“I… what?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at you.
You breathed out a laugh, shaking your head.
“Will you fake-marry me?” you repeated, looking him straight in the eye as he was perched on the table, “Come on Sammy, don’t make me beg.”
“Shouldn’t you be down on one knee?” he asked, and you sighed.
“I’m not actually proposing,” you reminded me him, “It’s just to appease my mom.”
Sam shrugged, a smirk appearing on his face, “Ask me properly or it’s a no.”
You groaned, getting down on one knee, looking up at him in irritation.
“Samuel Winchester, my good friend, my roommate. My ‘we’re both drunk and horny’ fuck-buddy,” Sam laughed, and you continued, “Will you please do me the honour of fake-marrying me so my mom will get off my back about me dying alone?”
“That was beautiful,” he told you, and you rolled your eyes.
“Is that a yes?” you asked, still on the floor.
“Do we get to have fake-wedding-night sex?” he asked, tapping his finger to his chin in faux-thought.
“If that’s your only condition, fuck yes.”
“Then yes,” he grinned, pulling you to your feet, “I’ll fake-marry you, you dork.”
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