#sam abrams x you

[bullet-prooflove]

Send me a made-up fic title and I'll tell you what I would write to go with it

When Does the Heart Move On?

The Fight Before Christmas - You and Sam get into a fight after he discovers you've been keeping a secret from him.

Should Have - Companion piece to The Fight Before Christmas - There's a lot of things Sam should have done.

Fraught - Companion piece to The Fight Before Christmas and Should Have - Sam makes a decision regarding your relationship.

Sign Here - You confront Sam after he sends you divorce papers.

The truth is it doesn’t, at least not for you.

Your divorce decree had arrived today in the mail, you're now a single woman but you’re still in love with your ex-husband. You think you always will be.

When you go to Molly’s that night it’s because you don’t want to be alone. You may not know the people around you but there’s a comfortable atmosphere and a friendly face at the bar.

You’re sipping a glass of top shelf bourbon when you feel his eyes on you from across the door. It’s the same as it’s always been between the two of you, that spark of heat, that flush of desire.

He looks back down at his glass before he sets it down. You watch as he approaches you. You don’t say anything as he takes your hand, as he pulls you outside, as he kisses you, the way you like to be kissed. When you end up in his bed, he loves you the way he always has, his eyes locked on yours as he makes you come so hard his new neighbours must hear the sound of your voice.

In the aftermath you lay tangled up in each other, his lips brushing over yours as he stares into your eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers against your lips. “I just got so lost.”

“I know Sam.” You say softly, your forehead coming to rest upon his. “I was a little lost too.”

Love Sam? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

@kmc1989 @secretsquirrelinc @caffeinatedwoman @maryelizabeth13

[writtenbyan-aries]

I was unsure if you had a specific way you receive/handle your requests so I'm sorry in advance. But, I've been in sort of an angsty mood recently and was wondering if you could do like an all angst, no comfort type thing for Sam or Colby, or both, it truly doesn't matter to me. I've been reading through fics and whatnot, none are angsting the way I want them too😭. Please don't feel like you have too, I just thought it wouldn't hurt to ask, and your such a good writer, I love your work!!💞

∶ Summary: reader deals with the breakup between her and Sam

∶ Warnings: angsty, fighting, arguing, swearing, sad!reader, happy ending.. kinda

∶ Word Count: 3.6k | unedited

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“Do you even remember being happy together?” You tilt your head, tears streaming down your face, “Because I do.”

Sam stands across from you, “I don’t even know why I came the fuck home.” He runs his hand over his face, “Fuck, y/n, what do you want me to say? Do you want me to stand here and lie to you, tell you that the last year has been a walk in the park or something?”

“No.” You shake your head, “I just can’t remember the last time we were together and it wasn’t spent fucking screaming at each.”

“Can’t tell you.” He shrugs, “I don’t know what you want me to say, y/n. I work, I have to travel for work. You have the complete ability to come with me, but yet you choose to stay here.”

“Because I have a job, Sam. A job that makes it so you don’t have to constantly have to pay for me. I know what you say to your friends, bitching that I can buy my own coffee when you and I both fucking know that I can.”

“I have never bitched about buying you anything to anyone, so who ever told you that is a fucking liar.” He laughs, letting out a groan, “Fuck, but it doesn’t matter, you’re not going to believe me anyway.”

“There you go again, blaming everyone but your fucking self.” You scoff, shaking your head, “Whatever. I can’t keep doing this. It’s fight after fight anymore. We’re supposed to be happy, and we can’t even spend five minutes together without one of us having some dumb shit to say that sparks an argument apparently.”

“I travel, y/n.” He stares at you, “You would how know hard that is if you came with me for once.”

“You said that already, Sam.” You laugh, sniffling as you wipe your face, “You know what, no. I’m not doing this.” You look around, grabbing anything that’s his and throwing it at him, “Just go.”

“What the fuck.. are you doing?” He catches his sweatshirt and throws it on the couch, “Y/n, what-“

“Maybe we’re just better apart, Sam.”

You stand there staring at him as he stares at you.

“Do you think we’re better for it?” He asks lowly and you shrug, “I know I can’t keep doing this. Being good to each other and then listening to my friends tell me just give it till summer, knowing one of us will..” You motion at the strewn objects on the floor, “fuck it up again.”

He nods, “Okay. Fine. We’re done.” He beds down and you walk into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you try to collect yourself.

He walks in and you press your hands into the counter, “Can you just fucking leave already?” You storm out and he follows, “Is there someone else?”

You stop in your tracks, “No, Sam. There isn’t anyone fucking else. If there was, why would I fucking put up with almost two years of fighting with you, trying to make our relationship work if I was just fucking you over?”

He nods, “Jesus Christ, it was just a question.”

You laugh in disbelief, “A wrong one to fucking ask, and you know it.”

“Right like I know all the answers to everything.” He walks into the kitchen, the sound of glass breaking makes you jump slightly and you walk over, “So now you’re breaking my dishes because you’re disappointed? Fucking great, Sam. That’s just fucking great.”

You bend down, picking of the large pieces of the broken plate and leaning over to put them in the trash.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” He bends down, “But yeah, since you brought it up, I’m just disappointed in how much you couldn’t be there for me. You have time saved up to take off of work.”

“I’ll just take the blame, you can go tell your friends and the people that care about you that I broke up with you because I couldn’t-“ you stop, taking a deep breath, “Just go, Sam. Just get the fuck out of my house.”

“Why can’t we just work through this, we did times before.” He sits on the floor and you rest back on your calves, reaching over to dump the smaller pieces into the trash, “Because each time we fought before, you called, said you missed me, and I bit back onto it.”

You shake your head, “But now, I’m just starting to think that we’re just believing our own lies, forcing two pieces of a puzzle that won’t fit together.”

You stand up and walk back out to the living room, fighting back tears as your eyes scan his stuff on the floor in a pile.

You lay your hands over your face, turning away from him as you hear him walk out. You wipe your face, holding it together as you turn back around, “Lock the door when you go.”

You walk into your room and close the door. You rest your forehead against the wood, sniffling as the tears start flowing.

You hear shuffling and before you know it, the door closes behind him.

You open the door, walking back out. Your eyes scanning over the silent area. Your hand presses to your mouth as you sob, bending down to the ground.

You were cursing yourself, begging yourself to chase after him, but if you go, it’ll just make things worse.

You lift your head, your eyes moving to the couch.

“You didn’t start it without me did you?” Sam runs in, stepping over the back of the couch, “I love the beginning of this movie. It’s so funny.” You shake your head, “No, I waited for you. I know the beginning is your favorite part.”

He looks over at you, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead, “Thank you for knowing me.” He smile and you roll your eyes with a laugh, “You’re welcome.” You cuddle into his side, pressing okay on the remote.

He pulls you closer, letting out a sigh, “If we could make money just by doing this, I think we would be set. It would be the best job in the world.” You look up at him, “Why, because you’d get to sit on the couch and watch movies all day?”

He shakes his head, “No because I’d get to spend all the time in the world with you.”

You walk over to the kitchen, peering in as you rest against the entry way.

“Oh my gosh, I love this song.” You reach over, turning the speaker up louder. You spin around, sliding over the tiles in your socks to Sam, “I like shiny things, but I’d marry you with paper rings.”

Sam sings along, “Uh huh, that’s right.” He takes your hand, spinning you around, “Darling, you’re the one I want.” He dips you down, pressing a kiss to your lips as he stands you up, “Would you really accept a paper ring from me?”

You give him a shrug, “Depends on the kind of paper.” You smirk and he laughs, “I mean, yeah. It’s gotta be stuff that won’t rip or tear easy.” He snaps and points, “I know, I’ll laminate it.” You break out in laughter, “Not a bad idea.”

You can feel your body shaking as you reach up to lay your hand over your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as you drag it down over your face, “Fuck.” You shake your head, “What the fuck is wrong with us?”

You walk over to the bathroom, staring at your red and puffy face in the mirror. You turn the water on, staring it as you replay yet another memory that Sam must have forgotten about.

Sam walks into the bathroom, stopping when he sees you relaxing in the tub, “So I’m just assuming that my invitation got lost in the mail or something?”

You laugh, “I don’t think we’ll both fit in here.”

He pulls his shirt up over his head, stripping down before walking over, “Um, we can make it work? Now scoot.” You laugh as you sit up, turning to watch him step in and he sits behind you, “Now lean back here.”

You lean back, your back pressing against his chest as his arms slide over your shoulder, and you let out a sigh, “Oh I could get used to this.” He runs his hand over your wet hair, pressing a kiss to your head, “So don’t let my invitation get lost next time.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, small sobs slipping from your lips as you shake your head. You turn the water off, giving up the thought of trying to help the redness around your eyes go down.

You walk over to the bedroom, your eyes instantly moving to a dresser drawer that’s still half open from when he came over earlier today.

You walk over, pulling out one of his tee shirts and you clench it in your fists, pulling it to your chest as you sit on the bed.

The same bed where you have given yourself to him over and over again. The same bed that holds countless hours of deep and pointless conversation.

“What do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t a ghost hunter, Sam?” You whispers, breaking the peaceful silence. He hums lowly as his fingers softly rake up and down your arm, “Mm, not sure. I know I’d still want you in my life either way, though.”

“Really?” You smile and he presses a kiss to your head, “I can’t picture my life with anyone but you.” You grab his hand and pull it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “I’m glad we feel the same way, babe.”

“Plus, I mean..” he laughs, “Not to brag, but I’ve liked you for as long as I can remember. I had a big crush on you in high school.”

You cover your face with his shirt, using it to muffle your loud sobs. You pictured your future with Sam. Having a family with him. Buying a big house.

You sat up, pulling your phone from your pocket. You were hoping to see a text or something from him, but there was nothing. Just his face on your Lock Screen and that was just salt to the wound.

You locked your phone, tossing it behind you onto the bed.

Your eyes scanned over your room, gazing out the open doorway. You feel like you couldn’t breathe. Your chest was tight, and you were shaking like a leaf.

No matter where you looked, you were reminded of Sam. Every corner of this house was haunted and you wanted nothing more than to have him come back and tell him how much you loved him, how much you missed him, and just how sorry you were, how sorry you are.

You felt like it was all your fault. Doing long distance when you had the choice not to. Choosing making your own money over spending time with him in whatever place he was in that day.

Nothing happened the way you wanted, and for that, you were kicking your own ass, and you were kicking it hard.

You let out a gasp as your phone started to vibrate. You flipped it over, seeing it was an incoming call from one of your friends.

You hesitate, but decide to answer, “h-hello?”

“Hey I- wait, what’s wrong?”

“W-we’re over.” The words coming out of your mouth brought everything back, and you break down, “We.. got.. into it again..” you press your hand to your mouth, “I-I told him.. to just.. get out.”

You press your hand to your chest, “Fuck, it-it feels like.. I can’t breathe, Vee. I-I-“

“Okay, okay. I’m right here. I’ll come get you. I’ll stay on the phone until I’m there. Just get around, you can stay at my place tonight.”

“O-oh-Kay.” You lay his shirt down on the bed and walk over to grab a few items of clothing. You pack them into your backpack, sniffling and gasping uncontrollably as you stuff them inside.

“I’m coming onto your street now, okay. You still with me?”

“Y-yeah.” You grab your phone and walk out to your door. You grab your keys, stuffing them into your sweatshirt pocket as you slip on your shoes.

“Are- are you.. here?”

“Almost. I’m almost there.”

“Ok-ay.” You open your door and step out, taking a deep breath. The cool air calmed you down, but only for a second. You seen Vee’s car pull into your driveway and you walk down, running to her as she gets out and opens her arms.

“I’m so sorry.” She holds you tight, “You can talk about it if you want, okay?”

“I-I miss him..” you sniffle hard, “When- when we were.. g-good, we-we were.. good, y-you kn-know?”

She walks you around, “Come on. We’ll go for a drive.” She opens your door and helps you in before running around and getting in herself, “I was hoping you and Sam would work out. I really liked him for you.”

“It’s..” you take a deep breath, closing your eyes as you try to calm yourself down so you can speak, “The f-fighting. It was so-so, constant now.”

“Why were you guys fighting?” She glances over at you and you shrug, “I had standards for myself, o-or morals, fuck, I-i don’t know.” You lay your hand over your face, “I was focused on working, like that wou-would be what I would do while he’s gone, but he wanted-wanted me to go with him, and I fu-fucked up up by not going.”

“That’s not your fault. You like making money, there’s nothing wrong with that.” She shakes her head, “I mean, maybe you guys needed this. Maybe some time apart can get you guys to really think.”

You scoff, “I- doubtful. I just think t-that.. doing the long distance when we didn’t have to came between us and it’s my fault for that.”

“You did what you thought was right, and yeah, maybe working all the time wasn’t sufficient, but that’s what you are used to. I can’t remember a time you took off of work for anything other than being violently sick.”

“R-right.. I mean I know- I know you’re supposed t-to put your-your partner first, and for that, I’m paying the price for not doing it.” You groan as your hands cover your face, “Fuck, why am I like this?”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Sam could have pushed for you to come more, he could have called in for you, talked to your boss? He knows him right?”

You nod, “I just feel bad blaming him.”

“That’s because you love him, y/n, but even though we love someone, that doesn’t give them a pass at being not held accountable.” Vee looks over at you and you nod, “You’re the only one who supported me. Everyone else thought I was wasting my time with being with him.”

“As I said, I liked Sam for you, and a big part of me is hoping that you two find your way back together.” He reaches over, letting out a sigh as he squeezes your shoulder, “just don’t push it. If it’s mean to be, it’ll happen.”

You nod, wiping away a stray tear, “You’re right.”

She gives you a small smile, “I just got a big tub of ice cream, and right now, it has your name written all over it.”

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“I miss fighting in his old apartment.” You laugh slightly, “And I don’t mean big fighting, we’d argue over who was making dinner, what we were watching on tv, who’s hogging the blanket.”

“Um, didn’t you say I could have picked the movie for tonight?” He points to the tv and you furrow your brows, “Oh, did I say that?” You glance at the tv, “I think it’s a spooky movie kind of night.”

“Do you ever think that maybe I wanted it to be a chick flick kind of night?” He scoffs playfully and crosses his arms, “No, I don’t think you did.”

You sigh, “Fine, if you want to watch Mean Girls, we can.” He laughs, plopping down next to you on the couch, “No, I want you cowering in my lap when you’re scared.”

You snort, shaking your head as you hand her back the thing of ice cream, “Everything I know brings me back to us, to him.” You look up at her, “Do you really think he’s done?”

She shrugs, eating a spoonful of ice cream, “I wouldn’t say he’s done, I just think he knows that you both just need some time away right now. Simmer down before you guys end up going at it all over again.”

You nod, “Right, yeah.” You let out a sigh, reaching back for the ice cream, “I just.. I don’t want to leave him, we’ve been here before, but no one ever actually left, you know? Like we always found our way around it. This time, it just-“ you purse your lips, fighting back tears, “Feels different..”

“Everything is fresh, y/n.” Vee sighs, “Going through a breakup, especially with someone who you’ve been through so much with, is not easy by any means.”

“Yeah.” You bring your hands up to your face, sniffling into them, “Sorry, I-“

“Don’t be sorry.” She cuts you off, moving over to sit right next to you, “You helped me last year, so now it’s my turn to return the favor. I’m always here, you know that.”

The door bell rings and she perks up, “Pizza’s here, finally.” She gets up and walks over to the door. Your heart was racing, a part of it hoped it was Sam.

“Y/n.” Vee calls out and you jump up, “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry, but do you have change for a twenty on you?”

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. Here.” You bend down to your backpack and pull out your wallet. You walk over two tens and exchange it for the pizza.

“Thank you, have a good night.” The driver smiles and walks away. Vee closes the door and walks back over to the couch with you.

The rest of the night, you ate pizza, ice cream, and talked until what felt like you were out of tears.

The next morning, you woke up and went to the bathroom. You were appalled at how puffy and red your face was.

You splashed some cold water on, patting it under your eyes and dried off.

You walked out and Vee gives you a smile, “How are you feeling?” You give her a shrug, “The same, just without tears.” You laugh slightly and take the mug she hands you, “Thank you, for everything.”

She gives you a smile, “Anytime.”

After a little while, you got the urge to check your phone, but you were doing alright for right now, and you didn’t want to bring it all back.

So you left it go.

“Theres a new movie in theaters, a showing at six if you want to go?” Vee looks at you and you nod, “Yeah, sure. I’m down to see a new movie.”

She smiles, “I’ll get two tickets now.”

You nod, “I want to stop at my house first, I don’t want to go out looking like this.” She laughs, “Yeah no problem. I have a few things to do, I can drop you off on my way into town?”

“That’s fine.” You get up to gather your things and on the way home, everything hits you all at once, but you hold it together until you’re at your front door.

As soon as you open the door, you start to sob, seeing everything that you and Sam once shared slaps you in the face.

You pull out your phone, ignoring all of the built up notifications on your screen as you call into your job.

“Thank you for called Mistian’s Inc, Juliet speaking, how can I direct your call?”

“Hey, Juliet, it’s y/n. Can you patch me through to Dean?”

“Sure can. Give me one second.”

“Thanks.”

The phone rings a few times before Dean picks up, “Y/n, what can I do for you?”

You sniffle, “Hey, I had something come up. Can I use my time and take a few week off of work?”

“Are you okay? You sound upset.” He asks, “But yes, I’ll put that down right now for you.” You let out a laugh, “Um, Sam.. and I broke up again, and I just need a little bit of me time.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, y/n. I’ll put you down to return next month, say the fifteenth?”

“That’s good, thank you.”

“Of course.”

You hang up and let out a sigh. You check your texts, nothing from Sam, but one from your sister that says she has stuff to drop off for you.

