#Sam Wells X Reader

[spinningwebsandtales]

Imagine Surprising Merlin With Big News

Sam ‘Merlin’ Wells X FemReader

Rating: T

Warnings: Angst and fluff

Word Count: 777

Requested by @the-marshals-wife​

(A/N:) I have been struggling to get a fluffy idea for a payment request for my best friend. I finally got this one and one more request down. Now I just like two more for ya girlie! I hope you really enjoy this and it was everything you wanted and hoped for! Be on the lookout for your next one as I will be working on it really soon! Until next time happy reading! ~Countess

Merlin had returned a week ago from another mission. You were ecstatic and happy to have him back home, but you were also nervous. While he was absent you had been trying to find the perfect way to spring some important news upon him. But no matter how hard you tried, the answer just wouldn’t come. You remained frustrated and it showed. Merlin had a feeling something was wrong but he never pressed you to find out. You would open up in due time but he was worried that something horrible was wrong.

This evening he had pushed his worries to the back of his mind as he held you tightly to his chest on the couch. A movie playing on the TV screen, flashing lights across the dark floor. Merlin found himself lost in the story playing out on the bright screen. You were halfway paying attention to what was going on as you wordlessly caressed the back of Merlin’s hand, lost in thought. You didn’t know how he would feel about what you had been hiding. Several times you had gained the courage to tell him, only to back out or something come up to take him away. Quietly you had cried your frustrations out while he slept. This was Merlin, the man you loved and married. He would be understanding, but it was still scary to think about him possibly leaving you alone once you told him. You laid there in torment, when you should be enjoying the arms of your husband wrapped around you. The couch was small but it was your favorite place to be with him, your legs tangled together while the warmth of his breath stirred your hair. You trembled, unable to relax and Merlin could feel your body stiffen against his. He looked down from the TV seeing a stray tear fall down your cheek. Merlin immediately became worried. He reached behind him turning on the lamp on the table by the couch. You flinched at the sudden illumination of the room, knowing you’d been caught losing to your emotions.

“Hey are you okay,” he asked while muting the TV with the remote.

You sniffed wiping at your eyes, “Yeah. The movie is just really sad.”

The look Merlin gave you had you realizing that you just sunk yourself deeper into your lie.

“It’s a comedy.”

You sighed getting up to sit on the couch with Merlin right behind you. He took your hand, trying to soothe you and while you didn’t really want the contact you fought the urge letting him comfort you in his own way.

“Something has been bothering you and I can’t help unless you tell me.” Seeing you so overwhelmed was breaking his heart. He wanted to be there for you, to help you through whatever you were struggling with. But he couldn’t do that if you wouldn’t open up to him.

“I know,” you sniffed.

Merlin gave you plenty of time to gain your bearings and to figure out where to start.

“How do you feel about getting another job,” you asked.

“Another job,” he looked at you in confusion. “I already have one. I can’t see being able to tack on another profession. I don’t want to quit either, I love what I do. I know it has to be hard on you when I’m gone but I can’t see myself outside a cockpit.”

“But this job is kind of important,” you continued.

Knowing he promised to hear you out, Merlin just sat there in complete silence. He held your hands in his while you explained.

“I know you love being a RIO and I would never suggest this unless it was absolutely necessary. The only reason I am asking is because I want you to take on a full time job,” you breathed in deep readying yourself. “I want you to become a full time dad.”

“Honey I can’t abandon my...” Merlin paused staring at your stomach before looking at your face before going back down to your stomach. “Dad?”

You nodded, not breathing due to the anticipation.

“You’re...”

“Yes,” you trembled.

Merlin suddenly leapt off the couch with a shout, all the while you just sat there dumbfounded.

“Are you happy,” you asked bursting into tears.

“Of course I’m happy,” he laughed kissing at your tear stained cheeks. “Is this what you were having trouble telling me?”

You nodded and Merlin just laughed a little more. “You silly woman. You never have to be nervous around me, especially when it comes to such joyous news. I love you so much!”

You laughed, holding onto Merlin tightly, “I love you too.”

[gwynfahr]

Huh, can we talk about the fact Jordan Li has a fucking guitar in their room ? Imagine them playing soft melodies for you to fall asleep to, damn I'm whipped. If they're playing this thing, I might turn into someone I'm not on regular days.

Look !

^ It's just here.

Litteraly kicking my feet and twirling my hair at the thought of their fingers pinching the cords, their focused face so serious and hot, my head's all dizzy.

[0-sparkling-lace-0]

going through tags and seeing that i’ve already hearted the most true to heart, disgustingly scandalous, perverted and smutty of the smut’s fanfiction is…such a humbling experience.

…

[someplace-darker]

In The Static | Ted Lasso

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader (no y/n) Wordcount: 2.1k Warnings: panic attack/talks of panic attacks, vague mentions of trauma. That's about it I think, it's a touch angst and hurt/comfort I suppose. Fluff. Summary: Ted thought he was past his panic attacks until he encounters another, and you follow him to make sure he's okay. A/N: "now jay" you might be saying "wasn't the last thing you posted smut almost a year ago?" and the answer is yes. But i've recently become insanely attached to Ted Lasso, and I dipped my toe into writing more than a wip. SO here's my middle aged white man of the month. Enjoy :)

“REFEREE!!!” Keeley stands with a force that causes her to latch onto your arm to keep from falling forward. It continues to astound you that for such a tiny lady, she really contains an insane amount of spunk. One of the opposing team’s men had just slid Sam’s legs out from under himself, causing him to land hard on his shoulder. The game had been a rough one so far, more aggressive and bitter than most. Richmond had been respectful at first (as per usual) but the second their opponents had started playing violent and dirty, that changed.

Roy and Beard were obviously shouting and pointing angrily, though you couldn’t make out what they were saying from your seat in the box. Ted, however, was standing stiffly with his balled fists shoved into the pockets of his Richmond zip-up. You can feel that something is off. Even if you can’t see his face, you know him well enough to read his body language. There’s mere minutes left in the game and the teams are tied.

Rebecca is already standing and gathering her belongings to head back in, gesturing for the lot of you to follow. That’s exactly what you begin to do before the crowd goes ape-shit, jumping from their seats and screaming so loud it makes your head thrum. 

“ROJAS INTERCEPTS THE KICK AND PASSES TO TARTT AND JUST LIKE THAT-”

You turn just in time to watch Jamie kick the ball into the net, the stadium erupting in cheers that shake the ground.

“AFC RICHMOND TAKES ANOTHER VICTORY 2-1 IN A SHOCKING LAST SECOND SCORE”

Keeley, Higgins, and Rebecca rejoice, grabbing at each other in shock. Placing your fingers between your lips you let out a piercing whistle, jumping up and down as thousands of chants echo. You look down to your coaches, expecting to see all three soaking in the sweet relief of not gaining another loss. Instead, you see Ted darting for the locker room, head down with his phone held two inches from his face. It was obvious to you that he was trying to use it as a cover. 

“I’ll meet back with you guys later, I’ve gotta check something real quick.” 

They smile and wave you off, relishing in the buzzing excitement clearly felt throughout the facility. As much as you wish you could join them in celebration, you were pretty sure Ted needed you more. So you slip through the small crowds with ease, having much practice during your time with Richmond, taking the back staircase to the locker room hallway. 

At first you check his office, finding only his jacket laying on the floor. The second spot you search is the right one, opening the door to darkness. You almost turn and leave but a staggered breath gives him away. 

“Ted?” you whisper, stepping into the boot room and closing the door gently. He sniffles almost silently and hums in response, curling in on himself when the lights flicker on at your touch.. You’ve never seen him look so small before, his entire body condensed into half of his height in the corner of the room, the sight moving you to shut the lights back off for his sake.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, walking over to kneel in front of him. He has his head placed between his knees, hands on the back of head with his fingers intertwined tightly. As much as you know of his panic attacks, you’ve never been present for one. Something tells you he tends to keep it that way with everyone around him. 

However, you’re well versed with them yourself.

“I’m gonna sit beside you, but I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay.”

You lower yourself onto the ground, the floor cold beneath your already freezing ass. England's weather was not kind to the warm blooded. Ted doesn’t lift his head all the way, simply angles it towards you just enough for an eye to peek out from behind his arm. He looks at you with the gaze of a wounded puppy, eyes red and wet, smeared with warm tears.

The silence that follows is deafening, a faint ringing the only thing you hear. Ted looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. It’s not like you can blame him. The last time he opened up to someone he considered close about his panic attacks, it ended up plastered on every magazine and tabloid across the country. Trust within himself and others had been fractured- not broken. No one could ever betray Coach Lasso enough to break that within him, it was fundamental to who he was as a person.

After a few more minutes of silence his foot slides over to yours, just barely nudging it. He lifts his head and sniffles, using his sleeve to wipe the mix of tears and snot off his face.

