•|Vivian’s Mark: Origins|•
Chapter One: Part one-Reconnected
This is part one of prequel to my series, Vivian’s Mark. It traces the beginning of Sam and Vivian’s connection—and what happens when their paths cross again, years later.
Warnings: NSFW, oral, M&F receiving, unprotected p in v, finishing p in v, angst, smut, size kink if you squint, LOTS of fluff
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Vivian swirled the last of her champagne, watching the bubbles rise and pop like promises in reverse. She didn’t know why she stayed this long—maybe pride, maybe just to feel expensive for a night. The candlelight flickered across her skin, catching in the sheer line of her dress, low-cut and backless. She’d come ready to seduce, and now all she had to show for it was a full glass and an empty booth.
Too bad her date hadn’t shown up.
She took another sip of the champagne she’d already paid for. No texts. No calls. Just the sting of expensive bubbles and silence. She set the glass down, ready to get out of there before she looked as pathetic as she felt.
Her gaze lifted automatically—and her breath caught.
Tall. Broad. Hair a little longer than she remembered, curling just slightly at the ends. A navy suit hugged his shoulders and tapered down his lean frame like he belonged on the cover of some high-end magazine, not striding into a half-empty restaurant with a laptop bag slung over one arm. He moved with quiet certainty, as if nothing around him could possibly surprise him.
Older. Sharper. His face a little more chiseled, his jaw dusted with the start of stubble. His hands—God, his hands—still big, strong, and callused in a way that didn’t belong to a man in a suit. And that voice, when he thanked the bartender in a smooth baritone, sent a shiver right down her spine. She could feel it in her chest. Like muscle memory.
He didn’t see her—not yet. He was setting his laptop on the bar, flipping open a worn notebook, already lost in whatever he was there to work on.
Vivian hurriedly put cash on the table to pay for her tab. She stood from the table, heart racing, clutching her purse. Maybe, if she left fast enough, he wouldn’t-
She froze at the sound of her name. His voice was lower now, more gravel than she remembered. Rougher. Like it had grown up too.
She turned slowly, smoothing her expression, trying not to let it show just how hard her heart was pounding.
And Sam was already standing.
He looked just as shocked as she felt—eyes sweeping down her body, catching on the cut of her dress, the way it hugged her, the silver at her throat and ears, the white heels on her feet. His lips parted, just barely.
“Wow,” he said under his breath. Then louder, almost laughing, but in disbelief: “You look… incredible.”
Vivian let out a soft laugh—nervous, surprised—and clutched her small white purse a little tighter.
“Sam Winchester,” she said, blinking like she wasn’t sure he was really there. “What are the odds?”
He stepped closer, that crooked half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Slim, apparently. Unless you’ve been stalking me.”
Vivian tilted her head. “Please. I’d do a better job hiding if I was stalking you.”
He gestured toward the bar. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Vivian hesitated, glancing at the champagne on her table, then back at Sam’s face. He looked good. Too good. Her stomach still felt tight from the initial shock, but something in his voice—his calm, familiar steadiness—made her exhale.
“Alright,” she said, voice soft. “One drink.”
He moved a laptop and notebook to make space for her, pulling out the stool beside him. His hand grazed her back as she slid up onto the seat, just a brief touch, but enough to light her skin on fire.
Sam flagged down the bartender. “What’s your poison these days?”
“Still a champagne girl,” she said. “But maybe something stronger tonight.”
“Whiskey?” he offered, already half-smiling. “You used to like stealing sips of mine.”
Vivian raised a brow, caught off guard by how well he remembered. “Let’s go with that.”
When the drinks arrived, she cradled hers between her fingers, watching the ice shift and melt. She could feel his eyes on her—curious, studying.
“So,” he said, “you dress like that just to torment the staff, or…?”
Vivian laughed, finally relaxing just a little. “I had a date.”
Sam lifted his brows. “Had?”
She gave a wry smile. “He bailed.”
Sam blinked, clearly surprised. “He stood you up?”
Vivian shrugged, sipping her drink. “Apparently.”
“That’s… insane.” He shook his head, scoffing. “Guy’s either blind or a complete idiot.”
Her cheeks warmed. “Thanks.”
He leaned on one elbow, his large hand resting casually near hers on the bar. “Seriously though. His loss.”
She smiled, eyes dropping for a second—nervous again. He was still Sam, but not. Older. More put together. A quiet intensity in his posture, like a man who’d seen things and lived through all of it.
“So what about you?” she asked, twisting her glass slowly in place. “What are you doing here? Work, you said?”
“Mhm,” he nodded. “Sort of a research trip. Boring stuff.”
She gave him a look. “You always were terrible at lying.”
Sam chuckled, and this time, it was low and rich. “Still am.”
Their hands rested close. Too close. His pinky brushed hers once, then again—and then he reached up, slow and deliberate, and tucked a loose wave of her hair behind her ear.
The touch was featherlight, but intimate. Almost reverent.
Vivian’s breath hitched slightly, and she turned to face him—closer now. Eyes catching. Holding.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “You had a… thing.” He motioned vaguely to her hair, but his hand lingered near her cheek.
She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “You always used to do that.”
Sam met her eyes again. “I know.”
He glanced down at her hand on the bar—delicate fingers, silver ring, pale polish—and reached out, brushing the back of her hand with his thumb. Light. Testing.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice gentler now. “About the date?”
Vivian gave a small laugh. “Honestly, I think this is better.”
His mouth curved into a slow smile. “Yeah. Me too.”
Vivian relaxed her shoulders and leaned a little more on the bar, her body angling toward his without meaning to. It felt strangely easy, sitting like this with Sam. The air between them still crackled, but it wasn’t so sharp now—more like a hum under her skin.
“You still wear cologne,” she said after a moment, teasing.
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You still remember how I smell?”
