Supernatural Imagines: Book One

No Scrubs

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: 750

Warnings: fluff, men catcalling the reader

Summary: It doesn't matter what men say to you or how they say it. What matters is who you're going home to at the end of the day.

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No, I don't want your numberNo, I don't want to give you mine andNo, I don't want to meet you nowhereNo, I don't want none of your timeAnd no, I don't want no scrubA scrub is a guy that can't get no love from meHanging out the passenger side of his best friend's rideTrying to holler at me

Since it's not your turn to have the car, you had to walk to the grocery store to grab a few essential items for dinner tonight. There wasn't much, so you didn't mind the short walk to the store by your house. It's actually nice to get out of the house after being stuck there for about a week with nothing but your Nintendo Switch and your TV for entertainment.

The weather is nice, the sun is hiding behind some clouds that give off a bluish pinkish hue to the rest of the world, and there is a light breeze to cool down your heated skin. You can't wait to get home and cook this delicious meal you've been planning for a week now. You're going to cook everything homemade, set out a bottle of wine, and enjoy your night indoors.

You approach the intersection by your house and press the button on the pole to signal that there is a person waiting to cross. Cars pass you by in a hurry, rushing to get to where they need to go. You never understood fast drivers despite practically living with one. You'd rather get there late than never, so you take your time on the road, angering some of the more impatient drivers out there.

Still, it's nice to observe humanity from the sidelines instead of from the passenger seat of a car. The light turns red for the oncoming traffic, but you still have to wait for the traffic turning left before you're able to cross the road. You're standing there minding your business when a car pulls up to the red light right next to you.

"Hey, beautiful! Can I get your number?"

You look to your left and see a car full of men whistling and hollering at you. You don't want to engage them in any kind of conversation, so you look away and pretend that you never heard them. They keep catcalling you, trying to get you over to their car, but it's not working. You don't want their numbers and don't want them to have yours. You don't want to meet them anywhere, and you certainly don't want to waste your time on them.

These kinds of men that have no regard or compassion for women are what you like to call "scrubs". They are the bottom-of-the-barrel lowlifes who think it's better to catcall a woman instead of going up to her and trying to have a conversation with her the normal way. It's something you never had any patience for, and this is no different.

"You looking mighty fine over there," another man inside the same car says.

Thankfully, the light turns green for you, and you quickly leave the area so you don't have to be in the presence of those men anymore. You take a shortcut back to your house and smile when it comes into view. Home sweet home. Nothing like home to make you feel completely safe.

You unlock the front door and enter, shaking off the bad energy you got from those men. You set your keys and wallet by the front door before kicking off your shoes. You head to the kitchen where you see the man you've fallen in love with, your soulmate, the one you're spending the rest of your life with.

"I'm back," you grin.

Sam turns with a smile plastered on his face.

"How did it go?"

"I'm just glad to be back here."

You lean up and kiss him tenderly, molding your lips against his. Just like that, those men are out of your mind. You have your own man to think about, and he's a man worth every thought.

"Keep this up, and I won't be making dinner any time soon," he chuckles and pulls away.

"That wouldn't be such a bad thing," you giggle.

"Keep it in your pants... for now," he smirks.

You hand over the ingredients you bought to your husband, taking a seat at the kitchen table to watch and admire him. Now, this is a real man, and he's all yours.