“I want to tell you about it, I do. I’m just… stuck. Feels like if I tell you, it’ll be too much,” he murmurs, keeping his foot pressed to yours.

“I understand, Ted,” you whisper. “I started having panic attacks before I was even a teenager. I’d been through things- rough things -and they plagued me for years.” He begins to unfurl himself, listening intently to every word you say, the blatant honesty and vulnerability easing his anxiety. “It took me a while to open up to anyone about them, let alone a therapist. I spent so long trying to hide them, that when I finally did get help I felt like a fake.” 

Ted adjusts himself to sit up straighter, shimmying closer so your shoulders touch. You can tell he’s trying to be inconspicuous about it, but the man is known to be anything but subtle.  Outside you can hear the boys begin filing into the hallway, headed for the locker room surely for some type of victory activity. Their shadows dance across the wall in the darkened boot room, slashed into segments by the blinds slanted slightly open. Both of you seemed to have held your breaths as they passed, because as soon as they’re gone there’s a simultaneous exhale of relief.

An amused breath comes from Ted, palm pressing from the corner of his eye to the tip of his cheekbone to wipe away the stray tears. He knocks his knee against yours and dares to glance at you, opening up enough to make eye contact. Here in this room, he looks more human than you think you’ve ever seen him. For the most part he keeps his mood insanely optimistic, tending to care more about others happiness than his own. It gave him an almost otherworldly bounce to his step and light to his eyes. 

But now that he’s sat no more than two inches in front of you with puffy eyes and a chewed lip, Ted is just… a broken man. 

“You’ll never be too much, Ted. It’s normal to feel stuck, and it’s okay to not be able to talk about it yet.” His eyes flick to your hand when you lift it towards him, a lifeline of trust, openness in the form of warm skin and an upward facing palm. Internal conflict tugs at his lungs, his breath hitching as he weighs his options for all of five seconds before taking your hand. You are someone Ted knows he can always find solace in. 

Someone who he could spot in a crowd of thousands, someone who he will always seek out. 

His other hand reaches to pat the top of yours, rubbing his thumb against your skin in soothing circles. A shuddered breath begins to pass his lips, but he smothers it to ashes with the cool press of a kiss to your wrist. 

Humming amusedly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, you lean your head on his shoulder, moving slightly as they lift with the intake of air into his lungs. “I suppose you’re right. I just feel bad that I haven’t spoken to you ‘bout it,” he tsk’s softly to himself, carefully navigating his brain for the right words. 

“I was fine out there, y’know? I’ve been doin’ better, Sharon’s helped a lot. But it just got so loud, and everything felt out of my control- out of any of our boys’ control and I- I just couldn’t breathe. Tunnel vision, boom, just like that.”

You whisper encouragements softly under your breath, murmurs of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you can keep going’ pushing him gently in the right direction. Voices can be heard from the locker room, loud cheering and chanting from the team acting as muffled background noise for Ted’s moment of vulnerability. 

“After everything that happened with Nate, I learned to mask it a bit better I guess. That’s the fancy word Doc told me about,” the corner of his lips quirks up “I figured I’d be okay in here for a bit anyway, then you walked in.” Your brows furrow and you pull away from his shoulder, opening your mouth to apologize for intruding but he beats you to it.

“No, no, that sounded different than I meant. I am very glad that you found me here. I needed you even if I didn’t know it,” he traces the details of your face with his eyes, not stopping you when you move your head back down to his shoulder. 

“I think you’ve worked on it so much quicker than you realize, Ted. It wasn’t that long ago, yeah? Healing and improving takes time, and it’s okay that it takes time. I certainly took my time,” you muse, channeling your own therapist’s word. “But I think it’s right on par with who you are, who I know you to be, that you got on it as fast as you did. Even if it was begrudgingly at first.”

“Yeah, Doc definitely had her work cut out.”

You laugh, normally at first but then Ted snorts and you both lose it, bodies bumping against each other with the shakes that come with post-meltdown laughs. Soon enough you’re both wiping away tears of a different variety, the air in the room much lighter than before. You take that moment to push yourself up and off the floor, lending a hand to Ted to pull him up.

“I am immensely proud of you, Coach Lasso. So is the team. You have a very large family backing you up, as unorthodox as said family is.” You take one step closer, hand still holding onto his, pressed between your bodies. Taking your free hand, you hold the side of his face and lean in to kiss his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw. 

Ted presses into your lips, chasing your touch even when you turn to the door. Twisting the knob open you find Will standing there, boots tied by their laces hanging over his shoulder, hand outreached to grab the now absent handle. 

He blinks at the two of you for a second, gaze one of vague shock, before curling his lips in an embarrassed smile and stepping out of the way.

“Not a word, Will,” you sing-song when he opens his mouth, pulling Ted down the hall to stand outside of the locker room door. 

You can hear Roy in the middle of a somehow happy/angry sounding congratulation speech that only he is capable of, grinning and turning to face your Coach once more. “Now, get your butt in there and relish in the sweet taste of winning.”

“I mean, relish is pretty tasty-”

“Ted.”

“Yep,” Ted takes a deep breath and nods, squeezing your hand “you coming in with me?” 

“I don’t want to intrude on your moment, Coach.”

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and pushes the door open, dragging you with him. The boys’ faces light up, immediately rushing to storm him, all reaching to touch him and jumping up and down. Their team song buzzing and bouncing along with them.

“WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE KNOW WE ARE, WE’RE SURE WE ARE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE”

You slide past the group, safely reaching Roy and Beard without your feet being stomped on. The smile on your face is one of pure joy and contentment, not faltering when Beard slides to your side, bumping your elbow. 

“Thanks,” he speaks, nodding towards Ted. It’s easy to know what he means immediately, always one to be of few words. 

“No need to thank me,” you reply easily, watching your family bond even more “it’s what we do.”

[nathandrakeisabottom]

Yesss please sam drake food/eating hcs?? Fave meals, hated meals, etc

It is with great joy and great belatedness that I post my first Uncharted piece in ages. Thank you for the lovely ask, anon. :)

⋆ Sam Drake - Eating Headcanons ⋆

Two words: scarcity mindset.

After running away from Saint Frances’s, to claim money was tight is to be telling some humorous bit, Money was borderline non-existent. And as such, came what the Drake boys do best: theft. 

Liquor stores were their easiest, and most consistent source. Sam still takes great pride in telling his many stories revolving around ‘cashier meet-cutes’ disguising their proudest heist to date: a 12-year-old Nathan smuggling canned goods under a moth-holed hoodie. 

Because of this, gas station snacks: twinkies, Lays chips, slurpees, etc. all tend to give him this simultaneous sense of nostalgia and nausea. Like when you’re eating eggs and all of a sudden, your body gags on the next bite.

But on an especially shitty day, expect him to be gobbling a Big Gulp and a half-frozen hot dog on the nearest street corner, with a half-smoked cigarette still sunken between his lips. It’s the way he wallows. 

Secretly wants you to tell him how bad that shit is for him so he has an excuse to snottily spat back “who the ‘ell cares?”. He finds pride in not caring about anything. (He cares about everything.)

Getting fast food at the drive-thru? Man waves you off a total of three times claiming he doesn’t want nothing before proceeding to eat half of your McNuggets without asking. He loves BBQ sauce and needs Tabasco on everything like it’s his will to live.

Big fan of spicy, sour, and tart, anything that makes your mouth pucker. Pretzels, salt and vinegar chips, cottage cheese, pickles, pineapple (😉). “What can I say? I admire a fruit that fights back!” — he snorts before taking a raw bite of a lemon, just to squirm you out.

Maybe a bit of the masochist in him. 

When he and Nate were able to get proper gigs (12-year-old Nathan: illegally, of course), they were able to progress to the simplest of grocery outlet options. Eggs, instant ramen packets, canned vegetables that were 9 out of 10 times eaten raw out of the can with a fork, and more nothing-but-toast-for-dinner than they’d want to admit).

Sam and Nate spent most of their childhood eating their dad’s scrambled eggs and microwaved peas. When their mom passed, and dad released them to the state, Sam decided he’d only ever eat over-easy again.

Nate still chooses scrambled. He asks for cheese and green onions to split the difference, but always ends up only eating half of it before the memories come too strong and he has to push his plate away. 

QUICK eater. MESSY eater. And I mean quick and messy. 

Will use as minimal cutlery as possible, and if disposable, even better.

A scooper. Tends to be a chronic careless spiller with how frequently he tries to funnel all the last crumbs into his mouth, how quickly he chugs even a glass of water. (Most shirts of his are stained as a result.)

Tends to wait till the last possible moment to eat or drink anything. Breakfast basically doesn’t exist to him. 

Spills more beverage down his chin and shirt than his mouth (but a wet t-shirt certainly isn’t the worst thing to happen. Especially not to Samuel Drake. ;)

Pizza order: Meat Lover’s with extra sausage. Maybe some green bell peppers when he finally compromises with Nate during movie night.

