the parking lot smelled like asphalt and cigarettes as the sun had started dipping in a low cascade of golden kisses bouncing off the windows of the station.
officers switched in and out for a change in shifts while sammy was sprawled against the cruiser. his uniform belt half undone. one hand rested on the hood while he listened to his partner— officer ben ramble about some disaster traffic stop the he heard about.
“i’m tellin’ you,” ben said, laughing to himself, “the guy tries to hand him a costco card instead of his license.”
sammy snorted tiredly. “maybe he thought the savings would get him out of the ticket.”
“you joke now, but one day some pretty girl’s gonna distract you and you’ll let a felon drive off.”
“yeah,” sammy rolled his eyes. “like that’s gonna happen.”
“sure.” ben pointed. “you get heart eyes too easy.” he added lazily.
“i do not, you fool.”
before ben could say anything else, movement near the sidewalk caught sammy’s attention.
his entire expression changed instantly.
there she was.
she was walking toward them suspiciously. she entirely sure that he’d still be there. she wore a pretty little outfit, hair moving in the evening breeze, nervous smile already tugging at her mouth the second their eyes met.
sammy straightened automatically. “what’re you doing here?”
her smile widened at the soft surprise in his voice. “hi to you too.”
ben looked between them once and immediately grinned. “well what do we have here?”
sammy ignored him, already walking toward her. the stressful shift melting off his stoic exterior the closer he got.
“you okay?” he asked first, hand instinctively finding her waist when he reached her. “everything alright?”
“everything’s fine.” she laughed softly. “i just wanted to surprise you.”
she held up her car keys with a tiny grin. ben and sammy looking at each other in astonishment.
“i’m stealing you for dinner.”
behind them, ben made the loudest fake gagging noise, hunching over like he was going to vomit.
“jesus christ!” he wailed.
sammy shot him a look over his shoulder. “don’t start.”
“nah, nah.” ben lifted his hands innocently. “this is sweet. officer bryant gettin’ picked up after work… like a tired hubby.”
she burst out laughing, her had covering her blushing ing cheeks while sammy groaned. “bro you are so annoying.”
ben leaned closer to her conspiratorially. “you shoulda seen him ten seconds ago. looked like somebody kicked his dog.”
“i did not.”
“man, your posture alone was cryin’ for help.”
sammy shook his head, trying and failing miserably ti not smile when he heard her giggle beside him.
“you really came just to take me to dinner?”
“yeah.” she shrugged shyly. “thought you deserved a nice night.”
that look hit him again.
that stupid unbearably fond look that always made ben want to throw something at him.
“oh my god,” ben complained. “there it is. there’s the heart eyes.”
“you jelly?” she giggled, swatting at ben playfully, “i have friends, you know. we can have a double date.” she mused as sammy flipped him off without even glancing away from her.
she laughed harder now, cheeks warm under sammys attention. his hand stayed steady against her waist like it belonged there.
“where we goin’?” he asked.
“it’s a surprise.”
“you have a plan and everything?”
“mhm.”
sammy swallowed hard. he hadn’t been taken care of like this in a long time. he didn’t know how to breath.
ben noticed too, expression softening for half a second before he ruined it immediately.
“don’t let him order mozzarella sticks,” he warned her. “he gets emotionally attached to appetizers.”
“ben.”
“i’m serious. man almost fought me over onion rings once.”
“that is not what happened!”
she was practically crying laughing now, leaning into sammy’s side while he shook his head in embarrassment. even then, while glaring at ben, sammy’s arm tightened around her automatically. protective.
ben pointed at them both. “yeah, yeah. get outta here. y’all are makin’ the parking lot look too romantic.”
sammy muttered another insult under his breath, but she caught the little smile pulling at his mouth as he guided her toward her car.
and before opening the passenger door, he leaned down close enough for only her to hear.
“don’t cry sweetheart, too pretty for all that” he thumbs away the salt on your face. he smushes your cheeks. you’re emotional. irrational. littlest things have been setting you off, sammy hasn’t complained not once.
your eyebrows furrow, into a scowl, on your bunched up face. “you’re being annoying.” it comes out slurred as sammy’s got your face in his hands. his pupils are dilated, as his gaze pierces you with love.
you shouldn’t have said that - now he looks like a kid on christmas. “oh yeah?” he releases your face, to pepper you with kisses. “my gorgeous girl, crying for what?” he pulls away and pinches your chin. he holds your face tight. his thumb stroking the ends of your face. “i gotta arrest someone?” he squints. you give him the smallest satisfaction of a smile. another mistake. “ah so that’s a yes, who is it?”
“no one samuel.” you huff. your attitude bears no weight on the officer.
he scoffs, “you told me you’d only use that when i’m in the doghouse.”
“better start barking then.”
“woof,” he placates. he licks a stripe on your cheek. “woof woof” he placates once more.
you roll your eyes but you can’t help yourself from laughing, “you’re the worst.”
he smiles into your face. “that’s my pretty girl,” he presses a kiss to your temple. “there’s the pretty smile i know and love.”
summary: you've been begging Dean to stop at a mall for Victoria's Secret. Sam might just die when he finally does.
word count: 1,350
warnings: partial nudity, allusions to NSFW (?), awkward!Sam, girlygirl!reader, oblivious!reader, this is fluff(ish) .ᐟ
junie's rambles ☪︎ — please tell me the glitter text is showing up because it took hours to figure out ˙◠˙ also, would anybody want Dean's version? also, also, apparently VS sold shoes and even businesswear in the 2000s, which is insane. but anyway, happy early October 15th to those watching the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show this year ✮ツ
Sam Winchester was in heaven. Hell. Possibly either all at once.
