I've asked you so many things I don't even remember what I've already asked, but life has been a bit overwhelming lately, why is it that 99% of being alive is making choices? Would the Prometheus characters tolerate a partner who is always asking for their opinions and letting them make choices, from the smallest ones to the big ones?
In real life, I cannot imagine someone other than me making choices for me, but sometimes I imagine David or Elli doing it and it sounds wonderful.
I am alliiiveee, but the heat is melting me down into a pile of goo - I'm slowly becoming one with the Pathogen :')
And I love your asks, every single one of them! <3 Life is very overwhelming, I agree... and so is making decisions.
This is a very interesting question indeed. Especially because I sometimes struggle to make simple choices myself.
David: I think he'd be very confused at first. Why would a human care for what he thinks, and even go so far as to make him decide for them?? He's the one usually getting ordered around, after all. But he'd like it, a lot. Will weigh every option before deciding for you, will also delight in telling you about his opinions. Kinda like a scheming court eunuch lmao.
Elizabeth: Will do it if you're overwhelmed and doesn't mind deciding over small things like what food to eat and so on - but will definitely try to make you stand up for your own needs and wants. It will be really confusing for her when you simply can't make decisions and are stuck in a limbo of "What shall I do? Can you decide for me, please?" "No, darling, you have to make your own decisions." "BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO."
Charlie: No. We're speaking about Mr. chained-himself-to-equipment-to-perserve-a-historical-site and antiauthoritarian-tendencies-continued-to-hinder-his-career. Will hype you up, though. Where is your rage? RISE. RISE. RISE.
Meredith: Mh. I don't think so. I think she would like someone who would stand up to her in some way. Not too much, of course, but she wouldn't like someone who just says yes and doesn't think for themselves. She wants a partner, not another employee.
Janek: He'd be okay with that, though he'd try to support you to make your own decisions. Totally accepts and gets it when you aren't able to, though. Look at him, he's such a gentle giant, so kind and warmhearted. Whatever you need, sweetheart, if you can't decide what to do he will say yes or no to get you out of your misery. <3
Millburn: Good luck, you both are people pleasers and will be stuck in a spiral of "You decide." "I don't mind, you can decide." "I also don't mind, both is fine, you decide."
Fifield: I am not completely sure about Sean, but I think he'd like you to be able to make decisions. He doesn't want to command you around, and I think it would annoy him greatly. No issues with deciding over small things at all, but big decisions? He won't like to make decisions about big things.
Sean Fifield x Reader - age gap
Wordcount: 1,5k
Warnings: the usual
You were a goddamn satellite, orbiting around him like he was the most interesting thing in the universe - and he could not, for the life of him, figure out why.
It was bad enough that this Millburn-Biology guy kept buzzing around, trying to get on his good side, befriend him.
But you? Young, bright-eyed, trailing him like a hawk? He really did not get that.
At first, he figured you were just gawking at his exterior. He was used to people noticing his tattoos, the mohawk, the sharp lines of his face. He sure as hell wasn’t handsome, and he knew it - too old for this, too worn, too set in his ways.
So the fact you kept looking at him got under his skin.
All he wanted was a quiet meal in the mess hall, to fill a bowl with soup and then head back to his gear. Prep for the archaeology couple’s little treasure hunt on this barren moon. That was it.
But of course, fate had to be a bitch, and suddenly you were colliding right into his chest, blinking up at him with those wide eyes of yours.
“Careful, princess. Usually you’re staring at me, and now you don’t see me?”
Sean expected you to be insulted, to huff and move out of his way like every other coworker usually did.
What he did not expect was you standing there, frozen in place, cheeks burning red.
Why the hell were you blushing?
You muttered a soft “sorry,” even gave him a smile before scurrying off.
Soup bowl in his hand, he cursed under his breath, but the words were hollow.
The image of that smile clung to him, your bitten lip, the heat in your cheeks - it dug under his skin.
He might have been abrasive, but he was not stupid.
Did you actually fancy him? You? This young, impossibly sweet thing? God, he was in his forties, for fuck’s sake.
You found him hours after escaping the silica storm, hunched in the tech room pretending to busy himself with equipment he’d probably checked twice already.
His jaw ground as the monitors cast light across the sharp planes of his face - he stayed away from the Christmas party, so you’d come looking for him.
You hesitated in the doorway. “Hey. You seemed… tense today, if that’s the right word.”
“I’m always tense,” he grunted without looking up. “Part of my charm.”
Your soft laugh shouldn’t have warmed anything in him, but it did. You stepped closer, careful, as if afraid he would bolt. (Which he just might.)
