kitty

Wet Dreams

Jake Gray x Fem Reader

** 18+. Sensual/Sexual Content. Angst.**

WC: idk grab some snacks.

You and Jake had been best friends since sophomore year of high school, and now you’re both at the same college together. The two of you practically did everything together, I mean from him picking you up to go to class, to going to grab a quick coffee, to the parties the two of you would go to.

It was a simple friendship really, two long term best friends. Though, in reality, there was something much deeper, mostly from Jake.

The night started off normal, just you and him hanging out in his dorm after a night of partying. Your head was resting in his lap, with the birthday present you'd gotten him earlier that day—a bottle of wine.

“Pass me the bottle, would ya?” He'd asked, reaching a hand out before taking a swig. It tasted like shit, but to be fair so did most wine.

“Mm, good, right?” You grinned, a sarcastic lilt to your voice.

“Mm, so good,” He replied, leaning his back against the edge of his bed, his fingers threading gently into your hair.

That's when it took a turn. You bit your lip, giving his body a not-so-subtle once-over before speaking, your voice low.

“Yeah.. but not as good as you, handsome.” You murmured, shifting upwards into a sitting position until you were straddling his lap.

Before he could react, your lips were on his, kissing him softly, slowly, deeply, as your hand moved across his chest, and down… down… down…

His breath hitched, and he felt himself hardening against your thigh as your hips began to grind against his, your tongue sweeping into his mouth as a soft moan was swallowed by the kiss.

Things were escalating, quickly, and before he knew it his hips were meeting yours with every slow, deep thrust, feeling your warm, soft skin against his, your sweet moans in his ears as his hands roamed across the soft planes of your body. Your bodies moved together, feeling the pleasure build and build.

“Oh- Jake… Jake...” You moaned, your eyes closed in ecstasy as he worshipped your body, connected so intimately.

“Jake!” You yelled, snapping him back to reality with a shake of his shoulder, standing over him where he'd passed out drunk the night before.

His eyes fluttered open, sleepy, horny, and hungover. There was a certain hardness in his boxers—the only thing that was actually real in his dream. There is no way he had a wet dream about his best friend..

“Get up, it’s almost noon.” Walking away from his bed where you were standing over him. Holding a garbage bag, picking up empty cups and bottles from last night.

Jake groaned, throwing an arm over his face as the sunlight stabbed through his skull. His mouth felt like cotton, and his body ached—mostly below the belt.

He watched you through half-lidded eyes, moving around quietly in that effortless way of yours. The garbage bag crinkled as you tossed another cup into it.

“Fuck...” he mumbled, sitting up slowly and wincing at the pounding behind his temples.

He rubbed his jawline where stubble had grown overnight and sat up slowly—the movement making him wince at both body and mind for what that dream implied about him lately: how often he thought about you when no one was looking.

His eyes dropped to your back—the curve of your spine under that tank top—and quickly looked away before guilt kicked in harder than the hangover did.

Without thinking (and still very much hungover), he blurted out, “...Did I do anything weird last night?”

“Uh—no, why?” Your back still to him as you continue bent over, picking up more cups and bottles.

Jake swallowed hard, staring at the back of your head like it held answers to the universe.

“Uh… no reason,” he said too quickly, voice rough from sleep and wine. He cleared his throat.

He hated that dream. Hated how real it felt—the warmth of your lips, the way you moved on top of him—how right it was in a stupidly perfect fantasy world where you actually wanted him like that.

But reality? You were just his best friend. His quiet, sarcastic best friend who’d known him since sophomore year. The one who called out his bullshit before anyone else could even process it.

And here he was—hard as hell this morning—not because of some random girl—but because his brain had betrayed him with dreams about you.

He swung his legs over the edge of bed and grabbed a hoodie off floor, along with a pair of jeans. “...You wanna go get food?”

Turning to face him a little quickly, your classic small, pretty, teethy smile on your face. “Yeaaaahh—duh,” dropping the garbage bag on the floor. “Hurry up and put your pants on.” You mutter walking past him out of his room, not without stealing a subtle glance down, “Might wanna cover that up.”

Of course you notice, of course you do.

Jake froze.

Did she just—?

His face burned, hotter than the hangover could ever make it. He looked down at himself—yep. Still very much affected by that stupid dream.

He yanked his jeans on in record time, nearly tripping over them as he hopped one foot into a pant leg like an idiot. The hoodie went on next, zipped all the way up to his chin like armor against your teasing gaze.

By the time he shuffled out of his bedroom—still pale and groggy with messy hair and dark circles under his eyes—you were already by the door putting your shoes on.

“Okay,” he mumbled, voice still sleep-rough but softer now around you—the way it always got when things felt normal between you two: easy. Comfortable. “...Where we going?”

You’re finishing putting your shoes on as you look up at him, “iHOP.” Walking over, snatching his keys from him. “And I’m driving.” Typically he would be the one to always drive the two of you, anywhere. But with how hungover he is right now, no way were you letting him drive anywhere.

Jake opened his mouth to protest—I'm fine, I got it—but the second you snatched the keys from his hand with that quiet authority, he knew better.

You weren’t being dramatic. You were right.

He hadn't even had coffee yet and his stomach was churning like a washing machine full of bricks.

Without a word (a rare thing for him), he just shuffled behind you, as he slipped on sneakers by the door.

When you reached for it first—pulling open the front door into blinding morning light—he squinted hard and instinctively stepped closer to your shoulder like shade.

“Thanks,” he muttered under breath—the smallest admission of gratitude before following you out toward his old Jeep Cherokee in silence.

You drive a little slower than you usually drive, the rare occasion you do drive, you do tend to drive a little fast. Now? You’re being considerate since you know how it is when you’re hungover, too quick of movement and you’re nauseous—seconds away from puking and you feel like you’re spinning. Humming very very faintly to the rock music that’s playing on the radio.

Subtly taking glances at him. God—you hate to admit it since you’re best friends but damn—he makes hungover look good. That messy look he has right now—wrinkled hoodie, jeans, sneakers, messy hair—it’s sooo… him. Jake looks hot as fuck right now even if he is slightly pale and looks like he’s on the verge of death—he looks fuckin good.

Jake, on the other hand—taking similar subtle glances at you while you were driving. The classic, she looks first when he’s not looking and he looks back at her just as she looks away. There was an unusual softness to how you glanced at him when you thought he didn’t notice, different from your usual sarcastic, teasing nature.

It made something flicker in him—a small spark beneath all that hungover fog. Awareness. Affection? Something more?

The hostess greets the two of you, guiding you both over to a booth next to a window in a far off corner. Once more, the not-so subtle, subtle glances at one another over the menus. Trying to focus on his menu, to figure what he wants to eat but he couldn’t. He was too busy noticing you. How you kept peeking over the top of your menu like a spy on a covert mission. And every time, you’d quickly look back down when he lifted his eyes.

It was… weirdly flattering? Not that Jake would ever say that out loud. You were never obvious with affection or attraction—not to anyone—but right now? With how often your gaze flicked up to him and then snapped away like nothing happened?

Yeah. That wasn't just friendship vibes anymore.

The waitress takes your orders, all while dropping off some coffee and waters for the two of you. While adding some cream and sugar into your coffee, because who drinks straight black coffee, Jake’s breath hitches. The way you so effortlessly look so pretty. Absentmindedly going about, stirring in your creamer and sugar. He’s known you for years, as his ride-or-die best friend—the one he called at 2AM, when he messed up on a date, the one who called him out on his bullshit. He never noticed these kind of things before—the small details about you that weren’t sarcasm or eye rolls, but right now?

These details were everything.

“You were acting weird this morning.”

Jake froze.

Oh shit.

He hadn’t realized you’d noticed—really noticed—how off he was acting. The awkwardness, the weird tension, the way he couldn't look at you for too long without his face heating up.

And yeah… okay. He had a hard-on when you woke him. Not just normal morning wood either—that was something else entirely because of that damn dream about kissing and grinding with you.

But now? Now it felt like getting called out by your best friend over coffee—with no escape route in sight.

He swallowed hard, then lifted his coffee to hide behind it for half a second before setting it back down slowly.

“...Was I?” he said finally—playing dumb on purpose even though guilt flashed across his face like lightning.

“You just drink too much or what?” Taking a sip of your coffee, testing it to see if enough creamer and sugar was added. One of your eyebrows slightly raised at him.

You wouldn’t admit it first—you finding him hot. Not in a million years.

Jake met your raised eyebrow with a blank stare—like a deer in headlights, but very aware of how guilty he looked.

“Nah,” he said quickly, then cleared his throat. “I mean… yeah. I drank too much.”

Liar.

He took a big gulp of coffee—not because it tasted good (he hadn't even put anything in it), but because it gave him something to do besides stare at your face or think about the fact that you were sitting right there, looking cute as hell with your slightly messy hair and judging expression.

It wasn't the wine or beer making him weird this morning—it was the dream. It was you. Straddling him in that fantasy world where everything felt allowed and real instead of just… forbidden because of what they actually were: best friends who never crossed lines.

But how do you even explain that without sounding insane?

So he deflected—the classic Jake move—and took a long sip of black coffee to buy time while avoiding eye contact like his life depended on it.

You lower your mug, furrowing your eyebrows slightly.

Is he seriously bullshitting you right now? Just before you can say something, the waitress comes over with your food, setting it down in front of the two of you. Giving her a small thanks, you look back over at Jake.

Yeah—fuck, he’s hot. Look away, look away. You look down at your plate and just start eating.

Jake grabbed his fork immediately, grateful for the distraction. Food was safe. Food didn’t talk back.

He speared a huge bite of his pancake and shoved it in his mouth—chewing slowly, eyes fixed on anything but you: the wall behind you, the salt shaker on their table… literally anything.

But every time he dared to glance up?

There you were—eating quietly like always—and somehow even that looked good? The way your lips pressed against your coffee mug earlier? How delicate your hands looked holding that tiny fork?