You’d been begging Dean for weeks to stop by a mall, whirring on about semi-annual sales, and Sexy Little Things, and fantasy bras as you browsed through catalogues in the backseat, lips sparkly from something Sam had caught you describe as “my one true love, Beauty Rush.”
At last, Dean had given in on a random Sunday night in October. He’d dipped out to a nearby sports bar, grumbling under his breath about watching the Cowboys play the Eagles after a long day’s drive. Sam had offered you company.
Sam so, so deeply regretted that particular decision.
The store itself was bad—dimly lit and unbearably sensual. But the merchandise? Awful. Victoria’s Secret was a vortex of bras, thongs, little sheer slips. Sam had never felt more out of place, his usually imposing frame hovering behind you like an awkward shadow whilst you’d perused the racks, the shelves, the drawers, whatever, lined with lingerie. He’d tried steering you towards the register. The safe zone. A little nook of body lotions and perfumes, anything to bring you away from the dressing rooms.
And yet nothing had worked. Not his feigned interest in lipglosses (which he’d learned were “tasty enough to kiss off” from the ad outside), nor his almost forceful attempts to literally push you forward. Twenty minutes in, your arms had been taken hostage by lace, and satin, and bedazzled… everything, really.
“It’ll just take a minute,” you had said, already slipping inside the room that he’d soon find out would be his demise, the words a blatant lie.
Based on Sam, anyway, because he could’ve sworn you’d been in the store for a hundred hours. It certainly felt so as he leaned against a striped pink wall, casting nervous smiles at everyone who looked his way. The blonde teenage associate seemed amused, occasionally pretending to consult her co-worker, although he could hear the two girls giggling in the corner between assisting customers. An older lady helping her daughter shop wasn’t as merciful, her disapproving (weirded out, perhaps, and not without reason) stare making Sam feel even more like an imposter than he already did.
It’s fine. It’s FINE. I’m fine.
“Sam?” Your voice crawled through the thick slab of walnut, sweet like honey and soft like early morning sun. A trap.
He knew that tone.
Fuck.
It was the signature “Sam” you’d use when you wanted his opinion, his help—just him. No way he could pop in there. No way, José. Purely imagining you try on Victoria’s Secret was agonising.
Still, “what?” he answered, voice embarrassed and gratingly higher in pitch, for Sam was a fool. A masochistic idiot who was unable to deny you.
You opened the door in a grin and a whole lot of nothing. Sam almost fainted. His mouth opened and closed, once, twice, would’ve been thrice if you hadn’t spoken.
“I’m stuck.” He was suddenly yanked inside the dressing room by the sleeve of his Carhartt jacket. “Everything is so beautiful, it’s impossible to pick. Do you think this looks better on me in pink,” you chattered away, casual in contrast to his fluster, as you held up a lacy bra, gesturing between it and your cleavage, “or purple?”
It was more skin than he’d ever seen on you. So, so much more skin. Your body was essentially bare, and you were asking him about colours, of all things.
Fuck my life.
“Are you… are… am I allowed to be in here?” His cheeks burned, his hands were clammy, and his heart was surely trying to evacuate his body. Sam was going to die in a room where fuchsia had thrown up all over. “They might think we’re… I mean…”
“Stealing?” You waved a dismissive hand. How many times had he wondered if you were actually this clueless? He might as well have had “I’m so into you, it’s killing me to be here” written on his forehead, and you’d have missed the (sub)text. “I like purple, but pink is my favourite. And, I don’t have a lot of pink lingerie.”
You hardly owning pink intimates was crucial information Sam could’ve lived his entire life without knowing.
He slumped down on the plush ottoman in the corner, half because the expression on your face told him he was stuck there indefinitely, half to better hide the little (big) problem brewing in his jeans, and raked a stressed hand through his messy hair, a few pieces of his bangs standing up in different directions.
“Pink’s good,” Sam mumbled in the midst of his attempt to keep his stare focused solely on your features. “That shade of purple is, uh, cheugy.” He’d never used cheugy. What even was cheugy?
“Cheugy,” you giggled, furrowing your eyebrows in a way that made you look adorable, in Sam’s painfully smitten opinion. “I’m not convinced cheugy is an actual word. Y’know what, take a good look at this,” you gestured around your chest, deliciously innocent. “Memorise it. I’ll try the purple one on, and then you can make a decision.”
The dressing room—Sam’s personal chamber of torture—fell silent as he just… stared. At what, he wasn’t even sure. One moment his eyes were on yours, the other they’d dipped to the bra in your hand like it was going to catch fire any second. You were going to MODEL a BRASSIERE for him. He’d either been a saint or a downright sinner in his past life to end up here.
“Please don’t,” he pleaded, “for my sanity.” Silently, though. What really came out was, “uh…”
You turned around before he had a chance to protest, and Sam almost groaned, his stare bouncing anywhere but your hips, your thighs, or the curves your thong dipped into.
“I’m getting those,” you gestured offhandedly to what Sam would’ve assumed was underwear, but in Victoria’s Secret world, were most likely shorts. “Another lipgloss, the Sexy Little Things perfume.” You slid the lace straps down your shoulders and draped the bra over a pile of merchandise the poor hooks could barely hold. “And a Winter White bouclé sweater. That’s decided. But the freaking bra is making it difficult.”
Somewhere between struggling to breathe and wishing the ottoman he was slouched on would swallow him whole, Sam made the mistake of noticing your reflection. You had to have done it on accident. Had to. Yeah. You were thrumming with excitement, oblivious to the mirror and the tiny, unrelated fact of inadvertently flashing him through it.
