Request: I asked about the Sam smut earlier. And I read the one you suggested. So could you possibly make a Sam smut? Like where both him and three reader literally hate each other. And one by one, Dean shoves them into a bedroom and locks the door and you know, carry on from there.
Pairings: Sam x Reader
Warnings: swearing, smut
Word Count: 1415
Feedback is appreciated! I wanted to know what you guys thing of my writing and if I needed to change or add anything. Thanks a bunch!
(gifs not mine, credits to owners)
You stood up from the library the moment Sam arrived from his morning jog. You passed by Dean through the hall as you made your way to your room. He grabbed your arm and spun you around. “Hey, Dean.” You smiled. “Where are you going? We’re supposed to do research.” He said. “Oh, yeah, I’m just going to do it in my room.” You said, lifting up the lore book that you were reading. “Why don’t you read in the library?” He asked.
CS - you're a famous actor here in my small town to shoot a film, and I'm a diner waitress and it's 3 am, and it's just you, me, and the cook.
she’s not impressed by him, is the thing. he’s seen her, walking her son down mainstreet, past the road blocks to the bus, every morning at 7:36 on the dot, as he’s pounding his fifth cup of coffee and pulling at the collar of his leather coat. will tells him he has a fascination with mothers that borders on oedipal.
so when he sees her through the window as he’s walking towards his apartment, leaning against the diner counter, flipping through the pages of a well-worn book, he tells himself to leave her the bloody hell be.
and then he tells his conscience to bugger off, slipping into the diner and sliding himself onto a wobbly bar stool right in front of her
her eyes dart up from the book, and he wishes someone had prepared him for the green of her eyes, or the weight of her gaze
she’s seen him around. hell, she’s been seeing him on her television and on the tabloids at the market for two years, now, and she’s heard enough about him to be wary. he’s…well, he’s a fucking movie star, is what he is, so obviously he’s attractive. you don’t get far in this business unless you’re insanely talented or crazy good looking and as far as she can tell he’s both.
that doesn’t mean she cares a lick about him. she’s heard the rumors. she’s seen the tmz videos. he’s a trainwreck and a half and she has no interest in fanning after him like some obsessed creep who wants to bag a celebrity.
still. there’s something about him. something about the tics that carry over from movie to movie, tv show to tv show - the ear scratch to show nervousness, the way his tongue tucks into his cheek, the eyebrows that seem to have a life of their own.
okay so she’s payed attention to him. henry is obsessed with his stint on that neverland show on mtv, and maybe it’s not the most appropriate show for a thirteen year old to be watching but she likes it too. not that she’ll ever admit that to anyone.
the point is, she has not noticed him drinking his coffee across the street as she walks henry to the bus every morning, and she has not noticed his complete lack of interest in ruby’s flirt-mode, and she had definitely not noticed him lingering outside the diner while she tried to study for her lit final thats now less than seven hours from now.
god, he fucking smells good, too, some subtle cologne or body wash that gives off a hint of musk and man.
“can i get you something?” she asks, and her voice is sweet and smooth and he wants to bash his head into the counter
“don’t suppose you serve rum?” he asks, and her face does something adorably flummoxed as she tries to get a read on him. he grins. “only joking, i’ve got my own. i’d kill for a basket of chips, though.” he grins, all charm and smarm (he’s been told that’s the descriptor for the way he tucks his tongue into his cheek and lets those dimples show. and what does he know, he’s just an actor)
“we call them fries,” she says, her voice unwavering.
“yes, i know all about your barking mad tendencies to rename perfectly well named items.”
“and you better not be serious about the rum. this is a family establishment.”
it’s three in the morning, and besides jones the only people in the diner are her and gus, who is probably asleep in the kitchen. jones raises an eyebrow as he carefully takes a good hard look around the place.