“You act rough all the time,” you said, voice dipping small and earnest. “I overheard you telling Millburn you weren’t here to make friends, but if you want to share your fears-”
He snapped his head up, frowning, cutting you off. “Share my fears? Kid - what for? Why bother? I’m a forty-something burnout with a bad back. You should save that concern for somebody who deserves or wants it.”
He rose to his feet, looming the way he always did when he wanted to end a conversation. You didn’t back away - instead he felt the soft brush of your lips against his stubbled cheek.
For a split second, he froze. His brain fizzled, short-circuited, like someone had pulled the plug on his constant stream of cynicism.
Before he could think better of it, he grabbed your wrist, muttered something between a curse and a groan, and crushed his mouth to yours.
He wasn’t soft. He’d never been soft. Coworkers called him abrasive and difficult, and they weren’t wrong. He was scared - taut with anxiety about the mission - and the money was the only reason he’d come. Barking at people was easier than letting himself have a panic attack or admitting to his issues. But you hadn’t been able to stay away from him, had you?
Even his kisses were rough, but you did not seem to care; you sighed into his mouth as if it were a gift, as if kissing him truly made you happy.
It did – did it not? For whatever reason, you liked the fucked-up, grizzled geologist with crippling anxiety. Fine. He would not complain or question it. Not now.
The kiss turned into teeth, into breathless noises, into the frantic grind of two people who should have known better. His hand slid down to your hip, gripping hard, dragging you flush against him until there was no space left at all.
“Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, the word half growl, half plea. You were so damn soft, and you leaned into him like you did not care how rough he was, how unpolished.
His thumb dug into the line of your waist, tracing the warmth through the thin fabric of your clothes. He should not be doing this – he was in his forties, joints aching every morning, a body worn down by bad choices and worse years. And yet here you were, craving him.
It made him furious, made him cling harder, because he could not understand how you could want him. How someone so young, who could have anyone they want, wanted someone like him.
The console rattled behind you as he pressed you back against it, kissing you like a starving man tearing into his first meal in weeks. His beard scraped your skin, his breath came ragged and fast - both hands were on you now – one tangled in your hair, the other splayed across your back, hauling you closer, closer.
You gasped, lips parting, and he chased that sound, deepening the kiss until it was messy and wet, until he could no longer tell if it was your heartbeat or his own hammering so wildly in his chest.
“Princess,” he muttered against your skin, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again, lost in the soft sighs and moans spilling from you.
“I’m too old for you. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing, messing with me.”
Deviously, you smiled up at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before whispering:
“Then let me find out.”
For a moment, Sean just blinked, as though his brain lagged behind your words.
Then came a sound from his throat – low, feral, almost a growl – and his hands were at your waist, dragging you flush against him.
His mouth crashed onto yours again, desperate, angry, pressing you into the edge of the table. His fingers fumbled with your pants, unhooking buttons, muttering against your lips, “Tell me this isn’t a mistake, Princess. Tell me you actually want-”
You cupped his face, breathless laughter in your voice.
“I want this. I want you. Please believe me. I couldn’t take my eyes off you even before Cryo.”
Something in him cracked wide open at that. With a curse that was half groan, he shoved your pants down with shaking hands. His own belt clattered to the floor, and in the next heartbeat, he hoisted your ass onto the cold surface.
“Last chance,” he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, dark blue eyes wild – storming like a deep sea. “Say no, and I stop.”
You only kissed him again – gentle, adoring.
That was all the permission he needed, and all he could endure to wait for.
With a broken growl, he aligned himself and thrust into you in one rough stroke, tearing a cry from your throat.
The sudden fullness stole your breath, but instead of pushing him away, you clung tighter, pulling him closer as if you had been waiting for this all along. (Which you had.)
It was messy – all teeth and panting, his beard scraping your skin in the best way. His body caged you against the surface, anchoring you in place as he fucked into you. Every thrust was ragged, fuelled by disbelief and need, curses spilling between sharp breaths.
He was not gentle – maybe some other night he would take his time, treat you good – if you even wanted him after this.
But you sighed his name as if this raw chaos was exactly what you had been asking for.
“I’m getting too old for this,” he groaned into your neck, yet his hips kept moving, stuttering, plunging deeper, his body betraying his grumble.
The console rattled with each movement, your breath catching, lips parting, until your moans filled the sterile tech room. His hand tangled in your hair, dragging your mouth back to his, kissing you through the sounds, muffling your noises as best as he could – though it was probably far too late to worry about the whole ship knowing.
It did not last long – how could it, after all that pent-up want? With a strangled groan, his whole body shuddered, tension snapping as he spilled inside you, his face buried in the crook of your neck.