Everything after was a blur. You had eased back into your clothes, probably. Public indecency was a crime. Sam vaguely remembered offering to pay, like a gentleman (or a boyfriend, his brain had helpfully supplied then), and manoeuvring outside the mall to reunite with Dean.
“Drinks are on me.” Sam jumped, so subtly anybody would’ve noticed, and glanced behind his shoulder. Dean was across the room, devouring a plate of chicken wings, but the only sign your presence had ever been beside him was a small crapload of shopping bags. “Go crazy,” you grinned at him, folding your arms on the oak bar top. “It’s the least I can do.”
“Yeah, well.” He did yearn to go crazy—just not in terms of whiskey. “I’m expecting you to pay when we find the equivalent of Victoria’s Secret for flannel.”
The comment yanked a laugh from you, soft and carefree, the way he’d always hear it when his eyes closed. “Thank you for keeping me company. Tonight was great. I forgot how fun it is to be a girl.”
Sam smiled, sincere yet oh-so-strained. He almost blurted out what he’d seen. Almost admitted how you’d affected him. Almost laid his heart out. But at last, “don’t worry about it,” was the only response he could muster.
“Thank you,” you repeated for the thousandth time, caressing his arm before your warmth left him entirely as you retreated back to the table, to Dean, to a mountain of much needed fries.
Congrats on 1000 followers! My dream is with Sammy Bryant x normal reader, fluffy soulmate AU! Maybe a countdown soulmate AU with the phrase “Just hold on!” Ty! 💚
Thank you, Anon! Here you go, your dream of Sammy Bryant/Fluff/Normal/Soulmate countdown AU/"Just hold on!" straight from the dream factory (that's me, by the way)
Assemble a Dream with Me—1000 follower celebration
Watching the Clock Countdown
TW: It's not super fluffy in the beginning but it gets fluffy. Tammi mention. Reader isn't super into the idea of soulmates but Sammy IS. Like really into it. Reader isn't into the idea of soulmates though because of her parents. Sammy is a sweetheart. Ben sighting. Reader has a best friend named Abigail who is the soulmate of Ben. Excessive amounts of caffeine are assumed to be consumed. It's fluffy and sweet and I love Sammy.
A/N: First time writing just fluff, no angst so...hope it doesn't suck!!
Credit: All dividers, except the gradient lines around the GIF which were made by me, are made by the incredible @cursed-carmine
The timer has always sat on your wrist, on everyone’s wrist, a timer unique to yourself, to one event. The event that everyone is waiting for, breaths held and hearts beating fast, held high with hope. The soulmate.
Born with a timer on the inside of your wrist, counting down not to death, but to another kind of life, the one with your destined other half. The elusive soulmate.
Everyone knows how the timer works, how it counts down the time until you meet them, until you find them, time stopping for two minutes when the timer hits zero. Two minutes where you have to find your other half before time resumes.
Or you lose them.
Most people find their soulmates in that time and live happily ever after, but there are always people who don’t. Or who do, but there are complications, soulmates in love with someone else, married to someone else, parents with someone else. Or there are those who never look. Who don’t believe.
You’ve never been quite sure what to believe, never been entirely certain of the timer, the reason for your anxiety, a clock always counting down the seconds, the minutes, the hours of your life, making it seem like the life without your soulmate isn’t really a life at all.
And you don’t entirely want one, the person who is supposed to be your other half, meant for you. Because it makes it seem like you, independent of everything else, are not enough. It makes it feel like you’re only worthwhile with another person.
You also don’t like seeing the clock on your wrist, the one that is supposed to change when you find your soulmate, some unique patterned tattoo wrapping around your wrist that matches with them—an outward sign of destiny, of fate.
You fucking hate it.
Sammy looks down at his wrist, the glimpse of the clock reflecting three years at him. Three years of waiting and dreaming and wondering and hoping. Waiting for his soulmate, dreaming about how he’ll find them, wondering who they are, how they are and hoping that he finds them. Finds them and lives happily ever after just like he’s supposed to.
“You know,” Nate muses, voice soft as Sammy looks up at him, returning to here and now, to the station and the case rather than the daydreams of a man in love. In love with an idea. “With all your love for your soulmate, why the hell are you dating Tammi?”
That causes the breath to catch in Sammy’s throat, the mention of his girlfriend, the woman he doesn’t love, has never really loved, but is with to just not be alone. It’s something most people do, finding someone they can tolerate to be with in case. Just in case they miss their chance in that two-minute window and are left alone.
“It’s better than being alone,” he says and Nate rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair, hands interlocking behind his head, eyes assessing as he shakes his head.
“Not by much, man,” he says. “Not by much.”
“How much time left?” your friend, Abigail, asks you, her eyebrows lifting as she glances at her own wrist, gaze flicking to your covered one. You wear long sleeves all the time, hating seeing that tick, tick, tick of the numbers going down, down, down. Counting down pieces of your life as if they don’t mean anything.
“Three years,” you answer, words flat as you take in her wrist, the reflection of 5 days, 6 hours, 30 minutes, 5 seconds, the five flicking down to four, three, two and so on. “You excited?” She sighs and flops down on your bed, landing on your textbook, her face twisting in a wince as she pulls it from underneath her back, tossing it aside.
“I don’t know,” she says, gaze trained on the ceiling of your bedroom, the apartment you two share. “I know that I want to find them, but I’m a little scared.”