She smirked. “You had a very… memorable scent. Woodsy. Kind of warm.”
Sam gave a soft laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I guess I peaked early.”
Vivian tilted her head. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve… grown into yourself.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and the corner of his mouth twitched. “So have you.”
They both went quiet for a moment, sipping their drinks. The quiet was comfortable now, not awkward. Around them, the bar was soft-lit and low conversation buzzed, but the world felt smaller—like it had narrowed just to this moment.
“Do you remember,” Vivian began, voice lighter now, “when we used to drive out to that abandoned barn in Wilkes County?”
Sam snorted. “The one with the roof half caved in?”
“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “That place had no insulation, no power, no privacy… but you insisted it was romantic.”
Vivian burst out laughing. “Okay, fine. But you brought a blanket and snacks.”
“I was trying to impress you,” he said, mock-defensive. “You were this confident, gorgeous girl who had absolutely no business wanting anything to do with a guy like me.”
Vivian scoffed, but it was softened by her smile. “Are you kidding? I was obsessed with you. You were the smartest person I’d ever met—and the only guy I knew who actually listened when I talked.”
He looked at her, quieter now, the smile still tugging at his lips but his eyes a little more serious. “I never forgot you, Viv.”
Something about the way he said it made her breath hitch. But instead of backing away, she leaned forward a little more, resting her elbow on the bar, chin in hand.
“Me neither,” she said. “You… stuck.”
Sam looked down at his drink swirling in his hand, blushing.
Vivian smiled into her drink. “So. Do you live nearby? Or are you just passing through?”
“Passing through.” He said “I don’t really… settle anywhere.”
“You always were kind of a wanderer.”
He nodded. “And you? Are you still in town?”
“Yeah. Took over my aunt’s place a few years back. It’s small, but I like it. Quiet.”
“I remember your aunt,” Sam said, thoughtful. “She made the world’s driest meatloaf.”
Vivian laughed—full, real this time—and Sam smiled like he’d won a prize.
“God,” she said, breathless, still laughing, “how do you even remember that?”
He shrugged. “You were important to me. I remember a lot.”
Something in her chest pulled tight—but not in a painful way. Not anymore.
She set her drink down, fingers still resting near his on the bar.
“I’m really glad you walked in tonight, Sam.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and then nodded.
Vivian was mid-laugh, telling Sam about the time she nearly lit her bedroom curtains on fire trying to surprise him with birthday candles on a takeout pizza, when a voice cut through the hum of the bar behind them.
Vivian froze, shoulders tightening.
She turned slowly, and there he was—Andrew. Crisp shirt, blazer slightly rumpled, cheeks flushed from rushing. He looked winded, flustered, and very much not the guy she expected to see again tonight.
“I—I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, stepping up to the bar. “I lost track of time, and my phone died, and traffic was a nightmare—”
Vivian offered a polite smile, already sliding off the stool. “It’s okay. Really. I figured something must’ve happened.”
Andrew’s eyes flicked to Sam, then back to her. His brows pulled in slightly. “I didn’t expect you to… still be here. Or to be with someone else.”
Sam stayed seated, calm and composed, but his posture had subtly shifted—more alert, more still. His hand rested flat on the bar near Vivian’s again, not touching, but close.
Vivian stepped between them slightly. “This is Sam. An old friend. We were just catching up while I waited.”
Andrew looked at Sam, then at Vivian again—his jaw working. “So are we still having dinner, or…?”
Vivian’s tone stayed gentle, but firm. “I don’t think so. I waited a while, and I was just about to head out when Sam showed up. It’s… probably not the right night.”
Andrew’s expression soured, the charm slipping. “Seriously? You’re ditching me for this guy?”
Sam stood then. Slow. Calm. His height alone made the air shift.
“She’s not ‘ditching’ anyone,” he said, his voice low, even. “She was polite. You’re pushing it.”
Andrew looked up—way up—and had the good sense to take half a step back. “Whatever, man.”
He turned back to Vivian, voice clipped. “I guess I misread things.”
Vivian’s smile thinned. “I guess you did.”
Andrew left without another word, muttering something under his breath as he pushed through the door.
The silence that followed felt thick and awkward—until Sam broke it with a dry, amused murmur:
Vivian snorted, half-horrified, half-laughing. “God, that was mortifying.”
Sam turned to her, his tone softening again. “You okay?”
She nodded, smoothing her dress and tucking her hair back behind her ear. “Yeah. Just… embarrassed. That’s not usually how my nights go.”
Sam glanced around the restaurant, sensing the shift in atmosphere. The warmth they’d built had chilled under the interruption.
“Wanna get out of here?” he asked. “Walk for a bit. Or sit somewhere quieter. Only if you’re comfortable.”
Vivian looked at him—really looked—and saw nothing but quiet confidence in his expression. No pressure. No expectation. Just that steady, familiar presence.
She smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
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The night air was warm, stirred by the faintest breeze as they stepped out of the restaurant. Vivian wrapped her arms lightly around herself, more from habit than cold. Her heels clicked softly on the pavement beside Sam’s heavier, measured steps.
They didn’t speak at first. It wasn’t awkward—it was comfortable, like silence was just another shape they shared.
The sidewalks were mostly empty now, the buzz of the city mellowing into something quieter, slower. They turned down a side street lined with storefronts long closed for the night, their windows glowing faintly with leftover light.
“I didn’t mean to cause a scene,” Sam said after a while, his voice low and calm.
Vivian glanced at him. “You didn’t. He did.”
Still, he looked vaguely apologetic. “I just don’t like people talking to you like that.”
Something about the way he said you made her stomach tighten.
A block or two later, they reached a small park tucked between buildings—nothing fancy, just a handful of trees, a brick path, and a bench facing a fountain. The water trickled gently, lit by a single soft spotlight.
Sam paused. “Want to sit for a minute?”