For a moment, he just held you there, breathless, shaking, before pressing the faintest kiss to your damp skin.
“…fuck,” he rasped hoarsely. “I… I didn’t even ask for your real name.”You took his face in your hands, looking at him with the sweetest grin, and pressed a soft kiss to his nose.
“Why? Don’t want to call me Princess anymore? I rather like it.”
Hey ! I don’t know if you always take the small oneshots requests but i'm so interested about one with Fifield and reader ?... Maybe with the 11. "fuck, do that again... please." or maybe 93. "I want to see my marks on you tomorrow." ?
✨
Feeling your breath upon my neck
Sean Fifield x Reader
Wordcount: 2,2k
Crossposted on Ao3
Warnings: sex, afab!reader, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, no protection
a/n: Took some time but I went absolutely insane - I love this man and I hope you'll enjoy this piece of smut <3
A few hours ago, you and Fifield had sat huddled together in that creepy pyramid, trying to share comfort, trying to pass the time without losing your minds.
You’d followed him when he decided to leave the group and head back to the ship, too scared and overwhelmed by the sight of the decapitated corpse to stay behind.
Like he said - it was a dead body arena, and neither of you were trained for that kind of shit.
So when he crouched in front of you, hands on his knees, and asked if you’d come with him? You said yes without hesitation.
The problem was, you got lost on your way back… which led to the two of you spending the whole night together.
After being rescued and brought back to the ship, you only meant to check on him.
You were still chilled from those long hours in the cold, dead halls, and figured he probably was too - so you brought tea.
Fifield, being Fifield, had a snarl ready for whoever dared ring his bell.
But when he opened the door and saw you - barefoot, in pajamas, smiling with two steaming mugs in hand? He just stepped aside and let you in.
You slowly walked over to the kitchen counter, careful not to spill the tea as you set them down.
“I thought you might like something to warm you up. And you don’t strike me as someone who’d make tea for himself in a situation like this, so…”
Turning around, your breath caught.
Fifield had silently stepped up behind you, deep blue eyes burning with something that made your blood heat faster than any tea ever could.
“Thanks,” he rasped - low, rough.
Slowly, giving you the chance to back away if you wanted to, he braced both hands on the counter behind you, one on either side, effectively caging you in.
He was close. So much closer now that the suit was gone.
Sure, you’d leaned on each other back in the pyramid, staying together and safe, but now you saw him.
The way his biceps flexed under that faded yellow Weyland tank top, the way his breath ghosted over your skin, making the fine hairs on your arms stand up.
“I know I might be too old for you, and if you’re uncomfortable with this…”
Your arms slid around his neck as you pulled him in, lips finding his to silence his doubt and claim the kiss you’d been craving since the moment you first laid your sight on him.
You had your eye on the gruff geologist since day one, and spending the night fearing for your lives hadn’t dulled that attraction - it had only intensified it.
The need to feel him, to connect your bodies and confirm you were both still alive-
Fifield deepened the kiss.
Maybe it had been sealed the moment his stoic expression softened, just a little, when he saw you smiling at him in the mess hall. It felt inevitable.
And now?
Now pure electricity coursed through your body as the tickle of his coarse beard brushed your jaw, his lips trailing open-mouthed kisses across your cheek and down to your neck.
“Shouldn’t have come with me. Sorry I dragged you into this,” he muttered against your skin, tongue tracing over your pulse before his lips latched onto it, sucking, making you gasp and clutch at his shirt, tugging one of the straps down over his shoulder.
A low laugh rumbled in his chest as he reached down to cup your ass, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter you were still pressed against, careful not to knock over the mugs you’d brought so sweetly just minutes ago.
His mouth trailed lower, finding your collarbone - kissing, sucking, licking, even nipping softly, each touch leaving trails of fire in his wake.
“Can’t wait for it, can you, hun?”
Your whine was cut off by another deep, hungry kiss - his mouth claiming yours, his teeth tugging gently at your bottom lip.
“Don’t worry,” he rasped, voice thick with heat. “I get it. I’m desperate to see my marks on you tomorrow as well.”
Fingers slid under the hem of your shirt, roughened by years of working with stone and soil, and the touch left a searing trail under your skin.
Everything was hot. Too hot. No freezing left.
Exhaling a shaky breath, you let your forehead fall against his shoulder, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your nails trailing gently along the nape of his neck.
With feverish lips, you mouthed at his skin. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
His response was something between a growl and a purr, followed by a soft bite to your throat - possessive, reverent, needy.
And then he lifted you again.
You let out a surprised squeal as the movement surged through you, holding onto him tight - and only moments later, your back hit the soft, disheveled mess of his bed.
