cw : gn!reader, fluff, mentioned alcohol use (sam's drunk), unedited, 959 words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .
prompt : a motel bathroom + “shhh!” “i’m trying to confess my love to you!”
sam’s tall, lanky body won’t cooperate with your gentle hands. you have to squeeze his elbows hard to keep him upright; he’s very drunk. his breath is sharp and unpleasant from all the alcohol, but his lips look soft. they feel soft when his face falls into the crook of your neck and all he does is nuzzle closer. when he mumbles something unintelligible, it feels like a kiss of sorts on your burning skin.
he’s only warmer than you are because he’s drunk. sam runs warm usually anyway, but his incessant closeness has your blood rushing under your skin and making it hot.
his breath smells like something stronger than beer, which is unusual for him. maybe he felt adventurous tonight, or maybe something’s on his mind that he foolishly decided to address with whiskey.
this motel’s bathroom is tiny, even smaller than most, which is saying something. but sam has somehow gotten his hands sticky with god knows what and it’s really bothering him. it’s bothering you too, frankly, but you’ve said nothing but, “it’s okay. it’s okay, sam,” in a saccharine sweet voice when he apologizes for getting whatever it is on your clothes. as if they aren’t stained with blood half the time.
so now you’ve got him hunched over the bathroom sink, forced right up against his side in order to keep from stumbling into the shower. at least your presence keeps him steadier than he might be on his own.
“oh, my god,” he mumbles as you push his hands back under the water when he forgets to use soap. “i need you,” he says through a huff of breath and you nearly do fall into the shower. you hand him the little bar of soap because he’s just saying that he wouldn’t be able to get this done without you in his drunken state. his big hands fumble with it and he forgets to focus on that because he’s trying to look at you instead. the bar slips comically out of his hands and nearly onto the floor. it falls into the basin of the sink, though, and he can’t seem to grasp it with his clumsy fingers.
you pick it back up for him and he leans into you. the both of you would have tumbled over if you didn’t plant a firm hand on the small of his back and push him back to lean on the sink instead.
“you look very pretty,” he tells you, words quite slurred but unmistakable. you’re not sure you can do this right now.
“finish washing your hands,” you manage to say. it’s not easy to say anything at all, not with your hand still on his back and his shoulder pressed right into you. he does as you ask, but not before looking at you with all the fondness in the world.
“okay,” he mumbles. and when he’s done, he clumsily turns to face you, putting you chest to chest with him. your breath hitches and his hands land on your hips. he holds you loosely but happily, a sweet and loopy smile on his lips.
“oh– gosh, sam–,” you choke out in surprise. you can’t help the grin that breaks across your features. “d-dry your hands!” you chide him, giving a strangled laugh at his forgetfulness. the water on his hands soaks through the fabric of your pants and shirt where they hold you.
“shit, sorry,” he slurs, pulling his hands away, and you laugh again. you reach for the towel yourself before thinking about it and end up with your front slotted right against his. you jerk back with the hand towel and grab one of his hands, drying it for him, then the other.
he watches with uncontained endearment and adoration and you swear that you can physically feel it. “won’t you look at me?”
your eyes flick up from his hands before you can stop yourself. he pouts, but seems to be holding back a smile.
“i gotta tell you something,” he murmurs, holding your hands through the towel with purpose now.
you panic a bit. you don’t want him to tell you while he’s shit-faced, you want him to remember it and mean it. as much as you want him to say what you think he’s going to, you’re not sure you can truly trust a drunken confession. so you do the first thing you can think of to get him to stop and quickly hush him. “shhh! n-no! not… not right now. you should sober up, go to bed,” you rush to say.
his face falls and he takes it the wrong way. “i… i’m trying to confess my love to you,” he whispers, looking dejected.
“oh, sam,” you sigh, softening immediately despite the way your heart leaps from your chest, “i– i know, that’s not what i– i just wanted you to be sober, i didn’t mean to–” you reach for the right words blindly, unsure how to comfort his drunken self while also steering this conversation the right way. he’ll be upset if he doesn’t remember this in the morning.
you let the towel slip away to the floor and hold his hands without anything in the way. air fills your lungs as you miraculously compose yourself. you let it out. “i know,” you murmur, “and that would make me very happy, but you’re very drunk right now. would you be willing to tell me in the morning? is that alright with you? because that would make me even happier.”
he slumps forward and suddenly his lips are planted on your cheek in a clumsy, sincere kiss. your composure shatters. “alright,” he whispers, his lips falling to your ear. “i’ll tell you in the morning.”
throwing this into the void, but i NEED a supernatural au where the reader is essentially elphaba and sam is fiyero. like i gotta read those two having their “as long as your mine” moment.
like imagine it’s some trickster illusion to make them realize they do actually love each other and that sam accepts the reader for being a witch. i NEED to have the two exchange the “it’s not lying, it’s just looking at things a different way” to each other. sam would fit that arc so perfectly 😭
i don’t want to write it myself cause i don’t think i have the skills but PLEASE somebody take this idea and run with it. i need more witch!reader x sam !!!!! i’ll make a crossroads deal if i gotta
Something very unique about the Last of Us is the way it handles character death and extreme tragedy in a remarkably respectful way.
Pop culture in this current moment is all about who can explore the darkest topics and depict violence in the most provocative way. (I am specifically looking at you, Game of Thrones and Euphoria!)
Even though the Last of Us is an HBO show, the people behind the series grant their characters a level of respect that most don’t.
Bill and Frank avoid the all-too-common “Bury Your Gays” trope and live sixteen beautiful years together. When the time is right, they go out on their own terms and the camera grants them dignity in death by not panning to their dead bodies at the end of episode 3.
We also never see Sam after he is shot by his own brother; we only need the blood splatter to let us know what happened. And instead of portraying a gratuitous suicide scene, we instead focus on Ellie and Joel’s reactions when Henry takes his own life.
The best example is probably the ultimate fate of Riley being kept offscreen in the latest episode. The last time we see Riley and Ellie together, they believe they are both going to die and pledge to do it together, on their own terms. Of course, the viewer knows Ellie is immune and had to defend herself from an infected Riley SOMEHOW, but guess what? We don’t have to know. Did they ever get another kiss? What were their last words to each other? We don’t know. The girls get to have privacy in their final moments together, and it’s perfect.
In summary, I really love that the camera respects the characters of this show and allows us to linger on their best moments instead.
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