“That’s normal,” you tell her, standing from your desk chair, laying down beside her on the bed, your arm going around her shoulders, slipping underneath her back, the two of you looking up at the white, pockmarked ceiling. “We know from the studies that soulmate related anxiety and fear go up the smaller the number goes because it correlates to the possible losses of what our society has deemed valuable.”
“Can you stop with the thesis talk, please?” she asks you, her voice breaking. “Just be my friend. Please.” You can feel the tears sting your eyes and you pull her closer to you, squeezing her shoulder.
“Okay,” you sigh. “I may not be your destined partner, but I’ve been here for fucking everything, including your very questionable high school haircut,” you pause, laughing a little as she slaps your stomach with her hand. “And I’m always gonna be here. I’m your platonic soulmate so…you know, even if you lose out on finding the one, you have a one, right here.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, turning her head to look at you, sadness and happiness glimmering in her eyes, eyes lined with tears just like yours. “I needed to hear that.”
“Yeah, well,” you say, “what am I here for?”
“How was it when you found Mariella?” Sammy asks Nate, the two of them sitting on the couch in his house, the football game on, volume low.
“Like…” Nate pauses, his hand tightening reflexively around the sweating glass bottle of beer in his hand as if he’s back there in that moment, back there with those nerves. “Like everything I’d ever been waiting for…Time froze and…there she was. Just standing there, looking at her wrist with an expression of complete shock…And then she looked up to see me looking at her. Then she ran to me and I hugged her and then our wrists…they, man, they burned but there the new mark was.” Nate holds up his wrist, the mark in question like interlaced oak leaves in a light seafoam green.
“Were you scared you’d miss her?” Sammy asks and Nate looks up, his eyes narrowing in understanding and questioning.
“How much time left?”
“A year,” Sammy answers, holding up his wrist, the glowing golden clock ticking steadily on his wrist.
“Yeah, man,” Nate says. “I was real scared. Everyone is…unless they just don’t care.”
“Do you think people really don’t care or do they just pretend cause they’re scared?” Sammy asks and Nate sighs, pausing in the lift of his beer bottle to his lips, eyes now narrowed in annoyance.
“I think they pretend because at least if they miss them, they can say they never cared at all. Now, can we watch the game, Bryant?”
“You’re hoping that you’ll miss them, aren’t you?” Abigail says and you turn to her, jaw clenching, teeth grinding as pull the hoodie sleeve tighter around the timer, the one you swear you can hear counting down, counting down the hours in your life.
“I’d finally have a wrist that was just mine,” you tell her, but you know that she knows you didn’t answer her question, that you’ve just avoided what she asked, instead offering up a truth rather than a lie.
“You didn’t answer me,” she says, her one wrist now emblazoned with a neon pink chain, each link of the chain made of ivy.
“I don’t know,” you whisper, the feeling of confusion and something caving deep inside of you washing over you. “I want to say, ‘yeah’ because soulmates doesn’t guarantee that happy fucking ending, but the closer it gets to zero…the more confused I get.”
“Not everyone is your parents,” she says and you feel her arms slide around your shoulders, her figure reflected behind you in the mirror, her hands falling over your collarbones like a necklace, her cheek pressing against yours. “Ben and I aren’t.” You smile at her, a teary kind of smile, your lips twitching as you do as if they want to curve down rather than up.
“That’s true,” you whisper, thinking of the first time you met Ben, just an hour after they found each other, her expression so bright and his confused but happy. Confused in that awed is this real kind of way. “But it’s hard to get past my parents.”
They were soulmates, the marks on their wrists a bracelet of bloodred thorns, an ominous marking for a shitty relationship. One where they loved each other, yes, but didn’t trust each other. Feared that loss more than they loved the presence. Constant fighting over friends and trips and colleagues.
The only thing they both loved and never fought over or about was you. But even if they were wonderful parents, they were shitty partners and you grew up with that, you grew up moulded by their interactions with one another, the soulmate mark still on their wrists. The only thing you knew of soulmates at all.
“But maybe,” your friend whispers, “they’ll be worth it.”
Wearing the uniform again was a change, being back out on patrol even more of a change. But it’s something that he had to do, something he had to do for Nate, for that loss. It was strange being the one out on the streets rather than behind a desk, investigating specific cases, specific crimes.
The thing that guides him through it, that makes him keep going even when he feels regret or anger or loss is the ever-ticking timer, reflecting at him 5 days, 6 hours, 45 minutes, 8 seconds.
Knowing that soon he’ll find the one he’s meant to be with makes it all better. Having finally ended it with Tammi, freed himself for whoever he’s meant to be with makes it better.
But most of all, knowing that soon his dreams will be reality is what matters most.
5 days, 6 hours, 45 minutes, 8 seconds
7 seconds
6 seconds
5 seconds
4 seconds
3 seconds
2 seconds
1 second
5 days, 6 hours, 44 minutes, 59 seconds.
You’re helpless to do anything but watch as it continues to tick down and down and down, ticking down the time until you find the person who has the same timer or lose them.
It’s therapeutic in a way, watching as the numbers change, a clock of your life, but it’s also not. You deal with so many people worried and scared and anxious over soulmates, over lovers who have left them when they found the one. You deal with people who have blank wrists, having lost that other half, feeling blank and empty. Like something is missing.
When you got your degree, when you and Abigail started your practice together, Ph.Ds. hanging on your office walls, you thought you’d feel okay not to finds your soulmate, that you’d be okay if the timer went off and your wrist went blank.
But you’re not sure anymore. You don’t want to feel what people who don’t find them, who lose out on that feel. You don’t want that emptiness, a hollowness. You want to feel complete. You want to still feel okay.