Tearing off his top before climbing on top of you gave you a breathtaking view of his slim frame - subtle muscles and a dusting of copper hair across his chest.
And those tattoos. Those beautiful, winding tattoos spilling over his shoulders.
Your eyes roamed over him - fiery hair styled into a mohawk, the sides of his head shaved clean to reveal more of the intricate ink that trailed over his scalp, across his left hand, and even over his brow. You’d have to ask about their meaning one day.
High cheekbones. A narrow, angular jaw. A thin mouth that always looked one breath away from a scowl.
A face carved by weather and time.
His nose was prominent and slightly crooked, the tip angling just slightly upwards - imperfect in the most fascinating way.
And those eyes. Deep, piercing blue, often framed by furrowed brows. The kind of eyes that made you feel like they saw through skin and bone, straight into thought.
No, he wasn’t conventionally handsome, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t one of the most striking and attractive men you’d ever had above you.
Gently, you lifted a hand towards his cheek, reverently gliding your thumb over it.
Tilting his head, he leaned into it and studied your face, his lips curled into a wolfish grin.
“You actually mean that, don’t you?”
Like a predator on the prowl, he slid your shirt up to your chest before lowering himself down, lips trailing over your stomach in reverent kisses, inching higher, closer to your chest.
“I’m honored you feel that way.”
One hand gently cups your breast, exploring its shape, gliding over its curve before his thumb flicks over the hardened bud, already aching for attention.
A rush of static burns through your nerves, pooling low in your belly - and then the other is enveloped by his hot mouth, suckled, tongue swirling over it in lazy circles.
It makes you arch into him, the hollow of your back lifting off the mattress, chasing the friction, the feeling, the shockwaves he sends through you.
It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you must be already. You haven’t even touched yourself, but the cling of your panties tells you enough.
And he’s not finished.
His coarse beard scrapes over the soft skin of your chest, dragging a delicious sting in its wake, turning your breath into shallow, helpless gasps.
You reach out blindly, grabbing one of his pillows to ground yourself - but it doesn’t help. His scent is everywhere.
Hay and honey. Wood and earth. Summer. It overwhelmed your senses.
“Fifield-” you moan, not even recognizing your voice through the haze - raw and shaking.
He responds with a soft bite to your nipple, not painful, just sharp enough to make you jolt, before growling, “Sean.”
Your brain takes a second to catch up.
“Mhh?” you murmur, dazed.
He pulls away, only long enough to kiss you again, deep, his hand still splayed over your ribs.
“My name is Sean.”
You blink, tasting it, the intimacy of it, the weight.
Then you give him yours.
The next thing you know, his hands are on your hips, slipping your panty off as he works his way down - peppering kisses over your chest, your belly, until he reaches your thighs and presses his lips there too, soft and adoring.
Somewhere along the way, he tugs his shorts down, but you sadly don’t get to catch a glimpse of his length yet.
Because the moment your legs part, eager and open for him, Sean settles between them and starts to worship.
Every inch of skin - kissed, licked, mouthed. Your thighs, the dip of your hips, the outer swell of your labia.
But not there.
He’s mean about it, teasing, slow. Fingers spreading you open, thumbs massaging the places just around where you really, desperately want him.
You clench around nothing, hips twitching, chasing after friction, after him, but he just groans like he’s savoring every drop that slicks your folds, licking you open without ever going where it matters.
It drives you mad.
Your hips start moving of their own accord, instinct guiding them, pleading wordlessly. A low whine escapes you - desperate, on the edge of tears - and finally, finally, he gives in.
His mouth wraps around your clit, and the contact hits you like lightning
You inhale sharply and then cry out as his tongue flicks over you, slow at first, then faster - drawing circles, changing rhythm, soft sucks that make your vision blur and your thighs tremble.
You swear you see stars.
And you know that this man is going to ruin you.
Your hand flies to his hair, grasping the copper tightly, and he groans.
The sound vibrates through you, making your hips jolt again as it goes straight to that coil deep inside, the one that had begun to tighten not long ago.
“Fuck, do that again.”
And if that gravel in his voice wasn’t enough-
“...please.”
He begged. Sean begged.
There was no need to make him say it twice.
You immediately obeyed, fingers diving deeper into his strands, tugging, guiding his mouth back to your clit.
You sighed in bliss as the pulsing pressure inside you surged back with full force.
It didn’t take long after that.
You felt how close you were, on the verge of snapping, breaking.
Holding your breath, you focused only on the sensation of Sean’s lips, the heat of his breath above your vulva, his fingers trailing across your skin-
And then the wave hit. It crashed over you, surged through you, and carried you away.