Vivian nodded, already moving toward the bench. The heels were finally catching up to her.
They sat close, but not touching. For a few moments, all that filled the space between them was the sound of water and wind.
Vivian shifted slightly, turning toward him. “You really haven’t changed much.”
Sam gave her a sideways glance. “No?”
“You’re still protective. Still steady. Still make me feel like everything’s fine, even when it’s not.”
He smiled, a little crooked, a little wistful. “I don’t know about that. But I’m glad you feel that way.”
She stared at him for a moment, letting her eyes linger. The slope of his jaw. The way his long fingers rested loosely over his knee. His hair moved just slightly in the breeze.
He caught her watching him and gave a soft laugh. “What?”
“You’re just… really handsome now,” she said, lightly, like it wasn’t the thousandth time the thought had struck her tonight.
Sam looked down, a little bashful, but pleased. “You weren’t exactly subtle in that dress, you know.”
She smirked. “Neither were you in that suit.”
He glanced sideways at her, his gaze a little heavier now—but still careful. Still measured.
Slowly, his hand reached out and rested lightly on her knee. Just fingertips. No pressure.
Vivian didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into the contact.
“I don’t want to cross any lines,” Sam said softly. “I know it’s been a long time.”
She turned to face him more fully. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
He studied her for a moment—then gently lifted his arm, inviting her wordlessly to lean in.
She did. Without hesitation.
She tucked herself into his side, her head resting just beneath his shoulder, her hand brushing lightly against his chest. His arm settled around her, warm and strong, pulling her just a little closer.
They stayed that way for a while. Just breathing. Just being.
Vivian’s voice was soft when she spoke again. “Did you ever think about me?”
Sam looked down at her, his fingers tracing slow circles against her bare shoulder.
She tilted her head to look up at him, lips parting slightly.
And when he kissed her—finally—it was slow. Gentle at first. Like a question.
Vivian answered by lifting her hand to his jaw, pulling him closer.
The kiss deepened, not rushed, not hungry—just full. With everything left unsaid over the years. With everything still burning underneath the surface.
When they pulled apart, she stayed close, forehead resting against his.
“I almost forgot what this felt like,” she whispered.
Sam’s voice was barely audible. “I didn’t.”
Vivian stayed tucked beneath his arm, her fingers playing lightly with the lapel of his suit jacket. The kiss still lingered on her lips, warm and heavy, like it had settled in her bones.
She didn’t want to ruin the moment, but something inside her stirred—something hesitant and quietly hopeful.
“So…” she said softly, her voice muffled slightly against his chest. “How long are you in town?”
Sam looked down at her, studying her with a faint smile. “Not sure yet. Few days, maybe. Depends how things shake out.”
She nodded slowly. “Right. Work stuff.”
He tilted his head slightly, brushing his fingers along the edge of her shoulder, tracing the strap of her dress with the lightest touch.
“Why?” he asked, his voice gentle. “You hoping I stick around?”
Vivian let out a quiet laugh—nervous and soft. “Maybe.”
He waited, watching her closely. She was quiet for a moment longer, gathering herself.
Then, finally, she looked up at him—just a little shy, just a little daring—and said, “Would you want to come back to my place? Just for tonight. I mean…”
She trailed off, chewing the inside of her lip before adding, “No parents to sneak past this time.”
That made Sam laugh—low and warm, the sound vibrating through her. “God,” he said, eyes gleaming with memory. “I forgot about your mom’s creaky staircase.”
“And your dad’s weird sixth sense,” Vivian added. “I swear he always knew.”
“He did,” Sam said. “He definitely did.”
Their laughter faded into something softer again, and Sam leaned in just enough that their noses brushed.
“I’d like that,” he said. “Going home with you.”
Vivian’s breath hitched again, but she smiled. “Yeah?”
She kissed him again—quicker this time, a little bolder—and when she pulled back, her voice dropped to a whisper.
“Come on. Before I lose my nerve.”
Sam rose first, offering his hand to help her up. She slid her fingers into his without hesitation, lacing them together as they stepped off the quiet path and back toward the road—toward the rest of the night that waited for them.
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Vivian pulled into the driveway, headlights sweeping across the front porch and flower beds before cutting off. Sam pulled in right behind her, engine rumbling low before it, too, went quiet.
She stepped out first, heels clicking on the concrete, clutch still in hand. Sam followed, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, eyes drifting up to the little house bathed in warm porch light.
“This is nice,” he said as they met at the steps. “Cozy. Looks like it actually feels like home.”
Vivian gave a small smile, unlocking the door. “Yeah. It does, most days.”
He followed her inside, the scent of lavender and cedar floating faintly in the air. The entryway opened into a small living room, soft lighting, warm wood floors, a few books stacked on the coffee table, and a worn but inviting couch.
As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Vivian groaned and kicked off her heels with zero ceremony.
“God. I knew these were a mistake.”
Sam chuckled, dropping his bag beside the couch. “You looked amazing in them.”
“I looked like a glamorous hostage,” she said, rubbing one sore foot with a dramatic wince. “My feet are going to mutiny in the morning.”
“You want me to take a look?” he teased.
Vivian gave him a playful glare. “Don’t start with me, Winchester.”
He held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Noted.”
She stretched, then turned toward the hallway. “I’m gonna get changed. These clothes have done their job.”
Sam nodded and patted his bag. “I’ll get into something a little more human, too. Mind if I change out here?”
Vivian waved a hand over her shoulder. “Make yourself at home.”
As she slipped into her bedroom, she couldn’t help the thoughts already racing through her mind. She peeled off the halter dress slowly, the zipper whispering down her back as she changed into something soft and loose—an old cotton sleep tank and shorts that barely reached mid-thigh.
But her brain wasn’t on her outfit. It was on him.
