surmounting pressure between your legs, he repeated the question, punctuated by a wet, playful swat to your cunt.

You flinched, let out a pleasantly surprised gasp that fizzled into a giggle. Yes, you thought. Fuck yes … Do that again.

“Do you understand?” he repeated, preceded by another playful slap—a little harder this time—that made you let out an embarrassingly throaty laugh.

“Yes!” You gasped, the words just rolling off your tongue now. “I… I mean … yes—yes, Sir.”

Sam smiled at that—watching as you tried to compose yourself. It clearly pleased him you were having a good time. And now listening … “Hm, good girl. You know what happens to bad girls that come without permission, though, don’t you?”

Biting your lip to hide your smirk, you shook your head, feigning innocence.

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret …” He drew closer, his lips lingering on your neck, kissing the ticklish spot just below your ear, and then whispered, “They get … punished.”

And the way he said it, drawing out the last word, drew goosebumps across your whole body. It was clear then, that he never intended for you to pass his little test at all. He wanted you to fail. Wanted to punish you. As much as you wanted that, too.

Excitement bubbled within you, and in that moment, you wanted nothing more, couldn’t imagine anything more appealing than Sam’s discipline, whatever form it took. It appealed to the primal part of you that wanted to be commanded, despite all your attempts at defiance. It made it all the more satisfying.

You swallowed, cleared your throat. “Is… is that a threat, or a promise?”

“That all depends,” he said, low and rumbly. “Are you a good girl, or … a bad girl?”

At that, he slid the two fingers that were teasing you inside. Straight to the knuckle. And you sobbed at the relief. Actually sobbed.

A dark chuckle rumbled against your rib cage. “Fucking adorable. All the little sounds you make. Especially when you’re trying to hide them …” He began to move his fingers, pulse against the spot that makes your knees weak, joined by the grinding pressure of his palm against your clit. It was clear, then, that this time, he was determined to make you his bad girl. And it was the sweetest reprieve.

Your mouth hung open, unable any longer to contain your moans, before Sam smothered them with an urgent, messy kiss that was all tongue and teeth. When he drew back, your lips were all puffy and swollen, your irises drowned out by black.

“Shit, baby,” he said, his own mouth haloed by pink. “You hear that? You’re so fucking wet.”

Of course you could hear it. It was impossible not to. It was loud. So fucking loud it was kinda embarrassing.

“This all for me, huh?” he continued, whispering obscenities into your ear like they were poetry. “You’ve been so desperate to come again, haven’t you? Oh, I know you have, Princess. And you’ve been so good, holding out for me … But guess what? You still do not have permission.”

The increasing amount of wet sounds emerging from you disquieted the otherwise stillness of your bedroom as Sam picked up the pace, the tendons and muscles in his arms straining with religious ardor, as if it was his life’s mission to make you come. And then, as if that wasn’t torment enough, he reached his other hand up to pinch your already-peaked nipples, clamping them between his knuckles until you were squealing and squirming beneath him.

He knew exactly how to touch you.

He wasn’t gentle.

Your pulse quickened, galloping a thundering pace, racing to keep up with the sensations coursing through your body. Throwing back your head, you let out another high, satisfied cry, just as Sam decided it was also a good idea to sink his teeth into the side of your neck.

“You son of a—” The words caught in your throat, and you gasped as a bolt of pleasure surged through you, alighting every nerve in its wake. Your body seized, then went slack, all the tension in your muscles surrendering to the intoxicating mixture of pleasure and pain he was inflicting on you with every touch of his skin. And when your mind finally caught up, the sensations were overwhelming. Endorphins raging. To finally be indulged, after all this time, after being denied for so long… You felt shaken. Like a corked champagne bottle ready to blow.

The world seemed to tilt, and your vision glittered, stars falling like snow in your periphery. The kind that greet you when you stand up too quickly. It was if every red blood cell in your body hungered to be in on the action. Your breath transcended, little gasps giving way to full, tapering cries, and before you could think—or do anything else at all—the pressure inside you burst, seemed to take on a life of its own, and—

“Oh, fuck— Samm, I—”

Frenzied, you clawed your feet into his calves—into his legs that were still forcing you open—and sank your nails into his skin, leaving angry crescent moons on his arm. But if it hurt, he paid it no mind, just kept fucking you relentlessly with his fingers. You threw your head back, and in one, hot, liquified expulsion of tension, your release rushed free—gushing down your thighs and across Sam’s wrist.

“Fuck.” You screamed.

It felt exquisite.

But wet.

Very, very wet …

Oh. Shit.

As you came down, you felt the evidence of your overdue pleasure trickle down your thighs and tickle between your cheeks. You were pretty sure you’d just soiled the bed—let alone his jeans—and your face turned an embarrassing shade of vermilion.

“Fuck me.” Sam’s delayed response echoed your surprise as he finally caught up with what had just happened. He sounded shocked. Genuinely stunned. Yet equally pleased with himself. You couldn’t blame him for that, though. You hadn’t exactly warned him, seeing as you had only ever squirted twice before in your life, and never with a man. What did that say about Sam? Was he harboring some kind of sorcery in those fingers? You wouldn’t be surprised. You’d seen his magic at work. That’s what it was, right? Magic? Luckily for you, he didn’t seem phased in the slightest. Elated would be a better word to describe it. And, if it didn’t bother him, it didn’t bother you, and your body alit anew.

Tilting your head back, you peered up at him, pupils still blown to the edges, meeting his, which were equally as dark. “Oops.”

He just stared at you, dark eyes wide in wonder. After a moment, he said, “You’re incredible.” And then, almost hesitantly, asked, “That… feel good?” As if your reactions weren’t enough of an answer. Maybe this was a first for him, too?

Giggling, you nodded, bit your lip, as Sam tried to discreetly wipe his hand on his jeans. “Yes, Sir. It felt amazing,” you reassured him. “Thank you …” Turning in his arms, you pushed him down gently against the bed and crawled on top of him. “Can I … make it up to you now?” You pressed your lips to the base of his throat, felt his breath hitch, his Adam’s apple bob, and, for a split second, you thought he seemed nervous.

To have such an effect on him made you feel suddenly, and unexpectedly, very powerful.

“Yes,” he replied, releasing a shuddering breath. “But don’t think I’ve forgotten …” he trailed off, as your kisses grew lower, wetter, stronger, cascading a hungry river down his torso. You trailed the line of his hair that split his figure, venturing off-course to lap at the grooves of his abdominal muscles. And this time, when you reached for his belt, he didn’t stop you. His jeans came off in a flash, discarded in their sorry state alongside your lacy underwear that you hadn’t had on long enough to tease him with. Next time, you thought. Next time, I’ll show him how much of a tease I can be.

Grazing over his hip bone, your mouth latched onto a patch of silky-smooth skin there. At the same time, your palm traced south, brushing over his boxers. You felt him tense beneath you, felt his eyes on you the whole time, but he didn’t say a word. His anticipation was palpable; thick, and as heavy as the winter night that had settled outside your window.

Satisfied with his reaction, you let out a small, pleased sound, and then began to draw his skin between your teeth. He sucked in a breath, throbbed beneath your hand, but still, didn’t stop you. So, you pressed on, stroking him softly beneath his boxers whilst you sucked, and pulsed, until you had adorned his flesh in a flushed, and mottled crimson. If I am yours, you thought, rather selfishly, then you are mine. Mine to mark, mine to tease, mine to please.

You shot him a mischievous smile. “To remember me by.”

He let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. “I need no help with that. You’re impossible to forget. Plus, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go. Especially after that stunt you just pulled.”

Sam’s lip twitched, a ghost of a smile he was trying to hide. I’ll have her sit on my face next time, he thought. Next time. As if it was that easy to make a woman squirt. Sam didn’t care how filthy or egotistical the thought was, all he wanted was you, even if that meant drowning at his expense.

“If that pleases you, Sir.”

“Oh, it does. Very much. But now…” He brushed his thumb wantonly across your mouth. “Please, put those pretty lips around my cock.”

A chuckle danced between you, light and carefree, and you were more than happy to oblige. His boxers peeled off, and his cock sprung free, perfectly erect, tip gleaming with the evidence of his arousal, balls hanging loose, and—

You flushed, unexpectedly embarrassed. You couldn’t help it. He was just … stunning. A picture of masculine grace. Something about seeing him there, sprawled before you, butt-naked and vulnerable, on your bed, almost made you question your sensibilities. You wondered whether this is what it felt like for him—to be in control—to wield such responsibility over another. To hold someone else’s pleasure in one’s hands was no feeble feat. What would it feel like? you wondered. To tie him down, to make him beg—thoughts that had never appealed to you before. Until now. Until … him. He was awakening something in you that you didn’t fully understand.

Shaking off your idiocy, you shuffled back and wrapped your fingers around his hilt. You flashed him your best sultry smile before trailing your tongue up his length, wetting him from base to tip. He was firm, yet velvety smooth, and there was a subtle fragrance you couldn’t quite discern. A combination of pheromones, and … Vanilla. Ironic, considering he wasn’t in the slightest. My shower creme, you realized. You didn’t know why, but at that, your chest bloomed, a warm and fuzzy feeling. He was addictive; even your inanimate possessions couldn’t help but cling to him.

You giggled, then began to focus on the sensitive band of skin below his tip, casting gentle flicks with your tongue. He was leaking more now, a salty prelude for what was to come, and you knew it wouldn’t take much. With that in mind, you lapped up his pre-cum like it was some kind of delicacy, savoring every drop before turning your attention south, flashing him a look that conveyed, I’m gonna drag this out for as long as I can. It was only fair, after all, for all he’d done to you. A thank you, and … Payback. Delightful, delicious payback.

Sam shuddered as your breath grazed the space between his base and upper thighs, and a monitoring hand came to rest on your shoulder. Hm, you thought, funny. Despite all his strength and bravado, Sam Winchester had … ticklish balls. He had to have some weakness, you supposed. You made a note to have fun with that, later. But now, with one hand wrapped firmly around his hilt, you slowly began to pump him, making smooth, fluid movements with your wrist, and one at a time, delicately kissed and sucked on his balls. Sam hissed as you did so, his whole body going taught, his grip on your shoulder tightening.

You chanced an upward glance, doe-eyed, one of his balls lodged firmly in your mouth.

His mouth was also agape.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said. “If you want me to last longer than a few seconds, please don’t—”

Heeding his warning, you averted your gaze, but couldn’t help but giggle, your mouth still around him, and that set him off even more. Another bead of milky-white fluid seeped from his slit, and you felt his cock pulsate beneath your palm. Abruptly, he pushed you away, eyes wide in warning. Close call, it said. Not yet. Neither of you were prepared to end this prematurely. And when he did eventually come, you so desperately wanted it to be in your mouth.

After a quick reset, and a few stolen kisses, Sam came to sit on the edge of the bed, you sandwiched between his knees. It gave him more control this way. More possibilities to guide you as he wished. And so, with your knees now planted comfortably in your carpet, you set about your mission, and lowered yourself on him.

Sam’s body roared in appreciation, his long fingers grasping onto the edge of the mattress as you took him wholly into your mouth. “Fuck, baby,” he said, hissing through his teeth as you swirled your tongue, hollowed your cheeks to increase the pressure. “Yeah … Shit … Just like that … You’re too good at this …”

He reached for your dresser, grabbing the scrunchie you had left there this morning. With an affectionate touch, he scooped back your hair and secured it in a messy, yet effective knot atop your head. His touch was gentle, yet urgent, his desire to watch you now a consolidated observation. He loved this. Loved to see everything you did to him, and why wouldn’t he? If you could watch every little thing he did to you, you would.

And if it was a show he wanted, that’s what he was going to get. And you planned on putting on a five-star performance.

Shuffling your knees, you began to take him deeper—deeper than you ever had before. Deeper than you had managed last night in your shower. You began to move, gliding up and down the length of his cock, praying your gag reflex would behave as every pass sent him further and further down your throat. But as you’d learnt last night, that was a feeble prayer. You soon began to splutter, and a gag was drawn from you. Tears welled in your eyes, drool pooling around your lips and dripping down his length all shiny and slick.

You knew you probably looked vile right now, could picture your mascara-smudged eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, whatever ridiculous hairstyle he’d put you in, and could feel secretions clogging your airway. Gross. Regardless, you pressed on, swallowing him down hungrily, reveling in the obscenity of it all. He wanted this. You wanted this. And he deserved it. God, did he deserve it.

He was getting close now, you could tell. His breathing had become ragged, the groans emerging from him more guttural, and he was meeting your mouth with his own desperate thrusts, his hands tangled tightly in your hair.

“Back up, sweetie,” he said, rising to his feet. “Let me know if it gets too much.”

You did as he said, shuffling your knees back, gripping onto his hips to steady yourself as he began to fuck deeper and deeper into your throat, leaving you a gagging, spluttering mess.

It was testing. Violating, but completely exhilarating.

He was everything.

Deserved everything.

“Shit,” he groaned, sounding slightly off-balance. “I… I’m not gonna last much longer … Can I—fuck … Can I come in your mouth?”

Your head was dizzy, drunk on the taste of him, the experience of him. He was invigorating.

You couldn’t answer—he knew that very well, so he reached for your hand.

“One squeeze for no, two for yes…”

You squeezed. Twice.

“Good girl …”

You choked as he lost his rhythm, his thrusts becoming even more desperate and demanding as he neared his climax.

And with one last thrust, and a series of throaty grunts, he released inside of you, shooting his load into the back of your mouth.

“Fuck …” He slowly pulled out, looking at you like you were salvation incarnate.

Covering your mouth with your hand, you heaved, trying your best to contain his load, along with the last shred of your dignity.

“That’s it baby. Swallow me down. Want my cum in your belly.”

At that, your blood sparked. There was something primal about him claiming you like this—something animalistic that drove you fucking feral. Maybe it was the hormones, the raging cocktail coursing through your blood, but you would've done anything in that moment—anything he’d asked. Anything to make him happy. So you did as he said, sealing your lips, swallowing once, twice, three times, consuming every last drop as his silky seed spilled down your throat and made its home inside you.

When you'd done, you finally opened your mouth and gasped for air, lungs heaving, the taste of him overpowering your senses, making you question your newfound faith. He tasted like sin and redemption combined.

You gazed up at him wide eyed, and with an air of pride, opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue. All gone, Sir …

Sam’s lips twitched in wicked amusement. He humored you for a second, inspecting your mouth, before licking his thumb and reaching down to wipe a stray drop of cum from your chin. “Huh, cute,” he said, mirroring this morning’s gesture in a surprisingly amusing recurrence. You snorted out a laugh. Even in the heat of the moment, he was amusing as hell.

“What a good little cum-slut,” he said, admiring as you sucked the lost droplet from his thumb. “So obedient with my cock in your mouth. Let’s see how you take me in your pretty little cunt now, shall we?”

Your eyes lit up in a smile, the degradation only fueling your insatiable arousal even further.

“But first,” he said, “I have a little debt to collect.” He gave a mischievous grin, eyes alight with intent. “You've been very rude to me, darling. And, I specifically recall not giving you permission to come. And what did you do?”

“I came, Sir.”

“Yes, you did. And what does that make you?”

You grinned. Maniacally. “A bad girl, Sir.”

“Hm, yes. Bad, bad girl. What am I to do with you?” His eyes wandered over your figure, appraising, and then around the room, as if weighing up a million possibilities.

“I suppose you’ll have to punish me, Sir.”

“I suppose so ... Stand up," he demanded. "Turn around.”

You didn’t need to be asked twice.

