#icb ben is sending reader insert requests guys damn

[okaihauexpress]

bahaha I’m the anon from artielotl, for some reason I was almost sure you’d hate reader inserts but I’m glad u don’t! honestly I don’t mind what the fic is or what it’s about, I was just hoping for a Sam x reader ☠️ I love men with long hair like mmmm come here Rapunzel

hope this is what you were looking for dear nonnie! it's my first time writing reader insert in about 3 years so hopefully it not too bad!

As an adult, saying you had a "crush" felt embarrassingly childish. You weren't some kid on the playground at recess giggling about the cute boy who'd - GASP! - sat next to you in class, you were an adult with a job, bills, and responsibilities. But it was impossible to describe how you felt about Sam with any other word.

So, despite how it made you cringe, you accepted that you had a crush on Sam. But you also accepted that you weren't going to do anything about it. Back in elementary school you could've played kiss-chase (though in all your years of playing, you'd never actually seen anyone kiss anyone else), but an adult that wasn't exactly an option. At best, it'd produce an awkward laugh - at worst a restraining order and a suspended jail sentence.

You thought you did a good job of keeping it to yourself. You'd talk to Sam in casual conversation - kind of hard not to, given you worked at Nebula and he was the Chief Content Officer - but you didn't feel like you blushed outrageously or stumbled over your words. Conversations and meetings went on without a hitch, no one was any the wiser to the fact that every time you saw him your heart quickened. The scenarios you played over in your mind every night before bed - where Sam was suave and smooth talking and swept you off your feet - weren't known to a single soul.

Even if you'd spent the last few weeks (or was it months?) mentally planning out whether or not you'd take the surname Denby when you eventually married him, Sam approaching you at a work event was unexpected. It was unexpected, and it caught you off guard. If you'd known in advance that he was going to try and talk to you outside the carefully define boundaries of a meeting or an email, you wouldn't have had so much to drink. You hadn't drunk a lot, but enough that you could feel your head spinning as you turned and your lips looser than they should be.

"Hi," you breathed, and immediately you wondered if you'd sounded too in love? Maybe Sam would notice and freak out, maybe he'd report you to HR, maybe he'd--

"Hi," he replied, and you swore he sounded just as nervous as you did. Surely that was impossible though, as much as you'd spent the last few months (or was it weeks?) marinating in your emotions, you couldn't possibly imagine living in a world where he felt the same way about you.

There was a long silence after the greeting, and you analysed everything you'd done that entire evening in the few seconds that passed. Everything you could've done wrong flashed before your eyes, and you eventually took in a sharp breath and stood up as straight as you could.

"Sorry, am I in your way?" You asked, trying to step aside as you spoke.

Big mistake. The alcohol you'd consumed that had made you feel as if your head was spinning really started to hit as you moved, and you felt yourself losing your balance. You put out one hand to steady yourself - falling in front of Sam that second worst thing you could think of happening - only for that to directly result in the worst thing happening.

When you reached out, your hand collided with Sam's chest. In an instant you felt your body heating up with embarrassment. You were nothing short of mortified at the accidental touch and the way that it made you feel, and you prayed to every God you'd ever heard of - from every religion you could conceive - that the ground would open up beneath you and swallow you hole.

It didn't. You were still standing in front of Sam with your hand still on his chest - your humiliation having frozen you in place.

Sam, though, didn't seem to be upset. He wasn't frowning or scowling, there was no look of disgust on his face, there was just... Amusement? He was smiling, that was for certain, and he looked as if he was laughing too. Not laughing at you - Sam would never laugh at you - but then if he wasn't laughing at you, what could he be laughing at?

"You, uh, you seem to have-- Wait, can I start over?" Sam asked. Still in a state of shock you found the courage to nod twice, and Sam's smile widened again.

This time, before he spoke, he raised his hand. His fingers stretched out almost timidly, finding your wrist and slowly - touch almost featherlike - working over your palm. He looked down to where your hands were touching, then to you, as if to asses if this was okay.

You nodded again - just once this time - and he slotted his fingers between your own. Your mind was racing, and it wasn't just the effects of the alcohol you'd consumed. Sam was... He'd... He'd found you - gone out of his way to find you - at a party and now he was holding your hand. This wasn't real. You were going to wake up from a wonderful dream and have to face him at work and pretend you hadn't thought about yet another happily ever after.

"You fell for me," he said, though it almost seemed to be posed like a question.

A second silence lingered between the two of you, but this time you found yourself bursting out laughing. The dreams of a charismatic Sam had warmed you all over and left you feeling loved by this made up version of the man now standing before you, but the real Sam - awkwardly trying to get out a pickup line - was charming and endearing in his own way.

"I did," you laughed, your smile widening until you were beaming from ear to ear. "Whatever website told you to use that is out to get you. You're lucky I have a soft spot for pretty men that can't smooth-talk to save their lives."

"You think I'm pretty?" Sam asked, and your expression softened. His cheeks turned pink at the compliment and his eyes seemed to sparkle under the bright party lights. You'd always thought he was pretty, but the way he looked at you right now - like you'd just said the kindest thing he'd ever heard - made him so much more than just pretty.

"I think you're beautiful," you whispered. Summoning up courage from seemingly thin air you squeezed Sam's hand in your own and pressed your lips together, hoping that you hadn't misread the situation. It would, admittedly, be a case of terribly misguided signals on Sam's part if you had, but that fear never came to pass.

He just squeezed your hand tightly in return, and you knew that you'd work it out together.