Sam. In her living room. Pulling off that tailored suit. Peeling away layers.
Her heart sped up just thinking about it. She imagined him in sweats and a T-shirt, maybe—something soft and worn, maybe—
She tried to breathe, tried to brush it off, but by the time she padded barefoot down the hallway and turned into the living room, she really wasn’t ready.
Sam stood facing the couch, rummaging through his duffel bag, a shirt crumpled in one hand.
The soft glow of her floor lamp cast shadows across his bare back—shoulders broad, defined, every muscle moving under his skin as he shifted. His sweats rode low on his hips, light gray and thin enough that she could make out the curve of his waist, the line of his obliques.
Vivian stopped in her tracks.
Sam turned slightly, catching the movement out of the corner of his eye. He looked over his shoulder—and caught her dead in the act.
Vivian’s eyes went wide, and she turned fast, flustered. “Oh my God—I’m sorry, I wasn’t— I didn’t mean to—”
Sam laughed softly behind her, the sound deep and amused.
“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I’m not exactly modest.”
She kept her back turned, one hand to her forehead. “I just walked into a Calvin Klein ad in my own damn house.”
Sam chuckled,”well now I’m flattered.”
Vivian peeked at him over her shoulder, only to see him tug the shirt on slowly—deliberately slow, she suspected. The fabric slid down over his torso like he knew exactly what he was doing.
He smirked. “What can I say? You started it.”
Vivian forced herself to breathe, dragging her eyes away from Sam and heading toward the kitchen, barefoot on the hardwood.
“Drink?” she called over her shoulder. “I’ve got whiskey, wine, a few leftover hard ciders… something stronger if tonight calls for it.”
“Whiskey’s good,” Sam answered. His voice was smooth, still laced with that low amusement, like he could feel the storm he was stirring in her.
She opened a cabinet, trying to focus on anything but the image of him standing shirtless in her living room five seconds ago. Her hands were too aware, her heart racing for no good reason, and she could still smell him in the air—clean soap and something deeper, warmer. Like cedar smoke and skin.
She reached for two glasses, fingers curling around the cool rims. The bottle clinked softly against the counter as she opened it.
“You okay in there?” Sam called.
“Peachy,” she replied, just a bit too quickly.
She heard his footsteps then—slow, deliberate—and when she turned around, he was there.
Leaning in the doorway. Smirking.
He’d pulled the dark t-shirt over his torso, but it clung to him in all the right places, and the gray sweats still hung low on his hips like they had a grudge against self-control.
His arms were crossed lazily, one shoulder braced against the frame, hazel eyes fixed on her like he already knew exactly what she was thinking.
Vivian blinked. “Do you… need something?”
He shrugged, still smirking. “Just figured I’d keep you company. You looked a little…” His eyes flicked down, just briefly. “Distracted.”
She set the glasses down with a light clink and poured two fingers of whiskey into each, trying not to roll her eyes—or blush. “Distracted is generous.”
He tilted his head, pretending to think. “Because of me?”
Vivian handed him his glass and gave him a look. “Don’t get cocky.”
Sam took it with a quiet chuckle. “Too late.”
She tried to sip her drink like she wasn’t sweating under her tank top. “You’ve gotten smug since I last saw you.”
“I’ve gotten older,” he said. “More confident. Little less afraid of saying what I want.”
Vivian raised a brow. “And what do you want, Sam?”
His smile softened—still playful, but steadier now. “To be here. With you.”
That quiet honesty, so simple, so direct, caught her off guard.
She looked down into her glass, feeling her pulse flutter against her wrist. “Well… I think you’ve got that.”
Vivian lifted her glass again, but her fingers barely brushed the rim before she felt him.
Sam crossed the kitchen in a few slow, sure steps—his presence swallowing the space between them without a word.
He was so much taller now than she remembered. Broader. His frame filled the kitchen like it was built for him, shadows catching along his collarbones beneath the soft black tee. His sweatpants rode low on his hips, his body loose but completely controlled.
Then—deliberately—he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her whiskey glass.
He didn’t take it all at once. He let his fingertips drag slowly over hers as he lifted it from her grasp—his skin brushing the backs of her knuckles with maddening precision.
The contact was brief, barely there. But it burned.
Vivian’s breath hitched as he raised the glass to his lips, never breaking eye contact.
Slow. Confident. The amber liquid disappeared down his throat, and she could hear the swallow, could feel it, somehow.
Her back nearly brushed the edge of the counter, but she didn’t move. Didn’t want to. The air was thick with heat and something else—something charged.
He was standing so close now she could feel the warmth of his chest through her tank top. His height, his weight, his quiet, calculated awareness of every inch between them had her dizzy.
Vivian tilted her chin to look up at him.
Sam reached for her face with the gentlest touch—two fingers lifting her jaw, tilting her head ever so slightly, his grip light but firm.
His thumb ghosted along the edge of her cheek, his eyes steady and unreadable.
“Do you wanna move to the couch?” he asked softly, his voice low and rough. “Put on a movie?”
Vivian blinked, momentarily stunned by the turn.
It was almost infuriating—how he was right there, all over her skin without really touching her, and then asking something as casual as that. Like they weren’t already caught in the undertow of something electric.
She swallowed hard. “A movie.”
Sam gave a faint smile. “You know. Something to take the edge off.”
Her voice came out a little breathless. “You think that’s gonna help?”
His eyes dropped to her lips, lingering. “Nope.”
Then he stepped back—just an inch. Just enough to let her breathe again.
They ended up choosing a documentary—something about ancient cities or cave drawings. Vivian barely remembered what they settled on. It was background noise at best, an excuse to sit close without technically crossing a line.
The lights were dim, the room warm. She’d thrown on a blanket without thinking, and now it was draped across both of them, pulled high around her legs, tucked just over Sam’s lap.