Bending you at the waist, he pushed you against the bed and laid down the rules as he pressed your chest into the mattress. “Now, you’re going to stay still for me. Any wriggling, and your debt increases.”

Giddy, you nodded into the sheets, excitement singeing your veins as you braced for whatever awaited. “Yes, Sir, I understand.”

“Good. Now, wait there.”

You did as he said and waited as Sam reached for something out of your line of vision. You heard him wrestle with something on the floor, hearing the subtle slick of leather coming free and the shiny clink of metal against metal. Curious, you tried to turn your head, but he was there, pushing you back down against the bed before you could do so much as catch a glance.

“Nosey, aren’t we?” One-by-one, you felt him grasp your hands, pin them behind your back, followed by the tightening pressure of leather swathing your wrists.

His belt.

Oh.

That’s what he was doing…

“Remember what we said?” he asked, performing a testing pull on his belt that was now cuffed snugly around your wrists in a makeshift restraint. “If things get too much?”

“Yes,” you assured him. “I know what to do.”

“Good. Nonetheless, I need you to talk to me. As it’s our first time, I need to know I’m hitting the mark. If you need me to ease up at any point, let me know. Equally, if you can take more …”

“Yes,” you said again. “I’ll tell you.”

That seemed to appease him, as he began to roam his hands over your ass cheeks.

He began softly, tracing gentle patterns with his fingertips, making you hum like a bird. He then used his nails, grazing them over your ass and your thighs in a sharper, yet subtle sensation. That was enough to make you shiver.

It wasn’t just the physical sensations that got to you, but the emotional as well. He was so intentional with his touch. Every action so well-planned and crafted, that it made you feel like gold. Having someone this dedicated to your pleasure, watching you with complete, and utter devotion, was dizzying.

After several minutes, he slowly began to massage your cheeks, gently at first, and then began applying more pressure, squeezing and pinching as he worked you towards the first impact of his hand.

The first came as a quick, sweet, slap, his fingers ringing out against your flesh in a sound that was much louder than the impact felt. There was no pain, just a pleasant tingle, but your breath hitched at the surprise, regardless.

The next came with a bit more force, and the next several even more so, but he was still going easy on you, building up gradually as he took in your reactions, every change in your breathing, the color of your skin.

He continued like that for a while, alternating between cheeks, placements, gradually increasing the force until the first twinges of pain came seeping through, turning your moans into cries. The impact left your skin tingling, a sweet mix of pain and pleasure that heightened your arousal even further.

“How you doing down there?” Sam asked, noticing as you began to brace against him.

“Green,” you said, panting lightly. “I—I can take more …”

“Mm, you sure? You’re trembling a little …” He reached down, admiring the redness he’d imparted with another feather-light trace of his fingertips.

“Yes, I’m sure. Please, Sir. Hit me harder. It—It feels so good …”

“Alright, then. I’m gonna mark you up nice and raw, Princess, that ok?”

You let loose an unrestrained laugh. “Yes, Sir. I wanna feel you on me for days.”

“Well, shit. I better get my act together, then.”

The next blow came, harder and faster, his hand colliding with your ass with a resounding smack, jolting your whole body forward on the bed. It stung—oh god did it sting. Shit. He really had been holding back.

Sucking in a breath, you braced yourself for another blow. You wailed when it came, crying out in pleasure, unable to retain yourself, clutching your restrained hands into fists.

As you braced yourself for the next, Sam lifted you, positioning your knees on the bed. Your face pressed against the mattress, making your blood rush to your head. Your ass was in the air, fully exposed for him. Your pussy wept as his hands drew close to your heat, begging to be filled.

“Mm,” he hummed, “Fucking beautiful.” He admired the color of your cheeks blossom under his control, the rosy-hue warm under his palm, before imparting another blow, harder, this time.

“Oh, fuck.” You wailed. He felt fucking divine.

A lightness spread behind your eyes, transcending from the base of your skull to the tip of your spine, spreading like a drug to the rest of your body until you could feel nothing else but pleasure.

You were trembling, your ass cheeks on fire, every swat hitting crisper than the last. But it wasn’t enough. Would it ever be enough? The man was driving you insane.

“Fuck, darlin,’ you really are a pain slut, aren’t you?” he said, watching you cry out, toes curling beneath you as tears spilled down your cheeks. “This really gets you off.” A statement, not a question. “You like being my little plaything, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the admission both thrilling and humiliating in the best way. “Yes, Sir. I—I’m yours. You—you can do what you want with me.”

A tingling, floating sensation overcame you as he grasped you by the hair, dragging you to your knees, the blood-rush making you see stars. “That’s right,” he growled in your ear. “You are mine.” Slap. “Mine to use as I please.” Slap.

He tugged you back against him now, all rough and handsy, his re-awakened arousal prodding against your back. He was even harder than before, it seemed. How was that even possible?

He likes this, you realized. He really, genuinely likes this shit. Just as much as I do.

He pulled you closer against his chest, cupped one breast and squeezed, as his other hand snaked between your legs in a proudly possessive gesture. You’re mine, it seemed to say. This pussy is mine.

The thought alone had you seeping, hot and liquid onto his palm.

“You like hurting me, Sir?” Your voice was light, airy, and you felt yourself becoming even more detached from reality with every touch of his skin.

“Yes, Princess. I see how much you want this. Feel how much you need this …” He placed a tender kiss to your neck as he ran a finger slowly through your drenched seam. “You’re a champ, you know that? Taking everything I’m throwing at you…” He increased the pressure, drawing a soundless moan from your lips. “It’s like you were made for me.”

At that, you almost keeled. Although you despised the idea of existing purely for a man, a part of you—a very, very small part of you—wondered whether there could be some truth in his words. When you were younger, you had pondered the idea of soulmates—twin flames—the like, eventually concluding it was a load of bullshit. But that was before you knew about ghosts, angels, vampires, and so on. So now… it definitely wasn’t the most absurd thing to believe in. You couldn’t quite let yourself believe it, though. Not yet. It was a fun idea to play with, that’s all.

But there was something about Sam—something uncannily familiar in his mannerisms, his voice, his touch, that you just couldn’t let slide. You’d been ignoring it for some time—writing it off as the rose-colored glasses effect, or purely lust, but… He knew exactly how to press your buttons, and you his. Knew exactly what you needed, when you needed it. It was strange. Is that what its like? you wondered. When you find ‘the one?’ It seemed too good to be true. Suspiciously convenient. No. It couldn’t possibly be true. It was a crazy idea. Wasn’t it?

“So,” he said, his voice bringing you out of your reverie. “Are you done being a little brat? Have you learnt your lesson?”

His voice was firm, authoritative, as if he’d not even broken a sweat defiling your buttocks. It was an act, you could tell. His skin was glistening, a shiny sheen that glowed golden in the lamplight. You could feel it on your back when his abs came to rest against you, and all you could think about was how desperately you wanted to lick it off. You’d never had that desire before. What was this man doing to you?

Your pulse quickened, breathing shallowed. “Yes,” you said. “I … I’m done.”

“Done what?”

“B…being a brat.”

“Hmm.” He swept your hair out of your face, got a good look at your disheveled state. “So…” he said, withdrawing his fingers from between your legs. “What are you gonna be instead?” He brought them to rest, hot and shiny against your mouth, before painting your pleasure in a taunting swipe across your lips. I did this to you, it said. You are mine, and your pleasure is mine to control…

“G…good, Sir…”

He smiled, proudly, as you willingly accepted his wanton fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on him—not for the first time. “Good girl,” he said. “Right choice. You know what good little sluts get, right?”

You shook your head—humming against his fingers pressing heavily against your tongue—partly playing along, partly dumbfounded for whatever he had planned. I wanna be the best, and worst slut you've ever had, you thought. I wanna be your everything.

At that, he lowered you back onto the bed, chest against the mattress, ass to sky, and said, “They get rewarded.”

He positioned himself between your legs and guided his cock against your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine as he rubbed his smooth crown over your slit, coating himself excessively in your slick.

A shuddering whimper escaped your lips as he pressed the tip inside, but quickly withdrew before you could get any purchase.

Again, he pressed in slowly, a bit further this time before fully retracting, drawing out the anticipation longer than fucking necessary.

When he did it a third time, you couldn’t help but push back on him, leaning back on your knees in an attempt to take him deeper.

It was almost reflexive.

You needed this.

“Baby… What did I say about wriggling?” His warning was for naught as he watched your knees buckle beneath you, causing you to slide onto your stomach. You wriggled as you struggled to reposition yourself, but it was hopeless—you just kept sliding.

“I… I just—" Your words were cut from your throat as he scooped his arms under your legs, hitching you back up to your knees before imparting another stinging blow on your backside. 

"—Ow!" You cried out, the heat searing across your cheeks.

He did it again and you wailed, legs trembling around his iron grip holding you up around your thighs.

Your sobs were muffled against the bedsheets as Sam struck you yet again, the vibrations rippling straight through your core, white-hot pain mixed with an intoxicating pleasure.

I’ll be damned if this doesn’t leave bruises …

“Go to town,” you had told him. And he most certainly was. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

Christ, you thought. Who the fuck is this man?

Was this really the same man you met a few weeks ago? The same, well-spoken, overly-polite gentleman that turned up at your office, doe eyed and full of hope? The same man that refused to let you near the ritual site, heaven forbid you got hurt? The same man that lent you his coat, wrapped you up like cotton wool, as if you might break, a gift to be protected?

It was almost hard to believe.

Almost ...

But that was the thing. He’d listened to you. Really listened. And you’d shared things. Things you’d never shared with anyone. Thoughts you’d been afraid to verbalize, make real. You’d let yourself open up, be truly vulnerable for the first time in years. It was disgustingly exposing. 

“You’re looking pretty red now, baby…” Sam said, now stroking you gently. “Don’t give me a reason to do this again, ok? Cause I really wanna fuck you now.”

You nodded into the sheets, words eluding you as your breath caught in your throat and endorphins clouded your sanity.

“Good …” He positioned his cock back at your entrance, and when he finally entered you, it was with a slow, deliberate thrust that made you cry out in pleasure. He stilled for a moment, letting you appreciate the sheer size of him as he bottomed out, your warm, wet pussy clenching around him.

Fuck. He felt ... massive, the head of cock pressing incessantly against your cervix. 

“How’s that feel, Princess?” he asked, stilled inside you, seated to the hilt.

You let out a shaky breath, your voice crackling a little as you said, "S-so good ... So … full.”

“Hm, is that so? You like me filling you up, darlin'?” He squeezed your cheeks as he began to move. Slowly. In. And out. In … and out. The curve of his cock angled perfectly to rub against your g-spot. 

“Mhum.”

“Mm, of course you do. You can’t stop begging for it. Begging to be fucked, begging to be punished ... You really are a depraved little thing. I knew you wanted to fuck me, y’know? The first time I laid eyes on you.”

He couldn’t have possibly known that.

“I won’t lie, I was thinking about it, even then. Bending you over that desk of yours, fucking you til you couldn’t stand. Fuck, you do something to me. The way you were looking at me …” He trailed off, increasing his grip on your hips.

“You may look all innocent, darlin’, but—in reality—”

He stilled.

“You’re a filthy fucking whore.”

“—Oh, fuck!”

A strangled moan tore from your throat as Sam slammed his hips against yours, burying himself inside you with unrestrained ferocity.

“Isn’t that right, darlin’?”

He withdrew slowly before thrusting inside you again—zealous—feverous—jolting the air from your lungs.

“Answer me,” he demanded, followed by a slap to your thigh. “What are you?”

You flinched, letting out a pathetic yelp.

He was merciless. Delightful. If you hadn’t discussed this shit before, you might have actually thought he hated you.

Your voice cracked as you clenched your teeth, your jaw set firm as you bit out your words, each punctuated by an increasingly punishing thrust. “I’m your filthy … fucking … whore.”

A dark chuckled left Sam’s throat as he tugged on his belt, dragging you to your knees, your back arching against him, his cock settling inside you right… there. “Yes you fucking are.” He snaked his hand around your throat, collared you snug. He didn’t squeeze, but it was enough to make you liquify. “My perfect little whore.”

He slammed into you again.

And again.

And again…

Until he was fucking you with a violent hunger, rendering complete control of your body and mind. Until the room was filled with the sound of your hips slapping together, his balls clapping against your clit with every punishing thrust.

As time went on, you could feel him becoming more and more assured, more comfortable in being rough with you, more sure in himself and how far to push you as he learnt your reactions, what made you tick. His grip was firmer, the words coming out of his mouth more and more debauched. His restraint was beginning to fray, and so was your grip on reality.

You found yourself slipping away, further and further away from the constraints of your mind, and into a place where the only thing that mattered was the present, and everything was fine. There was no hurt here, only pleasure. Only you, and Sam, and the heat of your bodies, and it felt so much more than words could describe. It was as if nothing else mattered in the world right now. Nothing except this. The touch of his skin. His body inside yours. It was freeing. Liberating. The realization that, with Sam, you could be anyone you wanted to be, hit you like a blow to the chest. He allowed you that freedom, even in submission. That in itself was a gift. A crushing, insurmountable gift.

Soon, you were crying, trembling with relief, with release, grateful that Sam had given you this escape. "Thank you,” you whispered, your head lolling back against his shoulder as you continued to mutter, “Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou …”

Sam looked to you, noticing the shift in your eyes. They had gone glassy, and there was an absence to them that he understood. You were no longer here, he knew—no longer in this bedroom, no longer in Lawrence, not even on the earth.

He reached for you, tugged your weightless body even closer against him. I’m never letting her go, he thought. There’s no way in hell I’m letting her go.

Time seemed to slow, your pulse thudding in your ears as another burst of pleasure erupted within you causing your knees to buckle and your body to go limp. And the next thing you knew, you were sliding to the bed, Sam whispering soothing words as you made your decent back to earth.

“Baby?” he whispered, rolling you over and stroking your face. “Hey … “You still with me?”

“Yeah,” you managed, blinking open your eyes, completely spaced-out.

“Seems I took fucking you senseless a little too seriously. You got some more in you? Cause I’ve got some more in me,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle.

You nodded, gazing up at him with a dazed smile.

“It’s ok,” he said, unbinding your wrists and kissing them. “We’ll take it slower now. Need to see your face. Need your hands on me when I make love to you.”

A panic rose within you, uncoiling from your stomach like a snake ready to strike, to defend itself. Make love? You didn’t make love—only fucked—a vow you’d made yourself several summers past. It was safer that way, you’d told yourself. Safer than tripping up, tangling in threads that weren’t meant to be there, where feelings get exposed and hearts get bruised. It had never been worth the risk. Never before. But now… with Sam … You were well and truly tangled.

His touch was soft as he scooped you up in his arms, and ever so gently, carried you to the head of the bed where he laid you softly against the pillows.

Oh shit.

It’s not meant to happen like this…

“Sam…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, as he kissed your forehead, positioning himself between your legs.

You had read somewhere before that confessions of love should not be made between the sheets—lust-colored glasses and all. It was said to be bad luck, or something, and you didn’t need any more of that.

But, he did say he was unconventional… and it’s not like you’d done anything by the books so far…

“Samm,” you repeated, straining your voice a little louder.

“Mm,” he hummed, peppering tender kisses to your jawline. “I love how you say my name, humming out the end. Fucking adorable.” Slow and deep, he slid into you, and then his face was right there, his lips closing on yours. There was nowhere to hide now, no protective shield to mask the reality unfolding between you both. You felt vulnerable, completely exposed, more so than anything you’d done earlier. You wondered if at any second, your sheets would catch fire, like in those stories you read when you were alone, your only accompaniment your own hand and vivid imagination.