Jesus Christ.

He was losing it.

This wasn't just about last night's dream anymore. This was becoming a full-blown crisis where he couldn't stop noticing things about you—the little things that used to go completely unnoticed before this weird tension started creeping in out of nowhere.

Twenty minutes or so, the two of you are back out in the parking lot.

“You okay to drive?” Please say yes, please say yes. You hated driving, realistically, that’s why Jake always drove the two of you everywhere.

He gave a small nod at your question, gently taking the keys from your hands, fingers brushing just for a moment against yours, “Yeah I’m good.”

The Jeep rolled into the driveway, tires crunching on gravel.

Jake shifted it into park and turned off the engine—the music cutting out abruptly, leaving a sudden quiet between you two. That same tension from earlier had crept back in during the ride: unspoken, thick like fog.

He glanced over as he unbuckled his seatbelt—your forehead resting against your hand, yoh still faintly humming to the music. You looked… relaxed? Contemplative?

And God, you were beautiful when you weren’t being sarcastic or rolling your eyes at him for something dumb.

Without thinking (because clearly his brain wasn't working right today), Jake just stared for half a second too long—until reality kicked in and he realized: Oh shit.

He quickly got out of the car to hide how flustered that glance made him feel. You following suit, quickly going back to what you were first doing this morning, cleaning.

Jake watched you move through his living room—efficient, quiet, cleaning up the mess from last night’s party like it was your job.

He felt a pang of guilt. Here you were, doing all this for him—driving him to IHOP when he couldn’t function, making sure he didn't drink and drive… and now cleaning?

You never acted entitled or expected anything in return. That's why everyone loved you—and why Jake had always relied on you so much.

But right now? The way you bent over to pick up a pizza box with that calm focus… something about it made his chest tighten again.

He took off his hoodie—finally feeling less like death warmed over—and tossed it onto the couch.

You weren’t asking him anything about this morning anymore. Not pushing. Just cleaning quietly—the way you always did when things felt awkward or tense between friends who were also kind of… more?

With a sigh (quiet enough that only he could hear), Jake finally walked over to help—grabbing an armful of pizza boxes off the coffee table without saying anything.

You glance over at him as he starts to help clean. After a few minutes of you both cleaning. You set the garbage bag down and cross your arms over your chest, turning and looking at him across the room. You can feel it, this weird unspoken tension between you, since this morning. You let out a sigh. “What are you doing?”

Jake froze, halfway through crumpling a soda can.

Your voice—calm but firm—cut through the quiet like a switch flipping on. He turned to look at you, arms still holding the trash.

And there it was again: that tension. The one he’d been ignoring since breakfast. Since last night’s dream. Since… well, since everything started feeling weird between you two for no logical reason.

He swallowed hard and dropped the can into the bag with a soft thud before straightening up.

“...Helping,” he said simply—too simple. Like an idiot answer from someone who didn’t want to admit they were nervous as hell right now because their best friend was staring at them like she expected answers about his weird behavior this morning.

His hands slid into his pockets after tossing in another cup—avoiding eye contact again because God help him if he had to actually talk about feelings out loud right now.

“No, you moron,” You roll your eyes, “I meant why are you acting weird.”

Jake’s shoulders tensed.

Moron. Right. That stung—but honestly? He deserved it.

He finally looked at you, really looked—your arms crossed, eyebrow slightly raised in that “I'm not playing this game" way you had when you were done with his bullshit.

And yeah… he had been acting weird. No point lying about it anymore.

For a second, he just stood there—mouth slightly open like words weren’t coming out right—because how do you even explain this?

“I had a super hot dream about making out with my best friend and now I can't stop thinking about her?”

That sounded insane. Pathetic even. Like something from a bad rom-com script no guy would ever admit to feeling unless they wanted to ruin everything forever.

So instead of answering honestly…

He exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered, “...Sorry.”

You let out a soft but sharp short sigh. Looking down for a second, uncrossing your arms. Now you feel bad, words coming out sharper than intended.

You look back up, “No—,” your “no”, your classic half hearted apology since you don’t know really how to do those, but it sounds as if your saying “I’m sorry”.

“Just—why are you being so weird?”

Jake saw the shift in you—the tiny softening after that sharp sigh. The way your arms dropped, how your voice lost its edge when you said “no.”

He knew that tone. That was your version of an apology—quiet, awkward, barely there.

And damn… it made his chest ache.

You weren’t good with feelings either—not out loud at least. Just like him.

He took a small step forward across the messy living room floor—trash still scattered around them—and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“Okay,” he started quietly, voice lower than usual. “I'm... weird 'cause I had this dream last night.”

A pause.

“...About you.”

Your eyebrows furrow just slightly, lip curling ever so slightly as you look at him. Knowing that can only mean one thing. “What do you mean, you had a dream about me?”

Jake’s throat went dry.

The look on your face—curiosity, maybe a hint of suspicion, lips slightly curled—made his stomach flip. This was it. The point of no return.

He couldn’t back out now.

“It was… like,” he began awkwardly, eyes darting to the floor for half a second before forcing himself to meet your gaze again. “We were… together.”

Together. As in kissing. As in touching. As in that slow-grind kiss you initiated after the wine bottle passed between you…

But saying all that? Out loud?

Nope. Not happening yet—not with how flustered he already felt just admitting this much. His face burned as flashes of it came back—the kiss, your body on top of him, the way your hands felt on his chest… Nope, not saying “and then we were making out and grinding on each other”, out loud to his best friend's actual human face in reality like an idiot with zero chill.

Opening your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out so you shut it, just to reopen it seconds later. “What do you mean we were “together”?” Your head dipping forward just slightly.

Jake’s breath hitched.

The way you leaned in—slightly—head tilting forward like a confused, skeptical puppy… it was killing him.

He knew exactly what “together” implied. And judging by the deep furrow between your eyebrows? You were either about to laugh in his face or punch him for even suggesting this kind of dream.

But he couldn’t lie now. Not when you were looking at him like that—waiting, demanding answers with just one question: “What do you mean?”

His voice dropped lower, rougher from nerves as he finally said it. “...Like… kissing. We kissed.”

A beat passed.

Then another.

His hands stayed firmly in his pockets—as if hiding them would make him less nervous about your reaction.

You give a small, slow nod. “Rightttt…” Your eyebrows possibly furrowed even further, “So we kissed?” Skeptical. Almost as if an unspoken, “that’s all we did and you’re trippin over it?”

Jake’s ears burned.

That look on your face—the slow, skeptical nod like “Oh? Just kissing? Really?”—told him you weren’t buying the full truth. And honestly?

He hadn’t even gotten to the worst part yet.

The dream didn't stop at a kiss. Nope. It went way further—your hands sliding down his chest, grinding against him, moaning his name…

But he couldn't say that out loud without spontaneously combusting from sheer embarrassment.

So instead of explaining it all (which would require describing every graphic detail), Jake just… nodded back weakly and cleared his throat like an idiot caught in a lie he never told but implied anyway.

Then—because apparently words failed him today—he added quietly, “...Yeah.”

As if “we kissed” explained everything about why he’d been weird all morning.

“So—,” You take a half step closer. “You’re being weird because we kissed in your dream?” Knowing he’s not telling the full truth. You know there’s more to it than just kissing.

Jake’s heart slammed against his ribs.

You took a step closer—a half step—but to him, it felt like a full-on invasion of personal space. Your eyes were locked onto his, sharp and knowing, like you could see right through the thin layer of bullshit he’d been throwing up since this morning.

And yeah… you weren’t stupid. You knew dreams didn’t just stop at kissing.

They never did.

Especially not with how things had escalated in that fantasy world—the grinding, the heat between you two…

He swallowed hard again—throat dry—and looked down for a split second before forcing himself to hold your gaze.

“...Okay,” he admitted quietly. “We… did more than kiss.”

There. Said it.

No details given (because God forbid), but the implication hung thick in the air between them:

That dream went places no best friend's mind should ever go when they're supposed to be platonic as hell.

Slowly nodding your head once as you let out a little short huff in almost disbelief, looking down as you speak. “We had sex.” A blunt statement. You look back up and over at him, still across the room, as you cross my arms over your chest.

Jake didn’t blink.

The second you said “we had sex”—calm, blunt, like stating a fact—his entire body tensed up like he’d been shocked.

It was one thing to think the dream. Another to have it out in the open… with you saying it first. Like it wasn't some dirty little secret buried in his subconscious.

And now? Now you were looking at him again—arms crossed, face unreadable but not angry (thank God), just… processing?

He couldn’t tell if that huff of disbelief meant:

“No way.”

Or:

“That's actually messed up.”

Either way—the air between them changed. Thicker. Heavier.

He didn't say anything for a long moment—just stood there across the room from you, heart pounding wildly as reality crashed down:

This wasn't just about a weird morning anymore.

This was about how much that dream affected him... and what came next.

“Yes or no, Jake?”

Jake’s breath caught.

You weren’t yelling. You weren’t laughing. You were just… asking.

And the way you said it—so blunt, so quiet, like this was a serious question with no room for jokes or deflection—made his stomach drop.

No more hiding behind half-truths or vague answers.

Yes or no?

It wasn't an accusation. It wasn't teasing either. It was straight-up: “Was that in your dream?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, then nodded once—small and firm.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, voice low but clear as day. “...We did.”

Two words that changed everything between them in an instant—the admission hanging there like a grenade with the pin pulled out.

You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek letting out a soft huff, looking up slightly to the ceiling, blinking a few times. There’s no way, your best friend of how many years now? Just admitted that you fucked in his dream and woke up with a hard on from it. You don’t even know what to say. You know for one you’re not disgusted or anything, not upset, should you be? I mean, you’re supposed to be best friends? Realistically, you’re flattered.