He was sitting close. Really close. One arm stretched behind her along the back of the couch, his body turned slightly toward hers. He’d let her curl up beside him, her knees bent beneath the blanket, her side pressed along his.
She hadn’t meant to cuddle him. Not intentionally.
But now she was nestled against his chest, her head resting against the soft fabric of his shirt, breathing in the clean scent of him. His arm had settled across her back sometime during the first ten minutes of the film, his hand resting lightly at her hip.
Just enough to make her aware of it.
And every so often, his thumb would move—tiny, slow, almost-thoughtless circles against her side. Barely touching. But felt.
Vivian shifted slightly, trying to get more comfortable, but it only made things worse—her thigh brushed against his under the blanket, and she felt his muscles flex faintly in response.
Sam glanced down at her, his voice low. “You okay?”
“Mhm,” she murmured, not looking up. “Just… warm.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “Want me to move?”
“No,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “You’re fine.”
He didn’t say anything after that. Just let his arm tighten ever so slightly around her, his palm pressing more fully to her waist.
They both went still again. The documentary droned on about symbols carved into stone—ancient hands reaching across time—but Vivian barely registered any of it. Her mind was consumed by this: the way his chest rose and fell beneath her cheek, the heat of his body next to hers, the whisper-soft touch of his fingertips through the thin fabric of her tank top.
And he wasn’t unaffected, either.
She could feel the tension in him—controlled, yes, but undeniable. His breathing was just a little too even. His hand stilled a little too carefully, like he was holding back from doing exactly what he wanted to.
Then tilted her head up—just a little—to look at him.
Sam’s eyes were already on her.
Hazel and heavy, full of something that buzzed under her skin like electricity.
His gaze dropped to her lips.
She couldn’t—not with him looking at her like that. Not with the air charged and still between them, her body coiled tight beneath the blanket.
Sam reached up, slow and certain, and cradled her face in both hands. His touch was gentle, reverent, like she was something he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold—but couldn’t stop himself from touching anyway.
His thumbs brushed over her cheekbones. His fingers slipped into her hair.
The kiss started soft. Careful. Just a press of lips, a brush, a taste.
But Vivian melted into him with a sound she hadn’t meant to make—a quiet whimper against his mouth as her hands found the front of his shirt, gripping tight.
The moment shattered into something hotter, hungrier. She kissed him like she was starving for him, and Sam matched her with a heat that had been simmering for years.
His body shifted, coaxing hers down with him. He laid her back across the couch, his mouth never leaving hers, his large hands guiding her like she was something precious. The blanket slipped off her shoulders, pooling at their waists.
Vivian’s breath hitched as she felt the weight of him above her—broad and warm and so solid.
She wrapped her legs around his waist without thinking, knees falling open as he pressed down into the cradle of her hips.
Sam broke the kiss, breath heavy, forehead resting against hers. He smiled softly, voice low and rasped.
His lips moved to her jaw, then down to her neck—slow, lingering kisses, dragging heat across her skin.
Vivian gasped as his teeth grazed the spot beneath her ear. He smiled.
“You remember how crazy we used to be?” he whispered. “Couldn’t keep our hands off each other for five minutes…”
She arched against him, her nails digging lightly into his back.
“I remember,” she breathed. “I remember everything.”
His hands slid down her sides, mapping her curves like he was relearning her, savoring every inch. His mouth followed—pressing hot, open kisses along her collarbone, the top of her chest, just above her shorts.
“You’ve gotten even sweeter,” he said, nuzzling between her breasts, his hands squeezing her hips. “Fucking perfect, Viv.”
She whimpered again, her body already aching for more. And she could feel him—thick and hard between her thighs, only the thin barrier of his sweats and her dress keeping them apart.
And he wasn’t rushing. Wasn’t hurrying.
Every kiss. Every word. Every slow rock of his hips that left her breathless.
Vivian’s pajamas weren’t much—a loose, sleeveless top and soft cotton shorts—but somehow, they felt like too much now.
Especially with Sam above her. All muscle and heat. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, and she could still feel him, impossibly hard between her legs, restrained only by will and cloth.
He was kissing her slow again. Like the urgency had passed, or maybe like he just wanted to make this last. His mouth trailed back to her neck, down to her shoulder, where the strap of her top had slipped.
Sam dragged it lower, just enough to press his lips to the skin beneath.
“You always wore these little tank tops to bed,” he murmured, voice low, breath hot. “Used to drive me crazy.”
She smiled against his cheek, her fingers threading into his hair. “You never complained.”
“No,” he whispered, kissing lower. “No, I didn’t.”
His hand slid under the hem of her top, palm flat against her stomach. He moved slowly—exploring her curves, her ribs, the underside of her breast. When he brushed his thumb just beneath the soft swell, Vivian gasped, hips shifting against his.
Sam looked up at her, eyes dark and heavy.
With gentle hands, he eased the top up and over her head, dropping it somewhere behind them. His gaze swept over her bare chest—no shame in it, no hesitation—just raw appreciation.
His hands cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing lightly across her nipples. She arched into his touch, breath catching in her throat.
He kissed down her chest, mouth warm and soft as he lavished her with attention—first one breast, then the other. He kissed, sucked, licked slow and tender until she was trembling beneath him, clutching at his arms.
Then his hands moved lower.
He looked at her again, waiting.
She gave a tiny nod, heart pounding.
Sam hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged them down, slow, slow, kissing the skin he exposed inch by inch. Her hips, her thighs. Down to her knees, then her ankles. He tossed the shorts to the floor and came back up, sliding his hands up her legs as he did.
And now she was bare beneath him.
Laid out on the couch, flushed and breathless and beautiful in the soft light.
He settled between her thighs, pressing a kiss to her hipbone, then the inside of her thigh.