It felt so unnatural, so against your instincts to charge full throttle into your own inevitable undoing. But still, you couldn’t deny the feelings you were having. Might as well show him with your body what you were too afraid to put into words. You moaned out in pleasure, gravity not touching you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer into a long, sensual kiss.

And it was like a homecoming. Making love to Sam was like coming home after a long trip, welcomed home to your own bed, safety and comfort, yet with all the excitement of a new relationship. It was paradoxical, in a way you had never known.

He began to rock his hips, slowly this time. So slowly you could feel every—fucking—thing. Every texture, every single sensation—every twitch, every throb—and ohmygod you’ve never been fucked like this in your life. Tears began to roll down your cheeks, sizzling against your skin, your whole body ablaze.

Sam pulled away to look at you, but didn’t stop, just kissed the hollow between your eye and your nose, your salty tears lingering on his lips. You could taste them when he kisses you again, and it almost tears you asunder.

“Samm …” You exhaled his name as your lips parted, his nose pressed against yours.

 Your stomach contorted, your butterflies in a frenzy.

“Samm, I…” You squeezed your eyes shut, your unspoken words choking you quiet.

I love you, you wanted to scream. I love you and it fucking hurts.

“I know, baby,” he whispered, followed by a groan as you clenched around him, sucking him deep. “I know. Me too.”

He might as well have stabbed you in the chest, because your heart had never ached so much than it did in this very moment. You felt complete—whole—yet equally heartbroken as you resigned yourself to the fact that this could never last.

Nothing this perfect could ever last. Could it…?

“Ruin me,” you’d asked him last night. And now he had, well and truly. There was no coming back from this now.

He better be sincere, you thought, better mean what he says, cause if he’s not... It may actually destroy me.

Automatically, as if sensing your turmoil, he clutched you tighter—so tight you could feel his heart pounding through his chest. “It’s ok, sweetie,” he cooed.” Let go, I’ve got you.”

This isn’t normal, you thought. No fucking way is this normal…

“Samm,” you cried, your voice bubbling. You shook your head, unable to get a measure on your thoughts before another raging sob tore from your throat.

“Baby?” Sam asked, concerned. “You ok? Do you want me to stop?”

“—No!” You cleared your throat. “No... Please don’t stop...”

“Ok sweetie…” He pressed his lips to your cheek, kissed your tears. Consumed them.

“It’s ok,” he said again. “Let it all out. You’re safe with me.”

You did as he said, and began to sob uncontrollably, unleashing a torrent of emotions, memories, and pent-up desire.

“That’s it, baby. Cry those beautiful tears, you’ll feel much better …”

He cradled your face in his hands, swept your hair from your face, then proceeded to watch as you bawled your eyes out.

To say it was exposing would be an understatement. Having Sam look down at you, whilst being inside you… begging you to cry for him, was possibly the strangest experience you’d ever had. It felt like being held down and torn open, your insides on display for all to see.

For years, you’d tried to contain these feelings, so damn hard that sometimes you’d almost forget that they even existed, burying them deep within you, allowing them to alter you on a subconscious level. It wasn’t until now, until his arms tightened around you, until his words of confirmation, and permission, that you felt safe enough to revisit them. It was enough to have the feminist inside of you raging. No way could a man know this much about you, demand this much vulnerability from you, and be so fucking right about it all. The sex was one thing, but this… This was fucking uncalled for.

How dare he?

How dare he make me confront reality?

As your thoughts spiraled, something inside of you shifted, and your sobs suddenly turned into laughter—small, clandestine sobs of laughter that made no fucking sense to be happening right now.

The weight of the world lightened, the bolts of all the doors you’d locked inside of you opened up, letting free the ghosts of the past that had haunted you for so long.

Sam held you through it all, fucked you through it all, and never once appeared phased. You didn’t know whether to feel overjoyed, or fucking terrified, to have finally found someone just as messed up as you.

He didn’t give you the luxury of dwelling on that rumination, though, as he pulled away, searching your eyes.

“Better?” he asked, his voice gentle, face sincere.

You nodded, taking a deep breath and a much-needed sniffle. You felt… calm. Serene. It was fucking strange. God, I really am unhinged…

“Good,” he said, and before you could dwell any further, his arms were around your back, and you were rolled, settled high and proud atop his hips.

Naturally, you sunk deeper, the pressure just right to hit all the best spots. It felt exquisite.

You rolled your hips and let out a sweet, breathy moan, the physicality of the moment grounding you in the present again.

Sam liked that.

Really liked that.

You did it again and he reacted, the twitch of his cock nestled deep within you accompanied by his hands brushing up the tops of your thighs, and his thumb, angled perfectly against your clit.

That’s it, Sam thought. Take the reins, baby…

And you did just that.

You persisted, undulating your hips repeatedly, getting lost in the moment, in him.

And suddenly, you were glowing, moaning, riding high and proud—Aphrodite on the throne.

Eyes transfixed, Sam observed your movements intently as he watched you come undone, using his body to pleasure yourself, pleasure him.

You let your mind wander as you reached for his face, grazing your fingertips over his spiky stubble. You traced his features, the contours of his jawline and chin, before the sensation turned softer at the boundary of his lips.

He really is something, you thought. Fucking beautiful man…

Sam flashed you his smile, kissing your fingers in their wake.

My beautiful man…

Lingering for a moment, lines began to blur as your fingers somehow found their way past his lips and into his mouth.

My man?

Sam welcomed you in, drawing your fingers deeper, committing his action with a seal of his lips.

Yes. My man …

He sucked on you gently, warmly, devoutly, swirling his tongue, gazing up at you from beneath his lashes. In this light, the soft lowlight of your bedroom, the brown in his eyes almost looked golden, and the green a dreamy seaweed.

Outside, the daylight had long faded, and the moon risen. The soft twinkle of your bedside lights lulled your vision into lazy circles. Or was it Sam’s thumb on your clit? Your fingers in his mouth? The crazed look in his eye? Either way, you were spiraling, further and further, until the whole room was spinning, the heat between your legs transcending, and it was almost unbearable.

You were so close.

Sam’s grip on your thighs tightened, anchoring you in place as he tried desperately to contain his own release. He was waiting for you. But you were almost there.

Almost …

So close to the edge.

You just needed—

“Samm,” you whispered, pulling your fingers from his mouth. “Come for me, baby.”

And that’s all it took.

And so the servant becomes queen …

Deep pulsations awoke within you, rupturing inside you, and quickly, he grabbed hold of your hips and began thrusting up to meet you in an urgent, desperate rhythm.

Warmth flooded your core, spreading through your body like ecstasy. And in less than a second, your tides crashed, and you were riding out the wave together. Your bodies moved in sync, gasping and crying your lungs flush of air, until your names were imprinted in breath on your ceiling, and your bodies strewn; soaring high and light amongst the stars.

***

I’ve met my fucking match. Sam let his mind wander as he lay amongst crumpled bedsheets, you tucked snugly under his arm. You hadn’t moved much in about twenty minutes, only exchanging a few murmured words and lazy kisses as you both came down from the clouds.

You’d fallen into each other, a tangle of limbs, skin and sweat. The air smelled of sex, and you felt alive. Truly alive. Your cathartic outburst had somehow spared you from any immediate drop. You didn’t even care you were lying in a mess; cum streaked down your legs, questionable patches on your bed, your hair a knotted nest. Sam, on the other hand, looked beautiful, as always.

He shuffled a bit to get you to stir, wrinkling the sheets even more in his wake. He didn’t want to disturb you, but was equally aware that the longer you just stayed here, the more likely it was that you’d welcome the morning without any dinner in your belly. He wasn’t having that. Plus, you both needed a wash. Like, really.

“So," he said, rolling to his side, looking at you with those big, hope-fueled puppy dog eyes that you could so easily drown in. “How’d I do?”

“You serious?” You stretched out your limbs, blinking sleepily. “Got a feedback form, or something?”

Sam rolled his eyes, playfully shaking his head, and you couldn’t help but grin.

“Fucking perfect,” you said finally, flashing him a teasing smile. “How about me? How did I do? Out of ten.”

“Out of ten? You’re off the fucking scale.”

A laugh simmered between you, punctuating the quiet before a peaceful silence settled in the cracks, and you found yourself, yet again, cradled in his arms.

“You know,” Sam said, his voice turning low and thoughtful. “We should talk about what happened back there.”

“Which part?” you asked, your face pressed against his bicep.

“Exactly. Quite a lot happened, didn’t it?”

“Yeah. I suppose it did.”

After another moment of silence, you reached out, entwining his fingers with yours. “Thank you. For what you did. For not freaking out, when I . . .”

“Course.” Sam nodded, kissing your twined fingers. “That was right, then? How I responded? You wouldn’t have me do anything different?”

“Nothing at all,” you reassured him. “You were … Everything was …” You mimed a chef’s kiss, making him chuckle. “Plus,” you added, a smile creeping up on your lips, “you weren’t kidding when you said you liked it rough.”

“Hm, funny that. I tend to speak the truth.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So… Those things you said back there ... You’re telling me you meant them? All of them?”

He gave you a pointed look. “Not all of them, as you very well know. But I may have exaggerated a few truths.” His lips tugged into a sly smile. “Domspace gives me some liberties.”

“Yeah?” you said, prodding him with your elbow. “Well…? You gonna make me guess which ones?”

“We’ll get there …” He sat up, and you watched as he clambered from the bed. It was quite a sight. The man really was all limb. And muscle. And cock . . .

“Where you going?”

“Be back, one minute.” He kissed your head, then headed for the door.

Exactly a minute later (you’d timed him), he returned, carrying two glasses of water and a protein bar you’d bought at the store earlier.

“Eat,” he said, chucking the bar on the bed. “And drink.” He passed you one glass, then gulped down the other in an impressive feat.

“Yes, sir,” you said with a smirk, propping yourself on your elbows, before also downing your water.

Sam watched you silently wince as you sat yourself up. “You ok?”

“Yeah … Just a little—ah … sore …”

“Hm, yeah, I’m not surprised ...” Sam slipped the now empty glass from your fingers and clambered back onto the bed. 

“I’m fine, honestly,” you said, dismissing his concerns with a wave of your hand. But you knew him well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t let it go so easily.

“Okay, well, let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll start the shower, change the sheets. Got any Advil?”

“Yeah, bathroom cabinet. Hold up, I’ll—”

“You,” Sam said, catching your arm, “aren’t going anywhere until you finished your snack.”

Smiling defiantly, you paused, but then tore open the packet anyway. “Alright, bossy.” You bit off a chunk of blueberry bliss, chewed, and swallowed it down. It wasn’t until then that you noticed how sore your throat was. “Sam …”

“Yes, beautiful?”

“Definitely gonna need that Advil.”

 . . .

Half and hour later, freshly washed and doped up with painkillers, you emerged from the shower and straight into Sam’s waiting arms.

As he wrapped you in your bathrobe, he looked at you and said, “I meant it, you know. When I said I’m never letting you go.”

And as his arms enveloped you in safety and comfort, and tears welled in your eyes, you let yourself believe it, if only for a while.

The next morning came like a declaration. The sun was out, reigning high and bright in the crisp winter sky, and for the first time in years, you felt at peace; awoke without a deep, profound longing gnawing at your bones. The absence was noticeable. So noticeable in fact, that at first, it was almost unsettling. As if a piece of yourself had gotten lost in the night, only to be replaced by a feeling so foreign it felt out of place in your body. Where once stood a well, waters dark and stagnant, now existed an ocean—vast, moving, and alive. So instead of reaching for your phone, squeezing your knees to your chest, or holding your breath to fill the void, you rolled to the side, opened your eyes, and welcomed the day with the deepest sigh of relief you could muster.

Beside you, Sam splayed. His rich brown hair fanned like shards of chocolate over your faded floral pillowcase; his lips parted softly in sleep. His body took up most of the bed, and—as you had realized in the night—had a habit of eating the sheets. You now noticed that was probably because he clenched the edges in his fists, so whenever he rolled, they rolled with him. You smiled at that—little quirks only ever revealed in the midst of intimacy. After-hour truths and early-morning peculiarities. You wondered how many more he had; whether he knew them himself; whether you would be lucky enough to discover them all, one day. It was a wistful thought. A dangerous thought. Yet today, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to deny them.

Sweeping your eyes over his features, you admired the mix of sharp masculine strength, and soft delicate beauty. You observed the rise and fall of his chest in time with his peaceful breathing, the subtle flutter of his eyes beneath his lids, and his jaw; strong, but relaxed, framed by stubble that was getting even longer by the day. You knew that Dean would probably tease him for it, but you didn’t mind. In fact, it rather suited him. And the way it felt roughing up your thighs ...

You shuffled up the bed, wincing softly as you drew your eyes from the scene. It took every fiber of your strength, but you managed. It was too early for those kinds of thoughts, wasn’t it? Plus, you were sore, the ache in your glutes and hips reminiscent of a tough session at the gym.

Next to you, on your bedside table, stood a bottle of lotion, a half-sipped glass of water, and an open packet of Advil; the only evidence of last night’s promiscuities in sight.

After your shower, Sam had diligently stripped the bed, chucking the dirty sheets in the wash along with his soiled jeans.

Your face reddened at the thought, memories of the evening before resurfacing. You hadn’t had sex like that in… well … never.

Your eyes drifted back to Sam’s sleeping form. Your body heated. A selfish thought crossed your mind.

How easy it would be, you thought. To roll on top of him and take what I want. He wouldn’t say no. You were sure of it. Hell, he’d practically sworn an oath of servitude. But no. I can’t. I shouldn’t … Poor man needs his rest.

Sam must have felt your shifting as he groaned softly, then rolled away, towards the window where the morning light was waiting behind the backdrop of the curtain. You lingered for a moment, on the brink of hesitation before delicately slipping your legs out of the sheets, careful not to make too much of an impression in the mattress.

After quickly popping your pill, you padded barefoot towards the door. You floated down the stairs and into your kitchen where you went through the motions, swallowing your vitamins before pressing some fresh coffee for the both of you. Sam liked his black—because of course he did—health nut that he is. But your preferred brew was with oat milk, and a generous helping of caramel.

Balancing the two steaming mugs, you ascended the stairs and nudged open the bedroom door. The room was still bathed in the soft light of morning, the hazy transition between sleep and waking making it feel like you were in a dream. But you were not dreaming. This was real. And way more colorful.

Sam’s back was still turned to you, but he stirred as you set the mugs down on your nightstand. He rolled onto his back, blinking his eyes open. When he saw you, a sleepy smile spread across his lips.

“Morning," you said, your voice still hushed as you slipped back under the sheets.

“Morning,” he replied, his voice deep and rough with sleep. “You’re up early.”

“Made you coffee." You nodded towards the mug. “Figured you might need it after last night.”

A low, rumbling chuckle sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “You spoil me.” He kissed your forehead as he reached over to grab the mug from your nightstand. “Mm, perfect,” he said, eyes fluttering shut as he took a sip, savoring the warmth on his tongue. “Just what I needed.”

You smiled, took a sip from your own mug before setting it down and snuggling into his side. Into safety. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you close, and you couldn’t help but sigh in contentment as you laid your head on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

After a moment, Sam asked, “How’re you feeling?” as his hand gently traced circles on your lower back. “Any more aches or pains?”

You chuckled softly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. Last night, before bed—but not before a thorough debrief and a comforting dinner—Sam had insisted on inspecting the damage, checking your body for any signs of injury or abrasion, making you lie still as he massaged lotion onto your ass, wrists and knees.

“How bad?” you’d asked, looking over your shoulder as you laid flat on your belly, feeling particularly silly as he slathered another cold dollop on your ass cheeks.

