Supernatural Imagines

Sam x Reader

Dating apps had never really been your thing, building a relationship based on pictures and a 50 word description just seemed totally unnatural. There was no way of knowing that an individual was the same as their online persona, or even the same person. However, your best friend had convinced you that meeting someone new would be so much easier online, hundreds of potential dates at your fingertips. You knew she had meant well, and wanted you to get back out there after your ex disappeared. This is how you had ended up in the situation you were currently in, sat in an overpriced Italian restaurant staring at your glass of white wine, the distorted lobster tank visible through the alcohol. The date had already got off to a bad start, your phone blowing up with several apology texts to let you know he was running late. Not just five, ten minutes late, but a whole forty minutes. You had been sat alone for half an hour by now, the glass of wine draining as fast as your patience. You sensed someone looking over at you, and out of the corner of your eye you saw one of the waiters looking in your direction. He had a kind face, his hair framing his chiselled jaw perfectly. Even though he was a tall man his eyes were far from intimidating, instead radiating softness that almost seemed to sooth your bubbling anger. 

It was forty minutes after your agreed meeting time that your date finally swanned into the restaurant, you clocked him immediately because of his unusual tattoo, one of a large crimson spider on his hand, its web extending up his forearm. His dating profile went into great detail about the meaning behind the tattoo, but you couldn't help but feel strange about seeing it in real life. I guess you just figured that if your date was not who he said he was, it would be over so much quicker. Your phone buzzed, a good luck text from your best friend, you sent her a message that he had arrived then placed it back into your pocket. 

"Hi, you must be Roland?" 
"Yep, and you look real weird with glasses, talk about false advertising."

There was no explanation for his late arrival,  just an unnecessary remark about your glasses, you had a feeling already that you'd made a mistake, and that was confirmed when he sat down and asked what your name was. You blinked at him, unsure if he was trying to be amusing, his scrunched up face proved he had indeed no idea who you were. 'I'm Y/N? We've literally been talking for a few days." Roland leaned back in his chair, looking you up and down, "Guess your profile wasn't that enticing huh, besides I go on so many dates and women can't resist me." He was thankfully interrupted by the waiter from earlier coming over to your table, placing down two menus and asking if he could get you anything. Roland placed his phone on the table checking it for messages before waving the waiter away. At this point you were seriously considering just getting up and leaving, this guy was obviously a massive dick. The only thing stopping you was your hollow stomach, maybe you could just make it through the starter. You couldn't help but cringe at the way Roland had treated your server, not wanting to be associated with that kind of mentality. 

The starter of tomato and mozzarella bruschetta had only just touched your lips when Roland confirmed your need to get out of there was imminent, 
 "So, we going back to mine or yours? I would offer my place but my mother hates it when I bring girls back."
"I'm going back to mine, and you are going far far away from me."
"I like girls who play hard to get, I'll wear you down eventually." 
Placing your half eaten bruschetta back onto the plate you moved to stand up, but before you could Roland grabbed at your sleeve. "C'mon Y/N don't be a bitch, we both know this we have some crazy sexual tension." Yanking your arm away with such force you sent your cutlery flying across the restaurant floor you huffed and readjusted your top. You couldn't even muster a reply, but that kind of attitude did not deserve one. Other people in the restaurant had stopped eating and were staring bug-eyed at the disturbance, not that it deterred Roland, he just sat there smirking cooly in your direction.

All the waiters had also stopped to watch the commotion, the one that served you just minutes ago walked briskly over, "Can I help at all?" You opened your mouth to explain but Roland talked over you, his voice sickly like thick syrup, "More wine that's all a man ever needs, and she's good." The server nodded slowly, awkwardly and walked away, clicking his pen rhythmically.

 The glint of the fork you had sent flying earlier was your escape, picking it up you walked briskly to the bar where the waiter was pouring the requested wine. "Sorry, and don't worry about another I don't think I'm staying a second longer." The waiter stopped pouring the wine and looked up, his eyes honey brown and sympathetic, "Sounds like you need this," he gestured to the glass of alcohol, "way more than he does." He took the fork from you, his features becoming increasingly concerned, "Your date is in here almost every night, my boss won't bar him because he spends so much money. Him and a few other regulars are keeping this place afloat." Exhaling slowly you glanced behind you, Roland was currently flexing his arm muscles in the direction of another server. A tinkling laugh made you turn around, "You look like you'd rather be in the lobster tank than go back over there." His laugh was the most comforting sound you had heard all evening, "You're so right, that guy is horrible! I don't know why I thought this would be a good idea, I mean I've heard online dating horror stories but you never think it will happen to you." The waiter laughed softly again, the noise making your heart flutter a little, "How about a drink on the house?" You shook your head,  eyes meeting his, "That's okay thanks, I'm driving so no more alcohol for me." 

Your conversation was disturbed by Roland striding up to the bar, slamming his spidered fist down a little too close to your hand, "What's going on here huh? You think you can just steal my date punk? Have you seen my tattoo? Do you know what that shit means? No? Well I'll tell you, it means you are about to feel my knuckles up in your face." Without skipping a beat the waiter calmly told him to leave or be forcefully escorted out. Several other waiters had gathered around the original one at this point, and by their facial expressions it felt like they had done this one too many times. Seeing he was outnumbered Roland slammed his fist on the bar again, downed the glass of wine next to you and stormed out of the restaurant, cursing as he left. 

Once the normal chatter of the place resumed you went back to your table, collecting your bag, reminding yourself to delete your dating profile as soon as you got home. The waiter you had been talking to earlier came over, his pen tucked neatly behind his ear, "I'm sorry you had such a bad night, I should've warned you about him." You shrugged, looking sadly at the remains of the bruschetta on your plate, "These things happen, you've by far been the highlight of my night so, thank you." He shot you a beaming smile, a hand quickly brushing through his hair, "I'm Sam by the way, and it was my pleasure." Returning the smile you were about to wish him goodnight when he stopped you, "Um, let me know if I'm out of place but.. Maybe I can help you replace this date with a better one?" He searched your face for an answer, his brows furrowed in anticipation, "That sounds perfect Sam. I would like that."