“You’re gorgeous,” he murmured, lips brushing against her skin. “You always were. But now…”
And he was devouring her—slowly, reverently, with every touch and kiss like it was meant to be remembered.
Vivian’s breath caught as he kissed the inside of her knee, then higher—trailing his lips slowly up her thigh, his hands keeping her gently open for him.
And then his mouth found her.
Soft, warm pressure at first—teasing, tasting. He groaned low in his throat like just the act of touching her there was something he’d craved. Like he remembered exactly how she tasted and had been aching for it ever since.
Vivian’s back arched sharply.
Her hands flew to his hair—tugging, twisting as he buried his face between her thighs. His tongue moved with deliberate care, lazy at first, like he had all night. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
“Sam—” she gasped, voice already breaking.
One of his hands slipped upward, thumb circling slow and sweet where his mouth had just been. And then his fingers—
She moaned loud, head falling back against the couch cushions, as two of his thick fingers pushed into her, deep and perfect. Curling just right.
He moved his mouth to her inner thigh, kissing her there while his fingers worked inside her. Steady. Loving. Ruthless.
Vivian was falling apart beneath him, body tightening, legs trembling on either side of his shoulders.
She could feel it. Right there. Close. So close—
And then Sam pulled away.
His fingers slid out of her, leaving her aching and empty.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already climbing up her body, kissing her stomach, her chest, her neck—soft, slow kisses meant to soothe and stir at once.
He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear.
“I want you in bed,” he whispered. “Not on a couch. Not like this.”
Vivian blinked up at him, her heart thundering.
Sam pressed a kiss to her lips. Gentle. Reverent.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, breath warm against her cheek
He stood, holding out a hand. She took it with shaking fingers, letting him pull her to her feet—naked and flushed and buzzing all over.
Still breathless, still wanting, she led him down the short hallway to her bedroom, her hand in his.
Neither of them said a word.
The quiet between them was electric.
The bedroom was quiet, bathed in warm, golden light from the single lamp on the nightstand. Everything inside felt soft—soft sheets, soft shadows, soft air.
But Vivian felt anything but soft.
She stepped inside slowly, Sam just behind her. Her skin still tingled from his mouth, his hands, and now, standing in the gentle glow of her most private space—naked—she suddenly felt the weight of his gaze.
She crossed her arms over her chest instinctively, glancing over her shoulder.
“So, uh… this is it,” she said, voice smaller than before. “Not much, but it’s—”
Sam closed the door behind him and crossed the room in three strides before she could finish.
His hands gripped her arms, pulling them from her chest with more force than she expected—not unkind, but firm.
“Don’t hide from me,” he said, voice low, rough with something deeper. “Not you.”
She barely had time to breathe before he spun her gently, pressing her chest-first against the wall beside the dresser. The cool surface kissed her skin as her palms braced instinctively.
Sam’s body came up behind her, solid heat at her back. He caught both her wrists and pinned them just above her hips, holding them easily with one hand.
His other hand dragged slowly up her arm, then down her side, skimming over her waist, her hip, her thigh.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he growled into her ear, his breath hot against her skin.
He kissed her shoulder, slow and hot. Then her neck. Her spine. Her skin was burning under every place he touched.
He rocked against her once—slow and deliberate—grinding his cock through the thin barrier of his sweats into the curve of her ass.
Vivian gasped, forehead resting against the wall, back arching instinctively.
“You feel that?” he whispered. “That’s what you do to me.”
She was trembling in his grip, mouth parted, eyes fluttering closed.
And then, just as slowly, he released her wrists and stepped back.
Vivian turned around, breath catching in her throat as she looked at him.
He was standing there, eyes dark and waiting, his chest rising and falling like he was barely keeping himself together.
She stepped forward—quiet and sure.
Her fingers reached for the hem of his t-shirt. She looked up at him once, asking silently.
Sam didn’t move. Just stared down at her like she was everything.
Vivian tugged the shirt up over his torso, slow and reverent, letting her fingers drag along his skin as it lifted. He raised his arms for her and let it go, discarded to the floor.
Then she stepped closer, pressing her palms to his bare chest, kissing softly along his collarbone as her hands slid down.
Down to the drawstring of his sweats.
She undid the knot with quiet hands.
Vivian’s breath caught as the waistband slid past his hips.
She pushed them lower, letting them fall to the floor with a quiet whisper of fabric—and then she saw him.
Her lips parted slightly.
Her eyes slowly drifted over him, taking in every inch of exposed skin. Broad chest, the cut of muscle through his abdomen, the soft trail of hair leading down from his navel—and then lower, to where he stood fully hard for her.
Vivian blinked once, then looked up at him—his eyes already fixed on her, jaw clenched tight.
She saw it—the restraint. The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands flexed slightly at his sides, like he wasn’t sure if he should touch her or hold still.
She dropped to her knees.
Sam exhaled sharply, a quiet sound of surprise and heat.
Vivian’s hands came up to his thighs, fingertips lightly dragging along his skin as she settled in front of him on the plush bedroom rug. Her mouth was just inches away, and she took her time—kissing his hip, his lower stomach, teasing her nails gently across the tops of his thighs.
Sam’s hand came to her hair, not pulling, not guiding—just resting there, shaking slightly.
“You don’t have to—” he started to say, voice rough.
But Vivian looked up through her lashes and smiled.
“I want to,” she said softly.
His mouth twitched, but he was still holding himself back.
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the base of him. Then another, halfway up. And when her tongue finally touched the tip, slow and deliberate, she felt his whole body tense under her palms.
She took him into her mouth—inch by inch—slow, steady, deliberate, until her lips wrapped around the full weight of him.
His fingers tightened slightly in her hair.
Vivian began to move, slow and sweet, one hand wrapped around the base, the other resting on his thigh for balance. Her eyes never left his face—watching the way his jaw set, the way his head tilted back, the way he breathed when she did something he liked.