You think that you want them.
“I am getting the coffee, Abi! Jeez, just chill, please! I understand that wedding talk is important, but let me get coffee for us before you launch into it all, okay?” you ask, the phone held tight against your ear by your shoulder, head down as you push open the door to the Dunkins, stepping into the shop, the scent of deep roast coffee permeating every inch, just a hint of sugar mingling with it.
“Okay,” you hear her mutter, the line clicking, going dead and you remove the phone from your ear, tucking it into your pocket as you step up to the order counter.
It’s then that you feel it, something like the earth tilting beneath your feet, shifting and rearranging as all noise and motion stops around you. It’s then that you lift your wrist, pulling the sleeve of your bomber jacket up, the timer glowing a brilliant, golden 0 days, 0 hours, 0 minutes, 0 seconds before switching to a different sort of timer, one that counts down from 2:00, quickly shifting to 1:59.
Counting down the minutes you have to find them.
And you spin on your heel, scanning the room, your heart pumping in your chest, taking in the frozen people, drinks half held to their mouths, caught mid-drink, mid-swallow, laugh or yell. You see a table of LAPD officers, one of which is Ben, frozen too, a smile on his face, phone held up, his eyes on the text, no doubt one from Abi.
That’s when you take notice of the man beside Ben, the one sitting so still that you thought he was frozen for just a moment until you catch a glimpse of his chest rising and falling in a shaky way, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown wide, scared and excited at the same time.
“Hi,” you call out, lifting your ever-counting down wrist in a wave, the golden glow reflecting at him and he lifts his own wrist in response, a matching glow, a matching timer on it. “Are you gonna get over here? We only have a…” you glance down at your wrist, taking in the 1:10, “minute and ten seconds, no, make that nine, left.”
You look up, blinking once, heart speeding up when you take in the fact that he’s crossed the room in a few silent strides, his hands hovering around you, looking like he wants to touch you, to see the matching mark appear on both of your wrists. But he waits.
For you.
“Now, just hold on!” you say and his jaw tightens just once, muscle flexing as he nods, a smile creeping across his face, crooked tooth smile. One warm and perfect and that you can feel in your heart, one that gives you a warm feeling. “I don’t even know your first name, Officer…” you look down at his shiny nametag, nodding once at his name, “Bryant.”
“Sammy,” he whispers. “My name is Sammy.” And you look up at him, into perfect hazel eyes, feeling a sense of rightness go through you and you nod, whispering your name to him as you reach up, wrapping your arms around his neck, as if in a slow dance, his hands falling onto you as if the distance was killing him.
You feel a sharp, distinct burning on your wrist as time resumes around you, people cheering as your wrist continues to burn and then suddenly stops.
“Soulmates!” some people cry and you lift the wrist that used to hold the timer from around his neck, taking in the mark of golden dots studded with stars, a singular crescent moon in the center, looking like a charm hanging off a bracelet.
You thought you would feel some kind of loss if you ever went along with this, ever gave into searching for your soulmate in those minutes, but you don’t feel a loss of independence, you just feel right. You feel like you’ve found something that’s been missing all your life.
“Hi, soulmate,” he whispers, his forehead pressing into yours, his touch so sweet, so perfect, so grounding.
“Hi,” you reply, your lips curving up as he leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that is soft and sweet and everything. It is grounding and lifting and everything. And maybe, for your parents, it was bad, it was just something that made their insecurities worse, heightened, but you find that you were wrong before.
This is magic and this is life. This is a feeling you’ve never had before, but you understand that now you’ll always have it.
“Sorry to interrupt,” the barista calls out and you glance over at them, Sammy pressing a kiss to your cheek, turning with you to look, “but can you order?”
“Oh, yes! Sorry!” you say, taking one hand from Sammy and slipping it into your pocket, pulling out your phone where the text from Abi sits with the order. “Can I get one iced french vanilla swirl macchiato, one mocha swirl iced cappuccino, one caramel craze iced latte and one french vanilla swirl iced coffee all in large, please?”
“Anything else with that?”
“No, that’s all, thank you,” you say, pulling your wallet from your jacket pocket, trading it for your phone, pulling your card out, but before you can tap and pay, Sammy’s already there, his card tapping down on the machine, the beep of the card reader sounding, the bill printing while Sammy guides you over to the area where you wait for your drinks. “You know you didn’t have to pay, right?”
“But I wanted to,” he replies, his hands still on you, tight and warm and perfect, fitting you like they were made to. “I want to take care of you. Is that okay?”
“I guess so.”
Sammy had watched the timer on his wrist tick down, down, down until it hit zero as soon as you stepped up to the order counter. He watched it hit zero and he looked up, eyes zeroing in on you, watching as you looked down at your wrist, spinning, taking in the room, eyes searching.
He had been frozen watching because suddenly there you were, his soulmate. The person he’d been waiting for his entire life, the person he’d dreamed of forever. The person he’d reserved his heart for. And you were even more beautiful than he ever imagined. Perfect and pretty and beautiful with eyes that glimmered with a kind of intelligence he’d never seen before.
He’d wondered for a minute if you were going to find someone else in the coffee shop, if you were meant for someone else, but then you had looked at him and said hi in that breathy voice you have that is perfect and precious and everything, holding up your wrist with its matching glow to his.
And then he’d known. Standing and crossing the room to you, taking in your presence. And when you’d finally touched him, he was a goner. He was yours, the marks of golden stars and a crescent moon on your wrists only an outward sign of what he felt inside. Of how he imagined that your name, whispered to him as you touched him, was engraved across his heart, marking it as yours, always yours.
