Supernatural Preferences and Imagines

094 | Your College *AU* [Written Out] [Dean and Castiel]

D E A N

You're the geeky girl on campus that gives tutoring sessions for extra cash and Dean is the dorky jock that pretends to be clueless about English because he secretly has a crush on you.

Lazily twirling your number two pencil between your index and middle finger, you glance upward, swiftly reading the time. Like always, Dean was late for your seven o'clock study session; the red, bold numbers of the digital clock presenting the late hour teasingly. As if to mock you further, the Library was almost completely cleared out. There were only a few exhausted stragglers left, there tried faces looking as if they were trying to fight the late night weariness. You huff slighting, shaking your head as you look back to your English textbook. Though tried, your eyes skim over the next few paragraphs of Shakespeare's most famous play Romeo and Juliet. You smile warmly as you read the beautifully written words; you loved this play. As you started to get lost in the story, your lips wrap around the tip of your pencil by habit, your mind running wild with imagery. Your glasses slip down the bridge of your nose, but you were to concentrated to care or even put them back into place.

"These violent delights have violent ends. And in their triumph die, like fire and power," you subconsciously mumble.

"Which, as they kiss, consume," a soft voice continues, completing the quote perfectly.

Startled, your head whips to the side, your confused eyes landing on the source of the voice. To say you were surprised when your bright, E/C orbs spotted the famous jock, Dean Winchester standing above you was the understatement of the century. You were shock, almost into silence, your cheeks flaming red in an embarrassed blush. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you avoided his candy green gaze, looking back at your book. You flipped through a few pages, until you finally found another quote. By now, Dean had taken the seat next to you, his fingers nervously drumming against the table.

"What are you—"

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind," you whisper lightly, reading off another one of your favorite Shakespeare quotes; only this time you choose a different play, testing your theory.

"Look, I'm sorry about—"

"Finish the quote, Dean," you snap in a moment of spontaneous confidence.

His gaze returns to you, his lips forming a small smile when he notices your glasses resting at the tip of your nose, your lipgloss smudged by your pencil. He couldn't fight it; not when you looked the way you did. Your usual soft features were stiffened in powerful determination, your mind focused on proving your point. Your hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, a few loose strains framing the soft silhouette of your face. Glowing in the dim light of the library, you looked absolutely adorable.