Jake watched you—the way your eyes flicked up to the ceiling, how you pressed your tongue against your cheek like you always did when deep in thought.

He could see it. The gears turning behind those light brown eyes. The quiet storm of feelings he probably shouldn’t be reading into… but couldn't help noticing anyway.

Was that disgust? Confusion? Anger?

No—you weren’t mad. He’d know if you were mad.

But the soft huff, the tongue pressed to your cheek… that wasn't rejection either. That looked more like someone trying to process something they never expected—something big, and messy, and weirdly flattering (if a little terrifying).

And then there was him: standing across from his best friend—the girl who'd known him since sophomore year—who had just confessed he dreamed about them having sex... and now waited for her reaction with bated breath.

His hands stayed clenched slightly at his sides—not nervous anymore so much as… hoping.

You look back over at him. Eyes slightly narrowed, arms still crossed. “So—you wanna fuck me?” A small teasing sarcastic smirk growing to your face, trying to hold back a laugh.

Of course you’re going to tease him over this, if you can’t express your own feelings about him right now then you’re sure as hell gonna tease him about his.

Jake’s face instantly flushed—bright red, from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

That smirk. That teasing sarcasm. The way you said “you wanna fuck me?” like it was a joke but also… not entirely?

It hit him like a truck.

And okay—yes, in theory? After that dream? He’d be lying if he said no part of him hadn’t thought about it. But hearing you say it out loud with that stupid little half-smile on your face?

He wanted to die. Or kiss you. Maybe both at once.

“W-What?” he stammered—actual words failing him for once—and then immediately looked away because oh God, this was mortifying and hilarious and terrifying all at once.

You were teasing him! You were absolutely mocking him right now while internally wondering whether or not this changed anything between them forever.

A few more steps towards him, raising your eyebrows slightly, “You, wanna fuck me?”

Jake’s pulse skyrocketed.

Each step you took toward him felt like a drumbeat—slow, deliberate, dangerous.

You weren’t backing down. You were pressing in. That smirk? Still there. Lips slightly curled at the corners like this was the funniest thing in the world to you: your best friend short-circuiting over admitting he fantasized about sleeping with you.

And now? Now it was all out in the open—and somehow… worse than ever because here you were, saying it again on purpose just to watch him suffer.

He opened his mouth—maybe to defend himself? Maybe to say something smooth for once?

But nothing came out except a weak, “...I mean...”

Then silence.

Just two of them standing across from each other—the tension so thick it could’ve been cut with a knife—as Jake stared into your teasing eyes and realized:

There was no way out of this unscathed.

You narrow your eyes slightly. That same smirk playing your lips but a little more sly. Taking another step towards him, closer now to where you have to slightly look up at him.

“Sooo you dont, wanna fuck me?” A hint of sarcasm but also a little bit of genuine interest. Tilting your head just slightly to the side.

Jake’s breath hitched.

You were closing the distance—actually, genuinely stepping closer—and now you were tilting your head, that sly smirk sharpening into something more dangerous: half-teasing, half-probing… like you weren’t just messing with him anymore. Like there was actual curiosity underneath.

And God—you had to look up at him. Enough for Jake to feel the height difference in a way that suddenly felt… intimate?

His heart pounded so loud he swore it echoed through the quiet apartment.

That question—“Soooo... you don't wanna fuck me?”—with that sarcasm laced with something real? It short-circuited his brain entirely.

For a second? He forgot how to speak English entirely.

Then—without thinking (because clearly his body took over)—his eyes dropped from yours... down to your lips.

Of course you notice his eyes flicking down to your lips. You take another small step towards him, having to tilt your head back just a little more to look up at him fully. Just about an arms reach from him now.

Head still tilted, “I’m waiting for your answer.” Crossing your arms against your chest.

Jake’s throat went dry.

Your arms crossed again—not in anger, not in defense, but like a challenge. A dare.

I'm waiting for your answer.

And you were so close now—close enough that he could see the tiny flecks of whatever in your eyes. Close enough to catch the faint scent of your shampoo mixed with coffee from earlier.

His gaze lingered on your lips—they looked soft. Slightly glossy from whatever balm you always wore without thinking about it.

The air between them? Thick. Charged.

He knew this moment was teetering on something huge—something that couldn’t be taken back if it happened…

But then again… maybe he didn’t want to take it back.

With his heart slamming against his ribs and every nerve ending firing at once?

Slowly… hesitantly…

Jake leaned down.

You push your hand to his chest, not in a rude manner but softer. You let out a little laugh as you move my head back slightly from his.

“So you do wanna fuck me?” Teasing, flirting. That same small sly smirk, your head moved back just slightly but still looking up at him.

Jake froze.

Your hand pressed gently against his chest—not pushing him away, not shoving him off—but stopping him. Just for a second. Like you were testing the waters… or teasing the absolute hell out of him.

And that little laugh?

Oh God, that soft, quiet giggle—it went straight to his stomach in a warm rush.

He didn’t pull back entirely—still bent slightly toward you from almost-kissing distance—but now he was hovering there like an idiot with your palm flat on his hoodie-covered chest and your smirking face tilted up at him like this was all one big joke to you.

But it wasn't funny anymore—not really—for Jake anyway. Not when every cell in his body screamed “kiss her.”

So instead of answering with words (because what could he even say?), Jake did something stupidly bold:

He caught your wrist—the one resting on his chest—and slowly lowered it between them.

Jake held your wrist—gentle, not forceful—for a heartbeat. Then another.

The air between you was electric now, all teasing and sarcasm giving way to something quieter… heavier.

He could feel the pulse in your wrist under his fingers—steady but maybe just a little faster than normal? Or was that him imagining things?

Without breaking eye contact (which took actual effort because damn, you looked good up close), Jake lifted his other hand slowly… reaching toward your face.

His thumb brushed lightly against the corner of your lip—the one curled slightly from that smirk still lingering on it—and for once?

No words. No jokes. Just two people standing inches apart, hearts beating too loud for their own good.

Your smirk softens into something else, more like an “Oh shit he’s actually gonna kiss me”, but in a good way cause I mean, well, you wanna kiss him too. Your eyebrows lightly flicker into a furrow at that thought.

Jake saw the shift in your expression—the smirk melting into something softer, more surprised… open.

And that tiny furrow of your eyebrows? Like you were processing: “Oh. Oh wow. He's really about to do it.”

His stomach flipped.

He didn’t give himself time to second-guess or panic—because if he did, he’d chicken out entirely and ruin this moment forever.

So instead?

He closed the gap.

Slowly at first—testing, almost—as his lips met yours in a kiss that started soft. Gentle. Careful, like you might pull away any second and call him an idiot for trying this with his best friend of all people.

But it wasn't awkward—not really—not when your mouth felt so warm against his.

You lean up into the kiss, matching him. Your hand finding its way from his wrist back onto his chest.

The second you kissed him back—really kissed him back—leaning up into it, soft and sure—the world stopped.

Jake’s breath caught, his lips parting slightly against yours as the kiss deepened on its own. Your hand stayed on his chest—not pushing away anymore, just there, warm through the fabric of his hoodie.

And God… you kissed like you. Not aggressive or desperate—just sweetly curious at first, then matching his rhythm perfectly. Like this was something natural. Something that should’ve happened forever ago.

He didn’t overthink it now—not about being best friends or what this meant later or if anyone would find out—but all he felt was this:

Your lips moving with his.

The quiet intimacy of finally kissing Jake Gray after years of friendship and dumb unspoken tension.

So naturally? He slid one arm around your waist and pulled you closer.

When he pulls you closer, your hand on his chest snakes up to the back of his neck. Your other hand replacing on his chest. Your heart nearly doing a backflip in your chest, like this can’t be real. Maybe this is your wet dream about him?

No, no, it’s real. Very much real.

Jake melted into the kiss the moment your hands moved—one sliding up to cradle the back of his neck, warm and possessive, while the other settled firmly on his chest again.

Oh.

That touch? Your hands on him like this? It sent a shiver down his spine. This wasn’t some dream replay anymore—this was real. You were kissing him. Your fingers tangled lightly in his hair at the nape of his neck, and that small pull?

It made him groan quietly against your lips.

The sound escaped before he could stop it—a soft, involuntary noise from deep in his throat—and then suddenly everything felt more intense:

The way you kissed him so perfectly despite never having done this before (had you?).

How close you were now that he’d drawn you flush against him.

How fast both their hearts were pounding.

He kissed back harder—not aggressive or messy—but with growing hunger… like maybe they’d been holding back for years without even knowing it.

You nearly smile into the kiss when you hear and feel that stupid little groan from him. Your hands staying where they are. You mimic the kiss, just as hungry as he is. It’s definitely sensual, thick, and lots, and lots of finally pent up tension being released.

The kiss turned deep—lips moving in slow, hungry sync, tongues brushing once… then again… testing the waters like they’d been waiting for this forever.

And honestly? They had.

All those late-night hangouts. The dumb jokes. Sharing fries at diners. Falling asleep on his couch after movie nights—all of it had led to this, right here: two best friends finally kissing like their lives depended on it.

Jake’s hands wandered—one still locked around your waist, holding you close; the other slid up your back beneath your shirt (accidentally at first), fingers grazing warm skin just above your hipbone.

He didn’t rush though—not entirely—even as the tension between you thickened into something downright sinful. Every touch was deliberate now: soft nips of lips, teasing pulls with teeth that made him shiver when you did them back…

This wasn't a mistake anymore.

This felt inevitable.

࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒ ࣪ ִֶָ☾.⭒

ALRIGHT guys, sorry for writing a book and being MIA for so long. I lost my spark 💔 but i’m back for now. hope u guys enjoyed this long little story about jake. just got around to watching this movie and it was surprisingly good in a bad way?? might be one of my new top favorite movies (not just because jensens in it… okay maybe.) anyways let me know down below if you want a part two or are interested in more things jake gray.