Now, here he was, holding on his lap, your arms around him, head resting on his chest, attention fixed on the movie, one you said he needed to see. Pretty Woman with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere, a classic you had said. And as he held you, he knew he didn’t need anything more than you, just you, here in his arms forever.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers, his words ruffling your hair as you lift your head, looking up at him, a soft, sweet smile on your lips.
“What’s up, babe?” He could look at you forever, he really really could. He could just look at your perfect eyes, the love in them, the soft smile curving your lips, the way your nose wrinkles just slightly when you smile. Just everything about you.
“I love you,” he whispers, his heart blooming when you smile a larger, softer smile at him, leaning forwards and placing a soft, soft kiss against his lips, one that tastes of forever and destiny and fate and chance.
Sammy who caught the eyes of the "fast girl". Sammy the cute preachers so who can do no wrong meeting approached by her at the end of another service her sultry words leading him on like a siren.
Sammy who tries to ignore you, your glances and short cut dresses that outline your brown stocking covered legs and figure.
You were quite the eye candy.
So when your antics don't work you take yo..seducing him, you change your dresses a little showing some cleavage, lock your lips at him and wink during prayer time.
It was cute seeing him stumble with his fingers but never missing a cord on his guitar. His hands strong and skilled with it.
OMG?? REQUESTS ARE OPEN??? AND BATIM IS ON THE MASTER LIST??? DIES OF JOY AAAAAAAAA-
hello hello hi!!! I absolutely love your hcs sm!! I wanted to ask if I may request Sammy Lawrence x reader (platonic), maybe reader is a new employee in the music department, maybe reader is the silent type they get along surprisingly well with Sammy after awhile? Feel free to add anything! Again, I love your writing :]
🐑 anon (if it's not taken)
🌤️ — welcome, 🐑 anon, thank you sm for your kind words!! enjoy ╰(*´︶`*)╯
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« Music connected us » 𖦹 ׂ 𓈒
— FANDOM: BENDY AND THE INK MACHINE.
— PAIRING: SAMMY LAWRENCE x COWORKER!READER.
— PLATONIC.
— HCS.
— TW: BAD ENGLISH, BAD GRAMMAR, OOC, MOST OF THE STORY TAKES PLACE BEFORE THE EVENTS OF BATIM.
°.✩┈┈∘*┈୨୧┈*∘┈┈✩.°
☆ ┈ In fact, I'd forgotten that Sammy was an irritable, serious guy before the events of the game, not a Bendy fanatic lol
☆ ┈ When you first started working, you were warned that the director of the music department is an..kind of ambiguous person.
☆ ┈ You are briefly introduced to the course, you get to work, blah blah blah..And soon you're meeting Sammy in person.
☆ ┈ Usually, all your contact was limited to work matters, and you didn't even think about any conversations outside of work, well, until a certain point.
☆ ┈ Perhaps the impetus for this would be a rare moment when you were alone. You had a brief conversation, and so the argument about music turned into a heart-to-heart conversation.
☆ ┈ One of your best qualities, according to Sammy, is your restraint. He can't stand loud people, and you're a pretty quiet type, which is why he even likes your company.
☆ ┈ You earn him a respect that rarely anyone else can, so you're good in his book.
☆ ┈ As a composer, he expects that you are also interested in music, so he often prefers to discuss new music industry and classical works in your conversations.
☆ ┈ Sammy often just speaks out to you because he wants someone to listen to him. Usually it's thinking about work, grumbling at Joey, or just talking about the nature of creativity.
☆ ┈ Some people may make fun of you, noting that Sammy is surprisingly patient with you, and this causes him complete indignation.
☆ ┈ Despite his outward harshness, he appreciates those people with whom he became close, so he could often come into conflict with someone. The scene where he stands next to you and swears at someone for saying something wrong to you is quite familiar to others.
☆ ┈ Sammy is quite demanding of his employees, but you're more lucky. You also have a lot of work to do, but he's usually more forgiving of you.
☆ ┈ You could have printed out all the comments and grumblings from Sammy towards other employees, and it would probably have turned out to be a huge book..
☆ ┈ He notices any shortcomings of other employees and rudely mocks them. It's a little awkward when he's telling you all this.
☆ ┈ Over time, the working conditions are getting worse and worse, and the atmosphere in the studio is getting more tense. It became almost unbearable to be at work, normally you would have discussed this with Sammy..But there seems to be something wrong with him too.
☆ ┈ He's become, well, more introverted or something. Gradually, he completely distanced himself from you, although you tried to talk to him about it, you did not receive a clear answer, and sometimes he refused to talk to you at all, waving you off and saying that he was busy..
☆ ┈ And soon after that, he disappeared. You couldn't stand it and just decided to quit. There have been too many creepy things in the studio lately, not to mention the fact that the attitude towards the employees is simply disgusting.
☆ ┈ Sammy doesn't remember you very well, but he did remember something.
☆ ┈ An image flashes through his mind, a light silhouette against the background of a gloomy studio, and sometimes an unfamiliar, but for some reason repetitive word, similar to a name, slips through his head.
☆ ┈ The Cycle has kept things that remind him of you, which is one of the reasons why, even in his ink form, he remembers you. Well, almost.
☆ ┈ Sometimes he wonders who you are and what those brief flashes of memory mean...Something far away, but attractively desirable. Your image pulls him, but he doesn't even know what he's reaching for.
☆ ┈ He starts to believe that you are the harbinger of The Ink Demon. Sooner or later, you will reward him with your arrival..Perhaps more sacrifices are needed?