When she hollowed her cheeks and moaned around him?
He swore under his breath, voice wrecked.
It only spurred her on. Her pace stayed steady, unhurried, her tongue teasing, lips soft and warm.
And he was close. She could feel it in the way his hips bucked slightly, the way his hand trembled, the way he cursed her name like a prayer and a threat.
But then Sam pulled back.
He eased himself from her mouth, chest heaving, thumb brushing the corner of her lips as he looked down at her—eyes dark and wild.
Sam didn’t say a word as he hauled her up from the floor, one strong arm wrapped around her back, the other gripping her thigh.
Vivian squealed as he lifted her off her knees—and before she could even catch her breath, he was tossing her onto the bed.
She bounced softly against the comforter, breathless, her hair fanned out across the pillow as she looked up at him, heart hammering.
“You think that was fair?” she laughed, cheeks flushed. “I was busy—”
But Sam was already crawling onto the bed after her, slow and sure, like a predator closing in. He kissed the inside of her ankle, then her shin, her knee… and kept going. One inch at a time.
“God, I missed that laugh,” he murmured against her skin, voice low and wrecked.
He kissed the inside of her thigh—lingering there—then moved higher.
And then he was on her, chest to chest, arms braced on either side of her head. His body warm and solid and everywhere. He was grinning now, devilish and knowing, and he dipped his head to kiss her jaw, her neck, the little place just behind her ear that made her hips buck into his.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured against her skin. “So goddamn beautiful…”
His hand slid between her legs, fingers slipping through her wet heat with easy, aching familiarity. Vivian gasped, arching beneath him.
Sam groaned in her ear, slow and reverent.
“So wet for me already?” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. “Sweetheart…”
He kissed just beneath her earlobe, and she whimpered.
“Tell me how you want it,” he said, fingers teasing her with slow, perfect pressure.
Vivian whimpered, caught between a moan and a breathless laugh, nails curling into his back.
“Do you want me to go slow?- so you can feel every inch? Or do you want it hard and deep, the way you always used to beg for it?”
He kissed her again, deep and slow this time—tongue brushing hers, claiming her, tasting her. His fingers never stopped moving, building her up, keeping her trembling.
“I want to give you everything you want,” he said against her lips.
Sam didn’t wait for an answer—her breathless moan was all he needed.
He kissed her again, deep and possessive, and then gently turned her over onto her stomach, her hair tumbling across the pillow like waves of shadow and fire. Vivian gasped, more from anticipation than surprise, her hands clutching at the comforter as she shifted her hips.
Sam’s hands slid over her back, slow and reverent. He climbed over her, straddling her hips, his large hands spreading wide across her waist before gliding down, gripping her curves, spreading her ass with a groan.
“You look so fucking incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick and low, close to her ear. His chest brushed along her bare back as he leaned down, lips grazing her shoulder blade.
Vivian arched toward him instinctively, body humming with need.
He slid a hand down between her thighs, teasing, slow—his fingertips brushing places that made her whimper. His other hand caressed her hip, grounding her, possessive and gentle all at once.
She felt him settle behind her, every inch of him radiating heat and restraint. His mouth returned to her neck, lips parting as he kissed just behind her ear.
“You’re perfect like this,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion. “So warm… so ready.”
He moved slowly, deliberately, letting her feel the weight of him, the heat, the promise. Vivian trembled beneath him, her breath shallow, her heart pounding.
Sam pressed soft kisses down her spine, his hands still firm on her hips, holding her steady, holding her close.
And then, just as she thought she might burst from the tension, he leaned in again, his mouth brushing the shell of her ear.
“I’m not going anywhere tonight,” he whispered. “I’m going to take my time. And you’re going to feel everything.”
Vivian gasped as Sam shifted above her, his hand still cupping her hip, the other trailing slowly up her spine. His body blanketed hers, warm and firm, the weight of him pressing her gently into the mattress—an embrace, a claiming.
He adjusted, guiding himself against her with practiced care. And when she felt the first press of him, thick and hot and so achingly slow, her breath hitched.
“Oh—Sam,” she whispered, stunned by how full she already felt, how much of him there was.
He stilled, kissing the base of her neck, his fingers squeezing her hip gently. “I know,” he murmured, voice thick and breathless. “God, you’re so tight…”
She exhaled shakily, her body trembling beneath him. And then, slowly, carefully, he eased deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside her, stretched deep and wrapped in heat.
Vivian whimpered, pressing her forehead to the pillow. She felt every inch of him—how he filled her completely, how he moved so slowly it made her ache.
“Shh,” he whispered, dragging his mouth along her shoulder. “You’re doing so good. Let me take care of you.”
She reached back blindly, and he caught her hand, threading his fingers with hers again and pinning them gently to the bed beside her head. His other hand slipped beneath her, wrapped around her waist, holding her tight.
Then he began to move—rocking into her with slow, devastating purpose. Each thrust coaxed another gasp from her lips, her body pulsing around him with desperate pleasure.
“You feel so good, baby,” he whispered against her skin. “So damn perfect. I want you to remember this… how I feel inside you. I want you to ache for me tomorrow.”
Vivian moaned, her body burning with every word, every inch of him. She was dizzy with it—his voice, his hands, the slow, sensual rhythm that sent sparks curling through her nerves.
“You’re mine tonight,” he said, his voice low and reverent, laced with heat.
She turned her face slightly, just enough for him to kiss the corner of her mouth. Their fingers stayed tangled, hearts pounding in sync, the rest of the world falling away as they moved together—slow and deep and completely lost in each other.
Sam’s rhythm stayed steady, deep and slow, every movement intentional, meant to make her feel everything. Vivian’s fingers gripped the sheets now, her body taut and trembling beneath his as the pleasure coiled tighter, higher, with each stroke.