Never, ever orders (well, non-alcoholic) drinks when eating out. And only water when he finally lets himself cave. Otherwise, he’s stealing sips from the nearest patron’s Jarrito bottle (his favorite is Tamarind).

Doesn’t bother cleaning up his fruit peels or peanut shells, even around others. That shit’s going on the floor without a second look.

Surprisingly, a king and natural on the BBQ. Despite having so little in their childhood, Sam still tried to go hard on the holidays for Nathan’s sake. Fourth of July is still Nate’s favorite holiday exclusively because of Sam’s public park-smoked ribs and the long, bumpy motorcycle ride up the highest hill in whatever city they were currently loitering in, just to see the fireworks. 

A dive bar master. Nate always orders whatever grease-covered appetizer they got in the back. Sam purposely keeps his stomach empty so there’s more room for whiskey. (Since nobody asked, incredible at pool, and will offer any woman in a twenty foot circumference a lesson. Cue the leaning chest over back, cue stick fantasy.)

A love language that was a total surprise to him is his partner cooking/baking something just for him, especially if it’s from scratch. Gets that rare, soft look in his eyes as he watches them carefully place each steaming plate onto the table. And trust, he’s not looking at the food when it happens.

Loves his partner in an apron. Like… loves his partner in an apron.

Make him food, and as soon as it’s eaten, he’s eating you after. ;)

When he finally settles down post-Madagascar, it’s a fucking struggle to get him to go grocery shopping at all for the first few months. 

Self-punishment, maybe. 

Nathan buys them himself instead and leaves them on the porch of Sam’s trailer park home when he’s too depressed to answer the door. 

Basically has to be forced to eat actual meat and vegetables. For the first few months, he reverts and eats only familiar prison food. The same single pot of chili/beans for a whole week, half portions only for each meal. Uncooked canned carrots. Microwave popcorn when Nathan calls him asking if he’s eaten, and when Sam lies, it sounds more believable with the microwave droning in the background.

However, when he finally starts to pick himself back up, when he gets his first day job since prison, finally lets Nate buy him a used truck to get around, his first solo call from Sully, that’s when he finally starts to eat.

And when he finally feels like himself again, when he finally lets himself want to live again, the first hobby that Sam Drake takes up is cooking.

[adriellej]

Masterlist

Supernatural:

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles

Sam Winchester/Jared Padalecki

Castiel (Novak)/Misha Collins

Extra characters of SPN

SPN no parings

Personalized fics

Flash:

Harrison "Harry" Wells/E!2

[artyandink]

pov: you’re Sam Winchester watching Dean fall for Ivy

[p0rkbun]

late night sammy art before i sleep ( *｀з´) ♡!

[bearlytolerant]

Sooooo, are you still taking writing prompts? What about a Starborn PC (aka Shephard) heading into Nishina station and Sam can’t figure out what the hell she’s so worried about? I’m heading in there NG 6 and it’s just such emotional whiplash, depending on how you play. Sweet Jesus, the angst/comfort/smut potential….😁

Love your fics so much, thanks for sharing!

Fandom: Starfield

Pairing: Sam Coe x Reader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2135

🌟Note: Contains Main Story Spoilers🌟

the world can wait

You’ve done this before. More than once. It’s not complicated but it is tedious. Worth it to save both realities again and again. Shifting between the sterilized facility with robot defenses and its survival horror counterpart, complete with alien monstrosities. You make quick work of it all, overriding the obstacles blocking your way to get to the lab. To the artifact.

Only this time, Raphael’s body in the sterilized reality doesn’t contain the slate that’s needed to save everyone. Padding him down, you check every pocket, sleeve, boot, anything you can find. But there’s nothing.

“Shit, Raph, where’d you put the damn slate?” The search spreads wider.

You rifle through lockers and under desks and chairs. You even check the bathroom. Maybe he dropped it behind the toilet? But it’s nowhere to be found and time is ticking. Shifting back to the reality colored apocalyptic horror, you find Raphael, alive and well.

“Hey, do you have the slate?”

“What slate?” he asks and his confusion has your stomach in knots.

“The one with the degaussing instructions.”

“I don't have that.”

If only you’d taken time to memorize it. The regret pools in your gut. Learning the hard way, again.

With a sigh, you thank him and head back to the sterilized reality. At the very least, you can save this version. But new questions arise in your head with the turn of events. Is it a mercy to leave Raph, protecting him from the crushing weight of being a sole survivor? Or will he slowly starve to death, coming back for you in another universe, angry and vengeful?

There’s no time to dwell. You make your choice. Scientists over Raphael.

You disengage every power interlock as quickly as you can. Power down the central control and grab the artifact.

Spinning and swirling and swimming in a sea of stars, the unity touches your mind, showing you the latest thread spun in your particular tapestry of fate.

You wake up, only one thing on your mind.

Sam.

Did this new decision cause a disruption or a disconnect? Will you leave Nishima and find him standing just outside the facility where he said he’ll be?

How badly is this world fucked?

Panic rises, festering and oozing out through your sweating palms. You fret and fumble, stumbling your way back to the main entrance. You don’t even bother to check up on the scientists. They’re obviously fine. Their thank yous roll off your back as you pass them by. You see the exit.

The door hisses and it feels like an eternity before they pull apart enough for you to squeeze through, eyes searching for the place he should be.

“Sam?” You call, your voice dry, rough and cracked.

But he’s not where you left him.

Your heart races. You’re mumbling “no” under your breath, over and over again, like a penitent sinner. Pleading with the heavens, and bargaining with the stars.

“Sam!” You scream.

His name is a choked back sob burning at the back of your throat.

“You better be here,” you croak, eyes searching the horizon and all the places around you.

He shouldn’t be back at the ship but what if he is? What if he’s safe? A glimmer of hope. You need to see. Need to know.

You take another step forward, the tears drying as you tell yourself that he’ll be there.

But then that little worm named worry inches in, whispering to you, what if he isn’t? Then you’ll have to explain to your crew mates. Explain to Cora.

Oh, no—Cora.

You slump to your knees, the voice of worry growing louder. A cacophony of horrible what-ifs brings your heart rate up so high your hands are shaking. You can’t go back to the ship without him. You can’t—you won’t. You know you haven’t searched everywhere. There's one last place before you’ll give in and go to the ship, to face whatever might be waiting there. So you turn around, retracing your steps back to the facility, heading up the stairs and toward the cliff edge. You pass by a tree on the right and pause to watch as the sky awakens in an ambient peach glow. It’s beautiful but it’s not Sam. You hang your head, hopeless.

“Oh Sam,” you whisper to yourself. “Where are you?”

A hand on your shoulder has you reeling around, gun in your hand.

“Whoa, whoa! You alright there, darlin,?”

Sam.

He’s okay. He’s okay! The weight lifts off you and just one look into his baby blues is enough to carry you down from that panic driven high.The air is breathable again as you toss your gun aside, throwing your arms around Sam’s neck. You cling to him, fingers grasping at the bare skin of the back of his neck, tears flowing freely down your face. “Where were you? I looked everywhere and you weren’t—you weren’t—“

Then your hands are on his cheeks, fingers to his lips as your eyes map out the entirety of his face. You wrap your arms around his midsection and squeeze, ear pressed against his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum inside your head.

He holds you tight, smoothing his hand up and down your back. “Shh, I’m right here,” he says. “I’m right here.”

“I thought I’d lost you.” Again.

“You haven’t lost me,” he says. “I’m here.”

He gently removes your hands from his neck and holds them, studying your face.

You grasp his hands tightly, and bring them to your lips. One kiss for each knuckle and one kiss for each scar. Then you flip his palms over and kiss those too.

The lines of his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you. “You okay? Need to talk about what happened in there?”

You shake your head. You’d rather forget it all.

“I just—I need you.”

“Okay,” he says in his familiar and calming drawl. He presses his lips to your forehead. “Okay.”

You lift your chin, searching his eyes. Drink up his soft and gentle smile. Then you kiss him. Deep and devoted. His tongue slips into your mouth, hands roving your body, urgent and insatiable.

You back him against the nearby tree, out of sight for anyone that might come along. No one will, though. You’re confident of that. It’s just you and him and the wide expanse of land meeting sky embracing the two of you in a morning haze.

Your fingers are undoing his belt buckle and his hands slide up your back, to your shoulders and then cup your face. His eyes are askance of your audience.

“We don’t—you don’t have to do this.”

“It’s not a matter of obligation. But of want. Of need,” you tell him.

It’s a matter of finding some solace in the sighs you can invoke. You want to hear him, revere him, touch him. Immerse the entirety of your essence in him.

“Who am I to protest then?” he says with a chuckle.

How you’ve missed that. Missed him. Those few moments without him were just minutes but felt like days—no millennia.

His belt buckle loosens. Button unsnaps.