You text her back, Just leave it on my porch. When are you coming? She instantly replies, I can drop it off in a few. You answer and walk over to the kitchen to get a drink.

As you stand staring at the floor, there’s a knock on your door and you sigh, “I told her just to leave it.” You mumble, angry that she can’t listen to a simple request.

You open the door, freezing when you see Sam standing there, eyes just as puffy and red as yours, “I miss you, I’m sorry.”

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Thank you so much for reading! I love you all so much! Catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[supernaturalfreakout]

— I love you, I'm sorry (Sam x fem!reader)

Summary: Sam regrets ever letting you slip away. Based on the song "I love you, I'm sorry" by Gracie Abrams. Notes: This was a request, and again, something that never would have existed if it wasn't requested. When I first received this ask, I have to admit my immediate thought was, No. I looked at the lyrics and had no idea how I would make it fit the kind of stories I like to tell. But then I had an idea, and just ran with it. Featuring Sam's POV again, and his incredibly messed up feelings. Thanks @mehartoor for the challenge ✨ PS. I've never written a songfic before this, so any feedback is welcome! CWs: Angst and regret, heartbreak, ?second chance romance, intentionally ambiguous.

Apologies have always come naturally to Sam, “I’m sorry” slipping from his lips as inevitably as dying leaves abandoning their branches in the fall—or is the tree the one that lets go? All his life he’s had something to regret, whether by the actions of his own hands or that of the universe, so he’s had plenty of practice, and this is nothing new. Regardless of how often he whispers those two, savage words, however, they never get any easier. And it's never been harder than the day he’d had to say those words to you …

Late Kansan summer. Lazy day by the lake celebrating your two-year anniversary. Sam remembers that day as clear as his conscience had been when you’d lain under the sun that afternoon: golden rays on your back, hands entwined in constant companion. Drinking champagne neither of you could afford from a flask to keep it cool. Feeding each other strawberries, juice dripping down lips and over chins. Backtracked by the distant splash of water and the laughter of families making the most of their summer vacations. Overseen by the clouds: stoned, and drifting fluffy and hypnotic in a crystal-blue sky.

By sunset, you were both sunburnt and tipsy, heads muzzy in their collective daze from the bubbles and humidity, and the constant buzzing of the lake flies that left a dizzying static in your ears, and that made Sam feel he was observing someone else’s life rather than his own. But that didn’t stop either of you from making the most of the night.

Pictures flash in Sam’s memory. Movie-reels in faded sepia. Haunting melancholies encoded in his skin. Images of you on your knees, grass-stains that persisted until morning. Pleasure coursing through his veins. The feel of your hair in his hands as he plastered his lips shut and prayed no one was exploring near where you had set up camp for the night. Luminescent bellies of fireflies that emerged at dusk and swept his mind to a distant shore.

Then you on your back, his head between your legs. The salt on your skin as he sucked on your thighs, leaving mottled red patches in his wake, and the itchy mosquito bites on your calves that he later soothed with lotion—because Sam always packed lotion (that was one of many things you’d loved to tease him about).

The softness of your stomach against his as he entered you softly, and the scent of your tears as you made love in the muggy, august air. The sweat you’d shared, bodies dewy and glistening in the moonlight. And, later on, the sparkle in your wet eyes when, tangled under the stars in your love-drunk state, you’d promised him “forever.”

A sharp pang shoots through Sam’s chest whenever he thinks about that. A rod lodging its way in his windpipe. The fear that overtook him that night led to him saying some truths the following morning that he probably should have kept to himself. Stupid things he didn’t mean. Things he wishes he could take back.

But he can’t. And he couldn’t then.

It was too late the moment he said them, his words too hurtful—too honest—and you had left. 

You had left, and for what?

To confirm his suspicions that he was never destined for happiness?

That everything he touches eventually turns to ash?

That he is doomed to end up loveless and alone?

Sam shakes his head, the memories too painful to bare, the ‘what ifs’ too hopeful to fathom.

He hadn’t wanted to hurt you, but Sam knew better than to promise forever. Because forever wasn’t his to claim. For what does forever even mean? Until the end of the world? No. He’s lived through several. Til the end of his days? That might not be that far away. Until the end of yours…? Sam didn’t want to even contemplate that. Because forever wasn’t real; it was a cruel joke people told themselves to make the fall hurt less.

And then he’d found himself panicking, ruminating about how he’d be condemning you—that he already was—just by existing.

He knew then that he had to let you go, because he loved you too much to watch you die slowly in his arms. Because that’s what would happen if you’d stayed, lest you burn up in a blaze of agony like everyone else he’s ever loved. He couldn’t chain you to him; you had a future ahead of you, one that promised wealth and happiness and connections. A Mercedes Benz. First-class flights. Shit neither of you cared about but had let infiltrate your dreams nonetheless.

Sam could see it now: you, years from now, laughing in a sunlit kitchen, someone else’s arms around your waist, another man's child in your belly. It made bile rise to his throat, thinking of anyone else being with you like that, and touching you as he does. He wanted to scream that he'd loved you first, that it should have been him there with you. But he also couldn’t deny that it was the safest option: a life without him, free from darkness.

A life you deserved. A future you’d trained and charmed for. One that promised status and would satisfy your parents’ shallow sense of self-worth, something Sam himself would never be able to satiate. One that offered opportunity and adventure, without the constant threat of damnation. He had to slam the door closed before it knocked both of you out. It was inevitable, after all. That’s just the way life goes.

So he’d been a dick; he needed you to hate him, and had pushed you away. It was the easiest way.

Two years down the road, thinking enough time had passed to anesthetize the pain, Sam tries to make amends, which results in you exchanging several messages. Surprisingly, you seem cool about it, and Sam doesn’t know how to take it. He thought he would be able to deal with it, that he was over what had happened, and that it would put his mind at rest. But he is wrong again, and it only brings up unresolved feelings. This shit never ends.

Joyriding on the back of those memories, Sam realizes that loving you is his greatest regret; you are simultaneously the best and worst thing that has ever happened to him. Because there’s no way in hell or on earth that he will ever get over you.

It's a car crash, yet he still can’t look away. So he sighs, fumbles in his pocket, pulls out his phone, and types out a message, because one last text can’t hurt, can it? As his fingers hover over ‘send,’ he looks up at the sky, and wonders whether you are up there, in that plane passing by.

His belly lights up with hope, fireflies flickering inside him, battering him from the inside out. A self-destructive habit, an age-old curse that will surely kill him one day if you don’t send someone to do it instead.

His fingers fly back over the screen, messages spilling from his gut, bursting forth in staccato rhythm.

He presses send again. And again. And holds his breath as his words float into the abyss. The feelings they contain no longer obscured by blurry nostalgia, but the painful, hopeful reality of the present.

“I love you,” the first one reads, in crisp, clear letters. But that’s not all.

“I love you,” the second repeats, because one statement is not enough; Sam always has to twist the knife deeper.

“I love you,” comes the third.

And the fourth.

The fifth …

"I love you

   I love you

     I love you

       I love you

         I love you

           I can’t stop

             I’ve always loved you and I always will

             I was wrong

           So, so wrong

         And I’m sorry

       So deeply sorry

     About what I said

   About that night

For everything.”

There’s not enough oxygen in the universe to supply Sam’s lungs as he waits for your reply. And when he sees the read receipt, followed by three little dots appearing and disappearing repeatedly at the bottom of his screen, that tumultuous swarm of hope threatens to choke him.

In his mind, he is already back beside that lake, tangled beneath the stars. He is dirty, and dishonest, but he is happy, and so are you.

This time, he doesn’t hesitate, or laugh, or brush of your remark with some snide and self-destructive statement about how the future doesn’t exist.

This time, he is ready and willing to give up forever, whatever that means.

[auroralwriting]

gracie abrams songfic challenge

mess it up - billy dunne x reader (out 4.14)

us - finnick odair x reader (out 4.16)

long sleeves - billy dunne x camila!reader (out 4.18)

wishful thinking - haymitch abernathy x reader (out 4.20)

the blue - finnick odair x reader (out 4.22)

this is my first ever songfic challenge and im sooo thrilled to be doing it with my girl gracie! each fic will come out two days after the last one, links to them will be here and on my masterlist! ୨୧

[sevasey51]

For the epileptic reader set could you do one where she and Jay are home and she feels in coming on and tells him so they prepare for it before it hits but it ends up being longer than 5 minutes so he calls 911 and Matt and Kelly both show up with Sylvie and Violet. Maybe an appearance from Sam the snarky neurologist while they’re at med...?

The Warning Signs

Summary: Jay Halstead and Y/N Casey have learned how to handle her epilepsy together—recognizing the signs, preparing for seizures, and riding out the storm as a team. When she feels one coming on during a quiet evening at home, she alerts Jay right away, and they go into action. But when the seizure stretches past the five-minute mark and doesn’t stop, Jay calls 911. Firehouse 51 responds with Sylvie, Violet, Matt, and Kelly, all shaken but determined to help. At Med, Connor is en route—but not fast enough to beat Dr. Sam Abrams, the notoriously snarky neurologist with zero bedside charm. With a mix of medical chaos and sibling emotion, Jay fights to stay calm while Matt and Kelly rally behind him, determined not to let Y/N face this alone.

It had been a peaceful evening—pizza on the coffee table, a fuzzy blanket over their legs, and reruns of Parks and Rec playing softly in the background. Jay had just refilled their drinks when he saw it: Y/N’s shoulders tensing, her jaw clenching the tiniest bit. She shifted on the couch, bringing her knees closer to her chest.

He was beside her in an instant. “Bug? You okay?”

She nodded faintly, blinking slowly as if underwater. “It’s coming,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “One of the big ones. I can feel it.”

Jay immediately went into action, as they’d practiced so many times before. He helped her lie down on her side, slid the cushion under her head, dimmed the lights, and grabbed the emergency pack. Her anti-seizure rescue meds were in the top pocket, just in case.

“You’re safe. I’m right here,” he said softly, brushing her hair off her face.

She gave the faintest nod—then stiffened.

The seizure came fast, violent and sudden. Her body arched, then dropped into rhythmic convulsions, her hands curling tight. Jay watched the clock. One minute. Two. He kept her on her side, keeping the airway clear, whispering her name even though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

Three minutes. He had the meds in his hand but waited—Connor had said to hold unless it stretched past five.

At four minutes, he was on the edge of panic.

At five, he administered the rescue med.

At six, nothing had changed.

At six minutes and forty-five seconds, he grabbed the phone and called 911. “Tonic-clonic seizure, lasting over six minutes. Rescue med given. No response. Patient has epilepsy—this is abnormal.”

Dispatch confirmed help was en route.

He hung up and texted Matt.

Jay: Seizure. Long. Rescue med didn’t stop it. I called 911.

The response was immediate.

Matt: On our way.

It was Sylvie and Violet who arrived first, sirens cutting through the night. Jay flung the door open before they could knock.

“She’s in the living room. Still seizing.”

Violet rushed to start vitals while Sylvie got oxygen and airway support going. “Let’s get her loaded. She’s in status—this isn’t stopping on its own.”

Moments later, Squad 3 and Truck 81 pulled up, and Matt was out before the engine even stopped. Kelly was right behind him.

“Where is she?” Matt demanded.

Jay’s voice cracked. “She’s still seizing, Matt.”

Matt’s expression crumbled as he crouched beside her, brushing her sweat-soaked hair back. “Come on, baby girl. You gotta slow down.”

Kelly’s jaw was tight, but he said nothing—he just helped secure her for transport.

“She’s going to Med,” Sylvie told them. “Connor’s been paged.”

Jay jumped into the ambulance with them. Matt and Kelly followed behind in their rigs, headlights glaring through the back doors like a beacon.

At Med, the trauma team was ready.

But Connor wasn’t the first one in the room.

It was Sam Abrams.

Dr. Sam Abrams, snarky, efficient, and terrifyingly brilliant, strolled in with a tablet in one hand and his trademark sarcasm already dialed up.

“Well,” he said, glancing at the monitor. “Someone decided tonight was the night to test how much cortical electricity the brain can handle. Bold move.”

Jay’s glare could have cracked glass. “Just help her.”

“Already am, Detective,” Sam replied coolly. “We’re stabilizing. Rescue meds failed, so we’re using IV lorazepam and moving to load with Keppra. Airway’s clear for now. MRI after we get her under control, unless Rhodes comes charging in and throws a stethoscope at me.”

Matt and Kelly burst into the trauma bay moments later.

“Abrams?” Matt asked, confused.

“He beat me here,” came Connor’s voice from behind him as he pushed through the door, gloving his hands as he moved. “And apparently still hasn’t learned empathy.”

Sam flashed a grin. “You want charm or survival? I’m here for the latter.”

Connor took over fast, coordinating meds and switching to neuro monitoring. The seizure finally stopped nearly 18 minutes after it began.

Jay collapsed into the chair beside her bed as they prepped her for a neuro ICU transfer.

Matt stayed close, a hand on Jay’s shoulder.

“She’s stable now,” Connor finally said. “It was a long one, but she’s coming around. We’re going to keep her overnight. Monitor for rebound activity.”

Jay nodded, emotion choking his throat.

Sam reappeared at the door, arms crossed. “You did good. Not every partner recognizes the onset cues like that. Most panic. You didn’t.”

Jay blinked in surprise at the rare praise.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Sam added, smirking. “You’re still not invited to my poker night.”

As the doctors filed out, Kelly crouched beside Jay.

“You did everything right, man. She’s gonna be okay.”

Jay finally let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then he turned back to Y/N, brushing her hair back again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered.

And through it all—he never let go of her hand.

[kumtana]

🌈 happy pride! 🌈

[will-schuester-hate-blog]

when artie said he had chlamydia i had to restrain myself from saying the conan gray koala thing out loud

[soupandsauce]

GLEE MULTIPLE CHARACTER MASTERLIST

HOW THEY WOULD TREAT YOU DURING YOUR PERIOD

[delusionalmultifandomwriter]

Would you read this pairing? (Chicago Med)

So i have this idea sketched out in my brain and was wondering if you would read it.

[losers-clvb]

"why aren't you here in my bedroom?" sam winchester x party girl!reader

content: canon typical violence, age gap, smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, praise, fluff, internal angst on sam's end

word count: 3.6k

song: risk by gracie abrams

note: please ignore my shitty attempts at texts, i do not text (much) irl. this "series" isn't going to be like a book -- the parts are going to be weeks or months apart, just to let everyone know.

m.list meet party girl!

The first interaction you had with Sam Winchester involved werewolves and vampires. Despite the absolute insanity spouting from his mouth, you trusted him, especially with his arm still wrapped around you after pulling you out of harm’s way.

“So that was a werewolf? Like Teen Wolf?” You pointed in the direction the other man had gone in, a gun cradled in his hands. Sam narrowed his eyes at you in confusion.

“Wha-,” then he thought about it. “Yeah, a bit like Teen Wolf, I guess.”

“And it was with a vampire?” You were trying to get a grasp on the situation. It wasn’t every day your favorite genre came to life.

“Yes.”

“Like Twilight?”

“No.” Sam laughed out at the image. “Nothing like Twilight, actually.”

He watched a small pout come to your face.

“They don’t sparkle?”

“No, I’m sorry.” He was stuck on staring at your expressions. You were beautiful, he noticed. All of your features suited you well. He was tempted to sweep a strand of hair out of your face before you gasped in horror.

“Behind you!”

Sam tightened his grip around you and spun, letting you nuzzle into his chest. You breathed in his scent, eucalyptus and mint flooding your system. There was a hint of something smoky that you assumed to be gunpowder, though you couldn’t be sure. Before today, you had never even seen a gun.

You felt him lift his arm -- the one not holding onto you like a child with a helium-filled balloon -- and two gunshots rang out. You flinched with both, fingers digging into his flannel. You heard something -- a body, you realized a second later -- hit the grassy ground.

Even in your alcohol-altered state you knew it was a bad idea to look behind you. That didn’t stop the curiosity from creeping in, pulling your head in the direction of your previous attacker.

There it was: the body of a guy not much older than you, laid out in the grass with a gunshot wound to the chest. A small cry left your throat before you could stop it. You’d never seen a dead body before.

Sam’s reaction was immediate, a hand over your eyes guiding your head back into him. He wanted to protect you from this, from his world.

“Shh,” he mumbled soothingly, brushing his fingers into your hair. You relaxed into him, focusing on the worn fabric pressing into your cheeks. You heard footsteps behind you, but from Sam's lack of worry, you assumed it to be friend instead of foe.

“Sammy,” a gruff voice called,

Sammy

That must be his name, you thought. You filed that away into your brain for later.

The other man must have gestured out a question, because a second later, you felt the rumble of his chest when he mumbled a yeah, yeah.

The casual way he was holding you paired with the calming scent of him made you tilt your face up, resting your chin on his chest. The alarm you had felt just moments ago fizzled into something else, something more like yourself. Your eyes twinkled up at him.

“Thank you for saving me.” You drawled, sliding a hand up to rest on his shoulder. The old band t-shirt you had borrowed from a friend rode up slightly, exposing more of your tiny skirt. You felt the other man’s eyes drift to your thighs, but your attention was locked on Sam. “You’re my knight in shining armor.”

“More like flannel.” He joked. His eyes drifted over your lips for a split second before coming back to your eyes. “And it’s kind of my job.” He chuckled.

“Still,” you shifted yourself onto your toes, “I wanna repay you.” His hands, which had been slowly traveling to your hips, gripped onto the fabric just over your waist. It was to keep you steady on your toes, at least, that’s what Sam told himself. You bit your lip to add to the meaning behind your words.

“Is that right?” Sam hummed out, raising his eyebrows. It wasn’t everyday that a pretty girl flirted with him this heavily -- in reality, it was pretty much everyday a pretty girl flirted with him, but usually his head was too far into the case to notice.