“yeah, wouldn’t want to corrupt any children.”
she eyes him carefully, before slowly turning over the book in her hand and setting it pages down on the counter. the spine is bent and swollen, pages dogeared, and there are at least a few sticky notes poking out of the pages. “basket of fries, coming right up.”
she disappears behind the swinging kitchen door, and he hears pots being smacked together, and then a man swearing a moment before a dark head of hair pops up over the expo window.
he’s nosy by nature, is the thing, and the book is just lying there, calling to him
he snatches it up, reads over the title with no small bit of amusement, an he wonders if she knows he’s played captain wentworth before. he begins to leaf through the pages, taking in the rather large amount of annotations, the notes in the margins and the sticky notes she’s added when she ran out of room. he is more intrigued by this woman by the minute
and of course emma knows he’d played captain wentworth, of course she fucking does, she’s seen his entire filmography and she doesn’t realize until she pushes through the doors again to find him grinning down at her very annotated book that she’d been stupid enough to leave it just sitting on the counter. boy is she not a huge fan of herself at three in the morning on the day before a final essay is due.
“so besides not being able to call food by it’s real name you also have zero respect for privacy or other peoples possessions.”
he holds the book up, grinning, and emma under no circumstances notices the little tuft of hair at the back of his head that is sticking up adorably. “it’s my favorite austen. i didn’t mean to pry.”
“well you did. now can i have it back or…”
she’s the most standoffish woman he’s met in this town so far, and regina bloody mills liveshere. he likes it. he likes her, with her long hair braided over one shoulder and a sparkle of mystery behind her eyes.
they sit in silence the entire time it takes for his chips to fry, her leafing through pages, him tapping out a rhythm against the countertop as he tries not to stare at her.
there’s something about her, though. the way she holds herself, firm and steady, but with her shoulders tucked in like she’s trying to hide herself from the world. the way her eyes drift to his hands every once in a while, like she’s thinking about taking a butcher knife to them to stop his infernal tapping. the way he can tell just by looking at her she’s been burned before. and he doesn’t want to save her, that’s not it. but he wants to know her, wants to hear her laugh and see her smile and know what she thinks when she reads that famous missive near the end of the book
wants to know why she’s reading austen at three in the morning in an empty diner, why her brow furrows as it does, what her life is like and what her dreams are
he’s a bloody tool, he is
she slides the basket across to him in silence, and he can’t hold it in anymore
“so tell me, do you really think anne is…how did you phrase it? a cowardly idiot who lets her life be run by even bigger idiots?”
she frowns at him, and he fights a ridiculous urge to smooth his fingers across her brow.
“she grows on you. eventually.”
they spend an hour debating the merits of lady russell and william elliot, and by the end of it killian is half in love with her. she’s smart, insightful, and she pulls no punches. she thinks wentworth is too petty, she thinks anne needs to grow a pair, she thinks they both need some serious therapy before attempting to have a relationship.
she smiles, just a tiny, quiet thing, when he tells her he can’t imagine how she feels about mr. darcy.
she’s studying for an english final, he finally learns, and when he seems surprised by this she grows uncomfortable, shifting on the balls of her feet as she steals a chip from his basket.
she doesn’t know why she tells him. about the prison time. about her time in foster care. about having henry while cuffed to a hospital bed, about how she wants to do more for her son than work in a diner for crappy tips the rest of her life. only she knows enough about him to think he might not judge her with the same harsh criticism that everyone else seems to, and for once she’s glad she was right. he lights up as she continues her tale, something supportive and understanding in his gaze, and she barely mentions neal but his eyes are knowing as she winds down.
“so are you wentworth or anne, in this little tale of deception and second chances?”
“neither. i’m just me.”
he shouldn’t say it, he knows he shouldn’t - its such a bloody line, but - “lucky for me, then.”
he leaves at four in the morning with a jaunt to his step and a phone number he hopes isn’t a fake, and when he waves at her across the street a few hours later as her son hops onto the bus, she ducks her head, brushing a lock of hair back over her ear as she smiles and waves back
henry nearly has a heart attack when james hook himself knocks on her door a few days later, babbling excitedly while emma tries not to swallow her tongue at how goddamn good he looks, or how great he is with her son.
the first date goes well. enough for a second. and a third.
and it’s a small town, nothing in comparison to la or new york or even toronto or vancouver, but when the shoot ends he renews his lease on the apartment. just in case.