The redness was fading, but the most abused patches had already begun to mottle. “You’re bruised.” He’d said it like an accomplishment. Even so, you could tell he felt a little guilty. Dude seemed to find a reason for self-blame in everything, you’d noticed.

Bruises were acceptable, you’d agreed. Favorable, even. As long as they could stay hidden. A secret for you to enjoy. You weren’t a fan of parading your winnings.

“Jeez, baby," he'd said, "you didn’t even stop me once.”

“Didn’t need to. I’m a tough cookie.”

“You most certainly are.”

Sam had continued his inspection of your butt a bit longer than necessary, watching the emerging patterns bloom before him. And you’d let him. It felt nice to be wanted; to be admired.

Now you felt the residual ache of the night before as you stretched out your limbs. A reminder of how he’d marked you. Claimed you. A brand you were proud to bear. The hickey on his hip paled in comparison.

“A few,” you admitted, casting a shy, sideways smile. “But nothing too bad. Just … you know, the good kind of sore.”

Sam’s eyes darkened as he met your gaze, remembering the intensity of your session; how rough he’d been and how you’d embraced it all. Embraced him. He’d get a proper look at you later; get a better idea of your tolerance. But for now, his hand continued its soothing movements on your back, dipping lower to massage the ache in your hips. “Let me know if you need anything. I might’ve been a little too enthusiastic.”

“I think I can manage … Besides,” you added, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw, feeling the graze of his stubble against your lips. “You more than made up for it.”

His hand moved to your thigh, fingers kneading gently into the tender muscles there, his touch both comforting, and suggestive. “Maybe I should make it up to you again.” His voice dropped lower as his other hand cupped the back of your neck, guiding your lips to his.

The kiss was slow and deep; a languid exploration that sent a wave of heat through your body. You felt yourself melting into him, the soft sheets tangling around your legs as you pressed closer, craving the feel of his skin against yours. Suddenly, the ache in your muscles seemed to subside, replaced by a burning want. It had only been a few hours, book-ended by sleep, but still, you felt the pull, the desire to dive straight back in. When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing a little heavier, the air between you sparkling with a familiar electricity.

“Careful,” you whispered, lips brushing against his as you spoke. “We might not make it out of bed if you keep that up.”

“Maybe that’s the point.” He slid his hand back under the sheets. Skimmed his fingers across your skin. “I’ll be gentle ...”

You swallowed, moistening a suddenly dry mouth. “You’re not ... tired?”

“Are you?”

“Wide awake.”

“Well, then . . .”

You let him guide you to your back, moaning softly as your head hit the pillow, followed by his mouth at the base of your throat. His kisses cascaded down your chest, between your breasts, down your stomach, tumbling over your hips like waves over rocks until they finally crashed in the hollow between your legs. The place that had become their home.

“I’ll never get sick of this…” A smile lit up his eyes, your sheen glistening like gloss on his lips. “You’re delightful ... Delicious.”

“You’re unreal.”

“No, princess…” A slip of a finger. In and up towards your navel. “I’m very … Real.”

 . . .

The rest of the day passed in a haze—Sam burying himself inside you, one way or another—whilst you, unknowingly, altered the course of your fate.

Chapter Text

YOU

Lawrence, Kansas

It wasn’t easy letting Sam leave. ‘One last kiss’ turned into several, and by the time he reached the car come Monday morning, his lips were flushed, his hair a finger-strewn mess.

He was supposed to leave for the Bunker last night, but as the hour drew late and he made no pace to leave, you’d both agreed the minutes too precious to waste.

“Stay,” you’d almost pleaded, clinging onto the loose-fitted flannel at his collar. And Sam didn’t need asking twice. There was a desperation in his eyes that you were sure you weren’t imagining. A longing so visceral it twisted your gut.

So he’d stayed the extra hours, the early morning rise an easy debt to pay for the price of another night in his arms.

Now, as he slid into the driver’s seat, head still muzzy from too little sleep, you had half a mind to sink to your knees and plead again, but thankfully thought better of it before scuffing your best pajamas on the sidewalk.

“Friday,” he rasped, breaking yet another hasty kiss from the open car door.

The promise hung in the air, and your heart pumped with the assurance of a pulsing river. This was real. Whatever had transpired between you was real. You could feel it burning bright and true. The unspoken words of the previous few nights bound you like a silent tether; there in sentiment, however unuttered.

Morning had come too quickly, and as you stood on the street in the pale, pre-dawn light, a sharp pang of longing tugged at your chest. You knew then, that no matter how foolish, you would spend the rest of the week wishing time away.

It’s literally only five days, you reassured yourself. And he’s only a man. A man … My man … Oh for fucks’ sake, Y/N, pull yourself together.

If the past several years had taught you anything, it was that you could survive a little loneliness.

The sharp winter air prickled your skin and flushed your cheeks as you watched Sam’s car rumble down the street, vanishing into the distance. Off to save the world, one case at a time. Although the thought made you inherently anxious, you refused to be the type of person that demanded he change.

Sam already had a life—albeit a scary, dangerous life—but you knew from the way he spoke about it how important that life was for him. Dean was his world, and his work a lifeline for so many. You wouldn’t dream of interfering with that. And Sam appeared equally adamant he wouldn’t stand in the way of you and your work.

“Look at all you’ve achieved,” he’d said, gesturing to your bookshelf, to the stack of publications to your name.

Over the weekend, to your horror and dismay, he’d insisted on reading your dissertation thesis from cover to cover, and actually came away with questions. People usually fell asleep within the first page. Part of you wondered whether his admiration of your academic career stemmed from his own past aspirations, now so far out of reach. He had regrets—he’d told you so—though he’d long conceded to the hunters life, his dreams of becoming a lawyer scattered when family duty took over. You could tell he harbored some resentment, and could hardly blame him, though were secretly pleased those dreams never came to life; you might have never met him otherwise. It was selfish, yes, but when it came down to it, you hoped he’d say the same.

“You’ve found your calling,” he’d said, “You clearly belong here.”

Do I? you’d thought. You’d never felt you belonged anywhere particularly. 

And then a smirk lit up his face when he wrapped his arms around you, pulled you close, and whispered in your ear, “And with me, Dr.”

Naïve as it may be, Sam promised you’d make this work.

“I’ll do my best to keep the weekends free,” he’d said over dinner yesterday, a determined edge lacing his voice. “And I’ll drop in whenever we’re passing. And when we’re not. It’s not all that far, really.”

Drop in. You’d laughed. It was a fine enough compromise for now, you supposed. Wasn’t that what normal couples did when they dated? Is that what you were doing? Dating? The word didn’t seem heavy enough to carry the weight of your feelings, yet in truth, nothing ever did.

“Okay,” you’d conceded, “but I’m coming to the bunker next. I can drive too, you know. Can’t have you running around after me all the time.”

And so it was settled; the architecture of your life scaffolded by fleeting encounters. For now.

Clicking the front door shut behind you, you stepped inside on a sigh. As you entered the kitchen, your eyes settled on Sam’s grey sweater draped over the back of a wooden chair. Automatically, you picked it up, cradled it to your face, and breathed in his musky scent before wiggling it over your head, letting the soft fabric caress your goose-pimpled skin. 

It drowned you—more of a dress than a sweater—and it was the coziest thing ever. How cliché, you thought, and then smiled as the realization hit you. Such simple pleasures had once alluded you, or rather, you’d refused to let them affect you. 

Danger, your mind would scream whenever joy was sparked at such little expense. It was reckless to let happiness come that easily. The easier happiness came, the easier it was to lose. You’d learned that the hard way. Safer never to feel it in the first place.

But now, that outlook suddenly seemed unreasonably pessimistic. Romance may never have been destined for you, but somehow, you might have just managed to hack the system. If this was what it felt like—to be happy, content—then rain cliché galore.

SAM

The Bunker, Lebanon, Kansas

By the time Sam arrived back at the Bunker, Dean was already up and dressed, devouring what looked like the remains of an insanely greasy bacon sandwich. The smell of fried oil lingered in the air, overpowering the Bunker’s usual musky, metallic scent. Cas was nowhere to be seen, which Sam never knew whether to take as a good or bad sign.

“Hey,” Dean exclaimed around a particularly large mouthful when Sam entered the kitchen. “He returns! Thought you were due back last night?”

“Yeah, well…” Sam cleared his throat, pouring himself a coffee and grabbing a bowl of cereal. “Time kinda ran away.”

As he slid into the chair opposite Dean, he pulled out his phone, feeling a familiar, almost ridiculous flutter in his stomach. His fingers hovered over your name for just a second before shooting you a series of quick messages:

"Hey, I’m back xx."

" Miss you already xx."

"And those little sleep shorts that cover absolutely nothing. I don’t know why you even bother to wear them xx."

A small smile tugged at his mouth at the memory.

“That good, huh?” Dean graced Sam with a half-smirk, pulling him out of his daydream. 

 Sam only smiled in response, ducking his head and tucking his phone away before pretending to focus on his breakfast.

“Never one to kiss and tell, are you Sammy? I’m assuming there was kissing? Lots of kissing, from the color of your face. Is she a freak in the sheets? ‘Cause I never quite know with the nerdy types—”

“Alright, that’s enough already.” Sam shook his head, though his tone was playful rather than scolding. Dean better get this teasing out of his system by Friday, or else Sam would have to prepare a whole speech for you about why his older brother was such a massive child.

Dean smirked, unfazed. “What? Just curious! Come on, give me something.”

Sam sighed, rolling his eyes. He knew better than to think Dean would ever just let it go. Besides, he’d find out well enough sooner or later—it was nearly impossible to keep secrets in the Bunker.

“Fine,” he said, finally giving in. “There was… kissing,” Sam admitted with a shrug. “And… y’know… But I’m not saying anything else. Just… please don’t be embarrassing. She’s coming over on Friday, and I’d really like this to go well.”

As the words left his mouth, Sam felt the weight of them sink in. He never brought girls back to the Bunker. Like… ever. His infrequent hookups over the years had mostly taken place in run-down motel rooms or, on occasions, the other person’s place. It made him feel a little shady, but he’d never felt he had a choice. If he was honest, he’d never even thought about bringing anyone home before now. But this was different—he wanted you here, in his world, with Dean and the life he couldn’t detangle himself from.

“She’s coming over? Here?” Dean raised his eyebrows, the teasing replaced by something more thoughtful. “Damn. You must be serious about her.” A statement, not a question. “I hope you’ve thought this through, Sammy.”

I’ve done nothing but think about it, Sam thought but didn’t say. Every waking hour since I knew this could be a possibility. Sam knew what Dean was thinking: that this was a terrible idea; that relationships didn’t mix with their lifestyle and that he should give up the gun before things went rotten. Dean had learned that the hard way with Lisa, and had lived with the consequences ever since.

He’s only being protective, Sam thought. And logical. Usually, Sam would have come to the same conclusion, but no matter how scary, and new, and uncertain this all was for him, he couldn’t deny that it also felt right. He hoped Dean would trust his judgement on that.

“Yeah. She is,” Sam admitted, rolling back his shoulders and sitting up a little straighter. “And I have. Thoroughly.” He tried his best to sound confident, determined, but there was no hiding his fears from Dean; his brother could read him like an open book.

Dean looked at him for a long moment, no doubt contemplating all that was left unsaid.

“Have you really thought about this, Sammy? Truly? Even if this does work out, have you thought about years down the line? Decades? What happens when she decides she wants to start a family? This is no life for a child. You know that.”

“Jeez, Dean,” Sam said, scrubbing his hand over his stubble, “we’ve only just started seeing each other.”

“I know, that, Sammy. But it’s not as simple for people like us. These are the cold, hard truths you need to consider. Does she fully understand what she’s getting into here?”

Sam fell silent, mulling over his thoughts. Of course he’d considered this possibility—he’d weighed the risks against a thousand different fears, had imagined every possible outcome—including the painful ones, though somehow hearing it spoken out loud still gave him an unwelcome reality check. But Sam wasn’t his father, and he refused to make the same mistakes he’d watched him make time and time again. He could make this work. Would make this work. Whatever the future held, he wanted you in it, by his side, and whatever challenges you may face, you’d face them together. There was no denying the way he felt. The way he needed this. 

He turned to Dean pleadingly. “Please, Dean. I’ll… I’ll talk to her. I promise. Just… Please… Give us a chance.”

There must have been something in Sam’s face or voice that resonated with Dean, because when he met Sam’s eyes, his outer shell appeared to crumble, his rough exterior replaced by something softer, almost forgiving. 

After what felt like an eternity, Dean released a breath. “Alright,” he said, his voice warm with something close to approval. “If you’re sure about this, Sammy, then so am I.” He squeezed Sam on the shoulder, that half-smile returning. “She’s a good chick. Hell, must be some sort of saint to put up with you. Count yourself lucky.”

In other words, don’t fuck this up.

As if Sam needed Dean to tell him that—he’d been counting his stars since he met you. 

“Thanks.” Sam managed a tight-lipped smile, though relief was flooding him. He felt he could finally breathe again. “That means a lot.”

“Course.” Dean rose from his chair, scraping the legs back across the floor and tossing his greasy plate in the sink. “Back to reality now though, Sammy, I’m afraid. Got another vamp nest out East. The weird kind. Got a tip from a contact working out of New Orleans while you were gone—apparently it’s crazy down there. Anyway, they’ve found a new weapon... some kind of drug that works against them. Vervain, I think it’s called. You heard of it?”

Sam shook his head. “No, but that sounds promising?” 

“Yup. Apparently it prevents that mind-control shit they love to do.”

 “Really?” Sam asked, excitement creeping back into his voice. If that was true, it would be groundbreaking. “We better stock up, then.”

“Be ready in ten,” Dean called, already heading out the door. “Baby’s out front.”

YOU

Lawrence, Kansas

“So… we’re like… exclusive, I guess.”

“Exclusive!?” You watched Caroline’s eyes widen in horror, practically popping from their sockets. She was sitting in one of the Mystic Grill’s leather-lined booths, charm bracelet clinking the glass in her hand. Although it was a Monday evening, that wasn’t stopping her from having a good drink.

“Boy trouble,” Bonnie had text you earlier, “be warned xx.”

“Thanks Bons. Tonight’s conversation may be a bit difficult for her then. I have some news xx.”

Care had been down on her luck for a long time, but if it was bad enough for Bonnie to warn you, you knew it must mean Tyler was involved.

“Don’t sweat it, Y/N,” Bonnie reassured. “She’ll be happy for you. Deep, deep down.”

Now, as you tried to navigate the precarious waters of telling your friends your exciting news without bringing Caroline to the depths, you found yourself skirting around your words.

But it was useless. Caroline could never be fooled that easily.

“So, he’s your boyfriend?” she asked plainly, “Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” Her voice came through clear as day through your phone. The Wi-Fi in the Grill was terrible, so no doubt they were hotspotting to be able to get a reliable connection.

You watched Elena’s ears prick up as she shuffled closer to Caroline, tilting her head to get a better eye on the screen. You hadn’t had a boyfriend since Ric, so no doubt Elena was curious. She’d known about Charlotte—she’s the only person that knew—aside from Ric, but even she did not know the whole story. You never told the whole story. If you were telling the girls, Elena would know this was serious.

“Umm… I guess so.” Although the word boyfriend didn’t exactly feel right to explain what Sam was to you, you didn’t know what else to say. Labels hadn’t come up in your conversations. It hadn’t felt necessary. You were his and he was yours. Simple as.

“What happened?” Caroline demanded. “Did he ask you? Did YOU ask HIM?!”