“I’m goin’ back to the room, Sammy.” The other man jingled the keys in his hand, giving you one last look over before turning around. “And, uh,” he threw a look over his shoulder at Sam, “have fun.” He winked with his suggestive words.

Sam tried swallowed down his embarrassment, but you still saw a pink flush on his cheeks. You shifted on your feet, hoping to get his attention back on you. Of course, it worked.

“You wanna have fun with me?” You purred out. You felt his fingers dig into your hips. A flash of hesitance shone through his eyes.

“How old are you?” He could tell you were young, like, really young. You hadn’t seen the world yet, hadn’t experienced as much as he had. Though, not many people had experienced what Sam had. He felt you push up against him a little more.

“Old enough.” You responded, making him narrow his eyes.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“Twenty-one.”

You watched a grimace cross his face.

Fuck, you were young. Barely legal to drink. You had obviously taken advantage of the fact that you could drink, if the slight sway in your stature and the dilation of your pupils told him anything.

“C’mon, honey,” you urged, the pet name coating him in a fuzzy feeling, “I want you, you want me-,”

“How do you know I want you?” He cut you off. You tilted your head slightly, the glitter on your cheeks sparkling at him.

“I know when a man wants me.” You answered. You moved your eyes from his, drifting over his face to the steady rise of his chest. You wanted to reach out to unbutton his flannel, wanted to see the muscles you knew it hid.

Suddenly, everything was funny. The weed gummy you popped before leaving the party was kicking in.

You giggled out, the force of your laughter knocking you over. You fell into Sam’s chest and his hold on you tightened.

“Are you high?” He thought back to the one time he’d smoked, back to his college buddies elation at every little thing. You hiccuped into him and turned to look at him, the side of your head now resting on his chest.

“A little, teeny, tiny, itty bit.” You replied, using your fingers to show just how little, teeny, tiny, itty bit it really was. Sam couldn’t help but smile at that. You were so fucking adorable.

“Let’s get you home.” He offered, trying to hoist you up to completely standing. You gasped and clung to him further.

“No!” You practically shouted out, a moment of sober washing over you. “The dorms have a curfew.”

Dorms. Curfew. Every word reminded him of your age, of why he couldn’t just kiss you right there and then.

“And when is that, honey?” He asked, trying out the pet name on you. It instantly lightened your panic, making you giggle again. You buried your face into him.

He nudged at you, a reminder that you still needed to answer the question. You resurfaced from the Sea of Sammy, as you had mentally dubbed it.

“What time is it now?” You slurred out. Sam checked his watch.

“3:00 AM.”

“Oh, curfew was…,” you did the math in your head, but the numbers got fuzzy, “two hours ago.”

“One?” That didn’t seem right. Most colleges, especially on the weekdays, cut the students off at eleven, midnight at the very latest.

You scrunched your nose.

“Eleven.” You corrected. Apparently math wasn’t your strong suit when intoxicated.

“Where were you going?”

You had been walking along the sidewalk when the boys had passed you initially. They figured you were fine, or, at the very least, could wait until they were done with their hunt before they offered their help. It wasn’t until you had been chased into a clearing in the woods that they, or rather Sam, had actually met you.

“Mmm, I dunno.” You giggled again, shrugging. “Diner?”

“Right…” Sam nodded. Had the college kids really gotten this unsafe with their lives, or had he just forgotten it all?

“Don’t judge me.” You cupped your hands around his face, pushing his cheeks together. “I love pancakes.”

“No, no, I believe you.” Sam managed to get out through his squished cheeks. You pulled him down closer to you, nearly eye-level with the giant now.

“No, Sammy, you don’t get it.” You dramatized every word. He almost corrected you -- it was Sam not Sammy --, but your eyes widened. “I could fuck up some pancakes right now.”

A smile twitched over him again. His hand found the small of your back, resting just above your butt.

“Wanna go get some?” He asked when you finally dropped your hands from his face. Your eyes lit up.

“Really?” You were practically vibrating with excitement.

“Who am I to keep you from your pancakes?”

He kept himself calm when you squealed with excitement, spooking a few birds that had settled into the trees near you. You had forgotten all about the night’s prior events and, luckily, Dean had found time to take care of the bodies, so no reminders would occur.

Sam wasn’t ready to let you go. No, not yet. He just wanted to be in your presence a moment longer. He could learn to ignore the pull to you later.

----

Turns out he couldn’t learn to ignore the pull.

Not when you had so kindly fed him bites of pancake while talking about your life.

Or when you had woken him up with a kiss on the nose after he let you crash in his and Dean’s motel room for the night.

You were making it especially hard to ignore it all when you sent him those sweet texts everyday.

honey, i found another sammy

don’t worry, she’s not as cute

honey, we talked about mythology today and i thought of you

honey, i’m a litgle drink right niw, but i stil miss you

Sam smiled at every single one, especially when they got flirtier after you two made it official. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe that you were his.

He made it a point to visit at least twice a month. He couldn’t stay for long each time, but it was enough time for you to cling to him like a koala on a tree, and to do… other things.

You weren’t a virgin in any way, something you found yourself repeating over and over, but Sam wanted to take it slow with you. He wanted to prove to you -- and himself, (and the whole world) -- that he didn’t want you just for your body.

You both settled for those heated makeouts, his hands gripping onto your ass. There had been a few times you’d gotten off on his thigh, soaking his pants through your lacy panties. Your little sighs and whimpers got him rock hard, but every time you tried to help him out, he would rush off to the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face.

Tonight, you were ready to take things up a notch. You had made sure your dorm mate would be out for the night, pushing her in the direction of the party you were missing.

It started out innocent enough.

Sam was halfway across the country in some dive bar, texting away with you while Dean hustled pool.

you: i miss you, honey.

sam: I know, baby. Next week?

Fuck it, you thought before snapping a picture of yourself.

you: i’m thinking about you right now, though.

you: [picture]

Sam nearly choked on his beer when he saw it. You, spread out on your dorm bed in nothing but lingerie. Lace -- in his favorite color, he noticed -- barely covered your breasts but pushed them up in just the right way. He couldn’t see what you possessed between your legs because your hand was stuffed into your panties. He imagined those whines he loved so much falling from your lips while you touched yourself.

While you touched yourself to him.

He booked it for the bathroom, a small room with only a toilet, sink, and trash can to judge him.

“Hey, honey.” You breathed out when you finally answered the phone. Sam swallowed.

“Baby,” he sighed, trying not to touch himself, “I wasn’t alone.”

“Did you like my picture?” You giggled out. You had stopped touching yourself -- it was really only for the photo, but hopefully you would get back to it soon.

“Are you really thinking about me?” Sam asked, leaning his arm up against the wall.

“Mmm,” you hummed suggestively, “always.”

He swore at your voice. So fucking sweet, like it was meant just for him.

“Can you talk me through it?” You wanted him to, God, you were practically foaming at the mouth for it. You listened for half a beat, waiting for his answer.

“Touch yourself for me.” He mumbled into the phone. You bit your lip and grazed your hand down your body. Shifting its way into your panties again, you whimpered at the brush of your knuckle against your clit.

Sam palmed himself through his jeans, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Are you wet?” He asked, then decided to add on to the question. “For me?”

You sucked in a sharp breath and swiped a finger through your folds.

“Yes, honey, so wet. All for you.” You all but moaned out. Sam slowly unzipped his jeans, hoping you wouldn’t hear him. This made him feel like a creep, like some guy that got off from a simple moan from a girl.

It didn’t work. You heard the zip sound into the phone, making you smirk.

“You wanna touch yourself with me, honey?”

Sam froze, his heart beating out of his chest.

“I, um,” he stuttered out. He didn’t think he would be caught. It threw him off of his game, making that confidence he felt before start to drift away. You sensed this and echoed his words back to him, shifting them just enough to make them your own.

“Are you hard? For me?”

Sam melted back into the moment. He wrapped a hand around himself, pumping slowly.

“Always.”

You whimpered at his own echo, imagining it all in your head. You hadn’t seen his cock, but you had felt it against your leg, against your back.

“You want my hand wrapped around that cock? Hmm? Stroking you nice and slow?”

Sam bit back a moan, but moved his hand just how you were describing.

“Maybe in my mouth? Taste you on my tongue?”

“I thought I was the one talking.” Sam interrupted your filthy teasing, but imagined the scene anyway. You, on your knees, taking him into your mouth with your eyes locked on his.

“Tell me then, honey. What should I do?”

“Rub your clit for me, baby. Nice and slow.” He repeated your words, making a giggle break through your moan.

“Picture my hand on that pretty pussy.” He smiled at the whine that escaped you.

“You’d make me feel so good, honey.”

“Yeah, baby, I would.” He watched his hand move on himself, trying to distort his vision to see yours instead.

“Slip a finger in, just one.” He could pinpoint the moment you did it, your breathing picking up.

“Just one?” You whined. He could see that pout on your face, the same one you always threw on because you knew it would make him give in to you.

“Just one.”

You huffed out a fine, making Sam fill with joy that you were still mouthy when horny.

“Good girl.” He mumbled.

“Honey,” you moaned, rubbing your thumb on your clit while you moved your finger in you. “I want you here. I want you touching me. I want your cock.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam tutted at your dirty words, “careful with that mouth. Don’t want people thinking my girl is cockhungry.”

You whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut.

“But I am cockhungry. You’ve been neglecting my needs. Please, honey, please.”

Sam squeezed gently, pulling a groan out of himself. He listened to your breathy whines for just a moment before answering.

“Next week.” He quickened his movements just a tick.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, honey.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhm,” you sucked in a breath when you curled your finger up a bit, “gonna ride you. Let you fuck up into me until I only know your name.”

“Fuck,” Sam swore. You bouncing on him while he gripped onto that sweet ass.

“Will you make me feel good, honey? Please?”

“Anything for my girl,” he panted out. He could feel his balls tighten up.

“Add another finger, baby, you deserve it.”

“Thank you, honey.”

He heard you hiss in pleasure, which, in turn, made him grunt at the image in his head.

“Feels so good, honey, but I wish it were your fingers in me.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he bit his lip to quiet his moan. “I want you here touching my cock, but we can’t always get what we want.”

“I’m gonna come, honey. Can you come with me?”

“I’m waiting for you, baby. Wish I could taste you, wrap my lips around those fingers and lick them clean.” He pumped himself faster, bringing himself to the edge.

“I’ll clean ‘em for you, honey.” You promised, moaning when you heard him groan.

“Say my name when you come.”

“Sammy.” You whimpered. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy…”

Sam came into his hand with a groan, his eyes screwed shut when his name fell off your tongue. He heard you shuffle over the phone, then a notification dinged.

“Look at how good I am for you, honey.”

Sam pulled the phone away from his ear, tapping into your message thread. There, displayed out for his eyes only, was a picture of you with your fingers shoved into your mouth, eyes rolled back. He could see the shine just below your lips, your release coating your digits just for him.

“Such a good girl.” He said into the phone, pulling his jeans back up. Fabric rubbing together -- your comforter, he realized -- sounded through the phone. He could see you in his mind, pulling on that silky robe you would make him get for you after showers.

You settled back into bed, letting your pile of blankets envelop you.

“I miss you.”

Your words made his heart clench. He wished he could be there, holding you, rubbing on your skin soothingly until you went to sleep. Of course, he would never be there, in your dorm room. There had been one time, only once, that he had dared to follow you in. He felt out of place in the crowd of twenty-somethings, nevermind the fact that he was technically a twenty-something, just on the wrong side of the spectrum.

It had taken one mutter of “sugar daddy” to get him to all but sprint back to his car, but not before he got a glimpse of your room. It was girly and sweet with just the right amount of mess that he would expect from a young girl.

Young being the key word. You were young, he knew that, you knew that, every damn person you came into contact with knew that.

It wasn’t until you sauntered from the dorm building with an excited smile on your face that he had pulled himself from the self-loathing. How could he regret this when he had your pretty face to look at?

“I miss you more.” He sighed out now, holding the phone against his ear with his shoulder while he washed his hands. He heard your lazy giggle.

“Not possible.” You slurred out the last part of your words and that’s when your muffled yawn crackled through the phone.

“Are you tired?” He asked, but he already knew the answer.

“A little, but I want to talk to you.”

“You need sleep, baby.”

“Okay, dad.” You rolled your eyes with the words.

Sam stilled. Dad. He knew you would have said it regardless of his age, and he wasn’t old enough to be your father, but it still stung. It brought back the reminder that this was probably wrong and he was a creep.

You furrowed your brows at the silence, completely oblivious to his internal battles. You saw no issues with your relationship. Sure, there were people who stared, and maybe a waitress or two that were Sam’s age would make you feel like a little girl, but it was all worth it to get to love him.

“Honey?” You whispered into the phone. Sam swallowed and glared at himself in the mirror. “Sammy? Did you fall asleep?”

“No, I’m here.” Sam snapped out of it, his eyes dragging to the floor. You smiled to yourself.

“Can you tell me about your day? Just until I fall asleep.”

“Yeah.” He sighed, blinking at the floor before reentering the organized clatter of the bar. He saw Dean talking up the bartender on his way to his previous seat in the corner.

Sam muttered on about his day, your small hums warming him. He had started to go into detail about the insanity of the town’s sheriff when he heard it: your soft snoring.

He closed his eyes and listened. For only a moment, he was next to you, arm wrapped around your shoulders with you cuddled into his chest.

“Goodnight, baby.” He whispered into the phone before ending the call, an empty, sinking feeling in his chest.

everything taglist : @littlesoulshine @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids

[ajortga]

clothes

pairing: sam carpenter x fem reader

word count: 973 (drabble!)

summary: sam loves showering you with affection, even if it means lending you her whole closet.

-

To say that the weather in New York City is cold is an understatement. It was sunny in the afternoon when you went to browse around your favorite book store.

You had tossed on a jacket beforehand when you got into Sam’s car so she could help drop you off before running a few errands. It was off by the time you arrived. It was pretty warm, you thought your sweater might have been enough.

So you had given it to her and told her she could drop it off at home if she went. 

But now, with a hand holding a bag full of new books that were on your booklist, mother nature had certainly had a change of heart. By the time you started checking out and asked Sam if she could pick you up, it was cloudy and freezing cold.

“Pfft, gentle breeze,” you murmur to no one in particular as you walk out. Sam had told you you should’ve brought it just in case, but what’s the point? The aesthetic of you, the “mysterious girl” just looking at books and a Gracie Abrams tote bag hung over your shoulders wouldn’t be so aesthetic with a huge jacket tied over your waist.

Now that you think about it, you could’ve just put it in your tote. Too late cause your sweater was probably at home now. You didn’t want to have Sam say, “I told you so, baby.” You were too stubborn to go back into the store where it was warm.

After a couple of minutes, the familiar black car that belonged to Sam drove by and parked at the nearest open spot. Before you could follow it, she messaged you:

sammy<3: Do NOT even think about walking. I’m not making my baby girl walk in the cold. Change of weather, huh?

You roll your eyes, sigh as you sink back into the bench you were on and start looking through your books. 

After a few minutes, you hear someone whistle at you as you turn and see your girlfriend. She put on a leather jacket as she approached. “Hey, cutie. Successful book shopping?”

You bite back a shiver while you nod. “Mm… O-oh yeah!”

She eyes you skeptically, knowing you too well.

“I told you to wear thicker clothes,” she sighs, pulling you into her chest and wrapping her arms around you. “Aye-yai-yai-yai-yai. Here,” she takes off her leather jacket and holds it out to you.

“No, put that back on, I’m not letting you freeze.”

“Bitch, you’ve been freezing. I’m fine, baby, I promise. I’m fine with the cold and walking around the shops for another thirty minutes. But you.. You have the shivers as soon as you get into a room a degree lower than the one you were in. You’re crazy to think I’d let you freeze.”

Okay, now she was just telling you you had a low temperature tolerance.

“No way! I’m not letting you die out here!” You exclaim, you didn’t want her to freeze to death.

She was still holding the jacket in front of you, her eyes showing she wanted you to open your arms so she could drape it against you. “Says the one whose nose is literally tomato red and sniffling. Baby, I swear I’m fine. Come on.”

“No, I can do it!” You exclaim, exaggeratedly stomping around up and down the walkway. Sam just sees a little tiny person dramatically walking up and down as you put out your arms to make it seem like you were some buff guy.

Another gentle, but freezing breeze blows against you, like it was on Sam’s side. It’s not long before you’re holding back shivers and shudders. Your girlfriend raises her eyebrows.

You stomp a few moments more before you come to a stop, slowly turning to Sam with a pout. “Jacket?” You ask, voice small, so innocent and completely defeated.

Sam can’t help but laugh, “I knew it.” She helps you thread your arms through her leather jacket. It was a little oversized on you, she grins because of it.

You didn’t want to tell her that you probably wouldn’t give it back to her. She’d probably come around and search your apartment while you acted clueless, like it wasn’t hiding in your closet with all the other clothes you’ve stolen from her. Sam would never tell you that she found you asleep one night wearing her hoodie and clinging onto a giant teddy bear that she won for you at the fair. 

She found it cute, until she realized the teddy bear was wearing another shirt you stole from her. She practically jumped to cuddle you, feeling bad you had to pretend that Sam was with you on nights she worked late. 

As the jacket swallows you whole, you hug it tighter against yourself. It smells sweet and leathery with a hint of cinnamon.

It smells like Sam.

It makes you jump up and down happily. A grin plasters on your face as you turn to your girlfriend, opening your arms. You feel very warm now. It’s even warmer when Sam steps closer and envelopes you in her embrace, resting her chin on your head. She runs her hands through your hair and inhales the scent of your shampoo. If anyone can make your stubbornness fade away in a blink of an eye, it was Sam.