Forgive Me Father (PT 2)

Charlie Mayhew x Reader

*religious, sacrilege, angst, some fluff, mentions of abuse / abuse, adult content 18+, mentions of blood, not entirely based on how he would act, not religiously accurate*

WC: idk it’s long but not too long.

You awake in the morning, a heavy feeling in your chest. No…not heavy, is it amusement? You feel almost giddy to hear what Father Mayhew has to say for himself. That day replays in your head constantly. The day you went to find Father Charlie to talk about certain proverbs he had mentioned during Mass. Proverbs 4:25, 26. You couldn’t find him anywhere so you went to see if he was in his room. When you approached his door you were about to knock when you noticed the door was slightly ajar. Commiting a transgression, you peaked through the door. May God shield your eyes from what you had seen. Father Mayhew, shaking hands with no one but the devil himself… He was masturbating.

You kept watching, a part of you didn’t want too, but you did. Clutching your silver cross necklace, you couldn’t help but stare. You felt something you hadn’t felt in a long while since becoming a nun. A certain desire. A sinful desire. You took a step back from the door when he stood up, not wanting him to notice you. He washes his hands in holy water and then grabs something nearby. He kneels by his bedside. Suddenly you hear a sharp crack. You peak back into his room. Seeing him whipping his own back, self-flagellation. One after another. Repeating verses to himself. Blood pooling down his back with how harshly he’s hitting himself. He’s barely flinching… Yet he looks dejected, almost sickened with himself. Covering your mouth with how astounded you are, unsettled and almost disgusted. However, another part of you felt remorse, almost understanding in a way. You couldn’t take watching anymore, so you left.

All while daydreaming, no, reminiscing about that day, you notice the time. You’re almost late to confession. You hurry to the chancel. Noticing there’s still a long line, all the other nuns are still waiting. Normally at this time you would’ve been near the last one, if not completely last. “How long have you been waiting, sister?” You whisper.

“Long, sister.” She shakes her head, “I’m almost worried for Father Charlie. He’s never been this late before.” You nod your head at her words. You stand there a moment longer before walking off.

You’re going to his room. You can’t help but remember what happened the first, and last time you went to his room. Could you risk seeing that again? Would he be doing the same thing? Worse? You can’t help but think of what if something is truly wrong with Father. What if something did happen? What if he hurt himself badly and he passed out from blood loss? All these thoughts rushing and scrambling through your mind. You finally make it to his room, faster than you thought, you must’ve been subconsciously rushing. You take in a a deep breath as you knock on his door and walk in with your eyes barely open. “Father?” You speak barely above a whisper. You can barely make out him turning around with how narrowed your eyes are. You fully open them to see him wearing nothing a but a towel, and a Bioré nose strip?

“Would you mind closing that door? Please.” He softly speaks up, his eyes dark.

“Is that a Bioré pore strip on your nose?”

He lets out a small laugh, “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” He removes the strip. “Isn’t that what they taught us?”

You can help but almost stare at his body, almost fully enamored with how he looks. You are fully enamored. All you can muster up to say is a quiet and weak “Mm-hmm.”

“What are you here for, sister?”

“If I may be so bold…”

He slightly interrupts you, “We have that in common.”

“You missed confession.”

He takes a step closer to you, “I didn’t want anyone to overhear what either of us has to confess.”

“The confessionals are nearly sound proof, Father.” You speak quickly. Nervously, almost in disbelief, you know he’s lying.

“Maybe I like seeing your angelic face.” He looks you up and down, examining you. “It lifts my spirits.” You make a small, quick silent prayer to God, for your incoming thoughts. What the hell is he thinking?

“Would you mind?” He slightly leans his hand towards you, “Drying my back?” a folded towel lies in his hand. You look at the towel and then him, you reluctantly take the towel and follow him over to the other side of his bed as he kneels down. As you move behind him you can see many scars, fresh wounds, bruises, stitches. You gently place the towel on his shoulder, he lets out a small groan. As you continue gently dabbing his back he continues to groan, almost as if he’s being pleasured in someway. Almost as if you are pleasuring him.

That subtle feeling of desire. That little God forbidden hint of desire. Lust. Sin. It boils in your chest, your chest becoming heavier and heavier with each groan he lets out. Your stomach churning, it feels light. The fluttering in your stomach almost making you nauseous. You can’t help but give into the desire, letting your free hand wander onto his ribs. Caressing his soft supple skin. Deviating towards the front of his chest, your body subconsciously leaning towards him. His head leaning back ever so slightly with his eyes closed. He lets out a deep groan, guttural almost. You’ve completely lost hope, he’s weakened you. Your face leans in closer than your body as it touches the nape of his neck. So close you know he can feel every breath you’re taking. Both of you quietly and softly moaning. Your hand quickly but yet almost slow motioned, moves up to his neck as you caress all the way around. Fingertips moving up to his jaw, then working their way into his mouth.

“Sister.” Weakly escapes his lips. You let out almost a soft moan.

“Sister.” He repeats. Your open mouth continues to glide against his cheek. “No, no…” He softly states. Your mind is like an abyss at this point, you’re so far gone into the affair. Your ears are ringing.

“No!” He roars, almost as if he was scolding you, quickly snapping you out of your fantasy. You jump back from him, clenching the towel with both of your hands. He slightly looks up in front of him, “For all that is in this world, the desires of the flesh, the desires of the eyes, the pride of life come not from the Father…” He turns and looks at you, “But from this world.”

You look ahead of him and see none other than a painting of God himself. Watching. Seeing. The almighty God, watching you daring to commit a sin right before his own eyes. You throw the towel down and rush out of Father Charlie’s room. Almost slamming the door behind you. As you make your way down the corridor, spinning in disarray. Letting out a gutteral scream. Twirling around, you’re going insane. How did he break you, make you feel that way? Not once but twice. This time acting upon it. Not only is it just a sin, but to sin in front of God himself. You’re shaking, physically and mentally. You reach the banister, grasping the railing, your knuckles white. Thrashing back and forth, so vigorously your wimple flys off. You collapse in front of the banister, before letting out yet another gutteral scream.

You’ve completely fallen for him. Yet there’s something inside you, telling you not too. Not your faith, not your vows. Could it be God himself? Sending you a warning of acting upon your sinful desires? No. It feels almost like a clairvoyance. What else could make you feel that way? Lust and repugnance at the same time. A heavy feeling of guilt yet innocence. A feeling of rebellion and obedience.

Satan.

You recall the words of the Mother Superior as they echo in your mind, “The devil is real. He’s not a little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful, cause he’s a fallen angel and he used to be God’s favorite.”

Satan. That man is the devil himself.

⊹˚ ࣪⚝₊ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ⭒. ࣪☾.⭒ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ ࣪⚝₊ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ⭒ . ࣪☾.⭒ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ 𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ⭒. ࣪☾.⭒

ALRIGHT guys, not as much dialogue in this one as the last but i hope you enjoy it just as much as the last. possible part three if you guys insist and it does well again.

Forgive Me Father (PT 1)

Charlie Mayhew x Reader

*religious, sacrilege, angst, some fluff, mentions of abuse / abuse, adult content 18+, mentions of blood, not entirely based on how he would act, not religiously accurate*

WC: idk it’s a lot

As a new nun you had very little say in regards to your placement within the church. It came as a shock when you, alongside a handful of other nuns, were reassigned to the new young priest. You expected some minuscule job not assisting a very priest himself. As of now you exited the right wing of the church, it now serving as a convent. Dinner was being prepared and it was your job to collect any herbs or vegetables, the rest was delivered once a week. The bottom of your habit dirtying as you bent over harvesting some rosemary. Hearing the snap of a twig you felt the presence of Father Mayhew, low thunder roared across the horizon a breeze acting as a warning of the approaching cold front.

“I knew I would find you out here, sister.” Father Mayhew spoke up, his playful grin only widening as you subconsciously wiped the dirt from your hands onto your dress. He would never admit aloud but he much preferred your presence over the rest.

“Oh, hello Father.” You say as you close your eyes and nod at the same time, as you stand up and look at him. You fix your habit and wipe your hands off to the sides of it. “Did you need me for something?” You question, looking up at him with quite the height difference, having your hands folded in front of you.

He chuckled, finding your timid nature strangely amusing. He watched you fuss with your habit, making a mental note to have someone fix the hem. It hadn’t escaped his attention on your first day that it seemed a bit too long on you. He crossed his arms in front of him, standing tall yet relaxed. “There is something I need to talk to you about.” He mentioned, the usual seriousness that seemed to plague him returning to his tone.

You furrow your eyebrows slightly and quickly, wondering what he could be needing to talk to you about in such a serious nature. “Of course Father, what is it?”

His dark eyes, normally cold and intimidating, remained on you. He studied your features as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. How many times has he seen you kneel before him, head bowed, lips moving in prayer. He’s yet to find out if you were just as obedient in other areas. “Are you comfortable here? At the convent?” He inquired, the corner of his mouth twitching up, as if amused by something.

“Yes of course Father.” You try to say without hesitation, as you think of how of course there’s things you would change, and nothing quite beats home itself. “Why do you ask?”

He hummed, a low noise that was almost guttural. He knew your reply well before you spoke it. He also knew that you weren’t completely telling the truth in your answer. With a subtle step closer, his towering figure now easily casted a shadow over your form. “Are you lying to me, sister?” Father Mayhew mumbled, his voice low and almost commanding.

You look up at him, with just your eyes as he steps closer to you. You speak low. “Oh now, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Father Mayhew raised an eyebrow. In the short time since you’d joined the church he found your reactions to his presence… rather pleasing. He would find himself watching you in the pews, or during prayer, trying to decipher your intentions. Your meek nature kept his mind occupied with ways to break you out of it. He took another step closer, now towering directly over you. He wanted to see how far he could go before you’d crack under the weight of his gaze. “Maybe not lie, but I know there is more you are withholding from me.”

