₊⊹𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚒𝚐 𝚂𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗*ೃ༄
6 - 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐄 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
word count; 1,481
summary; sam finally wakes up where he belongs. with you safe beside him, the nightmare fades into something distant. it's replaced by a quiet, warm love that was never truly lost.
tags; full circle moment, smut (18+), sub!fem, dom!sam, quiet happiness, mention of distressing dream, husband and wife love, established relationship
𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 ꨄ︎ 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛
𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚘3! 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎? 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎!
The first thing he notices is the quietness.
Not the type that he’s grown used to over the past month, but the kind that hums with something missing. This is different.
There’s no traffic outside. No blaring horns. Just the low, constant whir of the desk fan blowing in his direction.
For a split second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Like if he even shifts an inch it’ll all disappear again.
But the mattress beneath him is dipped in a way that only he knows. The sheets aren’t too crisp, they’re a little worn in, and the air smells faintly of fresh morning coffee and something distinctively like home.
Slowly, he turns his head.
You’re curled into his side, half-buried under the covers, his hair a mess across the pillow like you fell asleep mid-thought. His left arm is tucked underneath you, the other resting against his chest, your hand cupped in his.
Sam exhales, shaky and uneven, like he’s been holding it for days. “Hey…” he whispers, barely audible.
You don’t wake up, instead you shift slightly, pressing closer to him with your forehead brushing his shoulder. A soft, sleepy sound leaves you–something between a sigh and a hum.
The weight of it. The relief. The rightness of it.
A quiet, broken breath escapes him, and he squeezes his eyes shut for a second, overwhelmed. His hand comes up almost instinctively, brushing your hair back from your face, fingertips lingering like he needs the proof.
“Sam?” Your voice is thick with sleep, barely there. “Why’re you awake?”
He lets out a soft, breathless huff of a laugh, shaking his head like he can’t quite believe this is real.
“I…” His voice catches, and he has to swallow before trying again. “I had the worst dream.”
You shift again, blinking your eyes open just enough to look at him, lashes heavy. There’s no suspicion there. “Yeah?” you murmur. He nods, even though he knows you can barely see it in the dim light.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I lost you.”
Your brows knit together faintly, like that doesn’t make any sense to you. “I’m right here,” you mumble, voice soft with sleep.
And then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you lean up just slightly and press a lazy, absentminded kiss to his lips. You settle back against him without another thought, tucking yourself into his side again, like you’ve done it a thousand times before.
Sam’s hand finds yours under the covers, threading your fingers together. He holds on a little tighter than usual.
You let out a quiet hum, already drifting again. “Go back to sleep,” you murmur. “You’re overthinking.”
A small smile tugs at his mouth.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, I know.”
But he doesn’t sleep. Not yet.
He just lies there, watching you.
Memorising the way your breathing evens out. The way your lips part slightly when you’re fully asleep. The way your thumb brushes absentmindedly against the back of his hand—something you don’t even realise you do.
Different world. Same you.
His chest aches, but this time it’s not painful. It’s full. Overwhelming in the best way.
After a moment, you shift again, nuzzling closer, your head settling right over his heart. Your fingers tighten slightly in his, and you mumble something soft and incoherent into his chest.
Sam’s free hand drifts up your back, tracing the curve of your spine through the thin fabric of your shirt. The touch is light, almost reverent, as if he’s mapping you out all over again. You stir under his fingers, your body responding even in half-sleep, arching just a fraction into the warmth of his palm.
“Mmm,” you breathe, eyes fluttering open once more. This time, you don’t close them. You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze in the low light filtering through the bunker’s small window. There’s a question in your eyes, soft and searching, but no words yet.
He doesn’t answer with speech. Instead, he leans down, closing the distance to capture your lips in a kiss that starts slow, tentative, like he’s testing if you’ll vanish. But you don’t. You melt into it, your mouth parting under his, tongue brushing his in a gentle slide that sends a quiet spark through him.
You turn your head, exposing your neck to him, fingers threading through his hair to hold him there.
He peels your shirt up slowly, inch by inch, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every bit of skin he uncovers. Your breasts come into view, nipples hardening in the cool air, and he pauses to take one into his mouth, sucking gently, tongue circling the peak with deliberate care. You gasp softly, back arching, your hand tightening in his hair as pleasure ripples through you.
His other hand works at the waistband of your pants, easing them down your hips with your help, until you’re bare against him. He shifts, kicking off his own clothes in a hurried but careful motion, the fabric whispering to the floor.
Skin meets skin, and the contact is electric, grounding him in the reality of you.
You reach between you, fingers wrapping around his cock, already hard and throbbing in your grasp. He groans low in his throat, hips bucking slightly into your touch as you stroke him with slow, firm pulls, thumb brushing over the tip to spread the bead of precum there.
“God, you feel so good,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours, eyes locked on your face like he’s afraid to look away.
He mirrors you, hand sliding between your thighs, fingers parting your folds to find you slick and ready. He circles your clit with feather-light pressure, watching your expression as your lips part on a quiet moan. Dipping lower, he presses one finger inside you, then two, curling them just right to stroke that spot that makes your breath hitch.
“Sam,” you whimper, the sound raw and needy, pulling him closer. Your free hand clutches his shoulder, nails digging in just enough to leave faint marks.
He kisses you again, swallowing your sounds as he works you open, his thumb now rubbing steady circles on your clit. Your hips rock against his hand, chasing the building heat, and he matches your rhythm, pumping his fingers deeper, feeling your walls clench around him.
When you’re trembling, on the edge, he withdraws his hand, earning a soft whine from you. “I need you inside me,” you plead, guiding his cock to your entrance, the head nudging against your wetness.
He nods, voice thick. “Yeah. Yeah, I need that too.” With agonizing slowness, he pushes in, inch by inch, savoring the tight heat enveloping him. You both pause when he’s fully seated, breaths mingling, bodies joined completely. It’s more than physical—this is reconnection, the piecing back together of something shattered.
Then he starts to move, thrusts shallow and gentle at first, rolling his hips to grind against you with each stroke.
You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your hands exploring his back, tracing the scars and muscles you know by heart.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the pulse there as he picks up a steady pace, the bed creaking softly beneath you.
Pleasure builds like a slow tide, waves of it crashing gently. Your breaths sync, moans blending in the quiet room. He reaches between you again, fingers finding your clit to rub in time with his thrusts, pushing you higher. “Come for me,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “Let me feel you.”
It doesn’t take much. Your body tenses, then shudders around him, pussy pulsing as orgasm washes over you in soft, rolling waves. You cry out his name, fingers digging into his skin, holding on as if he might slip away.
The sensation pulls him under too, his rhythm faltering as he drives deep one last time, spilling inside you with a muffled groan against your shoulder. Heat floods you, his cock twitching as he comes, bodies locked together in the aftershocks.
He doesn’t pull out right away. Instead, he stays there, weighing a comforting press, arms wrapping around you to hold you close. You stroke his hair, pressing kisses to his temple, both of you breathing raggedly until it evens out.
“I love you,” he says finally, voice hushed, like a secret shared in the dark.
You smile against his skin, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his back. “I love you too. Always.”
The bunker feels like home again, wrapped in each other, the world outside forgotten. Sleep claims you both this time, tangled and sated, the dream’s shadow banished by the warmth of you.
✧ 𝒊𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕, 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ // ✧𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 // ✧𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆.ᐟ
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