“C’mon, cutie. I’ll make you a cup of hot chocolate when we get home, that sound okay?”

You nod as she scoops you up into her arms and begins walking you back to where she parked.

To say the least, you were smothered with affection when you got home. The best part was, Sam didn’t question when her leather jacket was gone from the place it was usually hung up the next day. 

[bullet-prooflove]

We had the thing that everyone wanted - Sam Abrams 😏

The Fight Before Christmas - You and Sam get into a fight after he discovers you've been keeping a secret from him.

Should Have - Companion piece to The Fight Before Christmas - There's a lot of things Sam should have done.

Fraught - Companion piece to The Fight Before Christmas and Should Have - Sam makes a decision regarding your relationship.

The thing about your marriage is up until now it was rock solid. Your friends they’ve always told you, ‘I want what you and Sam have’ because Sam, he had always adored you and you, you had always loved him.

He just needs time, you tell yourself when you find his wedding ring on the kitchen table, he needs space but then the divorce papers arrive and suddenly you realise just how serious he is about leaving you.

And that’s what drives you to break the stalemate, because the past couple months  have been a no man’s land between the two of you. Sam shutting you out and you not pushing because you’re scared of this exact thing happening.

Well now it’s happening and it’s time for you to pull up your big girl pants and face it only Sam won’t take your calls, he doesn’t respond to your texts. So you turn up at his office.

If there’s one thing Sam doesn’t like it’s surprises so the sight of you before his desk disarms him completely.

“I don’t have time.” He tells you because the truth is he doesn’t want to deal with this, he’s not emotionally equipped to deal with this.

“Make time.” You tell him, setting the envelop down on the desk in front of him.

He doesn’t know what to say to that because you have never spoken to him but this way but then again he has never put you in this situation before.

“Do you hate me?” You ask him, shoving the divorce papers towards him. “For what I did, for keeping that secret?”

Sam sighs because this is what he’s been trying to avoid, this messiness, the emotions that come with something like this. He’s tired of feeling, he wants to go back to that numbness, to the way he was before he married you.

“No.” He tells you, his gaze focusing on his pen instead of you. “I don’t hate you.”

“Then why…”

“Because being with you has made me soft, weak.” He says as he sags back in his chair. “Before when something bad happened, it didn’t touch me but now I feel everything, the good and the awful and I don’t want that, I don’t want…”

He exhales because his heart, it hurts, it’s been hurting ever since he found out about Lucy. It feels like he’s bleeding out, like his soul is just pouring out of his chest like a river and this is the only way to stop it.

“Sam, you can’t just shut yourself off.” You say softly. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“For me it does.” He says and he sees your jaw clench because you know when you look at him, that this right here, this is the end. “Please don’t fight me on this, I don’t want to take this through the courts but I will if you force me to.”

You feel like he’s punched you, like he’s plunged a knife right into your chest. He reaches for the envelope, removing the paperwork before he turns it towards you and sets the pen down on top.

“This is really what you want?” You ask him, your voice breaking as you pick up the pen and meet his eyes.

“Yes.” He tells you, his finger sliding down to the place where your signature is required. “You need to sign here.”

Love Sam? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

@kmc1989 @secretsquirrelinc @caffeinatedwoman @maryelizabeth13

[the-winter-spider]

I know it wont work | Part One

Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: Drinking, angst,

A/N: I KNOW i said i wasnt posting this till Yours, Always was done buuuuuuut before i keep writing it because it is FLOWING for this fic i had to see if anyone was even interested lol soooo lemmeee know if you want me to continue this after Yours, Always

Masterpost

------

There’s something sacred about Saturday mornings in the apartment. The quiet is different, not heavy, not tense. Just still. Like the world finally decided to give you all a break, especially before you all get a little chaotic again…tonight. 

Sunlight pours through the dusty windows, catching in the floating particles of last night’s hangover haze. There’s an empty pizza box on the coffee table. Someone, probably Steve, folded a blanket and placed it neatly over the back of the couch like it makes the whole place less of a disaster.

Natasha’s curled in the armchair, black hoodie, hood up, headphones in. She hasn’t spoken to anyone since she woke up, but that’s not weird. That’s just Nat, communication through shrugs, smirks, and sideways glances. You’ve known her long enough to translate.

Steve’s in the kitchen, still making pancakes like they didn’t all come out slightly undercooked last week. He hums when he cooks. It used to annoy you, but now it’s like clockwork. Something solid.

Bucky hasn’t come out of his room yet. But you know he’s awake, the soft glow of his bedroom light slipped under the door before you even stepped into the hallway. You always notice these things when it comes to him. You wish you didn’t.

Most nights, you end up in each other’s beds not for sex, you've never taken anything that far, not even for anything romantic. Just comfort, a habit. A kind of wordless safety you’ve never really been able to explain.

But not last night.

You’re not even sure why. Maybe it had something to do with your father calling in the middle or your usual Friday night hangout. Maybe it was the way you stormed off after, slammed your bedroom door and locked it behind you. You didn’t mean to shut Bucky out, but you did.

He waited outside your door for hours. You found out this morning, Steve mentioned it casually, like it wasn’t a knife to the gut. Said Bucky kept checking the handle, said he looked wrecked.

You passed out before you could let him in.

Now, guilt settles in your chest like cement. But then you remind yourself, he has his own room. His own bed. You’re not together. You don’t owe him everything.

And still… you wish you’d opened the door.

You met Steve and Bucky first. Kids running around the same block with scraped knees and more heart than sense. Bucky was the wild one, fast, sharp, and full of charm even before he knew what to do with it. Steve was smaller back then, but you never saw him that way. He was stubborn as hell and kind to his core. You trusted him before you even knew what trust was.

Natasha came next, around eighth grade. She didn’t talk much at first, just kicked the shit out of a kid who said something about your clothes, and that was that. You were bonded. She didn’t let people in easily but she let you in and that’s never changed.

Sam came in during college. Met Steve in a politics class, argued with him for three weeks straight, and then showed up at your apartment one day with a six-pack and said, “I figured I might as well be friends with the guy who can’t shut up.” You liked him immediately. So did everyone else.

Wanda’s newer. A friend of Nat’s from her job. You’re still getting to know her, but she’s intuitive in a way that’s unsettling. Observant, soft-spoken but never passive. She watches the room like it’s a chessboard and she already knows how it ends.

You wonder what she sees when she looks at you.

You’re guessing it’s a mess.

The thing about your group is: nothing is simple, but somehow it still works.

Everyone’s got their stuff.

Steve can’t stop trying to fix things. He wants everyone to be okay so badly it physically hurts him when they’re not. He’s gotten better at boundaries, but only because Nat threatens him when he forgets to take care of himself.

Nat’s a vault. Loyal, razor-sharp, and terrifying when she’s angry. You love her like a sister. She loves you the same, even if she’ll never say it out loud.

Sam grounds everyone. He’s the calm in the storm, the first one to check in, the last one to judge. You don’t know how he does it, how he holds space for people without ever asking for anything in return. He just does.

And then there’s Bucky. Bucky, who always feels like he’s just on the edge of something. You’ve never known how to categorize him. Not really, he’s like glue, like the anchor holding the ship down. 

You’ve tried to shove him into the “best friend” box more times than you can count, but it never quite fits. The way your heart lurches when he laughs, when he looks at you across a room, when he throws his arm across the back of the couch and your skin burns just from being near him, that’s not best friend energy.

But it’s never been the right time or maybe you’ve just never been the right person.

You’re not like him.

Bucky comes from warmth. A single mom who never let the world make him hard. A younger sister he still talks to every week. He knows what love is supposed to feel like.

You don’t, not really, not at all. 

Your father was always two drinks too deep and one word too cruel. He didn’t raise you. He happened to you and you learned to flinch first, to run before you could get left behind.

That’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done. And Bucky? Bucky stays. No matter how many times you’ve pushed him. No matter who else you or he has tried to date. No matter how many fights or false starts or awkward silences or almosts.

He stays and that scares the hell out of you. Because if he stays and you screw it up it’s not just losing a relationship. It’s losing him. Its hurt more because you know it's not a matter of if you lose him, it's a matter of when because you are self aware despite what people thing and that makes you selfish as fuck. And Bucky is good, he is so good. 

You are not the glue of the group.

You’re not the leader. You’re not the peacekeeper. You’re not the one people orbit around. You’re the space in between, important, maybe, but not essential. Not the reason this whole thing holds together.

You don’t fit a role the way the others do. Not the way Steve leads, or Nat protects, or Sam balances, or Bucky anchors. You exist somewhere off to the side, shoulder pressed to the wall, watching it all and trying not to feel the slow creep of loneliness that settles in even when you’re surrounded.

That’s the worst part. You’re never really alone. But sometimes it feels like you are. You wonder if they see it. You doubt it. You’ve always been good at hiding things in plain sight.

Your pain’s not loud. It’s not breaking plates or screaming matches. It’s biting your tongue so hard it bleeds. It’s brushing things off with a laugh. It’s slipping out of the room when your chest gets too tight and coming back like nothing happened. It’s saying, “I’m fine,” in a way that sounds almost believable.

They don’t see it because you don’t let them, and you know that’s on you but maybe it’s just what you learned. Because if you say I’m not okay, people start leaving. or worse they stay, but differently, carefully. They stop being honest. They stop touching you the same. They stop looking at you like a person and start looking at you like a project.

Bucky never did that. Not once.

That’s the thing, he knows. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to see the cracks. Enough to feel the weight when you start to pull away. Enough to wait outside your door for hours even though you never opened it.

You can still see the way his shadow stayed under the crack. How he didn’t move. How you did.

You always do.

It’s not fair. To him, to anyone. But you don’t know how to stop. You don’t know how to stay without feeling like you’re holding your breath.

How you can be more like him, like Bucky he breathes like it’s easy. He exists like he’s meant to be here. Like love is just something you do. Something you give.

You love him more than you should. More than you can handle. More than you’re ready to admit and it’s not a soft, storybook love. It’s sharp. It’s cracked at the edges. It makes you cruel sometimes. Makes you scared. Makes you push him just to see if he’ll come back.

He always does and you hate yourself for needing that proof so badly. Because he’s good. So fucking good.

You don’t know if you’re capable of being loved like that. Not without ruining it. Not without ruining him. So you just don’t give it, not all the way, never all the way. 

You get close. You offer pieces. Just enough to keep him there. Just enough to keep the line from snapping. But not enough to cross it.

You let him hold you when the nightmares come. Let him crawl into bed beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Let him brush the hair from your face when you’re half-asleep, fingers soft, reverent, like you’re something fragile.

But you never say the words. Not the real ones.

Not I love you.

Not I’m yours.

Not I’m scared shitless and you make me want to try anyway.

Because if you say it, really say it you don’t know what happens next. You don’t know how to be fully seen by someone and not flinch. Not run. You know Bucky deserves someone who doesn’t flinch.

He deserves someone who doesn’t carry years of silence under their skin. Someone who wasn’t raised in a house where love sounded like slammed doors and apologies that came too late. That felt like a burning red cheek and smelt like alcohol. 

He deserves warmth, ease. A love that says you’re safe here without ever having to prove it. You want to be that person for him. You do.

But wanting and being are not the same thing. So you stay stuck in this middle place. 

This half-space.

The almost. 

The ache.

The thing that lives between best friends and something else, you tell yourself it’s enough. You tell yourself he’s fine with it too.

But some nights, like last night when he waits outside your locked door, and you can’t bring yourself to open it, you wonder how many times he’ll do that before he stops. Before he decides that you’re not a thing he wants to wait for anymore, you know, deep down, that if that day ever comes, you won’t stop him.

Because maybe that’s what you deserve.

Maybe that’s what love looks like when it’s given to someone who doesn’t know how to hold it without cutting their own hands.

Nat pulls her headphones down and speaks for the first time that morning. “You’re staring into space like you’re watching your own funeral.”

You blink. “I was just thinking.”

“Don’t,” she says, dry. “You’re terrible at it.”

You smirk. “Love you too.”

Steve leans over the counter. “Are we doing anything today or just sitting around wallowing in existential dread?”

Sam walks through the front door with bagels and answers, “Both.”

It's like clockwork again. The laughter, the comfort, the distractions. The quiet place you’ve all built together.

“We gotta get this place cleaned up for tonight,” Steve says as he flips a pancake.

Natasha groans, “Why do we have to drink both Friday and Saturday?”

Sam steals a piece of bacon from Steve’s cooked plate. “We drink tonight to recover from last night, and so Sunday’s brunch is euphoric.”

Steve sighs. “That’s not how hangovers work.”

“Let me have my process, Rogers.”

You don’t laugh, even though they do.

You’re standing by the counter, half-dressed in your sleep shirt and socks, hair pulled back in a lazy knot. You smear peanut butter across your bagel with practiced, robotic movements. The coffee in your cup has already gone lukewarm. You sip it anyway.

You can feel him before you see him.

Bucky steps out of his room, quiet as ever, and you don’t even have to look to know his eyes go straight to you. You can feel the weight of it, soft, searching, familiar.

You don’t look at him.

You just keep working on your bagel like it’s the only thing tethering you to earth. You sit at the island and eat in silence, chewing slowly while the others talk around you about party themes and drink lists and whether anyone remembered to restock the Advil.

He doesn’t say anything either. But he lingers. You don’t know what’s worse when he pretends nothing is wrong, or when he tries to fix it.

You head to your bathroom once your plate’s clean and your coffee cup is empty. You don’t slam the door this time. You don’t lock it either.

You don’t have the energy for drama today. You’re just tired.

You’re standing at the sink, brushing your teeth with a sluggish kind of motion, when you hear the door click open behind you, the one that connects to Bucky’s room.

You glance at him in the mirror.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You nod, not meeting his eyes. “Hey.”

He steps in, closes the door behind him like he’s careful not to scare you off.

“You okay?”

You rinse and spit. “Yeah.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely. “What’d your dad want last night?”

Your hands still for half a second as you reach for a towel.

“I didn’t answer,” you say. “It rang and I just… freaked. I was being dramatic.”

Bucky’s quiet.

You keep talking, mostly to fill the silence. “I was sore and tired and kind of drunk and definitely didn’t think things through. I just needed everything to stop for a minute.”

He lets out a small breath of a laugh. “Well, you were definitely intoxicated. That’s not up for debate.”

You smile a little, not much.

He steps closer, gentle. Always gentle with you. His hand lifts and brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long against your skin.

“I don’t deserve you,” you say, and it comes out smaller than you meant it to.

He doesn’t blink. “Yes, you do.”

You shake your head. “You’re too good of a friend to me.”

Something shifts in his expression just barely. But you catch it, of course you do because you know what you said. The flicker of hurt that dances behind his eyes before he drops his gaze.

“That’s because I’m your best friend.”

It’s quiet, it’s honest and it fucking stings.

You want to say that’s not what I meant. You want to say that’s not all you are. But you don’t.

He steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a long, solid hug. His chin rests against the top of your head. Your cheek presses to his chest.

You let your eyes close and breathe him in, for a second, you let yourself imagine that this is enough. 

That it could stay like this forever.

Even if you know it can’t.

----------

There’s something about the apartment before a party.

The music hasn’t started yet. The living room’s still half-lit. Nat’s burning incense in the corner to cover the smell of tequila and whatever Steve tried to cook earlier that went sideways. Everything’s in that perfect, golden-hour chaos, lipstick on the bathroom sink, shot glasses lined up on the kitchen counter, Steve yelling at Sam for not helping clean, and Nat refusing to wear anything other than combat boots with her dress.

It’s your favorite kind of storm.

You’re in your room, touching up your eyeliner, when Natasha leans against the doorframe.

She raises a brow. “You’re gonna cause problems in that.”

You glance down at yourself. Short black dress, off the shoulder. Hugs in all the right places.

You paired it with heels you’ll definitely take off halfway through the night, and your hair’s doing that I don’t care but I care thing that always makes you feel a little dangerous.

You smirk. “Good.”

Nat crosses her arms, smirking right back. “Hot and petty. My favorite version of you.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Because she’s right. You are feeling yourself tonight andd just maybe, that has something to do with the fact that Bucky hasn’t left his room since this morning’s bathroom hug.

The thing about Bucky is you’re addicted to him. To the way he looks at you like you hung the moon. To the way he never touches you without meaning it. To the way his voice softens when he says your name like he’s afraid it might break.

You’re addicted to the attention he gives you, even when you pretend not to be and you know, deep down, if you just let it happen, if you gave in, really gave in there wouldn’t be all this tiptoeing. No games, no passive-aggressive flirting. No lines that feel drawn in sand and rewritten every time you both breathe too hard.

If you opened the door, Bucky would walk through it without hesitation. But you’d probably lock it again the second he did.

Because that’s what you do. That’s what you’ve always done. You cross the line, then backpedal like hell, and he stays. Every time.

But tonight, maybe you’re tired of being scared. Maybe you want to cause a little trouble. Just enough to feel something crack.

Nat’s still watching you, arms crossed, that little knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Are we doing the pre-party shots?” she asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

You follow.

Ten minutes later, the four of you are gathered in the kitchen, like you always are before a party. One bottle, five shot glasses, its tradition.

“Just one?” Steve says.

Nat’s already pouring the second round. “Don’t be soft.”

Sam’s first to show up, he practically lives here already. “Oh, we’re starting early, huh?”

You grin. “Fashionably toxic. You know how it goes.”

Bucky finally steps out of his room. T-shirt clinging to his chest, jeans slung low, rings on his fingers. His hair’s pulled back, and he looks good. Too good.

Your heart does that annoying thing it always does when he walks into a room.

He takes his place beside you at the counter, close. Closer than he has to be. You reach for your shot glass. He reaches for his and just like always, you don’t break eye contact.