Shaking, twitching, lost in the high of it, you barely registered Sean’s low grunt of pleasure when you tugged hard at his hair.
All you knew was that you were floating, drifting on a cloud.
Everything soft. Everything light. Cotton-wrapped and blissful.
Absent-mindedly, you felt the bed dip and soft kisses being pressed to your cheeks. On instinct, your arms found their way around Sean, your fingers tracing the muscles along his back.
“Hello,” you murmured with a lazy grin, brushing your lips against his.
He pressed his forehead to yours, offering one of those rare smiles.
“Hey. You alright?” he whispered, one hand coming up to gently stroke your cheekbone.
You nodded. “More than alright – haven’t felt this good in… how long did we fly? Two years? Over two years.”
Rolling onto your side, you let your fingers wander down his chest, over his stomach, until finally – oh finally – you saw him.
Hard. Twitching slightly toward your hand. Precum glistening at the flushed tip.
Fuck. Forget that you just had the climax of your life – you needed him again. Now.
“Sean,” you cooed his name, nuzzling into him, your leg hooking over his hips.
“More?” he asked, voice husky, and the moment you nodded, he pulled you into his lap.
But instead of the riding you expected, he sat up, guiding your legs around his waist, cradling your full weight against him.
Chest to chest, heartbeat to heartbeat, his arms wrapped around you just as tightly as yours did around him.
And then – while his eyes held yours with that fierce, burning intensity – he sank into you with one long, slow thrust. Stretching you, filling you, grounding you.
So deep it stole the air from your lungs.
Whimpering, you gently ground your hips against his, kissing the side of his head while he mouthed at your neck - slow, aching drags that sent heat rippling through you.
This wasn’t just sex. This was making love.
And you’d never felt so full before - not just your body, but your chest, your heart.
It was almost too much. Almost.
You nipped at his ear, moaned his name just as he hit that perfect spot, and he shuddered.
“Darling,” he rasped, breath broken, “if you keep saying my name like that, I won’t last.”
You pressed your lips to his jaw.
“Then don’t.”
He looked at you, searching, tender - before kissing you deep and hard and real.
Then his rhythm faltered.
A low groan tore from his throat, and he pulsed inside you, spilling into you, clinging to you like he needed your heartbeat to remind him he was still here.
You stayed like that. Pressed together. Heart to heart. Breath to breath.
Blood pounding in your ears.
Alive.
Are you still taking Prometheus prompts requests? If yes, I would die for #19 Fifield x reader.
Cloudburst
Sean Fifield x Reader
Wordcount: 1,9k
Crossposted on Ao3
a/n: God- I researched geology for this one, because I for some reason can't just write a cute oneshot, no no, this must all make sense.
Ngl I sat on this one for days and just couldn't get the words down, but managed to finally finish it. I love Fifield so much, and I hope you like what I came up with uwu
Stationed on a hydrofracture site, you were mapping the terrain and scanning the aquifers and hydrothermal conduits beneath it.
On paper, your team’s task was simple: identify where and how thick those layers were, determine whether they were contaminated, assess how much water they held. Then find the correct injection points, blast high-pressure water into the clogged passages deep underground, and bring the flow back to the surface.
In theory? Easy. In reality? Way more complicated and time-consuming, though important. Especially in a world where drinking water had been scarce for centuries.
Heavy grey clouds stretched across the sky, blanketing the sun until the afternoon dimmed into a muted, colourless haze.
The premonition of rain had lingered all day - the birds had gone quiet, searching shelter from the upcoming storm.
Out here, the weather could change on a whim, and the wildlife was always the best indicator of what to expect, more accurate and reliable than any weather report.
Still, you convinced yourself you had enough time, that even if it began to rain while being outside, it surely wouldn’t be that bad.
You spared one last glance at the sky - darkening but still calm - and decided that yes, you could surely make it.
Just a quick dash to retrieve the sensor that had been spitting out unstable readings for hours - the fluctuating spikes and inconsistent backflow had driven Fifield into hours of muttering. And cursing. Grumbling about corrupted data and eventually accusing the device of simply hating him personally.
That was just how Fifield was, and you had thought, well… at least the rain would give you both something productive to do!
While trapped inside the cramped camp containers, you could both go through the data and finally figure out what was wrong with the damn thing.
The idea had been good. The timing, disastrously wrong.
You had barely freed the sensor from its clasps when low, rolling thunder trembled through the sky - and the light mist of droplets suddenly fattened into sharp, stinging bullets against your skin.
Then the clouds broke, and a wall of rain slammed down.
“Oh, come on-!”