You released a small almost playful smirk. “This isn’t confession, Father.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your snarky comment, the sight of your smirk sending an almost unfamiliar feeling through him. He tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he watched you with his usual scrutinizing gaze. “You have attitude, sister.” He practically hissed the word ‘sister’, his tone was both scolding yet amused.

“Not attitude father, perseverance.” Your smirk turns to a small closed innocent smile, still looking up at him.

He had to forcibly bit back a laugh, the sudden spark of challenge in your eyes something he didn’t expect. He was quite used to nuns bowing at his feet and doing as he asked. You, however, were not like the others, you gave as much as you got. He wanted to see just how much he could get out of you before you lost your fight. “Interesting.” He murmured, his voice still deep with authority. He took yet another step closer until there was only inches between the two of you.

You clear your throat as you finally look down from him. “Now is there anything I can actually help you with, Father or may I get back to picking our vegetables for tonight’s dinner?” You ask as you look back up at him, slightly squinting from the setting sun.

His gaze followed yours, watching you intently. He didn’t miss the way your cheeks dusted with pink. This time he didn’t hold back a smirk, finding your flustered state very amusing. He hummed once again, crossing his arms in front of him as he considered leaving you in your current condition. However, he thought better of it, after all, he did actually have a reason to seek you out. “I have a job for you.” He spoke up, his tone now back to the usual seriousness.

“And what might the job be, Father? Who will tend to the garden after I leave?”

The corner of his mouth curled up, watching how you fidgeted awkwardly. You were trying your best to appear calm and collected yet it was evident you weren’t used to being stuck so closely next to him. He took pity on you, opting to answer your question first before explaining the task he needed you to complete. “Do not worry, I’m sure the others can finish up the remainder of the harvesting.”

You narrow your eyes a bit, hiding it within your squinting from the sun. “And what is the job, Father?” You repeat yourself.

He rolled his eyes, amused by your stubbornness. Father Mayhew took two of his long fingers, gently placing them on your chin to angle your head, away from the bright sun and towards him. Once you looked at him he removed his hand, letting it fall back to his side. “You’ll be coming to my office. There are some… documents I need you to help me organize.”

“I thought documents were confidential, only a Priest and the Abbess could view them?” You pause for a moment. “There’s not even an Abbess yet.” You cross your arms.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at your sudden challenge. He was used to the older sisters giving in to his word, never second guessing his authority. Having you question him made his chest feel light, he hadn’t felt this entertained in awhile. He watched impassively as you crossed your arms in front of you.“There is an exception to every rule, sister.” He mentioned, his voice taking a commanding tone once more. His eyes flicked over your figure, observing you carefully.

You widden your eyes a bit as you let out a small sigh, thinking what kind of Priest doesn’t follow the rules. “Lead the way, Father.” You dust off your hands together to make sure all the dirt is off. He nodded, a smirk once again tugging at his lips. He relished in your submission, watching you brush off the dirt from your hands before he turned to lead you towards his office. His pace was brisk, the length of his strides forcing you into a half jog as you tried to keep up with him.

“You know, you would benefit from a lesson in being more… obedient.” He spoke up, barely casting a glance back at you.

“I’m quite obedient, am I not? I’m following you to your office to help sort those documents, hm?” You look up at him with your eyes as the two of you continue to walk. He chuckled again once you pointed out your ‘compliance’. You were right, you were following his direction and coming with him to his office as he asked. However, your attitude, your stubbornness, was just as present, showing no signs of submission.

“I take back what I said, perhaps you need a few lessons on obedience, sister. A reminder to lower your eyes and keep your voice reserved.” He suggested, the office building now coming into view.

You let out a small laugh. “I think that will take more than a few lessons, Father.” You say as you look away from him back to the front of yourself as you keep walking. Father Mayhew could feel his chest become tight at the sound of your light laugh. He shook his head, trying to clear any impure thoughts or distractions. Hearing you speak back to him so unreserved, no longer flinching under his gaze. He wondered if he could break this defiant spirit of yours or if you were a lost cause. As the reached the office, he held the door open for you, motioning you through.

“After you, sister.”

You give a small nod to him as you walk into his office, you take a look around as you walk in. “Beautiful office, didn’t think it would be this nice.”

He watched as you entered, seeing the curious glances you gave around the room. He shut the door behind him before speaking up, crossing his arms in front of himself as he stood across from you. “What did you expect? Dirt, dust, and a singular chair to sit on?” He teased, watching for your reaction.

You let out a little laugh. “Well who am I to know what Father Mayhew has in his office.” You walk over to one of the bookshelves and look at all the books on it. He rolled his eyes as he watched you wander around the room, once again feeling an unfamiliar sensation course through him as he watched you touch his bookshelf and look at the various books on display. He leaned against his desk as he watched you, eyes following you intently.

“I must say, I didn’t expect you to be so insolent.” He mentioned, his tone almost playful.

“I wasn’t always a nun.”

His eyebrows raised. For some reason he thought of you as a good, obedient girl, never imagining you had a wild past. He tilted his head, intrigued. “Oh? Now you’ve definitely sparked my curiosity. You used to be quite the… party animal?”

You give him a small smile. “Lets save that story for another time Father, now how about those documents we’re supposed to sort?”

He hummed, mentally filing away your words for later. He could tell there was more to your story, and he’d be lying if he didn’t want to uncover it. He pushed off the desk, sauntering over to a set of drawers and pulling out a few files. “Indeed.” He murmured, his earlier serious tone returning as he handed you one of the files, keeping the others for himself.

You take the file, looking at the cover. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to look at these files? I’m not an Abbess, nor am I obviously a Priest.” You look up at him with a slightly worried expression, not wanting to get in trouble by the Bishops.

He couldn’t help the smirk that formed at your question, amused by your innocence and naivety. He watched as your eyes flicked up to him, your pretty face now held a worried expression, a stark contrast to the defiant attitude you had earlier. He set the files he was holding onto his desk before responding, watching intently as your eyes followed his every step. “Don’t fret, sister. I have already cleared it with the Diocese. You are merely giving me a helping hand.”

You slightly furrow your eyebrows and shake your head as you look down. “Of course Father.” How could you think that he wouldn’t clear it beforehand. He chuckled again, his chest feeling lighter the more he observed your expressions. You weren’t making it easy for him to maintain his usual stern demeanor. Seeing you look so innocently concerned over something so minor was amusing to him. As he stood beside you he raised a hand to brush a piece of loose hair from your face. He let his hand linger on your cheek, feeling the heat from your skin.

“You’re such a good girl, worrying about such things.” He whispered, his voice low and slightly mocking.

You can feel your face heat up as you continue looking down, not wanting to make eye contact with him. “Now Father,” You clear your throat, “What exactly are we doing with these documents?” You try to ignore what he’s doing and stay focused on the task.

He hummed lowly as he pulled his hand away, his fingers grazing across your cheek as he did so. He chuckled, noticing your attempt to keep his fingers from catching your reaction to his touch. His gaze darkened as he walked over and sat down in his chair, watching you from his desk. “It’s nothing complicated. I’m just updating the parish records, adding new members, removing old ones. But, my hand has been aching from all the writing. So I just need you to copy my notes into new files after I write them.”

You look back up as he walks away, looking at him now sitting at his desk, your face still hot. “That’ll take all night, won’t it?”

He folded his hands on the desk, observing how red your cheeks were, how hard you were trying to maintain a straight face. He knew the cause but decided he wouldn’t mention it, not yet. He chuckled at your statement, his eyes roaming your face as he spoke. “Well if you keep talking then yes, it will. Now stop standing around and get started, the sooner you start the sooner you can return to the garden.”

You purse your lips, almost embarrassed at how much you’ve been talking, not even realizing it. You walk over to his desk and sit down as start copying his notes into new files. He watched you silently as you sat down, his gaze following your every movement. Something about you was different from the other nuns. You were more lively, outspoken even, and seemingly unafraid of his presence, of his status. He liked this fact, he found it refreshing. As you copied his notes he continued to look at you, his eyes flickering from your face to your hands, watching as your pen raced across the paper, copying his handwriting perfectly.

After a long while of copying documents to new files, you stop for a moment and look up at him. “Why did you pick me, Father? To help you, I mean.” He was somewhat surprised when you looked up from your work to ask your question, he had been so focused on studying you, he hadn’t realized how long you had been copying documents into files.

He took a moment to respond, his mind searching for a suitable reply. He couldn’t just tell you that he wanted an excuse to have you all to himself alone in his office, he couldn’t tell you how he wanted to push your buttons, wanted to see how far he could go with you before you protested. “You just happened to be the closest to me in the garden.”

He was fibbing. Knowing there were other nuns out there with you. You tilt your head slightly as you continue looking at him. “Are you lying to me, Father?” You ask quietly, seemingly mocking him from earlier as he had asked you the same thing.

A smirk involuntarily tugged at the corners of his lips as you mimicked his earlier question. He folded his hands on top of the desk to keep from touching you. As stubborn as you were, he found your attempts to be cheeky humorous. He hummed in response, his eyes narrowed slightly as he observed your face, watching as you stared at him expectantly, awaiting a response. He shook his head slowly, deciding to humor you.

“And if I was? What would you do about it, hm?”

Shocked at his response, thinking to yourself what would you do, really? “Well, lying is a sin, Father.”

He hummed again, his smirk now fully formed on his face. Oh you were good. And a smartass too. He was finding it increasingly harder to maintain his usual authoritative demeanor in your presence when you were acting so bold. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of himself. He tilted his head, his eyes raking over your figure, taking in how you sat so innocently on the edge of your chair, your habit falling around you. "A sin indeed. But what about obeying a Priest, hm? You seem to have a hard time with that one, sister."

You look down with a small smirk as you let out a small “hm”. He got you there. “It seems we both have our own sins.” You pause for a moment. “But I guess that’s what confession is for, right Father?” You question as you look back up at him.