“You’re taking me so well,” he groaned, lips brushing her ear. “So goddamn good for me.”
She could barely breathe. Every nerve in her body was focused on the way he filled her, the way he held her—one arm wrapped under her to press her back against his chest, the other braced beside her head, fingers tangled with hers again.
Her hips arched into him, desperate and hungry. “Sam—” she gasped, her voice broken and pleading.
He shushed her softly, his lips skimming her cheek. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Just let go for me, baby.”
He shifted his angle slightly, and she cried out—loud and sharp—his name slipping from her lips like a prayer. He was hitting something so deep and perfect it made her vision blur.
“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath ragged now, pressed close behind her ear. “Right there- so good for me.”
She nodded frantically, unable to form words. Her body was shaking, the muscles in her thighs clenching around his hips.
And then his hand slid lower, between her legs, his fingers finding that aching, swollen spot—circling, stroking, syncing with the rhythm of his hips.
“Come for me,” Sam murmured.
Vivian’s whole body tensed—then shattered. She came with a cry, legs trembling, hands clawing at the sheets, her body clenching around him in pulsing waves.
Sam cursed under his breath, his control breaking. He released her hand & gripped her hips, hard, bringing her up to meet his desperate strokes. He followed her seconds later, hips stuttering as he spilled into her with a low groan of her name, pulsating somewhere deep inside her. He fell forward, his body wrapped tight around hers, like he couldn’t bear to let go.
They stayed like that—tangled, breathless, his chest rising and falling against her back, lips brushing the slope of her shoulder.
He whispered something then—so soft she almost missed it.
“I missed you so much, Vivian.”
The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the bedside lamp and the slowing rhythm of their breaths. Vivian lay curled on her side, her back tucked against Sam’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around her like he was afraid she’d disappear.
One of his hands rested on her bare stomach, fingers splayed over her skin. His other arm was beneath her head, cradling her close. Every now and then, his lips brushed her shoulder or the back of her neck—light, thoughtless kisses that spoke more than words could.
“You okay?” he murmured, voice thick and low from everything they’d just shared.
She nodded, smiling faintly against the pillow. “Yeah,” she whispered. “More than okay.”
Sam shifted closer, if that was even possible, pulling the blanket up around them both. “Didn’t mean to go so hard,” he said softly, a bit of concern slipping into his tone. “Just… couldn’t help it with you.”
Vivian reached down and threaded her fingers through his where they lay against her stomach. “I didn’t want you to hold back,” she said, turning her head slightly so she could see him. “I wanted all of it. I wanted you.”
His eyes searched hers in the low light, then softened. “You still do?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I never really stopped.”
He let out a long breath and pressed a kiss to her temple, just above her hairline.
There was a silence that stretched, comfortable but full.
“I missed you,” she said at last, her voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t realize how much until I saw you tonight. And then… everything just came rushing back.”
Sam’s arms tightened around her.
“I missed you too,” he murmured. “So much. I didn’t think I deserved to.”
Vivian blinked at that, but before she could answer, she found herself curling in closer, tucking herself deeper into his warmth.
“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” she said softly, the words slipping out like a secret she’d been holding too long. “I wish… we had more time.”
Sam didn’t speak right away. He just rested his chin lightly against her head, his hand brushing slow circles on her stomach.
“Maybe we do,” he said finally, low and honest. “Maybe we figure it out this time.”
Vivian didn’t say anything. She just held his hand tighter.
And for the first time in years, she didn’t feel like she had to hope alone.
Vivian shifted gently beneath the blanket, rolling over to face him. The sheets brushed softly against her skin, and the air was cooler on this side, but she welcomed the exposure—needed it, really. Sam’s arm slipped easily around her waist again, like muscle memory, his big hand settling at the small of her back.
She took a moment to really look at him. The glow from the nightstand lamp cast him in soft amber light. His hair was a little messy, still damp near the edges, and his cheeks were dusted with the faintest pink. She reached up and brushed her fingers along the stubble on his jaw, trailing over the curve of his mouth, his temple, the scar at his hairline she didn’t remember from before.
“You look older,” she murmured, but it wasn’t a bad thing. “More tired. But also… better. Stronger.”
Sam smiled faintly, something flickering in his eyes—affection, maybe, or the heaviness of memories too long buried.
She let her fingers fall away, resting her palm against his chest now. “Sam,” she said, voice soft but steady. “If this is going to be a real thing again… you can’t be so mysterious with me.”
His eyebrows twitched, but his smile lingered, crooked and amused. “Mysterious?” he repeated, playing innocent. “I’m mysterious now?”
Vivian didn’t laugh. She just looked at him, gaze unwavering.
His smile faded a little, just at the edges.
“I’m serious,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Back then, we were just kids. I didn’t ask questions, and you didn’t offer answers. But if you’re going to keep showing up looking like this,” she gestured loosely at him beneath the sheets, “and making me feel like that…” her voice wavered slightly before she grounded it again, “then you have to let me in.”
Sam exhaled slowly, eyes searching hers. The playful glint faded, replaced by something much heavier—an understanding. Maybe even guilt.
“I don’t need every secret right now,” she said, touching his chest again, fingertips brushing over his heart. “I just need to know you’re not going to keep shutting me out the second things get complicated. Because I can already tell…” she swallowed, “this isn’t casual. Not for me. And not for you either.”
He was quiet. His hand moved slowly along her back, grounding them both.
“I’m not used to being known,” he admitted, voice low and raw. “Not really.”
Vivian nodded once. “Then start now.”
There was a long pause. Then Sam leaned in, brushing his nose against hers, his voice barely a breath.
Vivian curled into Sam’s chest, absorbing his heat, feeling his breath in her hair, and before she knew it she had drifted off to sleep.
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Ugh guys I ran out of room 😭 I’ll post part two tomorrow!- things are about to get super interesting. 👀