Clutching the sensor to your chest, you bolted, boots slipping through the rapidly forming mud. Cold, hard rain soaked through your jacket in seconds, lashes grew heavy as water blurred your vision, hair plastered flat against your scalp, sticking to your cheeks.
Muck splashed up your legs with every desperate step as you sprinted for the camp, almost slipping and falling multiple times.
Through the roaring sound of thunder, something else cut through, sharp and abrupt -
A door slamming open, boots pounding through puddles, and your name shouted with urgency.
You skidded around the last row of storage crates, just as a figure barreled towards you through the curtain of rain. Tall, narrow-built, shoulders hunched against the wind, wrapped in a half-buttoned rain jacket that did absolutely nothing to keep him dry.
“Are you out of your damn mind!?” Fifield shouted over the storm - not angry, not truly, just loud, because the rain drowned out everything else.
His face was knotted with frustration, water streaming down his face, the battered field umbrella in his hand not able to stop the rain that the wind pushed against him, dripping off his nose, clinging to his fiery beard.
He stomped towards you with the determined, miserable energy of a man who did not want to be outside but had come anyway.
For you.
The second he reached you, he shoved the umbrella over both your heads - or as much of it as the wind allowed - and grabbed your elbow, steadying you before you could slip again.
“Jesus- you are soaked through,” he grumbled, eyes sweeping over your shivering form. “Do you have any idea how fast you could go hypothermic out here?”
“You didn’t have to come out,” you protested, breathless from the sprint, hugging the sensor to your chest as if it were priceless. Rain still dripped from your hair, running into your eyes, and you almost stumbled over your own feet.
His grip tightened instantly, and he shot you a look that said very clearly: Are you actually serious right now?
“I am not pissed about going into the rain,” he snapped, though the snap was oddly soft. “I am pissed that you are in the rain. Half a kilometre from camp. During a bloody cloudburst.”
“I thought I had time,” you mumbled weakly.
“Yeah. Brilliant assumption.” His jaw ticked. “Look at you. You’re freezing to the bone.”
Without hesitation, he pulled the umbrella closer, practically tucking you beneath his arm as he guided you towards the camp container, one steady hand around your middle, gently pushing you on.
“Come on,” he muttered, softer now. “Inside. Out of those clothes and then hot food.”
“You cooked?” you asked, teeth beginning to chatter.
“Not yet,” he said, looking anywhere but at you. “But I’ll throw a can into the pot.”
Arriving at the door, he shoved it open with his shoulder, ushering you inside before following and slamming it shut behind him.
Even through the metal walls, the heavy raindrops hammered mercilessly against the exterior.
You stood in the narrow entrance space, dripping, shivering, water pooling beneath you, the sensor still clutched to your chest.
Fifield stared at you for half a second, cursing that damn sensor that had started this whole debacle, before stepping forward and gently prying the device from your numb fingers.
“I will deal with this later,” he muttered, setting it aside on the table. When he turned back, his expression tightened in concern.
Your hair hung in wet ropes, your clothes clung to you like a second skin, and your lips were already tinged blue.
“Shit,” he breathed, and his calloused hand rose before he could second-guess himself, palm brushing your cheek. The heat spread instantly along your skin - you almost leaned into it. “You feel like ice.”
The worry leaked into his tone despite his best efforts.
“Clothes off, boots too. I’ll get you a towel.”
Before you could protest, he was already striding to the storage compartment, leaving puddled footprints behind.
You followed his instructions, fingers barely working as you undid the bootlaces, kicking them off, then peeling your soaked shirt and trousers from your chilled skin.
They fell to the floor with wet, heavy thuds.
You were far too cold to be embarrassed about your exposed form.
Fifield returned with an armful of towels and what looked unmistakably like his own spare shirt thrown on top.
“Alright,” he said, his voice a little rough as he stepped close again.
He draped a large towel over your front, only setting his eyes on you once you were covered, then he set to work.
The coarse, utilitarian towel rasped over your arms and shoulders with a thoroughness that almost hurt - but the friction also slowly brought warmth back into your skin, so you said nothing and rather concentrated on fighting the heat rising to your cheeks.
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he murmured, and in his focus he didn’t realise how close his hands had wandered to your chest.
Your breath hitched - he felt it.
For half a heartbeat, the world narrowed to only that moment: your ragged breath, the water trickling from your hair, pearling over your collarbones, his hands hovering far too near.
Then he panicked.
“Right- Soup. I need to… soup.” Fifield retreated so fast he nearly slipped, anxiety radiating off him in uneven waves.
He marched to the tiny kitchenette, grabbed the nearest supply crate as if it had personally offended him, dumped the contents of a can into the pot, turned on the portable stove and stirred it with far too much aggression.