You relish in the soft zip mixed with the quiet hush of wind at your ear, kneeling before him as the supplicant pilgrim. He’s already shirking out of his jacket, tossing it on the ground beside you. Your fingers inch under the hem of his shirt, exploring the skin of his body and brushing over the hair of his belly. Sprawling hands out to his sides, finger pads pressing into the black inked tattoos, you rest your forehead against him.

Three deep breaths and you’re grounded for a moment.

One of his hands pets your head, soothing and calming before you press your lips to his belly button. Plant a plush path of kisses down to the elastic of his boxer briefs. Then you dip your hand past the band, tugging, and freeing his cock. Gently you massage his balls, while wrapping your other hand around his length. You pump once, careful not to pull the sensitive skin.

He murmurs something sweet, calls you darlin’ as you slide your hand down his shaft. You lick your lips as you eye his excited cock, bobbing slightly and eager. You kiss the veins and make use of your tongue, testing and tasting. Having a bit of fun.

With satisfaction, you envelope him with your lips.

He shudders under the sudden shock of warmth from your mouth; a flood of sensations to his nerves. You draw him in deeper, massaging him as you delight in his tip touching the back of your throat. You pull free, with a smack of tongue to lips while releasing his balls. A string of saliva catches fractals of light as you swipe it from your bottom lip, glancing up to meet his adoring eyes.

“You’re a sight to behold,” he says, voice deep and gravelly.

He doesn’t realize that he’s the true sight to behold. But you will show him. Show him that he’s all that and more.

You close your eyes, those words washing away all that worry. Lips pressed to his tip, you open your mouth wider to be filled with the entirety of him. Your cheeks hollow out as you suck. Your other hand, snaking around his ass and gripping, steadies you as he hisses a profanity.

His hand has slipped from your head to the back of your neck where he holds you tenderly. Though his cock twitches and hips jerk, begging to thrust, he remains self-controlled.

Your own arousal heightens under his strained moans and self suffocated cries. And you take more of him. More of those muffled sounds and praises that keep tumbling out of his mouth with every lick of your tongue. Every languid drag.

You quicken the pace, driven by the urge to please him and a bit of precum spills. You withdraw, lapping it up with a lewd swipe of your tongue.

Stealing another glance up at him, his eyes are closed, head falling back against the tree bark and that self control wavers with a desperate, “please,” and squeeze of your neck.

You oblige happily, losing yourself to his shudders and sighs. Ravishing his length in your mouth, setting a rhythm that pushes him to the precipice, guides him to the edge. His nails dig into your shoulder as you draw him in and out of your mouth. One great sigh and the grip of his hand loosens. Salt and warmth slide down your throat and you still your lips, gently sucking the remainder of his spend.

You swallow each and every last drop. With one last suck before release, his hands pull you away, drawing you up to his lips as he bends over you. Kisses you, urgent and besotted. After a few moments lost in the taste of one another, you break apart. Breathless. Come together again in a desperate embrace. Suspended in time, the sky brightens to almost blinding within the next hour. You never want to let him go. But the others will start to wonder. Unless—

“We should get back,” you say. “We need to check on the others.”

“Why?” Sam asks, tucking himself away and adjusting his pants. He buckles his belt.

“I had to do things differently this time—in Nishina. It’s why I was so worried I couldn’t find you. I was terrified something happened and—what if that something happened to the others—to Cora.” There’s that little flutter of panic again.

“Shh,” he says, pulling you back against his chest. “They’re alright,” he reassures.

“How do you know?”

He pulls away, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezes. “I’ve already checked in on them through the comms. They’re okay. We’re all okay.”

You can feel the moisture in the corner of your eye but you wipe it away.

“I love you,” he says, kissing your forehead, then your cheek. Finally your lips. “Immensely and totally.”

And you know this in every fiber of your being but it is a relief to have it spoken. After everything.

You snatch up his jacket from the ground and dust it off. Hold it open as he stuffs an arm in, shirking it back on. Taking his hand in yours, you squeeze it once.

“I love you Sam Coe, and when we get to a quieter place, I’m going to spend a whole day showing you just how much.”

“Holding me hostage for a day, then?”

“Make that a week.”

With a chuckle and squeeze of your hand, he says, “I’m all yours, darlin’.”

And together you find your way back to the ship.

[thatsgoodsquishy0]

Pairing: F!Reader x Ranger!Sam Coe Rating: M+ Bio: Set during Sam’s younger years working as a Freestar Ranger alongside his wife, Lillian Hart. Whether circumstance, or impossible luck, you're given a second chance at life, ultimately growing close to The Coes. You take a shine to Cora, but the family dynamic is something else entirely, albeit a little overwhelming, as you realize the toll Lillian's absence has taken on the family, but more specifically, her husband. Sam Coe is witty, charming, and ambitious; a man who knows what he wants and stops at nothing to reach his goals, but when his wife seems to prioritize her career over her family, it's hard not to notice the strain growing inside him. Your friendship may be just the support Sam needs, even if the temptations for something more linger, and when your past threatens your future, where will your morals lie? Will you end up back where you started? Chemistry is a cruel mistress chapter i: Bound cross-posted to AO3 credit of course to the lovely @seraaphiel for keeping the Ranger!Sam spirit alive & @cafekitsune for the divider. special thanks to @fangbangerghoul and @bearlytolerant for literally hyping me up every day to write this fic. your endless support and love inspire me more than you know. and THANK YOU to the readers who've enjoyed this journey so far!! <3

i listened to this song from the Red Dead Redemption II soundtrack pretty much on repeat while writing. it fits the vibe of the chapter, and if you'd like a little extra immersion, feel free to play it whilst reading.

ii. MAN OVERBOARD

You stood beneath the torrent of water, your skin gently scalding as you waited for your body to adjust to the temperature. When it did, you sighed and stared at the shower wall, gaze blank. Your hair felt heavy, weighed down by the stream and caked with blood that was slowly breaking away. You looked down at your feet. Grime and gore snaked through the grout of the tile floor, slipping into the holes of the drain, gurgling as steam enveloped the shower.

Minutes passed. You waited for the water to run clear. Streaks of diluted red flowed down your chest, past your stomach, and in between your legs, reaching the bottom. You lifted your hands, eyes glaring at the bracelets of purple and black wrapped around your wrists. You turned your palms towards the ceiling assessing the rest of your injury, only to find your hands trembling; inflamed with anger. A scream simmered in your throat, ready to boil over. Whether the heat of the water or justified wrath seething within, your face reddened and nostrils flared. Your lips curled as you parted them, ready, but then, you drew a steady breath instead; a warning to yourself to behave, be civil, because this was not your space. 

You were a trespasser. 

You quickly grabbed for the nearest shampoo bottle and squeezed a handful into your palm, lathered it up, then rocked your hands back and forth against your scalp. Frothy bubbles of red poured down and settled between your toes. You swiped your foot towards the drain, flicking away the bubbles, splashing your soles against the floor. You shivered as the water devolved to luke-warm, and frantically, you scrubbed your skull raw. You closed your eyes. Rinsed. Grabbed another handful of shampoo. Lathered. Scrubbed. Rinsed. 

By the time you finished, you felt as though the nerves in your wrist might snap. Your vision blurred by a mix of water and tears, your legs buckled as if they were jelly. You slid back against the wall and curled your legs into your chest as you rested your forehead against the fresh bruises on your kneecaps. Underneath the water with your lips locked, you allowed yourself to cry, tears streaming into the rushing cool. If no one heard you, it would be okay. 

You were owed this, and with time, vengeance against him would owe you, too. 

Sam 

The mission was straight and narrow, albeit improvised, but when it came to the badge, Sam was no stranger to unscripted moments. Hell, he enjoyed spontaneity most of the time, but when an innocent’s life entered the picture, there were strict rules he followed – a code to adhere to; be on the same page. Disagreement was a form of arguing, and arguments led to distractions, and distractions got you killed. Sam lounged back in his chair, his feet propped on the desk and arms crossed against his chest as he waited for Lillian to finish her debriefing with the Marshal. He knew this was coming, still he bit the inside of his cheek. He had every right to that conversation, yet she kept him on the sidelines, as if he were a witness, but maybe it was best that way. Lillian’s memory was exceptional and she’d have a thoroughly combed-through report for Marshal Blake, all the while Sam brushed past details he thought were trivial, like what time the ship was ambushed.

But there was nothing in that report about Sam recognizing the rescued woman.

Weeks ago, he was sitting at the bar nursing his second thumbs worth of whiskey, his attempt at unwinding from the day proving idle as he drank. His hat was warm against his head, the beginning thrums of a migraine settling in. He shut his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose. Cora was just getting over a fever, which meant she’d spent more than enough time with Jacob. 

He counted — four days. Four days without her. He was stir-crazy, his father’s intuition scratching at his bones as every waking thought flashed to the Coe Estate, little Cora putzing around and Jacob’s manipulative eyes beaming upon her as he planned her entire future. Bet that just got his bastard heart beating with pride thinking she’d carry on the legacy someday -- the dreaded Coe legacy, at least, the one Jacob twisted to fit into his narrative. 