Not through the first shot.

Not through the second.

Not when Nat bumps Steve’s arm and whispers something about “Jesus, just kiss already.”

An hour in, the apartment is packed. There’s a playlist running, windows cracked open to let out the heat. People are spilling into the hallway, drinks in hand, sweat glistening on collarbones.

You’re laughing with someone you think his name is Ryan or Riley. One of those, you’re not sure. Doesn’t really matter.

He’s charming enough. He leans in too close, says something that’s probably supposed to be funny, and brushes his hand against your arm like he’s testing the waters.

You laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because you know exactly what you’re doing and because you can feel Bucky watching you.

You don’t turn, you don’t need to, you know. You always know and you hate yourself a little more. 

Across the room, Bucky leans against the wall, nursing a half-warm beer he’s barely touched. His eyes haven’t left you since the second Riley-whatever walked up to you.

Steve’s next to him, trying to have a conversation, but Bucky’s checked out. Eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

“Earth to Buck,” Steve mutters, nudging his elbow.

Bucky doesn’t respond.

Sam walks up on his other side, clocking the look instantly. “Oh, come on,” he sighs. “You’re really gonna just stand here and watch her flirt with, what is that guy’s name?”

Steve answers. “Ryan, he goes to my gym, good guy.”

“Does it matter?” Bucky mutters, eyes still glued to you.

Steve snorts. “You’ve got that look, man.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re two seconds away from throwing the guy out the window.”

Bucky grunts, taking another sip of his beer. “If you two are trying to be helpful, you’re not.”

Sam raises a brow. “Helpful would be you walking over there and saying something that isn’t ‘you okay?’ or 'you need another drink?’”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. He’s stuck in it now, in his head. Because the thing is, he’s not mad at you, he’s never been and never will be.  He’s mad at himself. For waiting, for hoping. For standing here like he always does, watching you shine for someone else.

“It’s not that simple,” Bucky says, voice low.

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s exactly that simple. You’re in love with her. She’s in love with you. End of math.”

Steve sighs. “We’ve been telling him for years.”

“No,” Bucky snaps, still not looking away from you. “You don’t get it.”

Sam raises his brow. “Then explain it.”

“She doesn’t trust it. Not the way I do.” He shifts his jaw. “If I say it out loud, it makes it real. That’s the part that’ll scare her.”

Steve softens. “Buck…”

“I’m not mad at her for that,” Bucky says, finally turning to them. “But I know her. If I push too hard, if I ask for all of her…she’ll run.”

Sam studies him for a long second. “And what? You’d rather live in the middle of this forever?”

Bucky looks back toward you. You’re laughing again, the guy leans in closer.

You don’t lean away.

“I’d rather have half of her than none at all.”

Steve exhales slowly, leans back against the wall. “There’s no pushing to do, Buck. You’ve been there since you were kids. Neither of you are going anywhere.”

That’s the problem, because maybe you should have gone somewhere by now. Maybe you both should’ve run when you had the chance.

But here you are still orbiting each other like you don’t know how to stop and he’s still standing there, with a full heart and empty hands, watching someone else reach for what he’s never been brave enough to ask for.

Bucky drains the rest of his beer, jaw clenched tight, then pushes off the wall and disappears into the crowd.

You don’t notice it right away. You’re too busy pretending you’re not watching for him. But eventually, your eyes drift…they always do.

You spot him in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. He’s talking to some girl, dark curls, low-cut top, pretty in that effortless kind of way. She’s touching his arm, laughing then laughs, too.

Not the forced kind. The real kind, the one you always think is just for you, your stomach twists.

You smile too quickly at something Ryan (or Riley?) says, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You’re not even sure what he said. Doesn’t matter. None of it does, except Bucky.

It always comes back to him. So you play your part.

You lean in a little closer. Let your fingers graze Ryan’s forearm. Let your laugh ring just a little too loud. You toss your hair over your shoulder like you’re in a movie scene you don’t believe in.

You know what you’re doing.

You’re not the only one.

Across the room, Steve groans under his breath. “Here we go again.”

Sam glances up from his drink. “Already?”

Steve nods toward the kitchen. “He’s doing the flirt-and-deflect.”

Sam squints. “Which one’s she doing?”

Natasha, sliding in beside them with a drink in hand, answers before either of them can. “She’s doing the ‘fuck it, I can flirt too’ thing. It’ll escalate in five minutes. Ten tops.”

Wanda, beside her, blinks. “Is this a regular thing?”

Natasha smirks. “Every time.”

Steve nods, resigned. “They’ve been stuck in this cycle since highschool.”

Sam chuckles. “They invented the cycle.”

Wanda frowns. “So what happens next?”

Steve and Nat answer at the same time.

“Shots.”

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, you’ve ditched Ryan (or Riley, he never stood a chance) and you’re lined up in the kitchen with Sam, laughing as he holds a beer funnel above your head.

Bucky walks over, still warm from the attention he let himself soak in, but his eyes are already back on you. He sees you, head tilted back, mouth open in a wide grin, beer spilling down your wrist as you finish the pour and slam the cup on the counter.

You’re glowing and a little reckless. He hates how much he loves it.

“Jesus,” he mutters to Steve, who hands him another beer. “She’s gonna feel that tomorrow.”

Steve shrugs. “You always do.”

Sam throws an arm around your shoulder, both of you breathless from laughing.

Bucky’s jaw ticks. He walks over, leans on the counter beside you, too close for it to be casual.

“Didn’t know we were reliving college tonight,” he says, looking you over.

You raise your brows, voice syrupy sweet. “Didn’t know we were competing for who could flirt harder.”

His smile is razor-thin. “You winning?”

You take a slow sip of your drink. “Obviously.”

You’re both playing the same game and you’re both losing. But neither of you backs down.

You break eye contact first not because you want to, but because staying in it feels too much like telling the truth.

So you slip away.

Back into the crowd, into the noise and the blur and the bass pounding through your chest. You find someone else, some guy with warm hands and a beer in one of them and a smile that’s trying a little too hard.

You let him talk, let him flirt. Let him touch your leg under the table with fingers that don’t mean anything.

You laugh at something he says and feel his hand drift a little higher, and for a moment, it almost works, you almost forget. Until you glance up and see him.

Bucky’s across the room again. Back with the girl from earlier. Only this time, he’s not leaning. He’s close. His body tilted toward her, head bent low, voice soft. She’s laughing, smiling up at him like he’s hers.

And then he reaches out, slow and deliberate, and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

Like it’s nothing.

Like it’s not something he’s only ever done to you.

Your chest tightens.

Something sour blooms in your throat. It feels like bile or  heartbreak. You can’t tell the difference anymore.

You stand abruptly, muttering something to the guy that even you don’t hear, and make your way toward the hallway.

You need to breathe.

You need to not cry.

You need to get out before it shows.

You slip into the bathroom, shut the door, and press your back against it. The silence hits you like a wave. You’re not even mad at him. That’s the worst part, you are not even allowed to be. 

You started it. You always start it and now you’re here again, locking yourself in a room because the only person who knows how to get under your skin is the one you’re supposed to trust the most.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Eyes too bright, chest rising too fast.

And before you can even try to pull it together, you hear the door on the other side creak open the one that connects to his room. You don’t even turn. “Seriously?” you say, flat, arms crossed.

Silence, then a sigh. “I could say the same to you.” He steps in, jaw set, closing the door behind him. “You don’t even know him.”

You throw your hands up. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you my keeper now?”

He steps closer. “You’re flirting with some asshole who only cares that you look good in that dress.”

You turn slowly, leaning back against the sink. “So now you care?”

His eyes flicker. “I’ve always cared.”

You laugh, sharp and bitter. “Yeah, until it’s convenient to touch someone else.”

His jaw tenses. “You were letting some guy run his hand up your leg in the middle of the living room.”

“So what?” You raise your brows, daring him. “You didn’t like that?”

“No, I fucking hated it.”

“Right,” you laugh, bitter. “But you? You get to flirt with every warm body in a five-foot radius and I’m supposed to just smile?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act like you give a damn only when someone else looks at me.”

You scoff. “You think I’m acting?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he adds, quieter, “I know why you did it.”

You go still.

“You wanted me to see.”

You scoff, look away. “You’re delusional.”

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Don’t pretend like we’re not both playing the same goddamn game.”

“I wasn’t playing,” you say, voice hard.

His laugh is humorless. “Bullshit.”

You push off the sink, stepping closer. “And what about you, Bucky? You think you’re innocent in all this?”

“I never claimed to be.” He moves in too, closer, crowding the space. “But at least I own how I feel. You? You keep running, then blaming me for chasing you.”

“I never asked you to chase me.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice drops. “I want to.”

You stare at him, breathing heavy. Your chest tight, eyes burning, it's quiet, the kind that means too much has been said or not enough.

His hands find your face before you can stop him, thumb brushing under your jaw, eyes searching yours, like gravity, like you’re not even deciding, you kiss him.

It’s messy, desperate. His hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, his mouth on yours like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your pain.

Your back hits the bathroom wall. His hands are in your hair, your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. He kisses like he’s angry, like he’s trying to prove a point like he’s been holding it back for years.

You bite his bottom lip, he groans against your mouth. His hands slide down, grip your waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll fall apart.

You press into him like you’re trying to crawl under his skin. He lets you.

His fingers skim the hem of your dress and you gasp into his mouth and then you both pull back. Breathing like you’ve just run a mile. He rests his forehead against yours. You both say nothing because that’s the rule.

You kiss him like you’re drowning, he kisses you like he doesn’t care if he drowns with you.

But then you hear it.

“Yo! Y/N, you  doing another one?!” Sam’s voice, faint from down the hall.

You pull back, breathless, lips swollen, and avoid his eyes as you fix your shirt. Bucky’s chest rises and falls, his hands still half on you.

You force a laugh, one that sounds like it might crack in the middle. “Guess I’m up.”

Bucky grabs your wrist, gently. “Don’t you think that’s enough for tonight?”

You pause. “You’ve never been in my head, Buck.” You try to keep it light, say it like a joke but it lands heavy. “You don’t get to tell me when enough’s enough.”

His eyes soften with hurt. He doesn’t fight you on it.

You stare at Bucky, still breathless from the kiss you weren’t supposed to want but always do. Your lips are swollen, your body still humming.

He steps back, barely. He won’t meet your eyes. His voice is low, unreadable. “Go first.”

You frown. “What?”

He nods toward the door. “Go. So it’s not… obvious.”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “It already is.”

He flinches, just slightly. “Still.”

You linger for a second, but he doesn’t look up. So you leave.

You unlock the bathroom door, step into the hallway, and just like that? You’re back in the noise and the lights and the warmth of the party. You exhale. Fix your hair in the hallway mirror. You’re good at this. Pretending.

When you re-enter the living room, you make a beeline for Sam, who’s standing on a chair holding a funnel like a trophy. “You ready?” he grins.

You smirk and take your place beside him. “Let’s go.”

Bucky stays in the bathroom, staring at the door you just walked through.

He presses the heel of his palm into his chest like that’ll do anything. Like he can stop the familiar ache that’s been there for years, the one with your name carved into it.

He breathes in deep, hands braced against the sink. You’re poison and home all at once and he’d let you break his heart over and over and over again….If it meant he could keep even the smallest piece of you.

This is the part that always gets him, the in-between. The silence after your lips leave his and before you’re laughing with someone else.

The space where he remembers that he’s not yours, not officially, not fully. Not ever. He stares at the door for a long time. You’d live in purgatory forever with him if he let you. If he stayed and he always stays.

When he comes back out, the party’s louder, looser. The guy you were flirting with earlier is now talking to the girl he was talking to earlier, and Bucky actually chuckles at that. Inevitable.

He heads toward the kitchen where Steve and Sam are talking by the drinks.

“You alive?” Sam asks, handing him a beer.

“Barely,” Bucky mutters, taking a swig.

Steve raises a brow. “You good?”

“Great,” Bucky lies.

“You two playing or what?” Sam nods toward the beer pong table.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Me and her.”

Beer pong. Teams: You and Bucky vs. Sam and Steve.

You’re two drinks deep, flushed and laughing, heels long since ditched. Bucky stands behind you, guiding your arms. His hands are at your waist. They don’t move, you sink a shot. Turn and grin.

“Nice,” he murmurs, low in your ear.

You spin and wrap your arms around his neck, and he catches you without thinking. When you remove your hands from his beck they slither around his waist, your hand slips just under his shirt, thumb brushing the warmth of his stomach. You don’t even realize it until he tenses slightly. You don’t pull away and he doesn’t want you to.

You’re always like this. All over each other by the end of the night, but never too far and never far enough.

Sam just shakes his head. “Disgusting.”

Across the room, Wanda and Natasha are watching. Wanda takes a slow sip of her drink. “This is… normal?”

“Since we were kids,” Nat replies dryly. “You should’ve seen them at twenty, when we first moved here. Like magnets, messy ones.”

Wanda tilts her head. “So what’s the deal?”

Nat smirks. “There’s a bet.”

Wanda perks up. “A bet?”

“Been running almost ten years.”

Wanda laughs. “Who’s in?”

“Me, Steve, Sam. We all have different takes.”

Wanda glances back at you wrapped around Bucky’s back, squealing with laughter while he spins you through the living room. He’s smiling so big it almost hurts to look at.

“You want in?” Nat asks.

Wanda hums. “What’s the buy-in?”

Nat lifts a brow. “Fifty bucks.”

Wanda watches you a second longer. “Ask me in the morning.”

Nat clinks her glass against hers. “Smart girl.”

--------

You and Bucky vanish from the party somewhere around 2AM.

You’re both giggling, tipsy, bumping into doorframes as you stumble down the hall. You don’t even say goodnight to the others anymore. Everyone knows the drill.

You’re in your room first, slipping out of your dress and into one of Bucky’s old shirts. He knocks once, then opens the door and closes it behind him.

You crawl into bed, he follows. You lay there, back to chest. His arm finds your waist like gravity. Neither of you speaks, until he does.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever felt more like home than you do.”

You don’t breathe, you don’t say anything. You just find his hand under the blanket and hold it a little tighter.

-----------

You wake up slow.

The kind of slow that feels like safety. Like warmth, like something you don’t get to keep, but you can hold onto for a few more minutes if you stay very, very still.

Bucky’s arm is still wrapped around you, his body curled along your back, his breath warm against the side of your neck. His chest rises and falls steady, grounding. You shift just slightly and his grip tightens instinctively.

You don’t move again. You just… take him in.

The weight of his arm. The shape of his hand resting at your waist. The way your legs are tangled under the blankets like they always end up this way.

You shouldn’t feel this way about your best friend, but you do.

You know you love him. Not the way you’re supposed to love your best friend. Not the safe kind, not the platonic kind. The kind that could gut you if it ever turned the wrong way.

And that’s the problem because love, for you, has never been clean. It’s always been a little cruel. It showed up in raised voices. Slammed doors. Silence used like a weapon. It made promises it never kept. It came with strings. With people who said, I’m doing my best as an excuse for not doing better.

So somewhere along the line, you learned not to trust the word at all.

You learned to leave before you could be left. To withhold before anyone could take too much. To build your walls higher than your expectations. To call it strength when really, it was fear.

Bucky makes all of that harder to hold onto.

Because he doesn’t demand anything. Doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t punish you for the days you go quiet, or shut down, or need more space than anyone else would understand.

He just stays and somehow that’s more terrifying than all the people who left. Because you can trust Bucky with your life, you already do.

But trusting him with your heart? That’s something else entirely. That’s the kind of trust you’ve never been brave enough to give. Not because he doesn’t deserve it.

But because deep down, you’re scared that if he ever really saw the mess of you, the parts you hide, the sharp edges, the soft places turned hard from too many years of being let down he’d walk too and that would wreck you in a way nothing else ever has.

Because he’s not just anyone.

He’s Bucky.

He’s home.

You don’t know how to let yourself have something that feels like that. You only know how to ruin it before it can leave on its own.

So instead, you stay here. Pretending you’re not already in it deep, and fully, and hopelessly in love with someone you’ve spent your whole life calling a friend.

You close your eyes.

You try not to want too much.

He shifts behind you, breath catching, arm tightening just a little.

You feel him wake before he says a word.

Your fingers lift on their own, tracing lightly down the line of his cheek. He stirs, blinks. Opens his eyes. His voice is soft. Rough. “Hi.”

You smile. “Hi.”

He tightens his arm around you, pulling you a fraction closer. His thumb rubs a lazy circle into your side.

You just… look at each other. A long, quiet moment. Then your stomach growls, loud.

His lips twitch. “Hungry?”

You close your eyes and laugh into the pillow. “Apparently.”

He grins, voice still low. “All right. Let’s go yell at everyone to get up. Get some brunch.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He repeats it back. “Okay.”

He shifts onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re suddenly straddling him, and his hands land on your hips like muscle memory. His eyes rake over your face, your messy hair, his own t-shirt hanging loose on you.

“What a sight,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t mean for it to come out loud.

You blink once. Then lean down and kiss his cheek. “Yeah. What a sight.”

You climb off of him and he lets you go, head falling back against the pillow with a soft groan as you head into the bathroom.

You’re in the shower when you hear him move around your room. Hear the door shut quietly behind him a few minutes later. You close your eyes and lean your head against the tile, let the water rinse last night off your skin, but not out of your mind.

When you emerge, he’s already dressed, running a towel through his hair. You pass him on the way to your room, trade a glance and a small smile like you’re not both still spinning from whatever the hell you are.

The house is awake now. Loud, chaotic, full of movement and coffee and half-shouted plans.

Sam’s standing in the living room holding a speaker. “I swear to God if someone plays that sad indie playlist again—”

Natasha sips her coffee without looking up. “It’s Bucky’s playlist.”