He could sense the sarcastic tone of your voice when you spoke. Oh you were definitely testing his patience, how far could you push it before you got a response? His mind wandered to the question of whether you spoke to the other priests like this, or if he was the one you enjoyed sassing most. He smirked right back at you, his eyes never leaving your face. He leaned forward, resting his forearms onto the desk and interlocking his fingers.

“Yes, you would be correct. But something tells me you don’t take the confessional quite seriously, do you?”

You can feel your chest get heavier with each little poke and prod he does, seemingly trying to get you to break. You tilt your head at him, furrowing your eyebrows. “Now what makes you say that, Father? Personally I believe I take my confessions quite serious, isn’t that all that matters?”

He chuckled, observing you intensely as you continued to resist his attempts. Your stubbornness was, he had to admit, quite attractive. He found it almost endearing in a way. He sat back in his chair again, a smirk still on his lips as he spoke.

“Hm, yes I suppose so. But what I think is that you don’t confess half of the things that go through your mind. You like to hold back on information. You seem the secretive type, wouldn’t you agree?”

You keep your head at the same little tilt. You speak quietly, “I could say the same thing about you, Father. You seem like you have a lot of deep secrets, ones you wouldn’t tell a single soul…”

His eyes darkened, his smirk fading as you responded to him. He clenched his jaw at your comment, an edge now to his voice. He leaned forward again, his gaze fixed on your face as he spoke, each word coming out more slowly than the last, his tone slightly laced with anger. “Watch what you say to me, sister. Don’t presume you know things about me.”

A small smirk plays on your face and then fades. “I’ve watched you more than you think Father. Sneaking away from the other priests, when you think nobody is watching…” You lean forwards to his desk.

He grits his teeth, anger slowly building up in him again. He didn’t like the fact that you had noticed. He prided himself on being a private man. And no one, especially a young, innocent-looking nun, should be able to watch his every move so carefully. He slams his palms on the desk, standing up, his towering figure now looming over you as he spoke, his voice coming out in a low whisper.

“And what exactly have you witnessed, sister?”

You flinch slightly and lean back into your chair as he slams his hands down and stands over you. You look down not wanting to look up at him. A small smirk can’t help but play at your face, knowing you finally broke the so called stoic priest. “I haven’t witnessed anything, Father…” You speak in almost a whisper now.

He could see the small smirk on your face, and it annoyed him more than it should have. You were being defiant, trying to play coy, when underneath it all, you were enjoying this, goading him on. He grabbed you chin and roughly pulled your face up to look at him, his fingers holding your jaw tightly. He clenched his jaw as he spoke, his voice coming out in a low, frustrated tone. “You may be innocent-looking, but you’re not as simple and sweet as you seem, are you, sister?”

You look up at him with your eyes as he holds your chin, forcing you to look at nothing but him. You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek. “Clearly neither are you, Father...”

He chuckled darkly as you speak back to him again, his grip on your jaw tightening as you continue to taunt him. He was becoming more and more frustrated with you. With how you continued to test his limits with no remorse. How you continued to toy with him as if you had no idea of the effect you were having on him. He leaned in closer to you, his face now mere inches from yours, his voice a low, menacing whisper.

“Be careful, sister...your brattiness is going to get you in trouble someday.”

“Oh you wouldn’t dare get me in trouble with the knowledge I have on you.” A small smile peaks through him grabbing your jaw, your eyes showing something more than retaliation. Still keeping your calm whispering tone.

His eyes darkened again, a look of frustration crossing over his face as he heard your words. He knew you were right. You had power over him. You knew too much. He was in a lose-lose situation with you. He leaned in even closer, so close now that you could feel his breath on your face. His eyes raked over your face again, taking in every part of you. He spoke in a low, almost menacing tone.

“And what exactly is it that you know, sister? Pray tell.”

You can feel his fingers pressing into the skin of your cheeks and jaw. The small smile still drawn on your face. “Oh I couldn’t tell you Father, that would be no fun.”

He clenched his jaw again, his fingers digging even harder into your skin. He knew exactly what game you were playing now. And he hated that. He hated that he was caught in your trap. Caught by some young, insolent nun. He took another step forward, essentially boxing you in against his desk, his face now mere centimeters from yours. His voice came out as a harsh whisper, the frustration and anger slowly bubbling over.

“You really think you’re clever don’t you, sister?”

“I’m more than clever Father.” You take your hand and move it to his that’s gripping your face and grab it. “Be careful, before you leave a mark. Wouldn’t want people questioning you now.”

He flinched as your hand reached up and grabbed his, but he didn’t pull away, instead letting you hold it there against your face. He knew you were right. He couldn’t mark your skin or people would notice. People would talk. And he needed to maintain his image. He didn’t respond verbally, his eyes just looking down at you, a deep frustration settling onto his face as his hand relaxed slightly against you, his fingertips no longer digging into your skin, instead lightly resting against your face.

A small open smile paints your face, it has a slight smirk to it as your hand is still resting on his. You let it linger for a moment before moving it away. You take a step back from him, noticing the time. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning in confession Father. No more lies.”

He watched as you smiled up at him, that look of smugness and satisfaction on your face made his chest ache with anger. He hated that you were in control here, but he had no choice but to give in. He couldn’t risk you saying something to the others about him. He stepped back slowly as you took a step back from him, his mind reeling with thoughts of anger and annoyance, but also something else. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

“Tomorrow morning, sister. You’d better have something good to confess.”

“As you, Father.” You give a small nod before leaving his office.

He clenched his jaw as you left the office, his mind racing as he watched you go. You were a cheeky bastard, a smartass. But you had a point. He did have things he needed to confess. Things you didn’t know about. Yet. His hand reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Dammit. He had to stop letting you get to him like this.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖ ⋆.˚⟡ ࣪

GUYS. i’m so excited for this series, it is so good so far, i can’t wait to see where this goes. also can we just make note of the red boots and the CHAPS?

anyways if this does well ish i’ll do a part 2.

part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/acetaminphen/763614566704922624/forgive-me-father-pt-2

Love and Bruises

Peter Parker x Reader

*Andrew Garfield’s Spiderman, one shot, fluff, swearing, mentions of blood/injuries*

WC: unknown

You sit in your room, studying late at night with your headphones on. Lying on your bed on your stomach as you write down in your notes, looking back and forth from your laptop. Hours have gone by from the time Peter said he would be over to help you study. This was a usual occurrence as you knew being Spiderman had big responsibilities. Though it never failed to still upset you, even though you know he can’t help it, but to help people in need.

While you’re writing down a few notes on sub molecules you hear a loud bang on your window. You quickly pull your headphones off as you listen… Bang… You hear it again, more soundly now since your headphones aren’t blaring in your ears, your music was so loud you can still hear it. You quickly sit up and walk over to your window and move your drapes to the side. You see none other than Peter, still in his suit with his mask off, breathing heavily and obviously in distress.

You quickly open your window, sliding it up to open it, “Peter, what happened?” you ask somewhat panicked, though it’s not as panicked as you used to sound as you’re used to him turning up like this. He leans onto the window seal as you open your window, looking at you still somewhat out of breath.

“Sorry I’m late.” he breathes out as he looks at you.

You take notice of how beaten up and bruised he looks as you see a nice deep bruise on the top of his cheek. He climbs inside your room and almost falls as he does. You reach out towards him as he does but he’s able to catch himself. “The hell happened, Peter?”

“Nothing, nothing. Just had a little incident on the way here, that’s all.” he says with a sheepish smile.

You let out a deep sigh and roll your eyes as you look at him, “A little incident that left you completely beaten?” you ask as you walk over to him and place your hand on his cheek where his bruise is.

“I’m fine, really.” he says with a little laugh as he moves your hand away from his face. “I managed to get something for you, to make up for me being late… again.” He pulls out some flowers from his suit, most of them being broken, wilted looking. You can’t help but let out a little laugh at his attempt of flowers. You gently take the flowers from him as you look down at them, smiling to yourself. No matter how many times he was late, beaten up, or missed an event completely (like when he missed your awards ceremony for photography), you couldn’t help but forgive him.

“Thank you…” you quietly respond as you look back up at him with a little shy smile. You place the flowers on your bedside table and walk back over to him. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, Spidey.”

He playfully rolled his eyes at your nickname you’ve given him, “What did I tell you about calling me Spidey?”

“Alright… Spiderman.” you say as you gather your collection of medical supplies you’ve gathered over the past few months. “Now take a seat.” you gesture to your chair by your desk. He reluctantly sits down in the chair, knowing what’s to come. Your usual routine of berating him of getting so beaten up and hurt, while you clean him up. As you start to tend to his wounds he prepares himself for the worst, but it doesn’t come. You continue to tend to his wounds silently, looking over his face but never making eye contact as you’re so focused on helping him. You’ve realized over these past few months, there’s no use in reprimanding him for how injured he gets. Instead you’ve come to accept it, you see on the news everyday, how many people he helps, including you a few times.

“No yelling at me this time?” he asks quietly, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“No.” you simply and quietly respond back as you continue to tend to him. There’s another long moment of silence before he speaks up again.

“You know it’s my job, right?”

“I know.”

There’s another long moment of silence.

“You know I’ll always look after you, right?” you quietly speak up, barely above a whisper.

“I know.”

beautiful picture of andrew below to make up for destroying your hearts

Forgive Me

Charles Leclerc x Reader

*One shot (?), sad, angst, swearing, fluff, mentions of cheating, kissing*

WC: unknown

You slammed the door behind you as you stormed out of your boyfriend's apartment, tears streaming your face. You needed some time alone to rethink everything, you wipe your eyes as you walk through the dark street, almost running with how fast you were walking. You heard footsteps behind you, so you turned your head, ready to see a stranger. Instead, you saw Charles. He kept his distance, knowing you want to be alone, but he still wanted to make sure you were safe with how late it was. You ignored him, arms crossed in front of yourself. Hearing his footsteps still behind you no matter how far down the street you walked.