Sam’s lips grimaced against the rim of his glass as he took a sip.

His absence was justified (warranted, at least, by his leaders), but one day without his daughter was tough enough. Four days was agony, and Lillian wasn’t much comfort considering the only conversations they seemed to share were Ranger-related. 

The Rangers could wipe out every single drug lord in the Settled Systems and Sam still wouldn’t sleep a wink – not without twinges of guilt stabbing him through the night.

He signaled for a third glass of amber liquid, and for a fleeting second imagined the opportunities of fatherhood and marriage away from the Freestar Rangers.

As soon as his drink manifested in front of him, he tabled the thought, thanked the bartender, then lifted the edge of the glass to his lips. He took a burning swig, familiar heat landing in his stomach as he wiped his mouth, and then, he saw her; face plastered on the tv screen, a lifted curve to her lips and a gleaming kindness in her eye —  a complete departure from the woman Sam would later carry out of a fried spaceship filled with dead bodies. The camera focused on a plaque sandwiched between her and another adult, some official maybe, outside a storefront.

… but which store was it again?

Sam shook off his recollection, his focus turning to Lillian’s chestnut brown ponytail as it swung to the side as she spoke. Her hip jutted out just a tad; one of the few mannerisms Sam picked up on over the years. His gaze lingered with anticipation, tracing modestly all the ways the ranger’s outfit hugged her body. Some days, he couldn’t believe they were a young married couple fighting the good fight, and other days, it was suspicious; this future he never conceived for himself, laid out by a woman who shared his last name, and was the mother of his child. 

Sam guessed she was wrapping up her conversation; the body cue being a slight turn away from the other Ranger, as if her mind were there, but her body was ready to leave. She caught his stare, but offered little more than a cocked eyebrow and neutral gaze. Sam gifted a smile, teeth and all, to his wife as she traveled closer. 

“Feet down,” Lillian said, her southern drawl popping out. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam uncrossed his arms as he sat upright in his chair, adjusted his hat. “So, what’d the Marshal have to say?”

“You’re gonna love this. Turns out that ship we ambushed? Stolen. Reported weeks ago. We’ll have to notify the owner of its condition and locale, which unfortunately means more paperwork on our end.”

“I don’t think they’re gonna want it once we tell’em, well, whatever it is we’re gonna tell’em.”

“That won’t be our problem. Marshal said if that woman was found on that ship alive, chances are she’s involved.”

“You don’t think, wrong place, wrong time? Sort of thing?”

Lillian shook her head. “I get the sick feeling they were keeping her for something.”

“Which means there was some serious illegal shit happenin’ on that ship,” Sam stated, his mind recalling what lined the path to the cockpit; dead bodies, ecliptics, … cases of harvested organs.  

His stomach churned. 

Lillian grabbed a slate from her pocket, pushed a few buttons, then brought the screen closer to Sam.“These were the ship’s last inputted coordinates. I had them downloaded before we left. Once we crack this, we’ll know where they were headed. Hopefully that, plus any information this woman is willing to spill, should give us enough of a lead.”

“You really went the extra mile, Mrs. Coe.” He stood from his chair, closing the distance between them. He traced the outline of her lips, his eyes noting the divot on the top in the middle. He could kiss her now, hell, he wanted to, if not for the active duty reminder on her chest.

“Oh, Sam. I’m just doing my job.”

“And you do it so well,” he replied. 

Her smile beamed, as if that was her favorite compliment to hear from him. Sam leaned his palms against the desk, and dropped his head forward, stretching out his neck. “Should I grab us some Terrabrew?” A longing in his heart guided him closer, practically breathing her own air as the gravel in his voice barely whispered. “Could be a long night.”

“I’m alright, thanks.” She grabbed his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Shouldn’t be a long night if she cooperates,” Lillian said.

Sam’s hands itched to grab her waist, but his restraint knew better. “And if she doesn’t?” 

“Then we’ll have to use oppressive measures.”

He pressed his lips together immediately, words backpedaling against his tongue.“I — um, I thought we weren’t gonna go that route. She’s been through enough, don’t you think?”

“That was before she became a possible suspect, Sam. Don’t go soft on me now.”

“Ain’t going soft on you, but we gotta look at it differently. If we go in there yelling and screaming at her, she’s gonna clam up, then we’ll absolutely get that long night.” 

Lillian paused, grazing over his innuendo as she pursed her lip. “If that’s what you think we should do.”

Instinct nudged at Sam’s subconscious. He’d done this before; hell, he was an expert at this point. The only achievable method towards controlling the unattainable was befriending the impossible; becoming a false ally. The Coe name wouldn’t work in this scenario, he knew that, but the skills collected throughout his years as a rebellious adult taught him a thing or two about word play, specifically, verbal disguise — manipulation. 

“I mean … if that’s what you think would work,” he double checked. “I just think if we get her to trust us, she’ll lay her cards out on the table.”

Lillian cocked her head, arms crossing in front of her chest as she stifled a frown, leaned back against the desk. “It could work, and it could not. We can’t risk this plan failing. What if she refuses to tell us anything at all?”

“She won’t.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Cuz even if she was involved, nearly getting shot by ecliptics wasn’t part of the plan. If we didn’t show up when we did, guns ablazin, she’d be dead.” 

“But how can you be so sure?”

Twice. She disagreed with him twice, now, which was conventional and always came from a place of concern, but even something as routine as administering a trauma pack to a survivor shouldn’t have been a slippery slope, yet the argument steamed up a train of thought that chugged at his brain. Comparatively, Lillian’s motives centered around the heart of what it meant to be a Ranger; Frontier Justice — protecting and preserving the best interests for the Freestar Collective, but her experience with the seedy Underbelly of the black market was only surface level. Sam didn’t write the book when it came to smuggling, but he definitely had his hand in a few chapters. He recognized his talents, beyond piloting a ship. Lillian was due for that reminder. 

Down the hall, the woman waited in the room. Confidence swelled inside his chest. He was capable of making Lillian and The Rangers proud.

He met Lillian’s eyes, speaking directly into them as not only her partner, but her husband as well. 

“Let me talk to her.”

The Ranger’s interrogation room consisted of three gray walls with an accent brick wall mixed in, a table and a chair, and a single two-way mirror. Sam had listened to many culprits inside the square asylum, a place he’d heard justifications ranging from misunderstandings in a bar to cold-blooded murder. Innocent until proven guilty was an old earth law, but credibility lurked within the ancient rule still, even if the Ranger’s didn’t out rightly practice it. He’d give this woman the benefit of the doubt until his morals persuaded him she was liable enough for arrest. 

But that’s if he could get her to speak. 

Lillian’s focal point consisted on cracking the coordinates for the ship’s final landing, as well as finding the owner of the stolen vessel. Sam knew she preferred to have her hands full rather than empty, sometimes taking on more than he thought she could handle, but he respected his wife’s decisions, knowing her ambitions meant new leads for the Rangers to follow, and he snatched up any opportunity to assist where he felt the most helpful. 

A rush of adrenaline pumped through his veins as he took a breath, remembering the mission, remembering what Lillian expected, what The Rangers expected. The door creaked mildly as he pushed it open.

If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he entered the wrong room. 

She appeared human; a near perfect clone of the woman he’d caught a glimpse of on TV. The air smelt of dust and earth, but there was a trace smell he could only describe as the planetside scent of a descending waterfall. Sam met her anonymous stare, his own nameless as he sat down and cleared his throat.

“Do you remember me?” He asked.

She nodded her head. A flatness to her eyes.

“How are you, uh, feelin?”

“Fine.”

Was she already lying? How could he be so sure? What answer did he expect to hear the moment the question left his lips? He asked out of courtesy, a spark to break the ice, but it felt out of place, like forced small talk, but fact of the matter was she didn’t weep or fold into a blubbering, nonsensical mess, like he predicted.

Strangely, a sense of reverence led Sam forward. 

“Can I get you some water?”

“No.”

Her composure remained as stiff as her back against the wood slats of the chair. Whatever her angle, he had to play his hand logically. Stamp the obvious on the forefront of his brain; she was here for a reason.

“Alright. I’m gonna ask you some questions. I know you’ve been through hell and back, but I need you to answer them honestly, okay? We want whoever did this to you to face severe punishment. I’m sure you want that, too … you do, right?”

In that moment, it was as if the gears stuttered within the mechanism of her brain as her face hid any indication of an answer. Sam waited, greatly anticipating her response, his elbows propped on the table and folded hands inches away from his chin. He tilted his head, and when she still didn’t speak, he verbally poked her. “Ma’am? Do you want justice against the one who did this to you?”

Her face shot up, eyes cold. “I do.”

“Alright then,” he began, leaning forward, his hands dropping onto the table. “We’ll start from the beginning, ease ya into it. What do you remember before the events of last night?” 