Bonnie rolled her eyes at Caroline’s extravagance, taking another sip of her soda. She didn’t think the Grill was the best place to be having this conversation, but Caroline was adamant that she needed a drink.

“Umm…” You chuckled, wracking your brains for the most appropriate story to tell. “I guess we asked each other.” That was the truth, at least.

“Awh, how romantic!” Caroline cooed, her voice coming through a bit too sarcastic and audibly intoxicated for Bonnie’s liking, judging by the look on her face. Caroline’s words were syrupy, but the tightness in her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Bonnie shot her a look, but Caroline only shrugged.

“You know, I’m gonna need all the deets… As you’re the only one getting any action right now, if I have to live vicariously through you, I will.”

“Hey,” Bonnie snapped, “lower your voice, why don’t you?” She nodded to her left, highlighting something to Caroline that was out of view for you.

“Urgh,” Caroline remarked, slurring her words slightly as she cast her eyes over whatever was unfolding at the bar. “That’s kinda gross, isn’t it? Sleeping with your best friend’s sister? That’s a bit incestuous, if you ask me.”

“What?” you asked, chuckling and confused. Who the hell could they be talking about?

“God!” Caroline continued to huff. “Why is everyone having scandalous sex except me?!”

“Um, hello?” Bonnie said. “Still here.”

“It’s totally unfair!” Caroline rattled on. “And Y/N wasn’t even trying!”

Elena sighed, slipping the phone from Caroline’s grip, bringing it to her ear and switching to audio. “Hey. Sorry about that, Y/N… Care’s a bit tipsy right now, if you couldn’t tell. Sounds like you’ve had quite the weekend.”

“You could say that,” you admitted, cheeks flushing slightly. “What’s going on over there?”

“Oh, nothing ... Just… guys being guys.”

“Right,” you said. Then why did Elena sound nervous? “Anyway,” you digressed, “how are you holding up?”

“I’m doing ok,” she admitted. “Still going to my grief group. It’s a bit of a drag, but there’s this new guy, and we’ve kinda hit it off. I’m seeing him on Friday.”

“You’ve got a date through a grief group? Are you kidding me?” You chuckled, then suddenly remembered about Matt. You felt bad. Everyone always forgets about Matt.

“Matt and I aren’t really talking at the moment,” Elena said, as if she could read your thoughts. She was too good at that. She’d developed that ability during your childhood when you would go quiet for days, sinking into yourself whilst the outer world seemingly passed you by.

“It’s been a transition, you know… losing mom, dad… I feel a part of me died with them that day, and the Elena that’s here now is not the same person.”

“Shit, Elena. That’s… deep stuff.”

“Yeah. I’m working on it... Anyway, Matt and I… together… we just, I don’t know… it wasn’t, um...it wasn’t…”

“Passionate?” you offered, not completely sure where the words came from.

“No,” she agreed. “No... it wasn’t passionate. Is that what it’s like with Sam?”

“Yeah,” you said without hesitation, “Yeah. It is.”

“That’s nice,” Elena remarked, her tone genuine, “We’re so happy for you, honestly. I’m sorry Care’s been a bit bitter tonight. Jealousy’s a bitch.”

“Thanks Elena.” You paused for a second before asking, “How is she, really? I haven’t seen her like that in a while.”

“She’s pissed,” Elena explained. “Tyler.” It was all she needed to say.

Caroline and Tyler had had a ‘thing’ for a while, though never quite enough of a ‘thing’ for the thing to become truly thingworthy. It was all very confusing.

“Oh. Again?”

“Yep. I do love her, but I can’t help but wonder if maybe, you know… she’s the problem.”

You paused, letting out a sigh. You could hear the truth in Elena’s words, but it kind of pained you too. You saw parts of yourself in Caroline—you couldn’t help it. Caroline’s childhood hadn’t been easy—losing her dad to another man when she was still a teenager, and her mom so wrapped up in her work that she never really had a solid foundation to rely on. You shared that feeling of instability, though for very different reasons. But Elena… her childhood was the kind of “normal” that everyone envied—a steady family, a loving home. It was hard to explain to her that for you and Caroline, normal had always felt like something to strive for, not something you’d ever really known. For all her good intentions, Elena didn’t really get it, and it pained you to admit that.

“Anyway,” Elena started, a teasing edge to her voice. “When do we get to meet him? Sam?”

You thought for a moment, choosing your words carefully. “Well, he travels a lot. For work. I haven’t asked him yet, but I hoped I could persuade him to come to the Lockwoods for New Years. I figured Christmas with the fam might be a bit too soon.”

The Lockwood New Year’s Eve party was a local tradition in Mystic Falls; you’d been going since you were deemed old enough to stay up that late. Hopefully, Care and Tyler would have worked through whatever they were going through by then. It would be a shame for her to miss it after all these years. Everyone would be there—Elena, Bonnie, Matt, Tyler, of course, and even Ric, no doubt showing off whatever poor soul he’d convinced he had a single decent bone in his body as his date, but you were over him thinking he still had any hold on you. If he tried anything, you’d have words to say. You were done hiding. Your newfound confidence obviously had nothing to do with having a six-foot-four hunter by your side…

“What do you think?”

“Sounds perfect,” Elena said, the smile shining in her voice. “Can’t wait.”

“Great. What about your guy? You haven’t even told me his name!”

Elena chuckled softly, the kind of laugh that lit up a room. “His name’s Stefan.”

“Stefan?” You turned the name over on your tongue. “Sounds German.”

“Maybe,” Elena admitted. “I’ll ask him on Friday.”

“Seems like Friday will be a big day for us both. Keep in touch.”

“Will do. Miss you.”

“Miss you too.”

***

It was another few hours before the inevitable texts from Caroline came pinging through.

“I’m sorry,” the first one read. “I’m such a dick.”

You smirked, tapping back a response. “A lovable dick. But a dick, yeah.”

“I know. Ughhh,” came her reply almost instantly. “I’m just… frustrated. It’s like, why can’t I just meet a guy who’s decent? Or who calls back? Or who means what they say?? It’s like I have this radar for emotionally unavailable men 🙄😭😭😭”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Care. It’s his loss… You deserve the world. The right one will come along, I’m sure ❤”

“I really hope so,” she replied. You could almost hear her sighing through the ether. “Forgive me??”

“Always.”

“You’re the bestest ❤❤❤ Congrats btw, it’s what I should have said earlier.”

“Don’t sweat it.”

She was silent for a moment, then another message came through:

“So… does Sam have a last name? For research purposes…”

“Subtle, Care,” you replied, knowing full well she intended to facebook stalk him. “He’s quite private. Stays off the socials.” That wasn’t a lie, at least. Though you wouldn’t go handing out his last name so easily anyway; you’d never want to compromise him, no matter how innocent the intentions may seem. 

“Ooo, mysterious!” 

You chuckled. “You ARE a dick.” 

“Can we stop talking about dicks? I fear it might be a while until I see a real one again…”

“I am SO sorry for your loss.”

“No. You’re not. Bitch.”

“You’re right, I’m not. Maybe it’ll be good for you…”

“Liar.”

“😇”

“Well, do you have a picture at least?! I’m dying here.” 

Smiling, you scrolled through your camera roll and shared a selfie you’d convinced Sam to take of you both at the Lawrence Christmas lights. It wasn’t the best photo of you, but Sam looked breathtaking. 

“STOP,” came Caroline’s response. “I actually feel sick. That’s the cutest thing ever!! Trust you to bag such a hottie…”

A warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed in your chest at the memory: Sam kissing you on the street, unabashed and unrestrained; his hand in yours, warming your soul. It had felt right then, and it felt right now; the outpourings of support from your friends were just a bonus. 

For once in your life, you felt things were finally clicking into place.

Chapter Text

YOU

Seven years ago, Duke University, Durham, North Carolina

You knew the moment you stepped through the door that something was off. The air was sour, the familiar walls of Ric’s dorm closing in on you with every step, though Ric was too busy attacking his keyboard to even acknowledge your presence, the sound of snapping keys and aggressively timed backspaces punctuating the void.

His face was a statue as you crept closer to where he sat at his desk; his shoulders taut, lips a grim, grave line.

A hand’s reach away, an open bottle of bourbon stood sentinel, its amber glow pulsing in the meek lamplight.

Your heart picked up its usual warning rhythm, the one you often chose to ignore.

“Hey,” you said, your voice a question in his direction. “You… ok?”

Gently, you lowered your bag at the foot of his desk. Too close for him to ignore, yet not too abrupt to disturb.

“Ric, babe, you ok?” You repeated your question when he didn’t answer.

Still not looking up from his laptop.

Still refusing to acknowledge your existence.

It was getting annoying now, your nerves grating against your bones. What could you have possibly done to piss him off this time?

“Hey,” you said, louder this time. “You going to tell me what’s up, or are you going to ignore me all night?”

That finally—finally—elicited a response.

“You tell me,” he said, his voice cold, accusatory. “Where’ve you been all afternoon?”

Sitting yourself behind him—he still refused to look at you—you perched on the end of his bed, kicking off your shoes.

“Library,” you said, exasperated. “You know I have study group on Wednesdays.”

Ric scoffed. “Study group? That’s what you’re calling it? Last time I checked, a group consisted of more than two, otherwise it’s called a date.”

That’s what this is about? Is he actually serious?

“You’re spying on me, now? Really?”

The passive-aggressive typing stopped. When he finally turned to face you, you were met with an expression better suited for expired milk.

“I saw you,” he said, “with him. Hell, I think the whole campus saw.”

He was referring to Tom from your anthropology class. Aka, the only person who had been brave enough to attend your study session this afternoon. Everyone else was either down with the flu, or too hungover to show up, and honestly, you hadn’t minded. You’d appreciated the extra headspace with the pressure of deadlines looming. Everyone else always took too long to settle, perpetually gossiping about parties you weren’t permitted to attend. Tom wasn’t like that—he was attentive with his work; quiet, in a self-assured kind of way, and his strict training schedule meant that he had given up parties for the time being—a rare, and pretty impressive feat for a footballer. It was refreshing to be around someone so unapologetically themselves. So much so, you’d felt you could let your guard down, if only a little. Maybe that’s why you’d felt compelled to ask him for help with your exam prep. Was that out of line? Maybe you should’ve asked Ric, but he’d given you enough shit about that exam as it was, and you didn’t want any further judgement. Plus, you were genuinely just studying. You didn’t know why Ric was kicking up so much of a fuss. Everyone and their cat knew Tom was spoken for.

“Ric, come on. You know it’s not like that. We were studying for that test coming up. You know, the one about—”

“The one you failed last semester?” he said, cooly. “The one you were too stoned to even attend?”

It hit like a kick to the gut.

“You know how I feel about that,” you said through clenched teeth. You didn’t need another reminder of your inadequacies. Not about the test, not about the hell that was last semester. It was a miracle you were still here at all. If it wasn’t for your study group, you might never have caught up in time. Damn Ric if he was going to take that from you too. The smoking habit you’d agreed to stop; “It’s for your own good,” Ric had said, and you’d conceded, despite wanting to top yourself at the time. But this... Not a chance.

Now, Ric's expression twisted like he was indeed smelling something bad. "I saw the way he was looking at you,” he said. "Like he was mentally undressing you.”

At that, you were genuinely startled. Tom was nice, kind, and always willing to help when you asked, but he was also openly dating the vice-captain of the cheerleading team, Charlotte. Charlotte, with her perfect golden curls, and sun-kissed skin. You’d crossed paths with her once, after a lecture, and had had to hide your blush as she met your gaze, flashed you a blue-eyed smile like you were sharing a secret. You’d felt like you had been caught stealing. She was practically perfect; the kind of girl you could never be. There was no way Tom would be interested in a girl like you then, would he?

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “He—he wasn’t… He wouldn’t—”

“Stop,” said Ric. “Just stop with this lying, this... false modesty.” He scoffed, eyes roaming up and down your figure. “You know what effect you have on men. Don’t pretend that you don’t.”

A bubble of rage boiled within you, and you opened your mouth to retort, but Ric’s voice rose above your contention.

“And don’t pretend that you weren’t enjoying it. Who goes to a study group wearing that?”

Following his gaze, you looked down at yourself, at the outfit you’d thrown on this morning. At your floral sundress, bare legs, and the cardigan you’d draped on hurriedly over the top. Granted, it wasn’t something you’d typically wear for a day in the library, but to call your outfit suggestive was a bit of a reach. That didn’t stop the shame from clouding your view, though. The fact that they were the last of your clothes in your wardrobe suitable for the weather, nor the fact that you hadn’t been able to summon the energy or motivation to make it to the laundromat for the past month. It was miracle enough you’d found the energy to shave your legs.

And it wasn’t like you’d chosen this outfit for Tom. He was an attractive guy, that was clear to anyone who looked at him, and you couldn’t deny the thought that he’d been secretly checking you out gave you some kind of perverse thrill, but you had done nothing wrong. Thoughts alone weren’t crimes, were they? Plus, you thought the others would be there, the girls in their usual get ups, mini skirts, the lot. Why were you even justifying yourself to him? This was ridiculous.

In that moment, rage turned to disbelief, and you almost laughed.

“What are you insinuating? That I’m some kind of cheat?” It was just too funny. Ironic.

“What are you smiling at?” Ric demanded. “Is this a joke to you? Do you know how this makes me look? It’s humiliating.”

At that, you actually did laugh—you couldn’t help it. Hadn’t he done the same thing to you? Done worse? He wasn’t exactly innocent. Oh, but that had been ok. Understandable, even. That was your fault, too. He’d had no choice. You’d driven him to it.

Rage, disbelief, humor—you didn’t even know anymore—all meddled in your chest like a cumulonimbus, your emotions now soaring into something out of control.

You could feel the cloud, full to bursting, could hear it roaring in your ears, thumping in your chest, your throat. It tasted like despair. All you knew was that a storm was coming, and you couldn’t weather it anymore. You wiped your cheek with your sleeve, the first hint of rain.

“What is?” you asked, your voice growing louder and more tumultuous. “Your girlfriend studying? Caring about her future? Daring to spend time with someone decent, that actually gives a shit about what she has to say instead of what she fucking wears?”

As soon as the words left your mouth you regretted them. It was the wrong thing to say, and you knew it. You knew it would rile him up. Knew the humiliation he spoke about well enough, knew what it could do to people, what it would do to him. You knew what Ric was capable of, had seen the warning signs, they were practically textbook. So why had you let it get this far? Why had you stayed? Come here willingly?

That’s the thing about abuse; you make excuses for so long, you start to believe them, question your own judgement, and once you finally realize that things are wrong, that the path you’re on is dangerous, you’re too far down the cliff to climb back up.

When you’re so used to making excuses, when do you finally decide to stop? When you’re so used to ignoring your gut, when do you finally decide to listen? When your worth’s been so worn down, when do you finally decide to assert it, decide you’re worth more, without looking like a total hypocrite?

The view from the top is always clearer, but when you’re already over the edge, the only thing you can do is hang on for dear life and pray you won’t break too many bones when you fall. They’ll be no safety net, no one to catch you, no one to pick you back up, to tend to your wounds, because you’d driven them all away.

You were complicit, after all.

How could I be so stupid? Why would I choose to test him like this? Maybe he thinks I actually—

“N-Nothing happened,” you stuttered, trying to backtrack your idiocy. “Nothing’s going on, Ric. I swear, I would never—”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, rising from his chair. “Cause I’m not convinced.”

As he drew closer, your heart picked up again, little alarm bells fluttering like helpless butterflies against your ribs. Instinctively, you shot up, tripping over your feet as you tried to put some space between your back and the door.

Ric lunged for you.