“Stop following me Charles, I don’t want to talk to you”. You say as you keep walking, not looking at him, barely acknowledging he’s there.

“I’m not here to talk,” he replies. “I just want to make sure you’re safe,” he pauses for a moment. “And no, I will not go away.” You have to admit, no matter how the arguments would start, what they were about, he always cared about you, and your safety. You let out an annoyed sigh, as you keep walking further down the street, him not too far behind. Hearing his footsteps following you relentlessly only making you more agitated.

Charles follows you, just as silent as you are besides the footfall of you both. He occasionally glances around, but keeps his distance, walking with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Eventually, he decides to catch up to you and walks alongside of you. “I want to apologize to you.”

“I don’t wanna hear it.” You respond coldly, your arms still crossed in front of you this entire time. “I understand that,” he says taking a step in front of you, giving you no choice but to stop walking and look up at him, you look away as you don’t want to see the guilt on his face. “I know what I did is something that can’t be fixed, and if I could turn back time and undo all of this… I would do it in a heartbeat.” You can tell by his tone of voice he’s sincere, apologetic even. Your face however, completely different, filled with nothing but betrayal, disappointment, and anguish. You’re silent, as you avoid him. “But please,” he sounds like he’s begging now. “Don’t hate me. I’m deeply sorry for everything, I still care about you,” he pauses for a moment. “I cant bare the thought of you hating me,” he says faintly, with a tinge of pain in his voice.

You give in and look up at him. He sees the way your face is painted with the looks of betrayal, disappointment, and anguish; though it has somewhat of a soft look to it now as you look at him. “I don’t hate you, Charles,” you say quietly, with a bit of raspiness as you had been crying prior to you leaving.

“You don’t?” he questions, almost as quietly as you spoke. “I thought,” he hesitates for a second. “I thought you would’ve hated me.” You stay silent, as you look at him, thinking to yourself, berating yourself silently for not hating him for what he did. How could you ever hate him though? After all the things the two of you have been through. Through this silence, he takes a moment to admire you in the soft glow of the streetlights. You notice how he’s looking at you, almost how he looked at you when the two of you first met, completely enamored by you. He breaks the silence, “Do you forgive me?”

You completely look up at him now, as before you were only looking up at him with your eyes. Those words, “do you forgive me” made the back of your throat tighten. How dare he ask for forgiveness. Your thoughts go back and forth, trying to decide if you should forgive him. “Why’d you kiss her? You kissed another girl, Charles, multiple times,” you say trying to sound incredibly angry, but the only tone that comes out is almost fragile, your voice wavering sounding like it could break any second.

“She was trying to seduce me,” he says in a defensive tone, already trying to defend his hurtful actions. “She was being all flirty with me, I didn’t know what to do, I got confused,” you cut him off. “Confused?” you hiss at him. “I swear! It was a mistake. I haven’t talked to her ever since, I haven’t seen her since. I want to be with you, I won’t make that mistake again.” He still sounds somewhat defensive, but almost begging still for forgiveness.

“We have been together for three years, Charles,” you say slowly now with a hint of hatred in your voice. “And you kissed another girl. Maybe even slept with her, how would I know.” You look at him with so much anguish that you can feel your stomach turn. You can see the slight regret on his face when you mention him sleeping with her as well. “Look, I know nothing can take back what I did. I know that, but I promise you, that I’m going to make it up to you. I will rebuild our relationship. I’m going to show you how much I love you. I cant imagine ever letting you go,” his warm chartreuse eyes are filled with sincere emotion, he genuinely looks heartbroken.

You look away from him, blinking your eyes several times trying to hold back your tears. “Don’t cry, please,” you hear him say softly. You look back to him with an upside down smile, clear anguish still lingering on your face with a small amount of tears forming in your eyes. You clench your jaw, knowing you can’t resist him, no matter how much you want to hate him. “I hate you,” you decided to say. Coldly, at that, with a hoarse tone. You thought if you said it aloud that it would convince you that you do, hate him. “Don’t say that,” he says quietly, his voice now filled with the same anguish as yours as he looks at you.

You close your eyes as the tears slip from your eyes, “I hate you,” you persist. You open your eyes as you look up at him, tears now in his eyes. “I hate you,” you kept repeating. You plunge your clenched hands into his chest. It feeling like daggers to him. Your force on his chest lessens as he gently grabs your arms as you continue to say “I hate you” as tears fall from your eyes. You feel defeated. How could he. You fall to your knees, quietly sobbing as with how hoarse your voice is, you’re almost silent. He holds you before you could completely reach the ground. “Please,” he begs. “Please don’t leave me,” he says quietly as he holds you.

“I love you and hate you at the same time,” you wipe your eyes as you stand up, pushing him away from you as you look away from him. He brings his hand underneath your chin as you look up at him with an almost content, gentle look, though the anguish and pain are still there as tears silently fall from your eyes. “Goodbye… Charles,” you say as you move your chin from his hand as you brush past him, not looking back.

beautiful picture of charles to make up for the sad story

More Than Frenemies

*One shot, angst, swearing, fluff, Scotts sister, mentions of blood, kissing

WC: unknown

You and Stiles weren’t always the greatest friends. Most of the time always arguing, berating each other, fighting each other, Scott stopping you guys before it got too physical. Him always arguing how you never make any mistakes. Scott said you guys were “Frenemies”. Though you and Stiles believed you were both more enemies than anything.

There was something about the way the two of you would always look at each other. Rather it was when you guys were in the middle of an argument, in pure silence, or that rare once in a while of getting along. Lydia swore to you that Stiles liked you. You would always disagree with her. There were times she would bring it up around the other girls, Allison and Malia. They would always chime in, making you disagree even more. Though there was always a small part in you thinking “what if”.

It was late at night when you got a call from Scott, telling you to meet him at the school and that it was an emergency. You threw whatever you could find on, leading it to be a tank top, your favorite jeans, your dirty converse and a light sweatshirt, since it looked like it was gonna rain all day. You made it to the school as quickly as possible, quietly making your way inside. Scott had told you Stiles was in trouble and needed help, and you were the one closest to the school.

You had no idea where Stiles could be, or what trouble he was in. How you could even help. You heard a big wooden crash come from the library. You rush to the library as you quietly open the doors with your keycard. Cautiously walking into the library, you see Donovan throw Stiles through a few bookshelves. Seeing Donovan in his Chimera form threw you off, scaring you. He was nothing like you’ve seen from Theo. Different, scarier. You hide behind some nearby shelves, peaking around them, you see Stiles and Donovan struggling against each other towards some scaffolding due to the school trying to fix some previous damages. Stiles grabs a wrench as he looks up at the scaffolding.

Stiles starts to climb the scaffolding, Donovan grabs his leg and says something to him that you can only make out as mumbling. Stiles hits him with the wrench, you look away and quietly leave the library. Stiles looks up and pulls a pin holding a part of the scaffolding Donovan is on. He falls, letting go of Stiles’ leg. Getting impaled on one of the already fallen bars. Stiles quickly approaches him as he tries to pull the bar out of Donovan, trying to compress his wounds as he begins to panic, realizing what he’s done. He gives up as he registers there’s no saving him. He rushes out of the school.

You follow quickly behind him, as you both run out into the pouring rain. “Stiles?!” you shout with how loud it is outside from the rain.

He turns around and faces you, “What?!”. You furrow your eyebrows at him as you’re slightly taken aback from his tone of voice.

“Are you okay?” you say slightly quieter as you’re now within arms reach. He doesn’t answer. You see the wrench and his hands bloodied. He looks at you, still not saying anything. “You killed him. You killed Donovan.”

“He was gonna kill my dad! Was I supposed to just let him kill him?”

“Well you weren’t supposed to do this! None of us are. We could’ve saved him, Stiles.”

“You think I had a choice?”

“There’s always a choice, you could’ve called me or Scott beforehand to come help you!”

“Yeah well I can’t do what you and Scott do, okay?! I know you wouldn’t have done it. You would’ve just figured something out, right?”

“I try.”

“Yeah cause you’re Y/N McCall! The true alphas little sister! Guess what, not all of us can be perfect. Some of us have to make mistakes! Some of us have to get our hands a little bloody sometimes!” he yells, louder and louder with frustration and sadness in his voice as you can see his grip tightening around the wrench, “Some of us are human!”

“So you had to kill him?”

“I didn’t have a choice.” he pauses as the two of you look at each other, “You don’t even believe me, do you?” he takes a step closer to you with the wrench in his hand. You take a step back from him, “Really? Now you’re scared of me?”

“You just killed someone Stiles!” he looks at you with a defeated look in his eyes. You clench your jaw as you look at him, the two of you completely soaked from being in the rain. He drops the wrench and looks at his hands. You’ve never seen him like this before, obviously he’s also never killed anyone before this.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

You look him up and down with a saddened expression, coming to terms that Stiles really didn’t have any other way to defend himself. You walk closer to him and pull him into a hug as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. He wraps his around you, leaving his hands off of you so he doesn’t get any blood on you.

“You started to make me feel like I was crazy.” He says quietly. You pull away slightly from the hug to look at him. You see how he has so much regret, sorrow, and sadness in his face. In this awkward moment, you start to realize how deeply you actually feel for Stiles. How much you care for him.

“We’re friends. I never want you to feel like you’re crazy.” The two of you, looking at each other being so close to each other. You can feel and hear his heartbeat racing. You can feel his adrenaline, but there’s something more. Feeling his arms on your waist, you look away but feel him still staring at you. You look back up at him. That look. There it is. The look Lydia would always tell you about. The look Allison and Malia would tell you about. The look Scott finally started to realize a few weeks ago when he joked that you two were “Frenemies”.