☆ ┈ Ah, maybe he'll find out when he gets rid of this disgusting prison he calls his body. When his savior notices him...
— "Your figure appears to me at the moment when I feel abandoned, and your voice is an indistinct hum echoing in my memory..."
— "Oh, harbinger of My Lord, when will you appear to me in all your glory?"
..:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟﾞ｡.:*･ﾟ☆.｡.:*･ﾟ🌤
🌤️ — I wanted to release it yesterday, but I got sick and couldn't do anything properly all day 😭
🌤️ — I'm feeling better today, so I was able to finish writing, I'm really glad!! I hope you enjoyed it, have a good day 🪓
Warnings: drunk adult of legal age lol
"Okay, can you navigate the stairs?" Sam asked you, rushing to spot you as you charged forward toward your front porch.
"I'm not THAT drunk," you retorted, and quickly lost your balance on the second step.
"Whoa! Okay..." Sam caught you gently by the elbow and steadied you with another hand on the small of your back. "Let's just slow down a little, yeah?" he laughed, smiling down at you.
You were looking up at him with wide eyes. His were full of so many colors. You found it slightly dizzying. Or maybe that was the alcohol...
"You okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing down.
"Mmm," you nodded. "Sam. I have a secret..."
He laughed again and gently nudged you up the stairs and toward the front door. "You probably shouldn't tell me then," he replied.
You paused to dig around in your bag for your keys, biting your bottom lip. "Well—I mean, if you insist, I guess I could tell you." Your words were slightly slurred and Sam shook his head at you, cocking an eyebrow up.
"I didn't—but go on, I guess," he said, holding the door open when you finally managed to get the key in the lock and turn it. It was pretty clear that what he had to say mattered very little at the moment...
You waved him to come in but he only stood a little nervously on the mat as you dropped your purse and immediately began pulling off your shoes and your jacket. When you were done, you stepped close in front of him again and looked up at him. Sam's eyes flitted down to the soft pout of your lips. "You—you probably shouldn't tell me anything you consider a secret," he said quickly. "You're prettyyy drunk."
"But I want to tell you," you said, still staring up at him.
Sam gulped.
"Sammy—" A jolt of electricity zipped up his back when you said his name like that. You rarely called him 'Sammy'. "—you know, I've had a huge crush on you since the moment we met," you said. Your voice was breathy and low.
Sam gulped again. "Are you sure this isn't just the whiskey talking?"
You shook your head, looking slightly offended that he didn't believe you. "It's not the whiskey. It's true. And the longer I've known you—"
But Sam suddenly gently gripped your shoulders and interrupted you. "Y/N—I'm gonna stop you. You are drunk. And I don't want you to say something you might regret tomorrow."
You looked up at him and a perplexed expression muddled your face. "Why would I regret—"
"Just—trust me. Okay?" His heart was pounding. It took every bit of power he had to stop you from saying what it seemed like you'd been about to say. But he didn't want to hear it this way, with you foggy and fuzzy from a night at the bar and with him unable to feel right about grabbing you and kissing you, worried he'd be taking advantage... "But tomorrow, when you're sober, if you still want to tell me... I promise you I would be—beyond happy to hear it. But for now... goodnight. Drink some water, eat something, and get some sleep, okay? I'll check in with you tomorrow."
Prompt: "Mmmm I have a secret." / "You probably shouldn't tell me then." / "Oh geez, well... I mean... if you insist, I guess I could tell you." / "I didn't but go on, I guess..."
warnings: vamp!sammy, mommy kink, fingering, biting, light verbal humilation, fluff, angst, dark ending (sequel?), abigail is not mind controlling sammy, nonconsenual vampire turning (sammy to reader)
summary: frank tells you to go with your girlfriend to try to find abigail. unfortunately, things don’t go as planned.
request: Vamp!sammy request incoming bc she deserved more time 😭 Could you do a thing where reader is with Sammy when she turns instead of Peter? 🙏😎 🧛 or something with reader comforting her after she changes?
gif credit | edited by my lovely girlfriend @specialinterestshows 🥰💜
“Joey, Peter, and I will go together,” Frank said, “You and Sammy will go together. Call on the radio if there’s something wrong.”
“Yeah, we’ll call,” you nodded.
As the others left the room, you and Sammy stayed behind. You frowned as soon as you noticed your girlfriend’s eyes were glued to the ground.
“Are you okay?” you asked, moving closer to Sammy.
“If I turn,” Sammy sighed, “You’re going to kill me.”
When she finally looked up, you noticed that her eyes were red and you knew she had been crying. You shook your head. “I wouldn’t,” you reassured her, but she walked away.
“No, you’re going to have to,” she began, “I don’t ever want to hurt you and if I turn, I just might.”
Despite her moving away from you, you moved closer to her. Although you were a little terrified, deep down you loved Sammy, no matter what. You were going to make sure she always knew it.
“You wouldn’t, I know that for a fact. I also know that you know that, too,” you stated.
“You don’t know that, because I don’t even know. Okay?” Sammy snapped.
“No, you’re right. I don’t know that. But I trust you. So fucking much,” you admitted, causing Sammy to smile.
“I love you,” Sammy sighed.
You could tell she was a lot more relaxed now that you reassured her.
“To the moon and back,” you replied. Walking up to Sammy, you pulled her into a hug. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Okay, let’s go before Franks gets on our asses.”