Steve enters with his phone out. “I found two good spots. One’s a walk, the other has bottomless mimosas.”

You grab a hoodie and slide it on. “Lead the way, Stevie.”

Steve groans, “I told you I’m too close to 30 for that nickname.”

You smirk. “Okay, yeah sure Stevie.”

He rolls his eyes.

Outside, the air is cool and bright.

The six of you fall into formation like you always do. You and Sam walking up front, shoulders bumping, laughing about something dumb. You’ve got your own rhythm, your own jokes, your own language. He sees you in ways the others don’t, and he doesn’t ask about the night before.

You love him for that.

Behind you, Bucky and Steve are deep in some low conversation probably about sports or politics or something overly philosophical because it’s them.

At the back, Wanda’s walking with Natasha, watching all of you like she’s watching a sitcom unfold in real time.

Wanda glances between you and Bucky, her brow creased in quiet disbelief. “So it's a regular thing?” she asks.

Natasha links arms with her. “You’ll get used to it, my friend.”

Wanda shakes her head, stunned. “They sleep in the same bed.”

Nat shrugs. “Mmhm.”

“They kiss.”

“Mmhm.”

“They act like a couple.”

“Exactly.”

Wanda frowns. “So… what are they?”

Natasha sighs. “Stupid.”

Wanda laughs.

Natasha goes on. “So the bet started ever since we all moved here when we were twenty. Steve thinks they’ll figure it out before thirty. I think they’re gonna marry other people first.”

Wanda blinks. “That’s… dark.”

“I’m not wrong.” Natasha shrugs. “Sam said before 25 but that's gone and past, so he had to buy in again but double the price to place a new bet, he now says before 32.” 

Wanda hums. “I give it a year.”

Nat nearly chokes on her coffee. “Excuse me?”

“I give it a year.”

Nat raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet?”

Wanda reaches into her pocket, pulls out a crumpled fifty, and slaps it into Nat’s hand.

Nat grins, holds it up like a flag. Steve and Sam are now walking together, glance back, see the money, and groan.

“Really?” Steve mutters.

Sam just laughs. “They’ll never know.”

But neither of you notice.

You’re too busy jumping on Bucky’s back, laughing in his ear, while he hoists you up with zero effort and carries you the rest of the way to brunch.

[sage-green-matcha]

Hi, doll!

Sorry to disturb you, but I had an idea for a request if that's okay! 💖

So, ethan landry x reader who was involved in the woodsboro massacre in 2022, and moved to nyc as anika's roommate, and ethan had an obsession with her and when they eventually get together, she stays at his and finds a gf mask, knife and costume in his closet, and she confronts him. You can choose the ending!

Sorry if I disturbed you, I love your writing 💗💗

FRIEND - ETHAN LANDRY 🫧

“And I hate the way you love me and I hate that I still care. Funny how you feel like we would ever talk again, how could you think I'd be your friend?” - Gracie Abrams 

Content includes: gf!Ethan, Betrayal, angst, Halloween party! Mentions of blood!

A/n: I was listening to this song and realized how well it matched with this request! This is a bit fast paced so I’m sorry! I didn’t want it to be too long 😭🫶

<3

<3

<3

"Anika! What are you wearing to the Halloween party?" Your voice echoed through the walkway of your dorm, Anika peeking out of the bathroom.

"A pumpkin!"

You cringed as you looked at the basic, green cheerleader outfit laid on your bed. You just sighed, slipping the tight green set over your body.

You rarely went to parties, but Chad insisted he had someone he wanted you to meet. He didn't leave you alone until you finally said yes.

And you knew he'd show up at your door with the rando if you didn't show up.

"Is it giving the girl from murder party?" You asked as Anika peeked in your door, watching you apply a bold color to your lips.

"Yeah! Just make yourself a zombie"

As soon as you got to the house everyone went their separate ways. Your lipstick rubbed on the side of your red cup, smooth liquor running down your throat.

"Y/n! Hey!" Tara slipped her arm under you, balancing herself on your body.

"Well, you're fucked" You chuckled under your breath. She just shook her head, readjusting her bandana.

"Is Sam here?" You should've known better than to ask a dumb question like that. Sam would never be caught at a house party, especially not after what happened last year.

"No, never" She poured herself a shot, pulling away from you before she waved, walking away with a smile.

You wandered around the house for a while, mostly trying to find the bathroom to fix your hair.

The air was hot and you could feel yourself start to sweat, getting slightly frustrated as you walked.

You passed through the heavily crowded hallway, your costume getting stuck on someone else's.

"Oh shit, sorry about that"

A pair of hands tugged on the green fabric of your skirt, unsticking it from a sharp piece of cardboard and tape.

"Oh shit, you're Ethan right?"

He smiled at your words, nodding his head.

"Nice costume, Guess we're matching"

"What a coincidence"

But it wasn't a coincidence. Ethan knew what you were gonna dress up as. He had known for days, since the first time you went to the costume store just hours before this. When you were slipping the costume on.

He had been stalking you for weeks. Since the semester started he got closer to Chad just to get closer to you. This was just the first step in a master plan.

"So you two finally met! And you're wearing nerd costumes, great" Chad sighed as he rubbed his temples, hitting Ethan harshly on his back.

"This isn't a nerdy costume" You rolled your eyes as Ethan nodded, smiling to himself while trying to hold in his anger.

Every time he was with Chad it was like a ticking bomb. He was so excited to kill him. To get revenge and to take you away from him. Since Chad definitely had a little something for you.

He tried his best not to show how jealous he was when Chad wrapped his arm around you, dragging you to the kitchen to take shots.

You looked back at Ethan with a small smile, his heart beating faster as he waved at you.

For the next week, it felt like all you did was talk to Ethan. You would call for hours despite only having met him once before.

Ethan was excited, the plan was going better than he could've ever imagined.

The two of you shared a lot of similar interests, sure Ethan knew a lot of them already but he was surprised to see you enjoyed other things he enjoyed as well.

Your relationship slowly started to grow, becoming more than just friends after a while.

"Okay, that's enough" Mindy cringed as Ethan squeezed your waist, his smile pressed up to your neck.

"We might die and you two are basically fucking in front of all of us"

"We never say anything about you and Ani!" You furrowed your eyebrows, Mindy continuously shaking her head.

The night ended and you and Ethan were put on cleaning duty, and since you were such a good girlfriend you decided to clean his room for him.

It was always messy, with snack wrappers and empty water bottles covering his nightstand.

You dragged the trash can Into his room, handfuls of trash into the can.

"God Eth, your rooms a mess" You mumbled under your breath, shaking off his bedsheets.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you spotted a thin black cloth peeking from under his bed.

At first, you thought it was probably just a hoodie or something, but when you pulled it out you were more than wrong.

Your fingertips were stained with fresh blood, wiping it quickly on your jeans. The more you looked underneath the bed the more you found.

You finally screamed when you found a poorly cleaned knife in a ghost face mask, dropping the items in horror.

"Really, Y/n?" He sighed at the sight in front of him, your eyes blurry with tears.

"What is that Ethan? Why do you have that?"

"You weren't supposed to find out Y/n. I'm sorry, I really am"

You were confused at his words, backing up slowly until your body made a small thud against the wall.

"Are you gonna kill me?" Your voice hitched as he went to grab the knife on the ground, his finger gently tracing the blade of the weapon.

"I would literally never hurt you, Y/n. I'm protecting you. And I have been for months now"

His tone was distorted, getting more and more defensive with each step he took towards you.

You couldn't believe this was happening to you again. And the fact that Ethan was the one behind all of it broke your heart.

"It was innocent at first. But you were just so stubborn weren't you? Had to do some more research and find out what you were gonna be for Halloween"

You gulped, knowing the only person who knew your costume was Anika.

"You were stalking me?" You weren't crying anymore, instead you were angry.

You were so tired of the ghost face shit following you everywhere you went.

You showed him your stab wounds, not knowing he was probably gonna try to stab you right there again.

"It was Innocent...Y/n, please. I love you"

Your eyebrows furrowed, a scoff escaping your lips.

"You really think I'm still gonna be with you after this? Ethan, I'm not a criminal. I'm not like you. You were probably gonna kill me next! What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this?"

He gulped, tears forming in his eyes. He needed to cry, it was the only way to make you feel pity towards him.

But he should’ve known that would’ve never worked, especially not with you.

“Are you seriously fucking crying? Ethan, you’re a killer, you killed all those innocent people!”

Your lips quivered as you tried to hold back tears. You couldn’t cry, you needed him to know you weren’t scared. You were, but you only needed him to see your anger.

“That was my dad, it was Detective Bailey”

Your mouth dropped, rubbing your eyes as Ethan sat on the bed, sad while he watched you pacing around the room.

“You’re a fucking psychopath”

“But you love me” His words came out so confidently, your eyes giving him a stern and annoyed look.

But even under all of it Ethan could see the sadness and fear in your eyes, he knew he would get you back eventually. One way or another.

[concreteburialplot]

𝒲𝒶𝓁𝓁𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 🌸 // 02

02 - I Can See You

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Masterlist: Here | Crossposted: ao3 | Word Count: 8.9k | Playlist: Here

Summary: After bumping into the boy who saved you from being locked out of your dorm, he whisks you away on an adventure to a bar you shouldn’t even be allowed in. Drunkenly, Sam invites you to a get together with his brothers. The anxious energy at the gathering has you questioning the invitation’s intent.

Warnings: (unknown) mutual pining, one bed trope technically, hint of forbidden twin?, very soft, sweet sammy, underage drinking, weed, jake being jake, unrealistic college experiences?, feelings of inadequacy, ~new crush anxiety~, 18+ MDNI

A/N; thank you so much to anyone who read part one, it makes me so happy to know it was enjoyed so much 🩷

Disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and does not reflect any members of the band or their real lives/actions/etc. - i hope you like it 🥲💞🌸 smut next chapter promise

Vibes this chapter;

-I Can See You - Taylor Swift - Close To You - Gracie Abrams - Maroon - Taylor Swift - Fallingforyou - The 1975 - So High School - Taylor Swift

The moment consciousness seeped into your body, you jolted upright, your heart racing like a shot of adrenaline straight to your system—a perfect substitute for caffeine. Your eyes scanned the room within a millisecond only to have the throb of a hangover remind you of how you got there in the first place. You immediately looked beside you on the mattress even though you felt no presence there. The bed and the room were empty. The edge of your lips inadvertently downturned at the lack of him. Your eyes landed on the bedside table, finding a note there. 

Mornin’ - 

Help yourself to some snacks or some green

Hope to see you around, Wallflower ❀

-Sam :)

An embarrassingly wide grin crept across your lips and butterflies began to run rampant in your tummy. If the note itself wasn’t enough, the little flower doodle made your heart soar. You instantly tried to stifle it down, he was just some boy you met at a party. He didn’t make any moves on you and treated you only as a friend. You barely knew each other. You were nothing special to one another - at least that’s what you told yourself. 

Once ready to get out of bed, you stripped off the rust-colored shirt you’d borrowed from him the night before, folding it into a neat square on his dresser. You changed back into the stained shirt that his had temporarily replaced just to be clothed enough to walk across the hall to your room.

The notepad that seemed to belong to the note on the bedside table sat next to the boxes of incense on the dresser. You took it upon yourself to write him a note back. 

Hey - 

Thanks for the shirt and for saving me last night. 

See you across the hall! haha

-Wallflower xx

Weeks slipped by without a single sight of him. You thought he must really spend all his time at Danny’s, because despite living on the same floor, you never saw him coming or going. Each day, as you walked down the hallway to or from your room, you’d glance toward his door, just hoping to catch even the briefest glimpse of him. But every time, there was nothing—no sign of him at all. It was as if Sam had vanished into thin air.

The longing gnawed at you, filling you with the prickling rush of a high school infatuation. It was that same eager anticipation you used to feel while lingering around a crush’s locker, waiting for that fleeting moment when your worlds would briefly collide. The anticipation, the nervous energy that hummed through your veins—it left you with a familiar ache of wanting to see him, even just for a second. It felt almost insane to be so desperate to run into someone you’d met only once, but it was maddening how he seemed to occupy every corner of your mind, refusing to be forgotten.

You were beginning to wonder if Sam had just been a figment of your imagination until an hour before closing the on-campus café, when a familiar face walked up to the counter. When you looked up at him, his grin grew wide.

“Wallflower!” He exclaimed. 

A peachy tint coated your cheekbones at the fact he remembered the nickname he’d given you. “Hey Sam.” You tried to keep your voice level to not seem overly enthusiastic, but inside there was a flurry of excitement. “I haven’t seen you around much.” You kicked yourself for mentioning it, thinking he may find it creepy that you noticed.

“Ah yeah, I take night classes, so my schedule is all fucked up.” He shrugged. 

“Oh, that makes sense.” You said in realization since you mostly took morning classes. It was no wonder you never ran into each other with your schedules flipped. 

He ordered an iced chai and watched as you swiftly threw together the ingredients without a second thought. “You really seem like a pro at this.” 

You laughed. “Yeah, I guess.” After throwing a lid on the cup, you slid it to him. 

“Hey, when are you off? I’m thinking of heading to the bar after this, wanna come?” He plucked a straw from the container full of them then smacked one end on the tabletop until it ripped through the other. 

“About 30 min-“ Your head tilted a bit. “You’re a freshman, aren’t you? How are you getting into a bar?” You asked skeptically. 

A smug smirk tugged at his mouth and shrugged nonchalantly. “I have my ways.”

“Oh, well I don’t have a fake ID or anything like that…” You trailed off suddenly feeling the excitement of seeing him again drain from your body. 

“It doesn’t matter. Like I said I have my ways, I know people. I can get you in no problem.” He paused. “If you want to, of course.” 

“Okay.” You nodded, still not fully convinced but you weren’t going to pass up on an invitation out with him. 

Upon arriving at the off-campus bar with Sam, you’re immediately overwhelmed. The bar was tiny, grungy with red neon lights adorning the outside. Posters of music artists, new and old, were plastered all over the walls. It was packed, people bustling and flowing in and out the front door. All Sam did to get you both in was show up. All the staff seemed to know him and didn’t blink an eye when he ordered you both drinks. You chose a lime margarita while he chose a beer. 

“Where are your friends?” You asked looking up at him before taking a small sip of your neon green beverage. You wrapped your cardigan around your body as a way to soothe your social overstimulation.

He looked at you a bit funny before outstretching his arms, “Well, look around!”

You giggled and did as he instructed. In a way he was right, just about everyone in the room seemed friendly with him but not necessarily his friends. You nudged his arm with your elbow, “You know what I mean.” 

“First of all,” He used his free hand to cover the area you had just gently poked. “Ow! That hurt.” He exclaimed teasingly. “Second of all, did I say I was meeting friends?” 

You reflected on the earlier interaction, initially perceiving it as him meeting up with friends and you merely being an afterthought. But as you reconsidered, one phrase stood out in your mind: "I can get you in no problem, if you want to, of course." It replayed over and over, taking on a new significance.

He could clearly see the hoops you were jumping through in your mind, and it brought a grin to his lips. His hand tentatively found your wrist to gently ground you enough to regain your focus back to him. “I asked you to come here with me, not them.” He said simply, like it was as easy as breathing but it hit you in the stomach like a punch. 

Blood flooded your cheeks bright red, “Oh,” You didn’t know what to think nonetheless what to say. The last thing you wanted to do was misinterpret what he was implying and make a fool of yourself. “I see.” If it had been any other man, they might’ve taken your curtness as a rejection or grown insecure, but not Sam. He just gave you a smile and said, “Good.” before taking a sip of his beer. 

He led you into the back corner of the bar where the pool tables and games were located. “You wanna play some pool? Test out those tricks you learned a couple weeks ago?” He asked but your eyes were elsewhere. 

A large grin pulled across your lips with a brightness filling your eyes as they returned to him. “What about darts?” 

His eyes flickered with uncertainty before pulling into a smile, “Sure, why not! Loser buys the next round.”

“Deal.” You happily went to gather the existing three darts on the board and brought them over to the boy. You offered them up like a gift in your hands. “Here ya go.”

He put his hand up and shook his head, “No, no ladies first.” He was being polite, but it just seemed like he was unsure of his abilities. 

You positioned yourself in front of the dartboard, feeling Sam’s gaze on you as you prepared to throw. The light hum of bar chatter faded to the background as you focused, the dart cool in your hand. Your fingers curled around it just right, and with a smooth motion, you threw. The first dart landed solidly within the outer ring—not perfect, but decent. You turned to glance at Sam, flashing him a playful smile before grabbing the second dart.

As you lined up your next shot, you made sure to take your time. You could feel Sam’s eyes on you, watching your every move. With a small flick of your wrist, the second dart hit closer to the center this time—just barely off the mark from a perfect shot. You gave him a small, satisfied smirk, the competitive spark in your eyes unmistakable.

For the final throw, you felt a playful and buzzed surge of confidence. Turning to Sam with a smirk, you gave him a challenging glance. “Ready to see how it’s really done?” You asked with a teasing lilt in your voice. Then, with another smooth, more controlled, flick of your wrist, you released the dart, watching it land just shy of the bullseye, so close that you could almost feel the victory in the air. You stepped back, letting out a breath of satisfaction. “Your turn,” you said, stepping aside and offering him the darts with a grin. "Good luck."

Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief. “Okay, show off,” he sassed, clearly amused but a little more nervous now. He stepped up to the line, eyeing the board with a serious expression that only made you grin wider. 

“C’mon, Sammy,” you teased. “Don’t tell me you’re already nervous.”

He glanced back at you with a raised eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “Worried? Nah. Just making sure I don’t embarrass myself too much in front of you.”