“Friends.” he repeated, still holding that look with you. Your hair in your face from the rain, his hair in his face. You could feel your heart racing as you couldn’t catch your breath. There’s a strike of thunder and lightning just as you decide to crash your lips into his.

Don’t Go

Season One Sam Winchester X Third Person Fem

Based off Season One Sam

*One shot, angst, a lot of fluff, vulnerable Sam*

WC: 2.3k

They knew each other for years. Or did they really? They became fairly close friends in the tenth grade, but only for about half of the school year as he ended up leaving with no warning in sight. They hung out every chance they got. Him making excuses that he needed to help her with history homework. Her making the excuses that she needed to help him with art homework. They would sit next to each other in every class they had together. If they didn’t have the class together they would sit with one another’s best friend and talk about one another, his being his brother and hers being her best friend since the second grade.

She came to school one day looking forward to her second class as that was her first class of the day with him. Though she walked in and he wasn’t there. She thought to herself, maybe he’s just late, though he never was. As time went by in class she grew more and more worried. The bell rang and she thought maybe he was coming in later that day, possibly due to a doctors appointment or something. The entire day went on, with each passing class going slower and slower as in each class he never showed. The days went by, her realizing that he’s never coming back.

In todays time, she works at a local bar, as a bartender. Days dragging on, working day by day for tips and minimum wage. Everything is the same, each day. It was a lonely, dark, rainy night. The bar was hectic, tons of people everywhere, but lonely. She grew in her days by herself, no company, no friends, as her best friend since the second grade moved away after highschool for college. As the night drags on, taking orders, making drinks, taking shit from restless drunks, everyone blurs together. Until she hears two brooding voices arguing as they approach the bar. “I don’t see why you always have to pick the music,” one says in a whiny, sarcastic manner.“I don’t see why you always have to complain,” the other says back. As they sit at the bar she hears one clear their throat. “Hey babe, whiskey on the rocks.” he says as he gently, but also somehow harshly, pounds his open hand on the bar counter.

She turns around to be faced with two attractive men. One slightly taller than the other. The taller one with long, shaggy hair, with hazel eyes. The other with short, almost spiky hair, with gorgeous green eyes. “Would it hurt you to say please,” she says as she turns away to make his drink; thinking to herself they both look somewhat familiar. The taller one saying nothing the entire time, and the shorter one giving a huff. She turns and gives him his drink, he thanks her with a wink. She rolls her eyes as she looks to the other tall one. “Anything I can get you?”

“Uh, no I’m okay for now thank you,” he replies with a small closed smile. “How about a nice hot coffee, look a little tired there.”

“Uhm yeah sure, I am pretty tired. My brother and I just came off a long straight through twenty-two hour road-trip”. She furrows her brows, thinking to herself, who in their right mind would do a twenty-two hour road-trip with no breaks. She turns around without questioning him and starts brewing his coffee. “Yknow, you look kind of familiar.” the one with piercing green eyes states. “Oh yeah? How so?” she asks and she turns around and leans onto the bar counter in front of them. “Look like a girl that used to hang out with my brother here, everyday in highschool. Sammy here used to make excuses to hang out with her everyday.”

“I did not make excuses Dean, they were feasible reasons.” the tall one, now known as Sammy, exclaims trying to defend himself. She raises her eyebrows, in a mix of confusion, hurt, shock, and excitement. “Sammy? As in like Sam Winchester?” The two boys look at each other and then back at her. Dean looks back at Sam, “Seems like you two have some catching up to do. I’m gonna go find my dinner for tonight.” he says as he stands up grabbing his glass and taking it with him.

The two of them now seemingly alone in a bustling bar. Making eye contact, feeling like their the only two there. She breaks the eye contact by walking away from the bar and going into the back. Sam left in confusion. Minutes pass, seeming like hours. She comes back to the front of the bar, missing her apron, but with a jacket in hand as she takes a seat next to him. Looking at him, with what seems like aching and kindling eyes all at the same time. “I never thought I would see you again.” she says in a soft voice, so soft you could barely here her over all the other people. “I’m sorry.” he says with pleading, almost puppy dog like eyes. “That’s not enough.” she states as she grabs her jacket. She feels a sudden soft but jarring sensation on her arm. His hand. Holding onto her arm. She looks at him, having the same upset look she had, and him with his puppy dog eyes. As she slightly rolls her eyes, she takes her seat back down next to him.

“I know, I should’ve told you. It was so sudden and my dad didn’t like me talking with you, it was too hard to try and explain to you within a few hours.” She looks at him with cold, anguished eyes, “Sam, you left me. Confused, hurt. Even scared at first. I thought you might’ve died. It wasn’t fair Sam. We were supposed to be best friends.” she said with a satirical tone, that also sounded somewhat depressed. “I still can’t even explain it to you. It just-“ she cuts him off.

“Why can’t you tell me Sam, it’s been how many years? I think I’m owed and explanation.” she crosses her arms, now seemingly more pissed off than anything. “I can’t tell you because I can’t trust that you won’t end up getting hurt from it.” he says with a truthful, serious tone. “That I’m gonna get hurt? Dissapearing for years, twenty-two hour road-trips, people getting hurt? The hell did you get into.” He shakes his head in disbelief, “It’s too much for you to know, I can’t trust to tell you everything and then I disappear again.”

“Why would you have to disappear again Sam, we’re adults. I was supposed to be your best friend.” she says in a deep sigh. “You know what, this is too much, you’re right.” she gets up, grabbing her jacket once more and putting it on in a hurry and almost rushing outside to get away from him. Just as she leaves the door, Dean approaches Sam. “What was that all about, what’d you screw up this time?” As Sam explains to him, Dean raises both his eyebrows and lets out a sigh, “It’s up to you Sammy, but if I were you, I wouldn’t let this one get away.” he states as he pats him on the back and walks away to a booth with two pretty girls. Sam takes a deep breath as he hurries out the door, swinging his head side to side looking desperately for where she went.

He sees her, already far off into the dark night. He chases after her, pacing himself to not seem like some psycho trying to kidnap a girl. He announces himself by clearing his throat as he slows himself by her side and fixing his hair with a quick brush of his hand. She glances and him and seemingly ignores him as she keeps walking. He sighs, almost defeated. “Please, give me one more chance to make this right.” he says as he steps in front of her, with his hands up to stop her, gently grabbing each of her shoulders, looking at her once more with those puppy dog eyes. She ever so slightly does her classic eye roll, with a sigh that turns into a small smile, “What’s the excuse now, Sammy?” He gives a small smile back to her, “Walk with me to my motel, I’ll explain everything on the way.” he holds his hand out to her, genuinely making a brave move, as he never does but decided to with her. She keeps her small smile as she takes his hand.

As they walk to his motel, Sam explains the life him and Dean have been living. Even before he met her. How him and Dean have been fighting literal monsters since they can remember. How he regrettable left college to help Dean find their Dad. How many people he’s lost. How many times he and Dean have almost lost each other, or have lost each other. Her being in disbelief this entire time and shedding a few tears when his story got really personal. Shedding a few more tears when she realizes he’s never got to live a normal life. As they reach the motel, they stand outside as it starts to pour rain. “Spend the night? As we always wished when we were younger.” he suggests, almost begging. She looks around, like if she had any second thought, just wanting to make it seem like she wasn’t so desperate to hang out with her old friend, who was secretly her crush. “Why not.” she gives a small shrug as she follows Sam inside.

There’s a long moment of silence, as she takes in the small motel room, sharing two beds. One made neatly and the other strewn about with clothes all over it. Clearly showing who’s it who’s. She walks around looking at everything, with one spot in particular catching her attention. The kitchen table. Papers and books scattered across it. She approaches the table as she gently picks up a few pieces of paper, setting them back down and grabbing an open book. Showing a page of something drawn titled “Shapeshifter, Doppelgänger”. She tilts her head in confusion. “Is this why you guys are here?” she asks showing the book page to Sam. He looks at the book as he gently takes it from her, “That’s actually what we just finished, we were in Missouri.” he closes the book and places it back down onto the table as he takes her hand and drags her over to the couch. “Let’s take a break from all the monsters, let’s catch up with you.” he gives her a small closed smile.

She seemingly blushes at his words, making her feel important. Making her feel not alone, after several years. She goes on and on, telling Sam how her life has been basically a shit show. As they relate to each other, on the same but also different levels. She tells him how she felt alone, but knowing that she also wasn’t really alone, and him agreeing he felt the same way. As the night grows to a close, getting later and later into the night slowly becoming day. Sam offers her some of his clothes to change into. After she changes she sits awkwardly at the edge of the bed, Sam already being changed into his pajamas which consisted of just plaid pj pants.

Sam gives a small, almost quiet chuckle as he sits on his bed. “Come lay over here with me, stranger” he jokes as he pats the spot next to him. She reluctantly but pleasantly crawls over to him and lays beside him. Sam slowly pulling her closer as he turns the small cable tv on. “Any suggestions? Preferably nothing horror.” as much as Sam would never admit it to anyone, especially his brother. He hates horror movies, all it does is remind him of the life he was forced into. “No specifics, but maybe a romcom?” she gives a small closed smile. Sam shakes his head as he gives a small laugh, as he flicks through channels looking for anything relating to a romcom. As the movie progresses, they both finally grow as equally tired.

She gives one last look to Sam, as they both lay cuddled together, his arm wrapped around her waist, his eyes gently closed, her head on his bare chest. Feeling the warmth of his skin against her face, hearing his heart beating. “Please don’t go.” she quietly says as she gives in and closes her eyes. Sam, hearing all of this. Feeling the guilt, as he feels her breathing slow, as she falls asleep. The warmth he feels from her face, and her breath as it hits his chest. A few hairs have fallen over her face, he ever so gently moves the hair away to get one good last look at her. His face, saddening. The most it has ever been, in a very long time. He gives her a small, gentle kiss on her forehead as he falls asleep, unknowingly holding her even closer and tighter than before.