“Where’d you think you’re going?” he growled, catching you by the wrist and dragging you to him. “We’re not done here.”

Oh, I think we are, you thought, eyes glistening as they lingered on the closed door. Towards freedom. I think we’ve been done for a while.

“Hey,” Ric growled, yanking your wrist until you were forced to look back at him. “We’re not done until I say we’re done, understand?”

His hand snaked around your forearms, and you stood, frozen, willing for a smart thing to say, anything that might de-escalate him, but your brain came up blank, the only word coming a pathetic, slither of a syllable.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Ric, please. It wasn’t like that. We didn’t—I would never—”

“Then why do you look so guilty, eh?”

“I—I don’t… I—I’m sorry…”

“What are you sorry for? If you didn’t do anything?”

You felt like a fly caught in a web; the more you wriggled, the stickier your situation became. You had no comebacks, no arguments left. What were you supposed to do? Fight? Run? Lay down and take it? Too many times, you’d forgiven him, turned a blind eye to his nefarious nature, essentially condoning it. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was all on you.

“Ric, please,” you said again, your voice desperate. “Please forgive me. I’m sorry, I won’t see him again, I swear.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.” You nodded, your eyes pleading. Pouring. “It’s only you. It’s only ever been you.”

That was the truth. At that point, Ric was the only person you’d been with. Your childhood sweetheart. Your sweet sixteen. Maybe that’s why you were so easy to forgive. Some part of you was holding out for the boy you fell in love with, hoping that he was still in there, somewhere, hiding behind the stress of recent years, of university, of everything you’d put him through. You weren’t easy to love, you knew that, but Ric had stuck around. That was something. You doubted anyone else would, if they knew the real you.

“Fine,” Ric said, sighing, his voice turning softer in that well-practiced way that made you doubt all your convictions. Doubt yourself. He loosened his grip, slid a hand from your arm to wipe a stray tear from your cheek. Everything moved in slow motion. Your skies darkened.

“Can you show me?” he asked, though you knew it wasn't a question. “Show me how sorry you are. Show me where your loyalties lie.”

A lump formed in your throat; wings battered against your pharynx. And yet... This, you could do. Your own fight for survival; your body the battlefield.

Thunder roared. 

You didn’t hesitate.

His lips were cold and hard as you pressed yourself against him. He tasted like whisky and defeat.

Everything will be okay, you thought as you closed your eyes. Everything’s fine.

But if everything was fine, why did it feel like you were in mourning?

***

You’d zoned out somewhere between his belt coming loose and your knees hitting the floor. How you’d made it to bed, you had no idea, but you’d apparently slept all night; drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep, only to be awoken by Ric’s phone alarm signaling it was time to get ready for class.

The memories came back in fragments. You’d done everything he asked, everything right. Fixed things up, patch by patch.

Your head pounded, and your throat was a desert. The hole in your chest returned in all its anesthetic glory.

Ric’s hand brushed lightly over your arm, the familiarity of his touch sending a shiver through you. You knew what was coming—had been here too many times to count—but somehow, despite your malaise, it was a relief. Relief that the worst was over, for now. That alone was enough to provide a fleeting sanctuary, let your hounded heart slow.

Inertia took over.

“I’m sorry,” Ric said upon noticing you were awake. “I may have been a bit hard on you last night. I hate it when I get like that.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, staring at the light painting patterns on the ceiling. You knew you should say something—better to appease him while he was like this—but no words came. It was too much effort. Effort you didn’t have right now. 

“I just—” he continued, and for a fleeting moment, his voice cracked, like he was genuinely struggling to explain himself. “You’re so incredible, you know that? So smart, so beautiful, and when I saw you... looking how you do… with him…” He shook his head. “Can you blame me if I get a little jealous?”

A lump rose in your throat, the cruel tug of hope rooting you to the bed. His voice was soft, almost tender, like he actually cared, and you so badly wanted to believe, cling onto the delicate slither of hope you had left.

Closing your eyes, you willed yourself to believe his words meant something, and for a moment, you saw it: a flicker of the boy you’d fallen for all those years ago. The one who’d left notes in your locker and walked you to class, who’d memorized your coffee order and made you laugh until your ribs ached. Maybe he wasn’t gone after all? Maybe he just loved you so much he didn’t know how to handle it?

And as he pulled you into his arms, you couldn’t help but cling to the pieces of his apology, as fragile and fleeting as they were. Because if he could still say things like that, if he could still admire you, see the fault in his actions, then maybe—maybe—he wasn’t all bad. Maybe there was still a way to fix this...

That was a lie, and you knew it. But in that moment, you wanted nothing more than lies, wanted nothing more than to pretend. The truth was too painful. Maybe you should’ve left when you could, screamed and kicked the door down, but he’d worn all the fight out of you.

And who would believe you? The unhinged, druggie girlfriend Ric had managed to pull back from the brink. He’d saved you. Done you a favor. How ungrateful and entitled would you look to walk away with not so much as a ‘thank you’. You were utterly unbelievable. You couldn’t bear the stigma.

You shook your head—because what else could you do?

“I suppose not.”

“I knew you’d understand,” he said, sliding out of bed and sauntering towards the bathroom without so much as a look in your direction. “You always do.”

Do I? you thought. I don’t even know if I understand myself.

As quick as those thoughts came, his voice shifted again, his words rising above the downfall of the shower.

“But if I catch you with that bastard again,” he said, “I’ll break his fucking arm.”

Four weeks later. Drizzly day in the library. You were hunched over your laptop, white noise blaring in your ears when you looked up to see a pair of ocean-blue eyes smiling down at you.

Startled, you ripped off your headphones. “Oh, hey,” you said, "Sorry, I… I didn’t—I didn’t see you there.”

Today, Charlotte Evans had traded her squad fit for a baby-blue cardigan, black mini-skirt, and chunky knee-high boots. Her nails were perfectly manicured, an elegant take on the classic French tip, and under her arm were a stack of books.

She looked immaculate.

She glanced around at the space, the nook you’d sequestered for your month-long hibernation. The three empty coffee cups. The Tylenol. Your coffee-stained sweater, baggy sweatpants.

Your face heated with a sudden bout of self-awareness. You were increasingly aware of your unwashed hair, the unlaundered sweater, and the dark circles under your eyes you’d not bothered to conceal.

“So, this is where you’ve been hiding,” she said.

A question? For me?

Confused, you looked around to make sure that no one had snuck in behind you, that she was actually talking to you, and you weren’t embarrassing yourself immensely by talking to someone who obviously intended for this conversation to be with someone else.

“Yes, I’m talking to you, silly,” she said, sporting a pink-lipped smile.

Should I tell her? you thought. Should I tell her I’m not who she thinks I am, that she’s clearly mistaken me for someone else?

She pulled out the chair beside you.

Sat down.

“Tom’s been worried about you,” she said, shattering any illusion of doubt that you were indeed her intended recipient. “Says you haven’t been showing for study group. I told him that it’s probably not anything he did, but—” She sighed. “He’s a sensitive soul.”

Why is she telling me this?

“I had to listen to him deciphering ancient texts all night,” she continued. “He even tried to rope me in. It was kinda painful, not gonna lie.” She clearly meant it as a joke, but even so, it struck a chord. And then she said something you didn’t expect. “He misses you.”

Your mind went to the messages you’d left unread—then deleted—erasing any trace of Tom from your phone. I can’t be seen with him, you thought. Lest my psycho boyfriend breaks his bones. I can’t have another person’s hurt on my conscience.

A familiar knot tightened in your stomach at the thought, and your face took on a far-away look.

“I’ve been... busy,” you said, fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater.

“Clearly.” She tapped one short, but well-manicured finger on the desk. Classy, but practical. “I’d ask if you were okay, but you’re clearly not.”

“Excuse me?”

“Babe, it’s ok. We’ve all been there. Exam season is hard. I’m here to help.” 

Her hair was slightly damp from the rain, and in the humidity of the library, her hair frizzed in a perfect halo around her crown.

She was dazzling.

Help how? you thought, awestruck.

“You,” she said pointedly, taking one of your now clammy hands in hers, “Look like you need a friend.”

“See? Isn’t it wonderful?” Charlotte said, “I knew you could do it.” 

Meanwhile, your hands were on your thighs, and you were bent over, heaving. Your legs ached, and your chest was on fire. “Yeah, I guess. If you’re some kinda masochist.”

She caught your eye and you both sniggered.

“Don’t make me laugh,” you rasped, “I’ve got no fucking lung capacity.” 

It was a Sunday morning, and Charlotte had thought it was a brilliant idea to drag you out for a run. 

Ric had gone home for spring break, so you’d been spending a lot of time with her recently. With the exam season looming, you’d had the perfect excuse of needing extra time to study, so you’d opted to stay on campus whilst Ric went back to Mystic Falls, then off gallivanting on ‘tour’ with the frat guys for a week. You were ahead of schedule with your revision, but Ric needn’t know that. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you’d said when Charlotte showed up at your door this morning, head-to-toe in lululemon, baring a pair of her spare running sneakers that just happened to be your size.

You hadn’t run since you were forced to do track in high school, yet here you were, five miles in, and feeling the most accomplished you’d felt in a long, long time. 

“Breakfast?” she asked, when you finally stopped gasping like a fish.

***

She took you to the cutest coffee shop you’d ever seen. They sold mini pastries. It was all a bit excessive.

“Tell me,” she said, cupping her oat milk latte, silver ring shining on her thumb. “Why’d you really stay on campus? Haven’t you got family to see? Friends? I’ve got games to cover, what’s your excuse?” 

You considered her for a moment, then said, “I have family. I just... needed to catch up on a few things.” You shrugged, then added, “My friend Elena’s coming over to visit in a few days,” when you realised how sad that all sounded.

“Sure,” she said. She didn’t sound at all convinced.

“What?”

“It’s because of him isn’t it?”

“Who?” 

“Ric,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

That stumped you.

“Wha-What do you mean?” 

“I’m not blind, Y/N. And I’m not deaf. People... They talk.” She lowered her voice. “Your boyfriend’s getting a bit of a reputation. If it’s true... if he’s really as bad as they say... You deserve better, I hope you know that.”

You looked down at your coffee, unable to meet her gaze. Unable to face the truth you’d been too afraid to hear. It was the first time you’d heard those thoughts verbalized. The first time you’d heard them from anywhere other than your own, confused mind. It was equally vindicating and terrifying.

“It’s hard, I get it,” Charlotte continued. “My parents split when I was in high school. My dad is a... subhuman-being. It took my mom years to finally work up the courage to end it. To see her worth.” 

You bristled, though you tried to hide it. Not once had you been called out so blatantly, so shamelessly, and a hot-poker of cognizance prodded your brain. Though you could feel her gaze, lazer-sharp in its unrelenting precision to pierce through your walls, you kept your eyes fixed firmly on the mug in your hands. You couldn't look at her. It felt too much like an admission. 

“All I’m saying is... I see you. And you can talk to me, you know. If you want.” 

She offered a smile and, despite yourself—despite everything—you caught it. It was impossible not to. She was infectious. 

“Thanks,” you said, finally relenting and meeting her gaze; that swelling ocean-blue. “I... I appreciate that.” 

A moments silence.

The air grew heavy.

The chime of the cafe bell signaled it was probably time to leave. 

“Hey, um,” Charlotte said, probably also noticing the time. “Why don’t you stay over tonight? I haven’t got a game for a few days, and I’m sure your mind could do with a bit of a break from all that studying. We could watch a movie, grab some dinner. Might help take your mind off things.”

“Oh, um, I don’t know… Are you sure? What about Tom? I’d hate to intrude—” 

“It’s fine. Honestly. He’ll be thrilled to hear how you’re doing.” 

“I, um... I… I still don’t know. Ric... he—he wouldn’t—” 

“He doesn’t have to know,” she said, plainly. “If that’ll make you feel better.”

“But Tom—” 

“You can trust him. It’ll be okay. Promise. I just… I don’t want you to be alone right now, if you don’t want to be. Because you’re not.”

She looked at you and you felt utterly perceived. Transparent. A flimsy filament of perspex. 

“So, what do you say?” she asked. “Sleepover?” 

She winked, and a smile cracked your face. A hairline fracture.

Sun streamed in through the windows and instead of shielding from its rays, you basked in them. 

"Oh," you said, your smile splitting wider. Now a chasm into which all your uncertainties fell. "Alright, then."

Chapter Text

YOU

Seven years ago, Duke University, Durham, North Carolina

Private dorms were a luxury, reserved for students fortunate enough to be able to pay for the privilege. Like you and Ric, Charlotte had managed to bag one; a suite with her own private kitchenette, living area and bathroom. Unlike her, however, your quad required you to share a kitchen and living space. Duke expected all students to live on campus until junior year, and although this came in handy when rushing to classes, the expanse of the grounds meant one could walk miles between residential blocks, so unauthorized cohabitation was not uncommon.

Officially, Tom didn’t live here, but upon entering Charlotte’s dorm, it became clear that this was as much his space as it was hers. There were signs everywhere; his protein powder in the kitchen, his football boots by the door. His training schedule was even plastered proudly on the refrigerator.

He strode in a few minutes after you’d arrived to collect some belongings, and you tried desperately not to let panic overtake you. Ric would never know you’d been here, nevertheless, you couldn’t help the surge of adrenaline that spiked when you saw him. He was sleeping in his own dorm tonight—a rarity, you gathered, by the amount of luggage he was transporting. Tom didn’t have the privilege of wealthy parents; he’d received a scholarship for his sporting prowess, so he had to share. Naturally, you felt a little guilty for essentially kicking him out of his own dorm, but he shot down your reservations before you even had a chance to air them.

“You girls have fun tonight,” he said upon leaving. He flashed a smile before leaning down to kiss Charlotte goodnight, and she hopped up off the couch to peck him on the lips, balancing on her tiptoes in her fluffy socks. When she pulled away, he caught her by the waist and went in for another, and it made your heart ache with a feeling you couldn’t yet name.

They really were a beautiful couple; it was hard to believe they’d only been together since the start of sophomore year. They operated like a well-oiled machine, their lives fitting perfectly together—around one another—like they didn’t even have to work at it. You could only dream of having something like that, one day. And that’s when you realized that for the first time since you were sixteen, your vision of the future didn’t involve Ric. You felt sick. Sick, but hopeful. They gave you the knowledge that a love like that really was possible.

“So,” Charlotte said, breaking the silence that had descended upon Tom’s absence. “What do you want to do tonight?”

She propped herself back down on the sofa next to you and curled her legs beneath her. She’d showered since your run earlier, changed into a new pair of leggings and a cozy sweater that matched the color of her socks. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she’d woven it into an elegant braid that laid softly against her shoulders, making the collar of her sweater darken to a mossy green.

“I don’t mind,” you said. “Whatever you want.”

“Well, what do you like to do? For fun?”

You thought on that for a moment. When was the last time you did anything for fun? For no purpose other than pleasure?

“I don’t really have time for much these days. With studying and everything.” And everything. God, you felt like a bore.

“Well, what did you like to do? As a kid? In school?”

“Well… I used to like to read,” you said, remembering those early months after Eddie passed; how you were pulled from school, and the only ways you’d found peace were through escaping into your fairytales. “I used to like to paint, and to dance, but I haven’t done that for years. Not since I was little.”

“Fine. I don’t have any painting supplies, and I’m a bit whacked from that run, so we’ll read.”

“Isn’t that rather anti-social for a sleepover?” you countered.

“Not if we’re doing it together. It’ll be fun. Our own private book club.”

You looked at her with suspicion. As a self-proclaimed extrovert, she looked far too thrilled at the prospect of not talking for hours. How would she cope?