Your cheeks felt aflame, the statement could’ve definitely been meant in a friendly way, but it made your heart race. Just the idea that he was conscious about your perception of him was almost enough to make you spiral into what-ifs.

Sam took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders like he was about to face a real challenge. He stepped forward, aiming carefully. The bar's warm lighting cast shadows over his features, giving his usual confident expression a touch of apprehension. He threw the first dart—landing just shy of where your first shot had landed.

"Not bad," you teased, crossing your arms. "Think you can do better?"

His lips twitched, that competitive edge sparking in his eyes. He glanced at you briefly before throwing the second dart, this time hitting dangerously close to where your second shot had been. "There we go," he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you.

You couldn't help but laugh softly. "Guess the pressure's on now, huh?"

Sam smirked, his eyes finding yours as he prepared for the final throw. "Always is when you're around." The words were light, but there was a certain tension beneath them, a weight that made your heart skip a beat. His focus shifted back to the board, and he released the third dart—this one just a hair away from the bullseye.

You let out a mock gasp, stepping closer to him as if to inspect the board. "Well, look at that! Seems like you could actually win."

He leaned in slightly, his shoulder brushing yours. "Could?" he echoed, his voice low, teasing. "Sounds like you're doubting me."

Your smile softened, feeling the heat of his presence next to you. "I guess we'll just have to see, won't we?"

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar, and for a moment, the world outside of this dart game seemed to fade. It was just the two of you, standing close, the air charged with something unspoken yet undeniable. You wondered if it was just the alcohol rushing through you or if it was real, and more than anything, you wondered if he felt it too. 

You and Sam continued playing, the competitive energy between you both lighthearted but persistent. With each round, Sam improved slightly, his throws becoming steadier and more consistent. But despite his best efforts, you managed to stay ahead, winning both rounds with just enough of an edge to keep teasing him about it.

By the end of the third round, it was clear that you had the upper hand, your score pulling ahead with each set of darts. Sam finally threw his last dart, which landed just shy of the bullseye, and turned to you with a mock sigh of defeat. “Alright, you’ve officially beaten me three times in a row, I think it’s time to call it.”

You laughed victoriously, the burn of alcohol warming your skin and allowing your real, unbridled self shine through. “Fuck yeah!”

“Damn, beat my ass in pool and darts, gonna beat me in poker too?” He joked. “C’mon I owe you probably the most expensive shot on the menu.” Sam knew he’d lose to you the entire time. Not only because he really sucked at darts but because he just wanted an excuse to buy you a drink without it being an overtly romantic gesture.

While a shot wasn’t necessarily what you wanted, who were you to deny Sam of anything. You were certain that he could convince you to do goddamn anything with those big hazelnut eyes.

One shot of tequila turned into two, two turned into three until you were four shots deep, giggling at the bar with Sam over any and everything. With a new margarita in your hand and fresh beer in his, you both found yourself in the back corner again, this time on a leather couch. Your thighs and hips sat flush with each other, and it was all you could think about. Warmth radiated off of him and seeped burning heat into your side. You were aware of any and all movements beside you and your hazy mind worked hard to decipher them. Sometimes it felt like he was flirting with you and other times he’d act like a friend. This confusion wasn’t made any easier when he dropped his arm around your shoulders. 

Little did you know that Sam was feeling the same way, sensing a nervous pit in his stomach as he picked apart every expression and reaction you gave him. He paid extra attention to when he attempted to flirt with you, he noticed that your cheeks would redden but you wouldn’t flirt back. He was just as confused as you.

You both were nervous, confused and excited. As much as Sam wanted to rush it, he wanted it to play out organically to see if you felt the same. 

All the alcohol from the night was making you tired so when you leaned into Sam’s touch, it didn’t register that you could be overstepping. Sam froze but wasn’t upset about your sudden affection. 

“Sammy.” You hummed against his shoulder, letting the smell of his herbally cologne fill your nostrils. “You smell really good.” 

He let out a breathy laugh and wrapped his arm further around you, pulling you closer. “Yeah? You like it?” He asked, looking down at you with a soft smirk.

“Mhm. It’s perfect.” You looked up and giggled as you booped his nose. “Like you.” 

If you had been sober, you would’ve been mortified of your own actions but drunk you only noticed how his tan cheeks turned pink. He looked so cute with rosy cheeks. 

“Oh,” He laughed down at you. “You must be very drunk.”

“Nuh uh!” You protested sitting up, using Sammy’s thigh for support. He was immediately extremely aware of your hand placement but was trying his best not to think about it too much. “You had the same amount to drink.”

“I never said I wasn’t drunk, silly.” He stated proudly, “Just that you,” He booped your nose back. “Are definitely, very drunk.” 

You pouted at him before letting your defenses fall, giving way to your fatigue. “Sammy, I’m sleepy.” You informed with a bit of a slur. “Bed. Must get to bed.” 

Before he could respond, you were up and marching for the door - you had a mission and you were going to accomplish it. Sam gathered your cardigan and purse for you and hurriedly followed you out of the bar. “Hey, wait up!”

Once Sam caught up to you, the two of you stumbled through the night like only tipsy college students could, winding your way through the streets back to your dorms. You trekked through the quiet streets, making your way home with a mix of laughter and slurred songs. You sang whatever pop song was dominating the radio, your voice loud and uninhibited. Despite Sam's earlier claims of hating mainstream pop, he somehow knew every word. You both belted out the chorus together, the melody echoing in the still night air.

You skipped ahead, dancing and twirling under the streetlights, your carefree energy infectious. Sam, though a little more reserved, couldn't help but smile as he watched you. He wasn’t necessarily a reserved creature normally but even wasted he was nervous to make a fool out of himself in front of you. Sam mostly watched with a fond smile, occasionally giving in to your playful antics and joining in—whether it was a spontaneous spin or a goofy dance move—he couldn’t help it, you were addictive to him. Not so much like a drug, but more like a new favorite latte to be craved every morning. He didn’t mind getting lost in you; he was happy just being there with you, letting himself be swept up in whatever fun you dragged him into.

Once you reached your dorm room door you fell to your knees dramatically, “Nooooo!” You shook your fists at the sky over another sock on your door.

He giggled at your theatrics, “Does she do this often?” 

“AUGH.” You groaned and fell flat on your back. “Only every other fucking day.” You exhaled and blinked at the dust-coated ceiling. 

He held out a hand to help you up, which normally would take no effort, but your exaggerated movements were obstructing the ease. “C’mon let's get you into a bed.”  

Once on your feet again, his hands found your hips to push you forward and it sent a chill down your spine and a heat between your legs. Even in your heavily intoxicated state, you were extremely aware of just how large his hands were and how they enveloped your hipbones completely. The way he guided you to his room reminded you of that first night with him, though you were much less drunk then. When inside, the now familiar scent of marijuana and patchouli filled your nose, and the dim lighting comforted you. 

“I don’t even wanna know what you’ve been doing all these nights while you’re locked out of your room but,” He opened the top drawer to his desk, grabbing something that hung by a little white disc. “You can always just come here, since I’m gone most of the time anyway.” He shrugged, holding it by the disc in front of you between two fingers.

“Oh, I absolutely can NOT take that.” You pushed his hand back towards his body. 

Sam rolled his eyes with a smile and reached towards your pants, gently pulling your pocket open and dropping the key in. “Don’t use it if you don't want to but,” He paused, taking a moment to look at you. “I want you to have a safe space to go to.” 

Your heart swelled so big in your chest that you feared that your ribs might crack. His chocolatey brown eyes were so soft and genuine, and most of all concerned. The idea of Sam not only trusting you enough to give you his key but doing so because of his concern for you, made you want to melt into the floor. Which is exactly what you did. 

Your knees buckled and you fell onto the ground once again in dramatics. You sprawled out flat on the carpet with your eyes locked on the geometric tapestry hanging from the ceiling. He chuckled and towered over you with his hands propped on his hips, “You done now?” 

You blinked up at him. “Why would you do that?” You whined more of a statement than a question. 

“Do what? Give you the key?”

“Make me like you.” The words danced out of your mouth effortlessly, so much so that your drunken brain didn’t even register what you said.

The smile that pulled across his lips was so glorious, so beautiful - it reminded you of morning sunlight shining down on fresh, dewy grass. Sober you would definitely be filling your brain with 68 different ways he was too good and far too gorgeous for you – but right now, you just admired him and his presence. He reached over to grab his pipe and a lighter before sitting down criss-cross next to you on the floor. 

“You like me?” He asked with a soft smirk as he brought the pipe up to his lips and lit the lighter to spark over the herb. As the green burned, he inhaled a deep hit, held it, and exhaled a smokey cloud above you. 

You turned your head to him with a smile wide enough to hurt your cheeks and nodded. “Sure. Maybe.” 

He kept his grin like he was satisfied with your answer. The anxiety he felt before melted away just a bit. His own heart was full from your slight confession but still aware that you were heavily intoxicated. The admission filled him with both hope and apprehension. He offered the glass pipe over to you, “Want some?” 

You waved it away, “No, no. If I get crossfaded, I’ll throw up.” To which he quickly retracted his arms and his offer. 

“Please don’t puke on my floor.” He teased before setting the pipe back on his nightstand. 

After a bit of silence, he cleared his throat, “So, um,” He sounded nervous to continue his inquiry. “My brothers and I are having a movie-day-get-together thing this Friday, would you wanna come?” 

You tilted your head at him, your stomach dropping a bit in anxiety at the idea of being in a room full of people he knows, not just his friends, but his brothers. Nonetheless, a soft smile spread across your lips, “Sure, Sammy.” 

He let out an involuntary giggle, he loved the way his name sounded in your voice, “Cool.” Abruptly, he pushed himself off the ground and held a hand down to you. “C’mon, you said you wanted a bed, remember.”

“Mmmmmm yeah but the floor is comfy too.” In your drunken state, it felt like heaven. 

“Don’t make me pick you up, because I will.” He warned with a pointed finger, to which you just stuck your tongue out to like a defiant child. 

“Fine, hard way I guess.” He shrugged before leaning down and scooping you up into his arms with one beneath your knees and the other supporting your back. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck for stability. Time seemed to slow as you watched him focus on getting you into bed - he was breathtaking, glowing even. You weren’t sure why he was radiating but you bathed in the sun rays he beamed. His wavy brunette hair framed his face perfectly, cupping his jawline with a small curl inward. All of his angles were sharp which contrasted tastefully with his plump lips and soft eyes. If there was a blueprint to what a man should look like, it was definitely him. You weren’t religious but you were convinced that some god up there must’ve crafted him perfectly, sculpted him into the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen. 

You were falling in love, and you didn’t even know it yet. 

“Sammy.” You mumbled sleepily, nuzzling into his arm as he set you down. “Don’t leave. Sleep.”

He chuckled, crawling into bed behind you. “Wasn’t planning on it, Wallflower.” He whispered gently, turning his body towards you. 

He muttered something along the lines of ‘oh shit the light’ before reaching over you carefully to click the lamp off. As he settled back into his original spot, he accidentally ended up closer to you. Before he could move away, your sleepy body instinctively grabbed his arm, pulling it around your waist. He froze for a moment, caught off guard by the unexpected intimacy but your warmth was too inviting to resist. He quickly melted into the spooning position, holding you close as sleep began to overtake you.

Sam stayed awake a little longer, savoring the warmth and closeness. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed this—being able to hold someone, feeling a comforting connection. It had been a long time since he’d had a girlfriend, and while he often saw his brothers and shared platonic affection with friends, it wasn’t the same. Cuddling had always been the part of relationships he cherished most, even more than sex. As he snuggled into you, and you unconsciously pressed back against him, he felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a while. Whether it was just a drunken gesture or something more, it didn’t matter right now. It simply felt good to hold someone again.

Your sleep riddled eyes slotted open slowly to warm light seeping in and gentle music playing. When your eyes finally adjusted to the light, you saw Sam lighting incense and dancing a bit to music you didn’t recognize.

“Morning.” You said gently as not to startle him, which proved useless since he nearly jumped out of his skin. 

He placed a hand on his heart, “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” He then readjusted to lean against his dresser in a ‘cool’ way, “You didn’t uh, see anything did ya?”

You giggled, bringing the duvet over a yawn. “You mean like you dancing? Nooo didn’t see any of that.” You replied teasingly. 

“Whatever, forget what you saw.” He waved you off and went back to trying to get the incense lit after being interrupted. The lighter flicked a couple times before finally igniting and catching the tip of the scented stick. 

“Already forgotten.” You smiled into another yawn and stretched, pulling the muscles in your shoulders and arms. 

You suddenly got a rush of ‘I need to go home’ when you realized you were still in last night’s clothes but relaxed the second you realized that your room was just down the hall. 

“You hungry? I ordered some food that should be here soon.” He grinned, hesitantly. “I didn’t really know what you liked or if you’d be awake so I just kinda ordered a bunch of stuff.” He laughed bashfully. “I was also a little high when I placed the order so…”

You chuckled at him, “Yeah sure, I could use something to soak up all this alcohol.” 

Soon after there was a knock at the door with the food. You watched Sam greet the deliveryman who he already seemed to know, and tipped him a $20, which you thought was extremely generous until you realized just how much food he ordered. 

He turned to you with an expression that embodied both shock and embarrassment. “Okay so maybe I was really high when I ordered.” 

You both laughed as he set down four bags of food for the both of you. While it was true that he had been quite high when he ordered, he also hoped that he’d pick something from the menu that would entice you to stay a bit longer. 

He plopped down on the floor in front of all the food, starting to separate all of the transparent containers. You soon met him on the floor on the other side of the mountain of food. “What is all this stuff?” You questioned, not recognizing the green branding. 

“It’s my favorite little bistro, Rose & Lentil! You’ve never been?” He pulled out what looked like a smoothie bowl, something pudding-like, a mixed salad and some grainy pancakes. You never expected a boy like him to be eating anything other than junk. 

“No, I’ve never been, but it looks yummy.” You half lied. “What’re you gonna eat?” 

“Hmm, I was thinking either the açaí bowl or the chia seed pudding. But if you want either of those, by all means.” He kept hands off all of it until you chose. 

“I was actually gonna ask for the pancakes so that’s perfect!” You hungrily reached over to grab the container and brought it to you. 

Sam opted for the açaí bowl, informing you that it was actually his favorite breakfast food, aside from regular pancakes. The ones he’d ordered were whole grain pancakes, but they ended up being delicious regardless - that or you were just starving. 

Breakfast was full of jokes about the previous night’s events, with both of you laughing over the silly moments and playful mishaps. As you sat across from him, the conversation flowed effortlessly, each joke and shared memory bringing another burst of laughter. Everything felt so easy and natural with him, like slipping into a comfortable routine. But even amid the lighthearted banter, there was a small, persistent flutter of anxiety in your stomach. It was a twist of nerves that you couldn’t quite shake, a subtle hint of the deeper feelings lurking beneath the surface.

As you watched him move around some blueberries at the bottom of his clear container, you were suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. You were thankful that this stranger attended that frat party weeks ago and that he spotted you. You were so grateful for his kindness; you didn’t know what you would’ve done these nights being kicked out of your dorm. But mostly, you were thankful for his friendship. Katie was a decent friend and roommate, but she was absent most of the time and you hadn’t made any other friends. If it didn’t sound so lame you would’ve thanked him verbally for spending time with you. Being away from home was lonely and it was nice to spend some time with a friend. You weren’t sure if this little flutter in your heart would actually lead anywhere but if anything was for certain it was that you’d find any way to make sure he stayed in your life, even if it was just platonic. No matter how much the idea of platonic hurt to think about. 

After breakfast you said your goodbyes and slipped out of his room and back into your own, quietly, in case Katie was sleeping or still had company. Thankfully, the room was empty, and you could decompress in solitude. You pressed yourself against the back of your door and took a deep breath. All Sam did was be kind to you, and you were already smitten with him. How could you not be? With beauty like his you were surprised he didn’t have a jealous girlfriend kicking you out of his room. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back replaying the night. Suddenly, a vague memory arose, of him wrapped around you as you fell asleep. Heat filled your cheeks and the tips of your fingers at the thought, and you wondered if you had just imagined it. Regardless, you now felt the absence of him around you, and it was a feeling you didn’t like.

But you stuffed down the sensation as much as you could, he probably was taken or uninterested in you in that way. With how pretty he was there was no way that he’d be interested in someone as mediocre as you thought yourself to be. He probably dated the most beautiful girls on campus, and you believed you definitely weren’t one.

A week later, you arrived at the address Sam had given you and craned your neck up to the skyscraper-esque building. Sam had called this an apartment building, but it was definitely a condominium. You didn’t even know there were condos on the outskirts of campus, but you went to a prestigious university so, it would make sense the rich kids lived here. Which surprised you because you never even suspected Sam to be a “rich kid”, he was just, Sam. 

After a long elevator ride, you reached the 7th floor and stood in front of a white door adorned with a gold number paired with a letter, 7C. You shift back and forth on your heels and grip the straps of the tote bag hanging on your shoulder. After exhaling a deep breath, you mustered the courage to knock your knuckles against the door. 

You’d briefly met all of his friends already except for the brother that owned the condo, but you hadn’t met them yet. Not sober anyway. 

The door suddenly swung open only to reveal a boy with shaggy brown hair and a giant, toothy smile on his face. 

“Y/N!” He exclaimed excitedly and you wondered how he knew it was you even though you’d never met before. The boy just a bit taller than you wrapped you in a big hug. Your brows furrowed a bit at the gesture, seeing as again, you’d never met before.

You chuckled nervously, “Josh? Right?” 

“The one and only!” The grin never leaving his face. “Welcome, welcome!” He announced, spreading his arms wide. “Make yourself at home, grab a drink, enjoy yourself!” It was then that you realized he’d been holding a beer the whole time. “Oh, and please take your shoes off at the door, thank you!” 

