helloooo! tis' I, jesse! how is everyone today? here is chapter 2 :) the chapters are gonna be quite sporadic in length, some short and some long. i'm really bad at making everything even aha, I apologize. this is some filler, some fluff to let you guys know the dynamic between the characters and such. the actual plot will come in due time. for now, please enjoy, leave a review, and give a few suggestions :) i'll write a few fillers too, im a sucker for fluff aha so drop some prompts in the review box and i might write it! special shout out ShriQuinn for the review, this is for you! :)
"Sam?" He looks up at you and his eyes widen slightly.
"(Y/N)!" Sam says excitedly. He goes to get up but before he can move you're next to him, sitting down on the wooden bench that lined the multiple desks.
"You're in my english class, oh gosh, that's great!" You say. Sam shifts a few of his things to make room. His thigh touched yours, warm and comforting and he doesn't move from your body.
"Professor Matthews kinda freaks me out." Sam confides, shutting the literature book that was far too expensive to be logical.
"Oh yeah, he's got that weird Victorian vampy vibe thing going on." You shudder. Speaking of the devil, your English professor walks into the classroom with his dark shades and gel slicked back blond hair. Sam grimaces with you and with a sigh, the madman starts going off on a rant of how the writing of philosophers need to be reexamined and rewritten, perhaps by him.
"Maybe he is one." Sam suggests, pulling out a notebook.
"You gonna slay him?" You joke. He chuckles, smiling as if he knew something you didn't.
"Anything you want me to." He says. With a giggle, the class goes on. It wasn't a hard class so you didn't end up paying attention at all. English has always been one of your star subjects and continued to be, even in college. You could always read the material after class, and you were just a bit (a lot) distracted by the handsome man beside you.
Sam took notes religiously, scratching down every other word that came out of the professors mouth. It was almost like he had never been in class before; one of those kids that was desperate to learn because he never had the chance to before. You couldn't get over how cute he was for a huge bear that he seemed to resemble.
He catches you staring and instead of shying away, you smile at him. You never understood why girls played games when it came to boys. If you liked someone, show them. Constantly. Always. Lay on the affection because no one knows when things might end. It was how you grew up; love someone? Tell them. Just tell them. Show them. Kiss them, hug them, cling all over them and let them know that they matter. Sometimes, you might not have the chance to.
Suddenly, Sam tears out a piece of paper from his notebook and scratches a message on it. Before passing it to you, he hesitates for just a moment. You could almost laugh at the elementary gesture but can't help but smile at the little note he had given you.
Why do you keep looking at me? Something on my face?
You quickly write down a reply in your messy handwriting.
I like looking at cute boys.
He reads its and smirks. Before he leans down to write a response, he connects eyes with you with genuine pleasure. Sam writes and softly slides it over to your side before leaning back, looking a bit unsure about himself.
I like sitting next to pretty girls. ;)
You burst out in a fit of giggles and try to stifle the sound by clamping a hand over your mouth. "A winky face?" You whisper in hushed tones. "Winchester, are you kidding me?" Sam shies away and scoots to his right, away from you. He seemed embarrassed, face reddening as he looked the opposite way. "Awhh, come on." You say, still quiet as to not disturb class, and playfully poke his dimple. Sam fakes anger, shooting half hearted glares at you. It's all so adorable and you can't help but laugh. Without thinking you reach over and grab his wrist to pull him back but only end up somehow being pulled over to him. Your shoulders bump and he's warm, broad. He feels safe and protective as he gazes down at you, smiling.
"You're so small." He murmurs. Your lips turn into a pout and you turn your head away.
"Am not. I'm average sized, you're just big." You mumble. Sam chuckles, his breath falling onto your shoulder. You give a hmph and its your turn to scoot away. All it does is make the man laugh a little more and before you know it, one of his hands was on your waist, pulling you back to him. He was closer now, you could smell his aftershave and a hint of mint from whatever toothpaste he had used earlier this morning. You almost pull away, used to people always being far too touchy with you, thinking they could get away with copping a feel just because you were nice and would deal with their bullshit for longer than the average human being. But you don't, because you like the way it feels with Sam around you, by you, beside you.
"No, you're petite." He reiterates, this time into the shell of your ear. You shudder and gulp involuntarily. He squeezes your side a bit and you squeal at the ticklish spot "It's cute."
"I'm not gonna be very cute when I kick your ass, big guy." You hiss, giving him your very best sneer. His lips press together, trying not to smile or laugh at your pathetic attempt at intimidation. "Now take your notes, Sammy." When a derivative of his name slips from your mouth unintentionally, he smiles even if it is closed lipped. He breathed deeply and let it out, pulling you closer to his side as if he wanted to keep you there forever. Sam did, he really did. You were doing something to him and it was strange beyond strange.
He'd been fighting the supernatural all his life; throw witches and demons, djinns and vampires, anything with a tail and claws and Sam knew how to deal with it. But throw a pretty girl at him? He didn't know left from right. Flirting and dating had always been Deans area of expertise, not his, and with this girl he didn't know what to do. With you on his arm, everything he was doing on instinct and whim with no tact whatsoever and that was possibly what made him so scared.
Was flirting correctly? Was he touching you too much? Why were you letting him? Was the note a little much? You haven't pull away yet, in fact, you were returning his affections. You were flirting back too...right? Sam didn't know, but at that moment he didn't even care. He was finally there, at Stanford, in a literature class. No ghosts, no monsters, no Dad, no Dean waking him up from the bed of a cruddy motel to tell him they were going on the road again. He was there, with you; normal and laughing and stable. He was there.