“I’m giving you permission,” she announced, bold and proud. “Seeing as you won’t do it yourself.”

“Well, okay. If you insist.”

So that’s what you did. For hours, you read, curled up on opposite sides of the couch, noses buried in your respective e-readers, nibbling on salty, takeaway-pizza. Charlotte insisted you picked the book, so you settled on an indie-horror that had been on your TBR for months—a tale of a psychopathic Disney princess on a murderous spree around Los Angeles—which was equally glamorous and disturbing.

Hardly a word passed between you in your shared solitude, but the longer you spent with her, the more you felt you knew her, like you were absorbing her by osmosis, and suddenly every movement you made felt like wading through water. You didn’t know what to do with your arms, or face, and when the image of Charlotte and Tom’s kiss from earlier flashed back into your memory like an unwelcome daydream, your chest began to flood. Why was that? Because you wished you had that easy kind of love with Ric? You didn’t even know if you would want that with him even if it were possible now. If you had a magic wand, and could remove all the hurt of the past few years, would you even want him? Any source of affection you had once felt for him dissolved like salt in water; an ineludible solution.

As sure as the tides, the memory of the kiss floated back into your mind. The ease in which they moved together like waves on sand. The casual intimacy they shared; the effortless familiarity. The way Tom’s hands brushed her curves as she rose to her toes. The way he pulled her back like the moon; his reluctance to let her go. Her lip gloss on his mouth. The way her eyes lit up when she laughed. The way your guts twisted at the sound of that laugh, like music on a breeze. You wondered what she sounded like when she—

Her ankles resting so closely to your leg.

Those damned cute socks.

When had she moved?

Suddenly, you were aware of every flicker. Every position of your body, from how the backs of your thighs touched the cushions to the way your chest constricted at the thought of her doing this with anyone else but you.

How desperately you wanted her skin against yours.

You started to sweat.

Too much salt.

“Hey, dreamer.” Charlotte’s voice was a siren calling you to shore. To wreck. She’d caught you out. Again. “What are you thinking?”

“Oh, um. Nothing.” Your throat was dry. She’d know you were lying.

“You were somewhere else,” she said. “Where were you?”

Fuck. Could she tell? Could she tell what I was thinking? What’s wrong with me?

“No—I’m… I’m here. Got lost in the story, I guess.”

She looked at you as if to say, Hm, sure. “What do you think of the book so far?”

She’s trying to catch me out.

“It’s… it’s good,” you said, trying to recall anything—anything at all—that you had read in the past hour instead of hyper-fixating on the way her legs draped casually against yours.

The contact points between your skin burned with awareness.

You had to get up.

“Yeah, I quite like the way the protagonist is clearly unreliable,” Charlotte continued. “It really shows she— Hey... You ok?”

“Yeah, um. I just feel a bit nauseous. I think it’s all the gore.” That was a lie. You loved a bit of gore. “I’ll be right back.”

At that, you rushed to the bathroom and locked the door behind you.

It took approximately one Google search and three Reddit deep-dives for you to conclude that you were in love with Charlotte. Or in lust. Actually, you hadn’t concluded a thing. Whatever this was, you’d never intended for it to happen, it kind of just... did. One moment she was a stranger, a concerned acquaintance and the next... you’re on her sofa, fantasizing about how it would feel to have her naked body against yours and imagining the noises she makes when she comes.

This… complicated things. The only source of light in your life now left a dark mark on your conscience, smudging even further the more time you spent with her. The lines between right and wrong—between platonicism and romanticism—were now thoroughly blurred. Up until a few minutes ago, you had thought you had wanted to be Charlotte, not be with her. Now, you weren’t so sure. Attraction was complicated, apparently.

During one search, you’d found a Redditor comparing romantic love to volatile elements like sodium and water, and platonic love to noble gases. This confused you even more, leading you down a rabbit-hole and to your questioning whether you had ever earnestly loved anyone before in your life. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t help.

Lost for ideas, you faced the mirror and tried to talk yourself down as best you could, which—again—was inherently ineffective.

Why can’t you just act normal around her? you berated your reflection. Someone shows you a hint of kindness, and you make it weird. Maybe you should go. I should go… I should definitely go. Before I ruin this completely. Before I ruin things for me, and for her, and for Tom, and I can’t live with myself.

You tried to pee but nothing came out. You hadn’t drunk enough. You’d been too nervous to ask for a glass of fucking water. So pathetic.

You flushed the toilet and washed your hands anyway, then emerged feeling visibly shaken. Not calmed down at all.

“Maybe horror’s not your genre, huh?” Charlotte asked upon your return. “Are you ok? You were in there a while.”

“I’m fine,” you said unconvincingly. “Hey, um. Thanks for inviting me over and everything, but I think it’s best that I go.”

“What?” She straightened up, looked offended. “Why?”

“I… I just think it’s best.”

She knows. She has to know…

She rose to her feet and rushed to your side where you were hovering haphazardly near your rucksack. “Please,” she said. “Stay. Don’t go.”

She moved closer. So close you could smell her shampoo. Her skin. It was unbearable.

If she knows, and she still wants me here… Does she… does she feel it too? This thing between us? Does she want me? No. No, it can’t be.

But the longing in her eyes was unmistakable. It reflected your own.

It was reassuring in a way, that you weren’t making this up, that you weren’t actually insane. But at the same time, the scent of her skin made you dizzy. You couldn’t think straight.

"Please," she said again, the ocean of her eyes swelling. "I want you to stay." 

Gently, and with an intimacy you weren't prepared for, she raised her hand to your face, caressed your cheek, traced the outline of your lips with her fingertips. 

Time ceased, seemed to stretch on for eons, until her pleading eyes brought you back to the present, washed you to wreck. Your skin prickled under her touch, made you weak. So weak, that when she finally leaned in pressed her mouth against yours, your knees buckled, and she had to catch you.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be. 

And yet... it was. And it might have been the realest thing you had felt in years. 

And you'd let it happen. Wanted it to happen.  

Slowly, you parted your lips. Accepted her willingly. And suddenly her tongue was in your mouth, and you were kissing her back. And it was the softest, sweetest, kiss you had ever shared. 

She tasted like hope, of new beginnings. The first rainfall after drought. Of crisp winter snow. The expanse of the entire ocean. 

You weren't so dry anymore. 

The kiss deepened, her hands in your hair now, and you were backing her against the couch. The hem of her sweater rose to reveal her smooth, warm skin, and she pulled you into her, jolting you back into your body. 

Into reality. 

Onto dry land and her cosy studio apartment with the green sofa, and kindles, and candles, and pizza boxes, and—

A cold, creeping dread shot up your spine. The realization that this was actually happening. That you couldn't take this back. That what was done, was done, and you'd completely fucked it. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

What the hell am I doing? What's gotten into me?

Abruptly, you pulled away, extracted her hands from your hair, your body from hers. Ached at the loss. Cursed yourself for it.

"Shit," you blurted, stumbling back, breathless. "Shit, I'm sorry... I'm... I'm such an idiot." 

Gnawing in your cheek, you began to pace in circles, a cocktail of panic, shame, and pent-up desire accompanying the erratic thumping of your heart. 

How could I let this happen? Am I really that stupid? I should never have come here.

The next thing you knew, Charlotte had jumped off the couch, was holding you by the shoulders and forcing you to look into her eyes. Those beautiful, hypnotic eyes...

“Calm down,” she said, also breathless, but unabashed. Her lips were red and wet, and her cheeks were flushed the prettiest shade of pink. The fact that you'd done that to her, had had that effect on her, made your desire swell all the more. She really was irresistible.

Could anyone blame you, really?

“Listen to me," Charlotte continued, shaking you out of your head and back into the room. "I Want You," she stated, enunciating every word, like it was the most obvious fact in the world. "And I know you want me too.”

She sounded so sure. So confident.

Of course she is, you thought. She’s Charlotte Evans. Everyone wants her. She probably hasn’t been rejected once in her life.

And... She wasn't wrong. She'd read you like a tabloid. Am I really that transparent?

Lost for words, you swallowed around the lump in your throat, battled your thoughts. Yes, you wanted her. Like hell, did you want her. But you were also in a relationship, and so was she. And you’d never been with another woman before—you’d never been with anyone ever apart from Ric. And you’d never even known this was something you’d wanted until five minutes ago. You wouldn’t know what to do.

And this was wrong. Beyond wrong… Deceitful.

But equally… She’d been kind to you, and she was beautiful, and she wanted you, and this felt… good. Selfish, yes, but… exciting. Arousing. You hadn’t felt this way in a long time. And she wanted you… She wanted you, and she was here, and so were you, and Ric wasn’t, and you wanted her, and you couldn’t let her down.

“Yes,” you admitted. “I do... want you. I just… I… don’t know how—”

“Yes, you do,” she protested, before you even had a chance to finish. “Of course you know how. You doubt yourself too much.”

“What?”

“You touch yourself, don’t you?”

“Well… yes,” you admitted, surprisingly unashamed at how easily the truth came. You never talked about sex so openly. Not with Elena, not with anyone. It was just not something you did. So why did it feel so easy to tell her? What you and Ric did together always stayed behind closed doors. He’d kiss you openly in public—when people were watching—but when you were alone, you were lucky to get a peck. Sex was always rushed, and unsatisfying, and you could count on one hand how many times he’d made you come. You’d thought that was just how it was, how good it could ever be.

“And, you like to be touched?” she asked, more tentatively now.

“Well, yes, but…”

“But it’s never the same?”

You shook your head, no, remembering how many times you’d had to fake it. How—no matter how hard you tried—you could never reach climax with Ric like you could when you touched yourself. How you always felt like an imposter in your own body.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said, taking you by the hand. “I promise. Let me show you how right you are.”

“But what about Tom and Ric?” you asked, still dumbstruck that you were even having this conversation, that you were even entertaining this idea. It was gluttonous, and gray, and… and… And you couldn’t be bothered to think of any more excuses. “This is real messy, Char.”

“Don’t worry about Tom, babe,” she reassured, hand tightening around yours. “We have an agreement. An understanding. He won’t mind. We like you. We both do. And Ric—” She scoffed, screwing up her face. “He makes you miserable. He doesn’t deserve you. You need out. You needed out a long time ago. Don’t let him ruin this for us. Stop letting him take nice things.”

She wasn’t lying. You were done with him taking nice things from you. And this was nice. And Ric wasn’t here. He never was. Not in the ways that mattered, anyway. And she was. And she’d been there for you. And she was beautiful. And she wanted you—she’d literally said that—and you wanted her. But she was also selfish, and entitled, and brash, and brazen, and confident, and amazing, and everything you weren’t and wanted to be. And she was still beautiful. So damned beautiful…

“An agreement? Like… an open relationship?” Desperately, you tried your best to wrap your head around what she was telling you. She wanted you, and she was also with Tom, and both of those things were apparently ok? It seemed odd to you, but that… changed things, you supposed. You never even considered—

She thought on that for a moment, her lips curling up like she was finally spilling a secret. You supposed that she was. “Sort of," she said, "but not exactly. Like I told you before, you can trust him. Now, please, let me kiss you again before I combust.”

And you couldn’t swim against her tide anymore; her currents too strong to fight, so you let them carry you.

She led you by the hand and laid you down on her bed. She climbed on top of you and kissed you again. Repeatedly. On the mouth. On the neck. Your breasts. Your stomach. Between your legs.

This time, not only did you let her pull you under, you begged her to.

***

You saw her again the next day. And the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that—even Elena met her for brunch one morning when she was visiting—and every single day until the end of spring break and Ric’s return forced you to be a little more discreet.

Then, you started meeting her between classes, after practice, when Ric thought you were in the library, on a run, in the grocery store, or anywhere else you could think of to explain why you were busy. He knew you were with a girl named Charlotte some of the time, but why would he suspect anything untoward? You were just super thrilled to be getting back into fitness and to have found a running buddy. He clearly never looked close enough to spot your lies. All he’d have to do was to look at your face; see that you were a little less dead behind the eyes.

One day, after class, you were curled up against her side in bed when Tom strolled nonchalantly into the room. He didn’t look surprised to see you there. Startled, you tried your best to cover your breasts as he came to sit on the end of the bed. You looked to Charlotte for reassurance, but she just crawled towards him and kissed him on the mouth. Right in front of you. Like she was trying to prove a point. He kissed her back—passionately—and you didn’t know where to look. You contemplated moving, getting out of bed, but your clothes were on the floor, and you’d have to expose yourself to Tom anyway. And also… you kinda didn’t want to leave. You were curious to see what would happen if you stayed. Then, to your surprise and delight, Charlotte leaned over and kissed you too, and—instead of panicking—you started to relax. And before you knew it, you were kissing him too, then kissing her, and then kissing him again, and then his clothes were on the floor and you were in bed with them both.

You carried on like that for weeks—months—the three of you. They taught you many things; things about yourself you never knew. Things you liked. Things you loved. Things that excited you. Things that didn’t. You watched on with awe as Charlotte communicated her desires with confidence. How she led interactions and Tom obeyed willingly. How you did. How you reveled in it.

There, in Charlotte’s suite, you had the best days of your life until that point. During the stints where Ric was too occupied to question where you were—and you too unbothered to ask where he was—the three of you would study together, then after, Tom would cook dinner and you’d talk about the future. And then, when your bellies were full and you’d exhausted all conversation, you’d collapse onto the couch together to watch trashy reality re-runs, inevitably falling asleep in a tangle.

During those long, wistful nights, you’d learn that, despite his outward love for the sport, the only reason Tom was a footballer was to pay for his tuition, and his aspirations to escape his backwards hometown, the religious community he grew up in. And Charlotte—despite the expectations from her childhood to be a career woman—wanted nothing more than to travel the world, to live the #vanlife and take it day by day. A little cliché, but commendable. She was the definition of a free spirit if there ever was one.

They’d talk about eventually moving to California, to Southeast Asia; about getting married in Vegas, or Gretna Green. That confused you at first, and inevitably hurt a little, made your yearning swell. Because that’s what it was—yearning. You hadn’t pretended to understand what they were; they’d never offered a formal explanation, so you hadn’t asked. It was clear that they loved each other; the fact that they also seemed to enjoy being with you didn’t change that. It took a bit of time, but you came to accept the nuance—to respect it—and contemplated that maybe you didn’t love her after all; that maybe you just loved the way she made you feel, and that was ok.

It was a mess, yes, but a hot mess, and it was also the most liberated you had felt in your life. Regardless, you still couldn’t help feeling like you were harboring a filthy little secret. Because you were. You had become what Ric had accused you of all along. You were dirty, and dishonest, and worthy of no respect. A messy contradiction.

The guilt made things easier in a way, as when Ric inevitably found an unrelated excuse to make your life a misery, you accepted your punishments willingly. It was not what Charlotte had intended—at all. She had wanted to free you from his grasp, not entrap you in it, and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell her. That was, until one day, after a particularly heated interaction with Ric, you’d let things get so bad that you walked away with more than emotional scars, and you had to come clean.

“You have to get out,” she said, horrified. “My god. He deserves to rot for this.”

“I’ll punch him.” This, coming from Tom, who wouldn’t hurt a fly—unless explicitly instructed. “I swear, if you want me to, I’ll do it.”

“No,” you said, “I don’t know how that will help. And you can’t risk your scholarship.” You turned to Tom, and he gave you a sad, yet acknowledging smile.

“Then we’ll go to the police,” said Charlotte. “File a report, get you a restraining order. You have witnesses, and we have evidence.”