“Thank-“ You began but he had fluttered away before you had a chance to finish. 

You could hear the bustle of the other boys in another room which is where you assumed Josh had run off to. You took in the condo as you were left alone. It was spacious with an open floor plan. Floor-to-ceiling windows filled the room with dim light from the cloudy day. Everything was white with abstract art decorating any sparse areas.

Josh must’ve promptly informed Sam of your arrival because he appeared quickly after his departure. 

“Hey Y/N,” He smiled softly, and you took note of his reserved cadence and the fact he didn’t greet you with your nickname. He wrapped you into a half hug, which after Josh’s bear hug seemed small. You felt crazy for noticing the tiny differences in behavior when they probably meant nothing. 

“Hey Sam.” You smiled shyly and gave him a small wave. The interaction seemed so… new, and stale, when you’d been hanging for a bit and even at the beginning, he hadn’t been like that. It settled a storm of nerves in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly every interaction you'd had with him was replaying in your head, wondering if something went wrong. 

“Do you want a drink or something?” He asked, leading you into the spacious modern-styled kitchen. Once in front of a rather large silver fridge he opened the french doors to reveal a plethora of alcohol, taking up most of the appliance. 

“Oh, um,” In the corner you spotted one row of water bottles. “Could I have a water please?” You figured that alcohol may not be the best idea when feeling as nervous as you did. 

He smiled, “Of course.” His hand plucked a bottle and handed it to you before grabbing a beer of his own. 

“Hey, Sam!” Called a voice you recognized as Jake’s calling from the other room. “Come help fix this shit with this TV.” 

He rolled his eyes but placed a tender hand on your shoulder, “Excuse me.” He said in a tone insinuating that he’d rather do anything else than go help them. 

Shortly after Sam left, you soon felt another presence enter the kitchen. “Well, well, well. Nice to see you again.” Welcomed Jake adorned with a faux British accent and a half drank amber beverage.

“Hi- uh,” You pointed over your shoulder. “Didn’t you just call him over for help?”

Jake smirked and gestured over in the general direction. “Yeah, that’s what he’s doing. Helping.” He took a sip of his drink, his chocolate browns eyeing you over the brims of the short glass. He looked even better in the daylight, in a patterned button down, unbuttoned til the very last few buttons before being sucked into his jeans. His hair was long, past his shoulders, and fluffy. His face was sterner than Sam’s but not as angular or sharp.

“Oh.” You replied shortly, feeling naive and a bit cornered.

“Oh love, you can’t be only drinkin’ water.” He stayed in the British accent except it was sounding a bit Irish. “Let me make you something.” He began taking bottles off the counters and pulled a stemless martini glass from a cabinet. 

“No, no.” You tried to stop him using your hands to wave away his actions. “I’m okay really.”

“Nonsense. I’ll make it light.” His gravelly voice returning to his American dialect. Though, what he was making looked far from light and the churning anxiety in your stomach only worsened. 

He poured in some vodka into a shaker and took the opportunity to glance up at you while the liquid poured. “So, Sammy wooed you huh?” The corner of his lips curling into a smirk. 

“I-I,” You began but fell short, not really knowing the answer. It was true but Sam didn’t even know how you felt, you couldn’t let Jake know first. 

“I see.” He nodded, adding cranberry juice to the metal container. “Either you haven’t told him or he’s not doing a very good job at wooing you.”

A bright red blush bloomed to your cheeks at his words, seemingly stunned silent, lost in your own jumbled thoughts.

He paused with his brows lowering then raising, “Or both.” Before the smirk returned again. “What a shame.”

“What is?” You asked innocently.

Some other juices and ingredients you didn’t recognize were added to the shaker before he snapped the lid on it. “You’re easily the most beautiful girl he’s ever brought around.” He said effortlessly, no hesitation behind the words - unlike with Sam, who had you questioning your entire purpose there. “It’d be a shame for him to fumble the opportunity to win you over.” He brought the shaker over his shoulder and shook it with one hand, ice clashing into metal filling the silence in the room. 

“Oh, no.” The blush on your cheeks had dulled to dusty rose and your eyes fell to your water bottle as you played with the label. “I don’t think it’s anything like that.” When the words left your mouth, they felt like lies. It had to be something right? There’s no way you were just imagining everything. You shrugged. “Or maybe? I don’t know.” 

He poured the martini glass full of a cloudy pink liquid and handed it to you garnished with mint. “You’re far too stunning to be that confused about someone’s feelings for you.” 

You took the glass delicately to not disturb the beautiful presentation. “Thank you.” You replied quietly to both the drink and the compliment. 

Jake’s eyes darted to the left catching Sam making his way back. The smirk returned to his lips before leaning over to reach your ear. “If you’re not impressed by him, let me know. I can do anything he can’t.” His hand lightly gripped your arm before parting from you to walk past Sam in the opposite direction.

Your eyes widened unsure how to take his claim, but a buzz fell into your hips nonetheless. What could he possibly show you that Sam couldn’t? But more importantly, was there truth behind his words, should you not be blindly crushing on Sam without knowing his feelings? While Jake wasn’t the one you wanted, he sure had a way of making everything so simple.

You were startled out of your thoughts when Sam finally reached your side. “C’mon, they’re about to start the movie.” He said quietly then placed his hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to the living room. 

The feeling of his touch on you made your heart swell but only further confused you about his behavior. Even after his hand left you, it still tingled where it had been. He plopped down in the middle of the couch and patted the cushion beside him, inviting you to sit next to him. 

You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your recently glossed lips and took the seat next to him. 

It didn’t take long for all the boys to gather around the tv, some on the couch and some on the floor. They put on some indie movie that you could barely keep up with, not because it was necessarily over your head, but because of Sam’s proximity to you. Your knees were barely touching and there’s just a hair of space between our stationary pinkies on the cushion, just begging to cross over each other. Your heart stayed high the entire time, but you try to hide your chest rising and falling rapidly. You wonder if Sam or anyone else around them could tell or if Sam felt the same way.

Jake sat on the other side of Sam, and you were grateful for it because the idea of being sat between them made your head spin. It was bad enough you’d already caught him stealing looks at you every now and then, but you paid no attention to him, not wanting to fuel whatever fire he was trying to start. It was bad enough that his words were ringing in the back of your head and your curiosity running rampant.

You and Sam’s pinkies were still barely touching, and the contact remained light yet electric throughout the entire movie. The sensation of his skin brushing against yours was enough to keep your heart racing and your skin tingling with goosebumps. The quickened pulse and fluttering nerves never eased during the film’s two hours and seventeen minutes, despite the lively chatter and laughter of the group around you. Each time you shifted, or the couch creaked, the brief, tantalizing contact was a constant reminder of his closeness, amplifying your giddy nervousness. Every slight movement or accidental brush seemed to heighten the tension, making it almost impossible to focus on anything other than the shared, electrifying proximity between you. The soft, shared touch was like a delicate thread binding you together, making every casual brush of his hand feel intensely significant.

As the movie ended, the group burst into animated discussion, gesturing enthusiastically about their favorite parts. You were more than content to fade into the background, relieved not to be thrust into the conversation since you had barely paid attention and couldn't have contributed meaningfully. As the chatter continued and the group began to scatter—grabbing their belongings or placing glasses in the sink—You rose from your seat, stretching your arms above your head to loosen the muscles that had been dormant for the past two hours. Then, you navigated around the couch, stepping out of Jake's way as he made his way toward the living room exit.

You ended up leaning forward against the backside of the couch, pressing your palms into the headrests for support. Suddenly, you felt the warmth of Sam’s head resting on your shoulder from behind. It was a simple, unassuming gesture, but it sent your heart racing, making it feel as if it were leaping into your throat. The thudding pulse in your ears seemed to drown out everything else, and every hair on your body seemed to stand on end.

Sam's hands were tucked behind him as he bent slightly to rest against you. “Did ya like the movie?” He asked casually, completely unaware of the mini panic attack his closeness was causing.

“I—” You stuttered, feeling your cheeks flush with warmth. He chuckled softly, sensing your unease.

“You didn’t like it, did you?” He guessed with a knowing smile.

The blush deepened on your cheeks as he pulled away, giving you a moment to regain your composure. You turned to face him, trying to steady your breath. “I did,” you said, not entirely untrue, since you had been too distracted to focus on the film.

Sam’s face softened into an endearing, embarrassed grin, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Ah, I told the guys we should’ve picked a more interesting movie.” It was adorable, the way he was nervous about you enjoying the piece of media, nervous about impressing you. 

You noticed then that it was just the four of them, no extra partners or friends. This was really about him introducing you to his tight-knit circle. He was more reserved with them compared to his larger-than-life charisma he normally exuded in other social situations. Being the little brother of two other grandiose personalities, it made sense that he’d sometimes get outshined. You wondered if this was the normal dynamic with them or if they were on good behavior because of your presence. 

Without thinking, you reached out and found his wrist, giving it a little squeeze. “I liked it. I think I’m just tired.” 

His regular joyful smile and the sparkle in his espresso eyes returned, “Oh, I’m glad. I was scared it would bore you.” 

You shook your head with a reassuring grin, “No, I think I just need some coffee.”

“Hey, Y/N!” A voice called from the kitchen and when you leaned over to follow it, you found Jake with a cigar perched in his lips while he lit the end. “You should join us at the arcade tomorrow night.” 

Your eyes flickered up to Sam, who looked like Jake just asked a question he had been hyping himself up to ask. “Sure.” You smiled up at Sam before moving back to Jake. “I’d love to.” 

“Cool.” Sam nodded, trying to act nonchalant about it all but the truth was that he was ecstatic. 

The more he got to know you, the more he became something he rarely was - shy. Fidgety and nervous were never part of Sam’s repertoire, he was always his most authentic self, never caring who thought what of him. Until you. Especially since you weren’t seeming to pick up on any of his hints. True to your nickname, he thought of you like a flower, something delicate. Delicate for Sam was dancing around all of the obvious signs instead of blurting out his feelings. He didn’t want to scare you away with overstepping or misread signals. You were slowly becoming his new favorite person, and he didn’t want to rush or lose that because of his own impatience. 

After saying goodbye to the boys and thanking Josh for his stellar hospitality, you and Sam wandered over to an on-campus café for some much-needed coffee before Sam’s evening class started. The atmosphere was cozy, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around you like a warm blanket. It felt like the perfect way to wind down after the busy day.

The view from the amply large windows gave you a perfect view of the setting sun, casting pink and gold through the glass and onto the tan boy. You couldn’t get over just how beautiful he was, you wondered if he knew that about himself.

“Thanks for drivin’ me back to campus,” Sam said as he brought his cup to his lips. You couldn’t help but let your eyes drift to his mouth, watching as his pink lips touched the plastic lid. You felt a strange pang of envy toward that cup, wishing you were the one he was drawing closer to.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you replied, quickly blinking away your stare and taking a sip of your hot coffee to distract yourself.

He set his cup down and cleared his throat, his gaze locking onto yours with a spark of mischief. “So,” he began, drawing out the moment with unnecessary suspense, “I have a very important question.”

Your eyes widened as you mirrored him, placing your cup down too. “Oh god, what?”

Sam paused for effect, leaning in ever so slightly before finally asking, “What is… your major?”

You let out a relieved laugh, placing an open palm on your chest. “Jesus, you scared me.”

Sam chuckled, flashing you that easy grin of his. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

“Um, honestly, I’m kind of undecided,” you admitted with a shrug. “I came in as an English major, but now I’m not so sure. You?”

“Ah, I’ve got no major,” he said casually, taking another sip of his coffee. “Why choose? I want a little bit of everything, ya know?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I believe they call that Liberal Arts.”

“Damn,” he sighed dramatically, shaking his head with mock disappointment. “And here I thought I was being revolutionary.”

If you didn’t have a massive crush on him, you might’ve teased him more, maybe something like, "Yeah, a lot of men seem to think they’re revolutionary," But you bit your tongue, opting for something lighter instead.

“Looks like you’re gonna have to think outside of a bigger box, Sammy,” you teased, tipping your cup toward him with a grin.

“I guess you’re right, Wallflower,” he shot back smoothly, making your heart skip a beat. It wasn’t your name but god did you love the way he said it. You felt the familiar warmth creeping up your neck, threatening to color your cheeks red, so you quickly changed the subject.

“So, your brothers just go to arcades regularly?” you asked innocently, trying to steady yourself.

He laughed, setting his cup back down. “Not just any arcade. It’s The Arcade. It’s this bar-arcade place, kind of like a smaller, off-brand Dave & Buster’s.”

Your lips formed an understanding "O." “My bad.”

“It’s a lot of fun,” Sam continued, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “I think you’ll really like it.”

You smiled, enjoying his enthusiasm, but something had been gnawing at you for a while now, so you leaned in with a half-serious grin. “Hey, so how do you get into all these places anyway? Just how many people do you know?”

Sam laughed easily. “Honestly, just one—my dad.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Your dad?”

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “He’s the Dean.”

You almost spat out your coffee. “Your dad is the Dean? Of our school?”

“Yep,” he said with a grin. “And, well, I guess I know three people if you count Jake and Josh. They set some traditions before I started. Most of the bars let me in because of them.”

You blinked, processing the information. “So, your dad just lets you guys drink and party wherever you want?”

Sam shrugged nonchalantly. “Kinda. He wants us to have the full ‘college experience.’ As long as we keep our grades up and don’t screw up too badly, he pretty much lets us do whatever. It also helps that no one really wants to say no to us because, you know, Dean’s kids and all. Not that we’d ever get anyone kicked out or anything, but they don’t need to know that.”

You laughed, leaning forward on your elbows with a teasing glint in your eye. “So basically, don’t piss you off?”

Sam grinned, his expression softening as he leaned in slightly. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to piss me off.”

As you finished your coffee, the conversation drifted into lighter topics, the laughter between you and Sam making the café feel even cozier. But as the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow through the café windows, the thought of your upcoming weekend plans lingered in the back of your mind. The idea of spending more time with Sam at The Arcade filled you with a strange mix of anticipation and excitement—a little nerve-wracking but thrilling all the same.

“Ah shit.” Sam quickly shifted his watch into view. “I gotta get out of here before I’m late - again.” 

The anticipation was sweet, a pleasant undercurrent as you both stood up to leave. You didn’t know it, but he was feeling just as anxious and excited as you. 

Sam flashed you a grin that made your heart flutter. “So, Saturday then? I’ll pick you up around seven?”

“Yeah, sounds perfect,” you replied, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at your lips. It felt like the weekend couldn’t come fast enough

As you said your goodbyes and parted ways, a smile lingered on your lips, the thought of seeing him again sending butterflies swirling through your chest. 

You found yourself looking forward to it more than you expected, not just because it sounded fun, but because it was with him. You couldn’t help but smile at the idea of what the weekend might bring—laughing over games, the buzz of the arcade lights, and maybe even an excuse to let your guard down a little more around him.

The thought of the upcoming date left you both excited and a little bit anxious. It felt different, but you couldn’t tell how. But mostly, you couldn’t wait to see where the night would take you—after all, being with Sam always promised an adventure.

Next Chapter -> 03 - Deflowering*

Taglist; @sacredthefran @deathblacksmoke @measuredingold @persuasivus @broken0mens @peaceloveunitygvf @shutupdevvie [comment or send an ask to be added to taglist<3]

A/N; Thank you SO much for reading! Let me know what you think<3

[skyesdaisys]

character's i write for

welcome to my list of characters where i have many of them from many fandoms that i write for

requests: open currently (just wanna try writing again)

bolded names are ones i really wanna write for

yellowjackets (jackie taylor, lottie matthews, taissa turner, van palmer, nat scatorccio, laura lee, callie sadecki)

dc titans (dick grayson, jason todd, kory anders, gar logan, donna troy, dawn granger, hank hall)

fear street (deena johnson, sam fraser, ziggy berman, cindy berman, kate schmidt, alice hart, simon kalivoda, tommy slater, young!nick goode)

teen wolf (scott mccall, stiles stilinski, isaac lahey, malia tate, kira yukimura, lydia martin, liam dunbar)

american horror story (violet harmon, kit walker, lana winters, zoe benson, madison montgomery, kyle spencer, misty day, cordelia goode, jimmy darling, tristan duffy, ally mayfair-richards, kai anderson, winter anderson, mallory, brooke thompson, montana duke)

the summer I turned pretty (jeremiah fisher, belly conklin, taylor jewel, shayla wang, conrad fisher)

gossip girl (nate archibald, dan humphrey, blair waldorf, jenny humphrey, serena van der woodsen, vanessa abrams)

miscellaneous: maeve rojas (one of us is lying), leighton murray (the sex lives of college girls), miguel diaz (cobra kai), brooke davis (one tree hill), maeve wiley & ruby matthews (sex education), kate bishop (hawkeye), roronoa zoro (one piece live action), daisy johnson (agents of shield), zach dempsey (13 reasons why)

sidenote: I will only write for fear street during spooky season, and to an extent, ahs when I'm in a Mood to do so (so don't request unless it's october or september at the earliest). you can send requests for the other shows and characters anytime and anywhere you want (yellowjackets and gossip girl specifically atm because I'm currently watching/rewatching both right now)

another thing i'd like to add, i wouldn't mind writing poly ships x reader like dickkory, jackieshauna, stalia, sameena, lottienat, jaygar, etc. (or a poly ship with crossover characters like dick grayson & kate bishop for example)

i will write for fluff, angst, and maybe smut (there's only so much i am comfortable with though) if you ask nicely. and i only write for fem & gn readers

and as a reminder, you guys can request for the following fandoms for oneshots, headcanons, or just sending your fluffy or horny thoughts in my inbox (i don't judge)