Her hardened persistence remained, but he noticed the small lax in her shoulders as she took a breath. Her eyes closed. “I was at my friend’s apartment, just needed a box of my things that I’d forgotten,” she recalled, opening her eyes, her hues connecting to Sam’s. “I couldn’t just leave it there, but I thought about it. I thought about turning around and going back home, but I didn’t.”

“Must have been important to you — whatever was in that box.”

“I – I like to collect old Earth books. Sinclair’s pays me to refurbish them as best I can, and then I donate extra copies around the Settled Systems.”

Sinclair’s. That was the storefront she posed in front of on TV. 

He leaned back against his chair, his cowboy hat tipped gently, shadowing his forehead under luminescent ceiling lights. “My daughter? Loves books. She just goes crazy for them. Of course, she can’t read them yet, but when I read to her, she giggles her little head off.” He offered a lightness in the room, sharing something normal, something friendly, something … definite, as the real questions simmered on the tip of his tongue.  “Did you ever get your books back?”

“No.”

Sam frowned. “I imagine those books took some hard work to find. When this is over, would you like us to help track them down for you?”

She smirked, thinly, neither coy nor aggressive. “You won’t find them. They were jettisoned into space. Besides, it’s not that important.” She averted her eyes. “Not anymore, at least.”

He could hear the subdued ache within her words, but he still wasn’t pushing her enough.   

“How did you find out your things had been scrapped?”

“I just … sort of assumed.”

“You assumed?” Sam repeated.

“Well, I … I really don’t remember.”

“Could you try?”

“I am trying, sir.”

“It’s Sam. Just Sam is fine.”

“Okay, Sam,” she said. “It’s all just … I don’t know. Blurry.”

  “It’s common for foggy gaps in the memory when you’ve gone through … everything you’ve gone through.” He switched directions, like a sly fox cornering his prey. “Those assumptions you felt, they came from somewhere, and you didn’t leave the apartment. Did your friend ever come back?”

“No, I never saw him,” she said, an unusual rise in her vocal tone. 

“If you never saw him and you don’t remember what happened last night, then how did you get on that ship?”  

“Sir — Sam, I – I don’t know –”

“ – cuz that’s a large chunk of time not accounted for, and suddenly you just, don’t remember?”

“Like you said, brain fog and —”

“No, your selective memory’s not adding up, and I’m willing to bet credits you've been lyin’ for some time now.”

“No I’m not lying it’s just — fuck,” her voice cracked on the swear, her hands quick to cradle her head. Sam stared at the deep purple and blue bruises bound around her wrists. His throat burned. He twisted his focus elsewhere. “Look,” she started, “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, okay? I’m just – so fucked.” Her breaths shortened, raspy and thin as her forehead met the table with a thunk, arms barricading her face. 

Inside the small of the room her confession lingered. The air was flexible now, much to Sam’s chagrin, knowing that whatever, or whoever, possessed her to lie to his face still controlled her thoughts even after all the nightmares she endured. 

But lying to a Ranger — that was a punishable offense. 

Muffled sobs clogged the room. An ache of sympathy lumped in Sam’s throat. He knew his duties, abided by them each time he fastened his badge to the uniform, but something about her confession pulled on his judgment. No moments of clarity graced this woman as she continued to wail, her pain amplified by what Sam could only imagine was the threatening fear of fate now that she’d confessed. 

He swallowed. “I, um, uh … well, I appreciate your honesty, and if you could continue to give me that, I’ll … I’ll try and help you as best as I can.” He paused, quickly adding, “I can’t promise anything, but, if you tell me the truth from here on out … you have my word that I will try. Alright?”

She sniffled, her eyes slowly poking out from the crevice of her forearm, cheeks dampened and lips swollen. She considered him with a long pause, and finally, as silence embraced the room again, he watched her sit up. “I don’t know how you could help me.”

“We’re reasonable,” Sam encouraged. “And what we do holds alotta weight, being the law and all.”

“No, you don’t understand. There’s nothing the law can do.”

He stifled a chuckle. “You’d be surprised.”

“I would be, actually, considering — fuck, okay.” She inhaled, long and purposeful, as if bracing herself. “I just don’t know, Sam. I’ve backed myself into a corner here and —”

“Then let me help you get out.” He tugged his body forward, catching uncertainty in her eyes as her gaze shuffled around the room, before finally attaching to his. “What are you scared of?” 

“Everything.”

The room seemed to shrink. A sparseness filling Sam’s lungs as he breathed the gravity of her response, and the strain of it all – organs, murders, human smuggling, unbridled fear. His morals never disobeyed him, but the law … the law had its limits.

The Ranger pored over the suspect sitting across from him, and for a moment, her visage morphed to the woman he regarded on TV. The brightness in her eyes, her strong posture, and a smile that stretched across her face. No blood. No bruises. No tears. 

“You were on SSNN, weren’t you?”

“Yes .. I was.”

“I saw you. In front of a store – Sinclair’s maybe? You were smilin’ and holding a plaque of some kind.”

Her eyes bulged, almost as if she’d forgotten as she touched her throat. “My citizen’s award.”

Sam nodded, a thin smile of respect growing on his lips. “Tell me how you got that.”

“... I traveled to a LIST settlement that specializes in fostering families affected by the Colony War. On my trip back, a reporter for SSNN took a seat next to me and … I guess the rest speaks for itself.”

“That’s really amazing. I’m sure those families really appreciated your doing that.”

She gave a half smile; humble but acknowledged. 

Sam continued, “So, how does someone like you end up mixed in with the garbage of this mess?”

She faintly shrugged, shaking her head. “How do any of us end up in the messes we make?”

“Dumb decisions, not thinking about the consequences, … trusting the wrong people.” Sam observed her cadence, gauging any type of reaction that might reveal the rest of her; a twitch of the lip, an averted gaze, something.

“Was your friend involved?”

Nothing. 

“Maybe they bit off more than they could chew? Ran into the wrong, very wrong, crowd? And now you’re payin’ the price because you … you stuck your nose where it didn’t belong, too?”

He caught the clench of her jaw. 

“Hell, maybe your friend doesn’t even exist.”

Her face flushed a bright red. “No that’s –”

“Not what? The truth? The truth that’s gonna be your saving grace if you just cooperate with me?”

“Fuck! I’m trying! Okay?!” She slammed her palms on the table, alerting Sam’s trigger finger as his hand flinched to his sidearm, but he didn’t retrieve it as she bellowed. “You think this is easy for me? Huh?! My life is on the line here. Again! And he’ll do much, much worse to me now than whatever those ecliptic fucks were paid to do!”  

Sam raised his hands, his voice calm and diffusing. “Easy. Just — take a breath, and tell me about this he.”

She laughed, a frown etched across her face as she ran her fingers through her hair and held her head. “Might as well, right? I’m as good as dead.”

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Sam said. 

“You have no idea what you’re up against.”

“I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with death. Try me.”

His challenge left her rigid, or so Sam thought, until she regarded him earnestly, the whites of her eyes growing pale as she spoke. “How can you be so sure I’ll be safe?”

That damn question again; poking and prodding at his abilities as if his intuition was nothing but a fluke, as if his experience was nothing but fictional. For god sakes, he wouldn’t be alive if it were and he wouldn’t be the man he was today without it teaching him, guiding him, encouraging him. 

As long as this woman revealed what she knew to Sam and The Rangers, he would do everything in his power to make sure she didn’t suffer at the hands of this — this tormentor. Sam was a man of his word.  

“I just am.”

The woman lowered her head, eyes low as if reflecting on what’s to come. Defeated, but not hopeless. 

“Now, can you tell me who he is?” 

“He is … a plague. A disease. The cause of so much suffering across the Settled Systems, and he is … everywhere.”

Sam cocked his eyebrow. “Who?”

“Медведь. The Bear.”

[phoenixqwq]

I’m about to write my own smut for self care

[mycarhasasecret]

You ever read a fanfic that stays in your head for years and you can never find it again?

[funny-bat-fruitloop]

I'm making a Vlad/Reader for the depraved, except I'm doing this to practice realistic relationships while keeping the humor and dialogue as close to canon as possible. . Chapter 1 has been released, I'm planning to add more. posting fanfic here as well.

---------------------------------------------------------

You were the outsider of your college group. Maddie studied biochemistry, her and Jack both studied mechanical engineering together, Vlad studied both alongside Maddie, and you? You simply studied computer science.

Sure, you later studied robotics and delved more into artificial intelligence, but at the time you were falling behind the trio. What makes matters worse is that you were in love with Vlad. He was too busy being in love with Maddie. Maddie and Jack were too busy with their Science.

You used to be closer during your first years. Then you drifted apart from the group.

Or the group drifted apart from you. But you phrased it the other way to feel better about yourself.

At least Maddie was nice. But it turned out that Maddie had a crush on you. You softly turned her down and told her you did not swing that way. She understood, and Vlad was elated that she stopped focusing on you.