Pulling away, Sammy took your hand and led you out of the library. The two of you made your way down a random hallway, occasionally looking behind your backs. Finally, Sammy led you into a random room, shutting the door behind her. The windows were all boarded up and she was thankful as her head began to hurt. The room began to spin, and she fell to her knees with a little shout. Her vision was blurry as her jaw began to hurt.
“Sammy… Sammy?” you called out as you rushed over to her.
Putting your hand on her back, you tried your best to comfort her. To your surprise, Sammy shoved your hand away. “You need to leave, (Your Name). Now,” she said through gritted teeth.
You stood your ground, rising to your feet, “I’m not leaving, Sammy. I love you.”
Sammy finally looked up, her now razor sharp teeth on display - you couldn’t help the sound that escaped you. She smiled, standing up off the ground.
“What is it, baby?” she teased, licking her lips. “Do I scare you now?”
You shook your head, “N-No, I’m not scared of you.”
Sammy’s smile grew into a smirk, “Oh, I know what it is…” she trailed off, tapping her chin as she looked up at the ceiling as if she was deep in thought.
You swallowed, “Y- You do?”
“I can smell that you’re wet for me,” Sammy stated, “Or is it for Joey?”
You bit your lip, knowing that Sammy already knew the answer to her question. You backed up, and she began to follow you.
“I feel fucking fantastic! But there’s just one thing that I could really, really go for right now,” Sammy said as your back hit the wall. “Do you know what that one thing is?”
You shook your head, even though you knew what she wanted. She tucked her head in the crook of your neck, taking a deep breath, inhaling your scent. “You smell so fucking delicious. I’m going to fuck you, but I want to hear you say that you want Mommy to take you right here and now.”
She licked your neck, pulling away to watch your face. You had always been a bit shy, but now? The words were refusing to come out at all. Sammy could kill you instantly, but she wasn’t and that’s what was turning you on even more.
“Come on, little bunny. You can use your words,” she pushed, rubbing you through your pants. “Or does the cat have your tongue?”
“Please, Mommy,” you finally gave in, “I want it so bad. I need you.”
Sammy was satisfied with your begging for the time being. She undid your belt, pulling it out of the loops and throwing it to the floor. She pulled your pants down with no hesitation.
“I wish I had some of my stuff with me, but it’s all good,” she commented, sighing playfully.
She pulled your underwear to the side, sliding a single finger into you. She didn’t want to waste any time. You let out a cry, not expecting her to do that right away.
“Please,“ you moaned out as she fucked you with her finger.
“Please what?” Sammy questioned, quickening her pace.
“Fuck, fuck,” you whimpered.
You whimpered as Sammy stilled her finger. She raised an eyebrow, patiently waiting for you to answer her. Finally, she pulled her finger out as she grew impatient.
“I knew you get fucking stupid when your pussy gets all wet,” Sammy laughed, pulling your shirt off of you.
Sammy roughly pulled your bra down, licking her lips. “Are you going to answer my question? Or am I going to have to leave you hanging?”
“Please, Mommy,” you began, “Please, I need more than just one of your fingers.”
Sammy hummed, sliding in two fingers, pumping them inside of you. You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the sounds that were threatening to leave your throat. The last thing you needed was for the others to walk in, knowing they would kill Sammy in a heartbeat.
Your thoughts left your head as Sammy dragged her teeth against the skin above your nipple. You gasped, “Sammy!” which made her laugh.
“What?” she questioned playfully.
Sammy didn’t waste any time, leaning down and wrapping her lips around your nipple, she added a third finger. You jumped as the radio beeped.
“Sammy?… (Your Name)?… Are you guys okay?”
It was Joey.
Of course it was.
Sammy bit your nipple as softly as she could with her newly sharpened teeth before pulling her mouth away with a sigh. She stood up straight and smiled, her fingers still deep inside of you. Just as she was about to speak up, the radio beeped again.
“(Your Name)? Sammy? We’re going to come looking for you if you don’t respond in a minute,” Joey threatened.
Sammy continued to fuck her fingers in and out of you. “You better answer her, baby. Wouldn’t want them to see you getting fucked… or maybe you do?”
You shook your head as Sammy removed the radio from her belt. “Talk,” she ordered before clicking the button on the radio.
“S- Sorry, we- we’re okay!” you choked out as Sammy curled her fingers.
“Are you sure? It doesn’t sound like you’re okay,” Joey said skeptically.
You squeezed your eyes shut. “Yeah, we’re, yes!” you cried out as Sammy rubbed your clit with her thumb.
“Uh… okay? Have you seen the girl?” Joey asked.
You took a deep breath, giving Sammy a warning look as she moved down to her knees. Sammy raised an eyebrow, signaling for you to keep talking.
“Oh,” you moaned as Sammy wrapped her lips around your clit.
“No, you haven’t seen her or?” Frank repeated, sounding annoyed.
“No we haven’t!” you cried out. “ We’ll call if we do!”
With that, you dropped the radio, grabbing Sammy’s hair to keep her in place. The feeling of her fingers mixed with her mouth became too much. You came quietly as Sammy helped you through your orgasm.
“Fuck,” Sammy chuckled as she pulled her fingers out of you, “You’re so fucking pretty when you come. Each and every time. I never get sick of it.”
You tried to move away from the wall and Sammy, but she kept you in place.
“Where do you think you’re going, pretty baby? I’m not done with you just yet,” Sammy hummed, standing up off the ground.
Pushing herself against you, she covered your mouth. She pushed your head to the side, and without hesitation, she bit into your neck. You screamed into her hand, tears running down your cheeks while you struggled against her.
After a minute, Sammy pulled away. Licking her lips to clean off your blood, she smiled. “Now you’re mine forever, baby.”