After a moment, still facing away from you, he spoke.
“You scared me. I opened the door and you weren’t back and-” He shook his head. “Dunno. My stomach dropped.”
You blinked, slipping into the spare shirt he had brought you, the fabric warm, smelling like him. “…Fifield, it was just rain. I am not made of sugar-”
“No.”
He braced his hands on the counter, shoulders tense, rain still dripping from his beard. He had not taken one second to care for himself.
“It wasn’t just rain. You were out there alone - terrain’s uneven, visibility goes to shit in weather like that, and if you slipped, if you hit your head-”
He cut himself off, jaw tight, breath unsteady.
You rose, padding softly across the narrow floor towards him. He stiffened at your approach, fingers tightening on the edge of the counter until his knuckles whitened. Still, he would not look at you.
Picking up one of the towels from the pile, you stepped close, close enough to feel the tension beneath his skin - and then, gently, raised the towel and tousled it through his wild, soaked and slightly outgrown hair.
He froze.
The towel moved gently through his hair, smoothing down strands that stubbornly stuck to his forehead.
“Sean,” you murmured softly, letting the towel drift down to his beard, brushing water from his jawline. “You should warm up, too.”
Slowly, so slowly, you watched his shoulders drop, as though your touch cracked through something he had been holding in for far too long.
His chest rose with a sudden breath, and then he finally looked at you - really looked at you. His eyes, usually narrowed in irritation or rolled in disbelief, were unshielded, vulnerable.
And something within him cracked.
In one motion, he reached out, his hands curling softly around your waist - he tugged you closer with something that felt dangerously close to desperation.
Before you could speak, he bent down and pressed his mouth to yours.
The towel slipped from your hands, falling silently to the floor.
You gasped in surprise, but your body reacted before your thoughts could catch up - melting into him, hands rising to his shoulders, feeling the tremor running through him, pushing yourself deeper into his embrace.
When he drew back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath unsteady, his hands still holding you as though the world outside might sweep you away again.
His voice dropped to a whisper, low, rasping.
“You really did not notice that I was falling in love with you, huh?”
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
He laughed under his breath - short, bitter, derisive - as though making fun of his own helplessness.
“Had to track you down in a cloudburst,” he murmured, thumb brushing your hip, “and even then, you were as oblivious as before.”
Your lips parted, your pulse ringing in your ears, and instead of searching for the right words, you simply leaned in and kissed him again - slow, tender, reassuring.
Pulling back just enough to breathe, your nose brushed his in a soft nudge. Gosh, his hopeful expression was cute.
“I am sorry,” you whispered, your voice warm against his mouth. “It is not unrequited, I’m just stupid...”
Only then did you notice that his own soaked clothes had drenched the front of the clean shirt he had given you. With a quiet laugh, you reached past him and switched off the stove before the soup could boil over.
“You know,” you said, fingers slipping lightly along the hem of his wet jacket, “we should really get you out of these clothes. I heard that body heat is the best remedy in such situations.”
Sean Fifield x Reader x Rafe Millburn - Sexting
Wordcount: 1,1k
Warnings: Masturbating
Urgh. Letting yourself fall back onto your bed, you cuddled deeper into the oversized sweater that still smelled like your boyfriend. Well, one of your boyfriends.
When you had started university, you had been desperately searching for an affordable apartment near campus. That was how you had found them - Rafe and Sean. Two guys offering a free room and rent that did not completely destroy your poor student budget.
What began as simple cohabitation had quickly turned into friendship. Real friendship - the kind with late-night talks, shared cooking disasters, and lazy Sundays spent tangled together on the couch watching trashy movies or playing games.
Then came that party - the one you had dragged Sean to, even though he hated crowds. Too much cheap alcohol had flowed, and the night had turned strangely… charged.
You had danced a little too close to someone else, and not even 10 seconds later you had been pulled away - not by one pair of hands, but two. Rafe had been behind you, breath hot against your ear, and Sean in front of you, jealousy burning clear in his eyes.
Let’s just say there was no reason to go to parties anymore after that. You had found far better - and far more loving - ways to spend your nights.
But right now, you missed them. The apartment felt too quiet without their chaotic energy - without Rafe pacing the hallway while ranting about some absurd science article he had read, or Sean playing his rock music a little too loud until the neighbours inevitably came knocking again.
They were still out, maybe in a late lecture, maybe grabbing food on the way home.
With a soft groan, you reached for your phone on the nightstand and unlocked it, your thumb already hovering over the group chat.
You: Boooooys?
It did not take long before the typing bubbles appeared.
Rafe: Yes, honey?
Sean: ?