You didn’t like that idea either. If you did that—if you made Ric’s life hell—you knew he’d have no reason to preserve your name. He’d out you to everyone as a cheat, a liar, a slut, a druggie, a failure… and whatever else he deemed you to be. News traveled fast across campus, as it did in Mystic Falls, and the thought of it getting back to your parents instilled a cold, hard dread. You couldn’t afford to let them down. Not again. Not after everything… You’d lose your privileges, your chance of pursuing your masters. To prove your worth; your place in the world. There was no way in hell you could afford that on your own, let alone survive the inevitable ostracization. What was the point in fighting for yourself so hard just to end up losing anyway? You couldn’t risk it, not everything you’d been working for. You needed to be smart about this, not idealistic.

“No,” you said, decisively now. “I need to end it. Properly.”

“We’ll come with you,” Charlotte said. “If he starts getting handsy, we’ll threaten to go to the police. If he threatens to out you, we’ll go to the police. All of us keeps quiet, but you get out.”

“I don’t like that he gets off scot-free,” said Tom. “It hardly seems fair.”

“Sometimes it’s the safest way,” said Charlotte, echoing your thoughts. “Unfortunately, that’s how life is. Sometimes we need to choose the safest option, and the safest option often isn’t the ideal.”

She was speaking the truth. That’s why you carried pepper spray in your bag, why you didn’t run at night, why you avoided certain back roads and alleys. Every woman envisioned a world where they didn’t have to take such measures, but the reality was, if we wanted to survive, we had to.

As well as speaking the truth, Charlotte was also talking from experience. She had told you her father never faced any consequences for what he had done to her mother. But her mom had come away safe, and that was the priority.

As much as you wanted to burn it all down, to fuck the world and give it the proverbial middle finger, you didn’t want to burn yourself, or Charlotte or Tom in the process. They were the good guys in this; they deserved more. And, for the first time in your life, you contemplated that maybe—just maybe—you did too.

“We’ll pack your things,” Charlotte continued. “You can move in here. He won’t know where to find you.”

That was true. Charlotte lived in a distinct quad to you and Ric, and he’d never had a reason to know where she lived. He didn’t even know she was the same girl that you ran with. It wouldn’t be hard for him to find out, but thankfully Charlotte’s building required a fob to get in, which was different from all the other blocks. There would be nothing stopping him from barging in past someone if he really wanted to, but this was as good a solution as any.

“No,” you said. “He doesn’t... But I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” reassured Tom, before you even had a chance to express your guilt. “Hell, you practically live here anyway. What’s a few extra bags?”

“Are you… are you sure?”

“Positive,” said Charlotte, taking your hand. “Now, let’s go get your things.”

*

It didn’t take long to fetch your belongings. You already kept the essentials at Charlotte’s anyway, so you only needed a few extra bags of clothes, your books, and your laptop.

Those moments before felt surreal. Like you were preparing for your own funeral. Handing yourself over to the gallows and tying the noose willingly. Time fragmented around you, like you were completely out of control. You had been for a long time, you supposed. It was about time you took it back.

It’s time to take back control.

Those were Charlotte’s words, not yours. And as much as you tried to say them to yourself, to internalize her mantra, it was still her voice in your head saying them.

Despite your earlier convictions, you couldn’t drown out your own telling you that this was insane. Dangerous, even. This wasn't safe at all; this was a risk. A terrible, foolish risk... You weren’t a fighter; Ric had made sure of that.

With tears in your eyes, you turned to her, and she took one of your trembling hands in hers.

“I’m real scared, Char...”

“I know, babe,” she said. “But you have to do this, okay? He can’t keep hurting you.”

No, you thought. He can’t. I can’t keep letting him…

“And you’re strong,” she continued, wiping your tears away with her sleeve. “So, so strong. And brave. And we believe in you.” She looked up at Tom who was nodding in agreement.

“We do,” he said. “And we’ll be close by if you need us, remember? Just give us a signal and we’ll come straight in.”

“You’ll…” You sniffled, straightening up. “You’ll be down the hall?”

“Yes,” Charlotte reassured, squeezing your hand. “Promise. Now, let’s go burn it down, shall we?”

At that, and with one last shaky exhale, you nodded and prepared for reckoning.

*

“Over?” Ric’s jaw clicked, the sound deafening despite the thunderous roar of your heartbeat. His room wasn’t warm—it never was—but you were sweating, trying to hold yourself together despite the cavern forming within you. “What do you mean it’s over?”

“I mean us. We’re over, Ric. I’ve had enough.”

“I’ve told you; that’s not up to you.”

“Yes… it is. If I say that it’s over, then it’s over. You can’t just choose to keep believing that it’s not.”

“What don’t you understand?” he asked, his voice rising. “What part of this isn’t getting through your thick, little skull? It’s not up to you.”

“I fucked him,” you blurted, hoping that that would put an end to this nonsense. That he’d finally see you for what you were, and that he’d let you go, and you could get the hell out of here.

“What?”

“Tom. I… I slept with him. I am sleeping with him.”

Ric scratched his head at that, looked taken-aback. Laughed. “Really? You’ve been sleeping with him this whole time?”

That was not the reaction you expected. You expected him to blow a fuse not… laugh. Why was this funny to him? Why wasn’t he angry?

He doesn’t believe me, does he? Why doesn’t he believe me?

“Yes,” you lied. “I have. So… so you were right. I’m… I’m a cheat, and a liar, and you shouldn’t want me anymore. I’m dirty… damaged. You were right about me all along. I’m beyond saving, so you can stop trying.”

Ric frowned, then laughed again. “You’re serious? Huh. I didn’t think you had the guts.”

“Wh-what?” you asked, dumbstruck.

So… he’d never earnestly believed you’d done anything untoward in the first place? All this time, he was just screwing with you for fun? A part of you already knew that—the logical part—when it worked. But you couldn’t deny that it felt a little better to have had a smidgen of belief that he was genuine in his doubts. As fucked up as it sounded, believing him to be the paranoid, possessive, jealous boyfriend had been easier than whatever this was. Surprisingly, it hurt. Actually, it fucking ached.

He must truly hate me.

“I thought you’d be angry,” you said, seething. “Why aren’t you angry?”

“Oh, I am.” He performed a sly, slimy smile and took a step towards you. “I’m fucking furious. Is that what you want me to say?”

“Get away from me,” you said. “I don’t want to be anywhere near you.”

“Are you sure about that?” He moved closer, and you backed away, your back knocking into the door as you pressed against the wood.

You grasped the handle. Rattled it.

“I’ll do those things you wanted,” he said. Far too close now; you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“It’s too late for that, Ric. It was too late years ago. I don’t love you anymore.”

“So, you love him, is that it?”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You didn’t love him in the way he meant, but… yes… you did love him. And Charlotte. You cared for them both. Where were they? And—if anything, it was her. It had always been her.

“No, but—”

“So, you don’t love him, but you were happy to fuck him?”

“Yes.”

“You were happy to fuck him, and you won’t fuck me? You love me.”

“No, I don’t,” you snapped, your patience wearing thin. “Not anymore. I’ve already told you that. You’re not listening to me. You never fucking listen to me.”

Behind you, the door handle jammed, and then a flurry of blonde hair and taut muscles burst into the room.

Charlotte was first, shadowed by Tom, and when Ric set his eyes on him, you saw the fuse finally blow. His eyes darkened, and everything happened so fast.

You remembered screaming, then everything blurred; an unsteady motion-picture.

Ric lunged for Tom and punched him square in the face.

Blood spattered the floor—Tom’s, presumably—then you were holding him back, you and Charlotte on either bicep.

Clearly, the combined strength of two college girls was not enough to overpower him, and he was fully prepared to swing back; muscles taught, fists twitching. But something must have gotten through to him, because he didn’t.

“No,” you remembered a female voice pleading, calm but insistent. Charlotte’s. “Babe, no. Remember the plan.”

Progressively, you felt his biceps relax under your grasp, and he eventually took a step back. Then another. And another. Until he was backing out of the room completely, as if another look at the man in front of him might trigger an explosion. With a final look at Ric, he spat, “You’re disgusting,” then stormed off down the hall.

When he was finally out of range, Charlotte turned to Ric. “Don’t you dare touch her again,” she seethed. “I have fucking photos. Come anywhere near her, and they’re going straight to the cops.”

She grabbed you by the hand and pulled you straight out the room.

The last thing you heard was an inebriated voice muttering, “Fucking slut,” and the sound of a door slamming.

*

Outside, the street-lamps were beginning to flicker, and the sky threatened rain; an overhang of bruised-purple clouds hovering in the horizon. A scythe ready to reap. You had been mute since the punch landed, words unable to form in the wake of the anguish. You tried desperately to move your lips, to experiment with the motion, but were unable to produce a single sound. You couldn’t even cry; you’d tried.

Tom was waiting by a bench around the corner from the building’s exit. He looked pale and his nose was bloody. Thankfully, the campus was quiet at this hour, free from curious eyes.

“Shit,” Charlotte said, finally getting a good look at him under the tangerine-glow. You couldn’t bear to raise your eyes; staring at the gravel beneath you seemed a lot safer right now.

“Are you ok, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, trying to play it cool. “You guys go. I’ll take myself to the ER. Check if anything’s broken.”

Charlotte looked uncomfortably between Tom, and you—shaking, and still staring vacantly into the ground.

“Are you sure, babe? We’ll… we’ll come with you...”

“It’s fine, baby. I can handle myself. Already got a story lined up—sporting injury—no biggie. You girls go, okay? Be safe. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The walk back to Charlotte’s building was a blur, your nervous system too busy trying to keep you alive to notice any details. Like the way the clouds gathered overhead, and the trees bristled. And the way Charlotte murmured soothing affirmations in your direction every few minutes.

For all your primitive brain knew, you’d just fought the lion, and you were somehow alive. Now, you needed shelter.

*

Inside the safety of Charlotte’s suite, you finally broke down, and your thoughts hurricaned.

The fact that Ric hadn’t followed you tonight—hadn’t even tried to come after you, hadn’t even bothered—sat uncomfortably on your chest. As messed up as it was, a part of you wished that he had. The alternative meant that you weren’t even worth the effort.

Charlotte tried her best to comfort you, reassuring you that you had done the right thing, telling you that Ric was cold, and calculated, and this was exactly what he’d want you to think. That you were better than that.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, stroking your hair as you sobbed ugly tears into her chest. “It will be okay. We love you, and we’re so proud of you.”

Later, she would tell you of how she watched the color drain from Ric’s face as the realization hit him: That it wasn’t just Tom. About how disarmed he’d been when faced by a raging blonde woman. How pathetic he’d looked in that moment. How cowardly. How much satisfaction it gave her.

It would give you solace in the following weeks, but right then, you could only feel despair. And as the cavern in your chest gave way, it crushed your heart in its wake, and you knew then that you’d never be the same.

A few hours later, Tom returned and you finally got a proper look at the damage under the florescent kitchen lights.

“Tom,” you whispered, your voice shattered, though now working, mascara smudged down your cheeks in patchy rivulets. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I cause so much pain.”

At that, he took you into his arms and squeezed you tight. “It’s not your fault,” he whispered into your hair. “Don’t you ever apologize for his actions. And don’t worry about me… nothing’s broken. I might just have a black eye for a few weeks.”

When the tears came again, which they inevitably did, they poured, and outside, the sky cried with you.

They held you close all night. The both of them.

***

You woke to multiple messages from Ric, each one turning softer and more desperate.

Earlier, Charlotte had sent a text around her building telling everyone not to let anyone in they didn’t recognize. It was fortunate she did, as a few hours later, Ric was spotted waiting outside looking lost and visibly sleep-deprived.

You sent him a single reply:

“Leave. We have photos and a statement ready to send to the cops. Leave me alone and I promise not to send it. If you ever cared for me at all, do this for me. Let me live, and I won’t say a thing. About anything. You can have your life.”

And, to your surprise, he did. He left. You were fully prepared to send the statement, and braced yourself for the impact, but thankfully, it never came. And just like that, seven years of love and hurt down the drain, lost to the catacombs of time.

Ric mostly left you alone after that, and he never uttered a word, as far as you could tell. It was impossible to avoid him altogether; you shared several classes and the same hometown. But nothing ever transpired into anything more than lingering stares, him looking at you like a lost puppy. It wasn’t long until you started feeling guilty, questioning whether you had over-reacted to the whole situation. But that was the trauma talking. He’d done something to you that could never be undone, and you hated him for it; hated yourself even more for ever letting it happen. No matter how many times Charlotte and Tom tried to glue you back together, to reassure you that you weren’t complicit, it was a hell of a thought process to abandon. The little voice in your head telling you that you would never be good enough—that you were inherently wrong—persisted, arising from time to time in moments of weakness, though grew quieter as time passed.

The three of you spent the rest of junior year playing house in Charlotte’s suite, until you could officially move into off-campus accommodation in senior year and secured a small, cozy townhouse together. People talked, as they did, about how strange it was that you were moving in with your ‘friend’ and her boyfriend, but you learned to ignore them, and soon it became old news, and nobody cared.

After a few years, things eventually fizzled out. You had moved to Kansas and were only back in Mystic Falls for the odd weekend and holidays. Being part of your wider friendship group, Ric was still around, and only ever acted outwardly ‘kind,’ though you now knew better than to trust a word he said. Occasionally he would push the boundaries, come up to you and ask how you were, to which you would give him the cold shoulder. He still viewed you as weak, an easy target with no one left to ‘rescue’ you. But you weren’t that girl anymore, nor were you naïve enough to doubt his intentions—his belief that he could weasel his way back into your life with a few soft words and a practiced smile.

As much as it irked you, avoiding him became an internal blood sport, and you never told anyone the full story. Elena knew fragments; she’d known something was going on between you and Charlotte long before you even told her. She knew you had developed feelings for your friend, and that things had inevitably ended between you and Ric, but that was as much as she knew. You hadn’t dared tell her the rest—about Tom—about the three of you. Elena was traditional in many ways, and you weren’t sure how she would react.

And, with Charlotte and Tom’s involvement, the story of Ric’s abuse also became the story of your lies, your deceptiveness. Of how Charlotte and Tom had both saved you and damned you at the same time. You never wanted them to be seen that way; a part of you would always love them, and want to protect them. So, it became easier to keep that part of your life hidden. It was far too complicated to traverse. You wouldn’t even know where to start. It was simpler to let people believe that you and Ric had just fallen out of love.

You kept that secret for years. Long after graduation. Long after you had to inevitably part ways with Charlotte and Tom. Long after they’d gotten engaged and booked that flight to California. Long after you’d declined to go out there with them—as much as you had wanted to at the time—and the parts of your heart that they had managed to piece back together broke all over again. Long after you had grieved their loss. Long after you’d moved to Lawrence, completed your masters, your PhD. And long after you’d resigned yourself to purely physical encounters, believing your heart too fractured to put on the line. Long after you had given up hope of ever finding a true, burning love.

That was, until you met someone who respected you, despite your past. Until you met someone who made you believe you could be a dichotomy, and still feel worthy. Until you met someone who saw your flaws, and loved you because of them, not despite them. Until you met someone who had been through enough heartache and loss to trump even your darkest of struggles. Who’d been to hell and back to fight for what they believed in. Fought literal demons and lived to tell the tale. Someone who understood. Who accepted. Who never pushed, unless it was for your benefit, and always listened. Who you fell for instantly, and who knew you, somehow, cosmically. Until you met someone that made you believe again, not only in love, but in yourself. Until a six-foot-four hunter with shaggy chocolate hair and the tongue of god strode through your office door one nondescript weekday afternoon, and stole not just your breath, but your heart. Who you trusted completely, not only with your body, but with your soul.

That was, until you met Sam fucking Winchester.