She was surprisingly supportive, though, so she starts being more casual with her physical affections—she leaned against you and gave you hugs, at most, but never kisses of any type. Vlad glared at you every time.

You couldn’t handle Vlad’s glare towards you. You just couldn’t. You were so madly in love with him.

This wasn’t what you wanted for college. You wanted to thrive with less drama, not thrive in the drama of a love square. So you decided to turn it into a love triangle.

How? With distance.

You start making excuses about why you couldn’t hang out with them anymore. Maddie seemed pretty sad that you were becoming distant, and urged you to hang out with them more. Jack gave you puppy eyes, because it turns out that he enjoyed your dry wit and casual gifts—both clothing and food that you made.

Vlad looked...conflicted. As if as he did not know what to do with the slowly growing empty space. Every look he gave you after the start of you leaving seemed like he was having conflicts inside his mind.

But he did nothing. So you continued on with your life.

That was the start of your isolation.

You were pretty depressed now that you did not have anyone to accompany you. For the first few months of your departure from the group, people did not bother to include you in their friend groups due to your relationship with the “resident weirdos”.

You got into a robotics class and was forced to group with 2 other nerds, Gabin and Feen. It turns out, they were gay too. Dating, even.

Then the three of you started becoming closer in a platonic way. You were included in every conversation, arguments, and acted as a mediator for their spats which end up being resolved amongst the three of you.

Until the couple mutually broke up. You were devastated at the news, but it turns out all three of you were better as friends. Gabin turned out to be Bi and married a tall country Bisexual girl, and Feen turned out to be poly and married a few other people.

Even when the friend group grew larger, the three of you kept each other on your toes as you challenged each other to make robots. At some point, you made a lion-sized guard dog that read any sort of unique identification, like a treasured object, and chased intruders out of your home.

You gave this machine to a marketing professor as a joke. It ended up saving his life, which you did not intend to do at all (the machine dog was purposefully made with weak scraps for a chance for the victim to escape, in case it went haywire.) He was so grateful that he got you hired into a major tech company—Wayne Enterprises.

You got an award for it. Something close to a Nobel Prize. You’re pretty sure you were dragged out of the house with a blindfold, and were dropped onto the stage to receive the award. Or maybe you had too much coffee and dissociated the entire time.

Who knows. Photos of you taking your award in smudged eyeliner with a baffled expression became viral years down the line.

Gabin’s girlfriend also went out of the way to teach you “spellcraft”, which you thought was cool. She said that she could sense your “powerful bloodline”, and you entertained her by learning the basics.

You thought it was fun. Until a forced family reunion made you realize that Gabin’s girlfriend was absolutely not joking. Not fun.

Then it was your last year of college. You were forced to take a semester off due to the consequences of that disastrous family reunion. That year, you were having the time of your life while suffering with your thesis and OJT’s.

You almost missed the news of Vlad’s unfortunate accident. When you heard about what happened, your heart dropped to your feet.

Yes, you were trying to get over Vlad, but he did not deserve to almost die. You tried to visit him in the hospital but the nurses pushed you away. He needed something, anything, even if it is just to cheer him up.

You left some tupperware full of menudo and coconut milk pumpkin soup for the nurses to feed him. Nobody bothered to tell you that he left the hospital. He probably did not know that you cooked a large meal for him.

So you continued on with your life. You tried to reach Vlad a few times when you saw him back on the campus hallways, but he seemed too focused on...something. You did not want to bother him.

Life went on, and you managed to graduate in time. For your next couple of years, you worked as a robotics engineer for some more companies. Then you started a company with your friends several years down the line. You sold some patents, kept some patents, and you lived a comfortable life with enough money to support yourself, your needs, and your leisures.

You never got into a relationship, because you never tried. You were too afraid to be hurt.

Vlad Masters simply became Masters. He swindled, scammed, and stole with his newfound powers to become a billionaire. He’s seen some of your inventions sometimes, but what you made never really interested him.

Or rather, he was still conflicted at the thought of you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were dared by one of your socialite friends to post photos of your outfit before your flight to Illinois, and announce your arrival on your barely active social media. You’ve always loved the gothic aesthetic and mastered your outfits throughout the years—though you slowly shifted your outfits to be more modern while retaining the aesthetic.

For some god damned reason, you got a somewhat larger following than you thought—more than 10,000 people were interested in your life. You mostly posted your projects, but your outfits got more attention.

The youth kept calling you “DILF” along with other unholy comments, no matter how much you tried to discourage them. They seemed to flock to your socmed ever since that photo of you receiving your awards became viral. They also kept calling you “pookie bear”, whatever that meant.

You tried to restrict comments, but a few of your friends kept disabling the restrictions. They enjoyed your suffering.

You were beyond your 40’s, sipping a cappuccino as you left the airport while holding your luggage in the other hand. Suddenly, a notification popped up in your phone. The sound from your phone indicated that it was a text message, and not another weird ass comment that required you to say “aren’t you disappointing your parents with these DILF comments?”

Your leg hooked around your luggage as you pick your phone up from your pants with one hand. It’s a message from...Jack Fenton?

0xxx-xxxx-xxxx: Hey Bucko! Remember me? Jack Fenton? Heard you were in Illinois! Do you mind meeting at our place in Amity Park and meet Maddie and I like old times? :-D

Oh shit. It’s your old college friends.

You cringed a little as you remembered the way you ghosted the first two people who were decent towards you. Sure, you had your reasons, but it wasn’t fair to them. You checked the rest of your schedule on your phone and find that you still have free time to spare. A quick google search about the town, and you found that your convention is just at the town next to Amity.

So you made your decision and decided to make this up, let bygones be bygones.

You: Sure! Give me the address and I’ll meet you there!

[scryarchives]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫 - 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲𝐮𝐮𝐣𝐢 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟓

"i miss her, even if she's everywhere. mother, come home."

masterlist | previous , next !

–pairings: itadori yuuji x oc

– warning: mentions of death, mentions of abuse, hurt-comfort (?), canon divergent, pre-shibuya arc

– author’s note: i really disappeared for a long time, im so so sorry. and i promise this is becoming more yuuji-centric eventually–

disclaimer: i’m not of japanese descent and am unfamiliar with japanese honorifics, etc. feel free to correct me!

“Okaa-san.”

Her eyes crinkled at the title. She stood there patiently, and I steeled myself to move closer towards her. The cold air didn’t bother me, the warmth from my mother was all that kept me grounded.

Her arms wrapped around me, but I couldn’t feel anything other than the slightest air brush against my skin. I felt her love and that was enough. When she pulled away, I saw recognition fall upon her kind eyes.

“I see you’ve settled in nicely in Jujutsu Tech,” She hummed, eyeing the dirty dishes in my sink.

“Ah, Nobara came over with some of her… friends.”

“I noticed,” She turns to me, a look of pity in her eyes. “Tsubame, is Nobara still your only friend?”

“No… Fumi and I are still in touch,” I mumbled.

“My girl, you need to open up, I know my passing had affected you but–”

“Okaa-san, I know what I’m doing,” I couldn’t help but cut my mother off.

I didn’t like how she knew exactly why I had such high walls around my heart. I didn’t like how she knew what I was feeling, but she knew that I was stubborn, and she knew me like the back of her cold, dead hands.

“I don’t need new friends, I don’t need to let my guard down because I can be stronger, I can protect those I’m close to!”

My mother watched me in silence, everything that needed to be said in her black eyes, a flicker of lilac glowing, as though she had hope for me, and I wished that it would die out just so that I didn’t the reality of disappointing her falling over me like cold water.

“Okaa-san, I’m not here to make friends, I’m here to become stronger and defend those I love.”

My fist clenched in my hands, and it was as if I looked at her, the tears would all come pouring out – as if just the sight of my dead mother would break down everything I built up.

Everything felt amplified when she placed her hand on my chin, lifting it so I could look into her dark eyes. In that moment, everything felt real. Like she was real. Her touch felt so warm, and in the back of my mind I knew my body was tricking me into thinking she was truly here, but I couldn’t help but sink into the feeling again. 

“I know that life isn’t easy for you now, my dear,” She whispered, cupping my cheek, and I leaned into her touch, letting myself believe her lie. “But sometimes, you have to lower the walls you’ve built to let yourself heal. If you just sit around with a broken heart, no one can be there for you, no one can truly help you fix it.”

She wipes her hand over my tears, and it feels as though all will be right in the world.

“My dear Tsubame,” She mutters. “You’re too hard on yourself. It is time to put Tadashi to rest.”

Her hand sweeps my hair out of my eyes, “Your hair is getting long too, my dear.”

“Right,” I laugh a little a sniffle escaping me. “Yeah… I’m planning to cut my fringe soon. Or cut it all short…”

My mother sighs and I know what she’s about to say. There’s no point in avoiding the topic, after all, my father would always be a part of my life, whether I liked it or not.

“Tsubame, your father…”

“I know, I should forgive him,” I mutter, but that doesn’t stop the bitterness lacing my voice.