“i’m hardly your mr. darcy,” he tells her one day as she’s muttering obscenities about his proclivity for theatrics, arm in arm as they walk henry to the bus.
“you’d better hope so. i mean, the girl only decided she loved him when she saw his house, so…”
“nerds,” henry mutters, and killian ruffles his hair as emma laughs
I told Harry that I was really tired and needed to get some proper sleep. And added on to let him know that he smelt like a bar, so that it doesn’t seem like I’m pushing him out of the door. He smiled at me as he got the hint and said that he will settle that. But before he left for home, he kissed me on my cheek to thank me for taking care of him last night.
“Thanks for taking care of me Y/N. I must have been a mess last night. I’ll see you later!”
I tried to hide my blushing and responded him with one of those teasing replies that I usually would.
“If you saw yourself last night, you would laugh the same way I did. See you later Styles, you owe me three meals at least!”
He acknowledged me through his smile. And I couldn’t help but stare at those dimples whenever he does that. He let himself out of the house and I tried going back to sleep again. But all these scenarios from last night and earlier on just kept replaying in my head over and over again.
Too bad you will never feel the same way though.
No. Not a clue!
I’ve always liked you, Y/N. More than just friends.
His voice just seem to go on repeat in my head. Even when I close my eyes, I could play the scenarios on when we were together. Not just earlier on where he kissed my cheek, but how we would have movie nights together every Friday. How we would go for tacos or ice cream night together. How we would just spend time together, just the two of us. How could it never occur to me nor Harry the way we feel about the other?
I couldn’t sleep with all these running through my mind. Not knowing whether to let Harry know about what happened last night. I was too afraid. What if he was just joking? It could be just the alcohol that made him say that. I needed to talk to someone about this. If I kept it in my body any longer, I know I would breakdown sooner or later.
I found my phone and looked for Eleanor’s number under my contacts. As the dial tone was ringing, I prepared myself in my mind what I am going to say.
“Hey El, I’ve got something that I need to talk to you about. Are you free right now?”
“Yeah sure hun, you alright? Harry was pretty drunk last night, even though you said you could manage him. Did he do anything stupid?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call that stupid I guess. He said some stuffs last night.”
“What is it!?” I could hear the eagerness in her voice.
“I pluck up the courage to ask him if he liked me. … If he liked me more than just friends.” I hesitated.
“Well….? and then…?”
“He said yes. He always did. More than just friends.”
“I knew it! I knew it all along! I knew that you have always liked him Y/N! I’ve mentioned it to Louis before, but he didn’t think so. Yet Perrie and I had been rooting for you two to get together!”
“What! You knew all along that he liked me?”
“I didn’t ask him exactly. We didn’t have to. It’s just the way he look into your eyes. The way he smiles whenever you tell us one of those really lame jokes of yours. And how he is always looking out for you, making sure you’re comfortable. Especially the times where you fell asleep during our movie nights because you had a long day in school and work. How he would make sure you are comfortable with pillows and blankets on and around you. He wouldn’t even mind not moving for a couple of hours just to let you sleep soundly.”
At this point, I didn’t know what to say. I try to make words come out of my mouth, but it doesn’t seem capable of doing so. The scenarios that Eleanor just described were playing in my head. How did I never realise these little things that Harry does for me.
“Y/N? … Y/N? You there?”
“Yeah yeah. I am. Sorry, I was just thinking about what you said.”
“Soooo? So what happened after? What did you say?”
I sighed. “I asked him earlier if he recalled anything that happened last night. He was too drunk to remember. I didn’t know what to say after. I panicked.”
“So you haven’t told him how you felt about him either? Y/N you need to tell him!”
“I guess. Thanks El. I’ll go catch some sleep first. I’ll talk to you soon alright?”
I lied. How could I possibly sleep after receiving all these new information in such a short amount of time? How am I suppose to let Harry know what he said to me and confess my own feelings for him too?