“No, that’s not what I wanted to say,” She strokes my cheek gently, her gentle eyes holding so much love. “What your father did to you was wrong. He should never have raised his hand to you…”

She brushes my fringe to the side, revealing the little bandage across my left eyebrow.

“He’s lost his way. And I understand why you left, my dear. But please, know that even though you’ve left that life, the path ahead of you is much more difficult. Being a jujutsu sorcerer has its risks, and some you will regret for the rest of your life. Are you sure you are willing to take those risks?”

My eyes meet hers and I feel myself nod in determination, “I am. I’m ready to do anything to overcome those risks. I’d do anything to make sure that what happened to you will never happen again.”

My mother’s eyes held a drop of sadness, the lilac specks in her eyes glowing. She gently kisses my forehead, and I let her hold me, missing her embrace that would protect me from my darkest moments.

“Then be strong, my girl,” She smiles, pulling away. “Maybe try to open up, okay? Just give it a shot. For me?”

I wince slightly before letting out a small sigh.

“...I can try…”

“Good,” She smiles, pulling me into a final hug. “Why not start with that Itadori boy? He seems very sweet–”

“Thanks, Okaa-san!” I can feel my cheeks heat up violently. “B-But I don’t need advice for who to make friends with–”

I heard my mother chuckle, pulling away from me as she began to laugh harder at my now-red cheeks.

“My dear, I see it all. I was there when you met. You like him, don’t you?”

I frown, and I struggle to get the blush down from my cheeks, “I know nothing of liking anyone. Or romance in general.”

“If you insist, my dear. But I mentioned nothing of romance. I simply meant that you liked him as a friend.”

I freeze, feeling my mother’s teasing smile, but the moment I look up, she was no longer standing before me. The lights no longer dimmed, but now the warm yellow of the lightbulbs. The air was no longer cold or still, but my cheeks still felt warm.

“...I don’t like him. At all,” I huff, narrowing my eyes where she used to stand.

It was all silent as the wind whistled, entering through the now-opened window – the sliding door that I hadn’t opened. The wind suddenly sounded like her laugh as she made me aware of my reactions, a maternal reaction of amusement in the wind.

gif by @heycaz

taglist: @mooncleaver @underwateredwrld @mcmisbehaving @neteyamrealgf @khany2026 @tinkerbelle05 @iheartamajiki @sad-darksoul @yunymphs < comment/dm me if you’d like to be on the taglist! >

[slutforsfender]

𝐬𝐢𝐱 - 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐀𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚

"A night out? In North Shields?" I question Phoebe.

"Aye, come on," She says, not thinking about what she is saying.

"Okay, Phoebe there are a few reasons behind my very definite no like the fact it's North Shields and the clubs are you know in the centre of Newcastle which we both definitely don't want to go to" I explain with a deadpan look and tone.

"I don't see your point. Pubs are the new night out" She backfires.

"What about the fact that we both know everyone here so anyone you went home with there would be consequences and most people we know our age are settling down" I state.

"I'll ignore the fact there was no we in going home with someone" She smirks.

"Also I really don't fancy going to a pub with a bunch of people crowding me and asking me why I'm back with the possibility of seeing Sam again because we both know he will also be out just for a canny night when we could just have one here," I say, walking over to lean against the kitchen counter.

"He's always in Low Lights and we just won't go there. Come on Bella, please" She practically begs with her hands, giving me puppy eyes.

"She's right yanno. That lad doesn't go anywhere but the Low Lights" My granny pipes in, entering the kitchen.

"Yeah, but Gran the Chase is on tonight and we all love it," I say, trying to convince her with my pleading eyes.

"Arabella, I am not letting my beautiful twenty-eight granddaughter waste another night back home watching quiz programs with me and your old grump. You deserve another lad that is not fictional. Now lass go get up those bloody stairs and get ready" She says, grabbing my shoulders and pushing me towards the stairs while winking at Phoebe.

I sigh with a roll of my eyes as Phoebe follows me upstairs to begin our night.

We empty my whole wardrobe onto my bed to find suitable outfits for the night. Well, I say we, more Phoebe as I sit flicking through songs in playlists.

"Okay, I got the perfect outfits" She shrieks, throwing two outfits onto the bed.

We spend the next two hours doing hair and makeup, bringing it all together. I'm not even gonna lie we look drop-dead gorgeous right now.

"Night out in the toon" Phoebe shouts, making me laugh uncontrollably like an eighteen-year-old again causing chaos, as we walk downstairs she pulls me down to grab our things.

We link arms as we walk through the familiar streets. I was awaiting the whispers but nothing, the streets were empty. Everybody was having their night out.

Eventually, we reach one of the pubs and walk in meeting the smell of alcohol and loud music. I pause a second, weirdly shocked.

"What's up? Forgotten a Shields night out, London girl" Phoebe says in my ear, making me laugh.

"Take the girl out of Shields Pheebs," I say, walking over to the bar and asking for shots.

"Straight in with it"

"It's a night out after all"

We spend the majority of the night on the dance floor or at our table, talking away with copious amounts of alcohol. I felt like I was eighteen again with Phoebe, except I wasn't drinking away the pain. Well, a little over the same guy.

I hear a bunch of noise from a table near and pause in shock. There they all were. Him. His mates. Phoebe follows my eye direction and pauses herself.

"Shit, you alright?"

"Aye, I'll get us another drink"

I race up to the bar, grabbing onto the bar and breathing deeply. Fuck.

I order us both another pint and a few shots. But as the bartender passes me the drinks, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

Do not be him I silently beg.

I turn around slightly to see a brunette in front of me.

"Hi, I couldn't help but notice you and I just wanted to say you look incredible"

"Oh thank you," I say slightly blushing as I hand the bartender my money.

"No worries. You okay? You seem like you've seen a ghost" He asks, as I check on Phoebe, who herself had found a guy.

"Aye well, you could say that," I say, thinking to myself the ghost of my past maybe.

We get to talking a bit, and Noah, as I learned, seems really lovely. He's not from Shields, he's from centre Newcastle which is great.

"I can't lie, you look really pretty tonight," He says in a completely innocent tone with the most dangerous words.

"You look pretty today"

Here we go. Rapid heartbeat, no control over breathing, tears threatening.

I mutter a sorry and run out of the bar as quickly as I could, not even daring to look at Sam.

I race home, trying to breathe in the cold air. But it didn't work, it never does. Stupid words. Stupid boy.

As I walk onto a nearby street, I hear a voice behind me. A too-familiar voice. I speed up. Not now. Not ever. Please.

Soon enough he grabs my hand and spins me around to face him. Don't look in his eyes, Arabella. I did it. Just don't cry, don't show weakness.

"Are you okay? I saw you run out and I couldn't not come to check on you" He spurts out after a few seconds that felt like hours.

"I'm fine. Go home" I say, trying to remain stern.

"Did he hurt you? Try owt?" He asks as I become aware his hand is still touching mine. I pull it away.

"No Sam, it wasn't him"

I try to walk away but he doesn't let me.

"Arabella, you clearly aren't okay. Come to the beach with me, the different feelings and smells will calm you down remember" He asks, recalling my anxiety attacks.

This is so different and his fault but I agree. The walk there was tense, with so many unspoken words in the air. My trauma attack, felt at ease though around the person who caused them.

We sit on some rocks, watching the ocean sway back and forth. That beach smells hits my nose. The black sky causes a glow on the ripples. Picture perfect.

He had his hands in his pockets, his old nervous tell. His hair going everywhere cause of the wind. I couldn't help but smile, an old habit never dies.

"Why did you run out? Was it me?" He whispers into the air,

"It's always you" I whisper back.

The truth. Every attack, every cry, every song, every smile. It's him.

"Oh," He says, shocked.

Silence again.

"Why are you back?" He asks.

"Hadn't been home in a while and my family plus Pheebs wanted me back. You weren't meant to be here or I wasn't meant to see you" I say, shocked by the truth. Must be the alcohol.

"Your eyes"

I give him a confused glance.

"That's the thing that I see all the time like a reminder of my mistake," He says with a deep breath.

"I ran out because he called me pretty" Sam probably wouldn't understand but the only way to follow the truth is with another whether they understand or not.

"Why can't I let you go Rose?" Sam whispers into the air once again.

----

hi! been a while my loves. honestly I needed a break from life so I thought I'd use it wisely and write this. it might not be as good as my other stuff but I kinda wanted it to be messy because this whole Sam and Arabella thing is messy which is true to the reasoning behind this book. enjoy my loves.

[thevaudevillescene]

Kirby is sooooo…her process to figure out the last question? Hello? Kevin Williamson said, “I’m going to create a character that’s SO neurodivergent.”

Sidney taking a more active role in this scene compared to how it played out in the movie is super interesting because she’s said more than once that she doesn’t watch scary movies, but she immediately calls out the trick questions.

And Charlie? Die.