A man of few words, you thought with a quiet laugh, rolling your eyes. You could almost picture his raised eyebrow as he typed that single character. Your thumbs moved before your thoughts could catch up.
You: When will you be home? I cannot stop thinking about you :(
You hesitated before pressing send, feeling a flutter of embarrassment in your stomach.
You should not feel needy, not after last night, but being with them only made you crave them more. Being without them felt strangely hollow.
The warmth, the safety - the teasing looks they shared over your head, the way they made you feel wanted - completely, shamelessly wanted and cared for.
The typing bubble appeared again. It flickered, disappeared, then returned. You smirked. That was definitely Rafe - typing too fast and overthinking his wording.
Sean, on the other hand, always took his time; he wrote only when he had something to say. Nothing more, nothing less.
Finally, the replies came.
Rafe: Missing us already, huh?
Sean: We even stayed in this morning.
You scoffed, thumbs already flying across the screen.
You: It still feels like a lifetime ago. Also: rude. I am being emotional and vulnerable here.
At first, there was no reaction, and you nearly sighed - until your phone vibrated again.
Sean: We are grabbing a bite on the way home. Did you eat?
Your heart softened. Sean always checked, even when he pretended to be all rough and detached. You pulled Rafe’s sweater tighter around you as you typed.
You: I am not really hungry (except for you). Just bored. And lonely. And cold.
Sean: Turn on the heater. ;)
You: Wow, the born romantic, Sean. I applaud you
You rolled your eyes fondly, flipping onto your belly as you stared at the screen. Your legs kicked lazily in the air, a restless little sign of anticipation.
Then came the message that changed the entire mood.
Rafe: Are you wearing my sweater?
You froze. A blush crept over your cheeks as you stared at the screen.
You: …Maybe
Rafe: Which one?
You: The white one. You wear it so often that it still smells like you - why?
Sean replied faster than you expected.
Sean: Because now he is picturing you in it.
Rafe: Are you wearing anything else?
A thrill shot through you at that question - were you wearing anything else?
Technically… no.
You tugged the front of the sweater down, exposing a generous hint of your décolleté, pushing your breasts together just enough to make the photo inviting without being too explicit.
You lay back on the unmade bed - Sean’s side, you realised - with your hair deliciously tousled and your bare legs lifted behind you like a lovestruck girl.
You took the picture and hit send with the caption:
Why? Would that be a problem?
Rafe responded immediately.
Rafe: Hell no. No problem at all, ma’am.
You laughed, soft and pleased, until you saw Sean’s reply. The sound got stuck in your throat.
Sean: You two should be glad I am not home yet. Rafe’s sweater would be in danger.
Your stomach flipped. Oh. So that was how tonight was going to go. You inhaled, daring him.
You: Oh?
The typing bubble appeared almost at once.
Sean: Spread your legs.
Your breath caught. No teasing. No warm-up. Just command. You swallowed, glancing down at yourself. The hem of Rafe’s sweater barely covered your thighs, your skin already prickling with need.
Leaning back, you let your knees fall apart, snapping a picture - suggestive but not too revealing. A glimpse of parted thighs, the hem of the white cotton, just enough to let their imaginations run wild.
You: Like this?
Sean replied first.
Sean: Wider.
A shiver rolled down your spine. He was not even here, and yet he had you obeying as if he were. This time, you pulled the seater higher, no more teasing. Your bare cunt glistened in the low light, already wet from thinking about them. You held yourself open - knowing exactly what you were doing - and pressed send.
You: Better?
Rafe: Fuck- you’re already this wet for us?
Your chest rose and fell too quickly. Heat spread through you like wildfire. Still, your hand moved - slow and enticing - sliding down your stomach before circling your clit in slow, desperate strokes.
With hazy eyes, you looked at your screen again just as a new message appeared.
Sean: We are in the elevator. Better take that sweater off.
Your heart jolted - right as you heard the key turn in the lock.
Sean Fifield x Reader x Rafe Millburn
Words: 1554
Warnings: Sex
Crossposted on Ao3
You let out a soft, contented sigh as gentle fingers glide over your body, tracing every curve and dip.
They move down to your hips and give them a light squeeze before caressing your backside.
You feel the scruff of stubble on your shoulder as Sean's face brushes against yours, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses along your neck that elicit low moans from you.
He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.
You try to turn and face him, but Sean holds you firmly and leans in for a slow yet intense kiss on your lips, which you eagerly return.
As you softly nibble on his bottom lip, you feel his arousal pressing against your body, growing harder with each passing moment of the kiss.
Before you know it, he grasps your shoulder and rolls you onto the mattress, silencing your surprised squeal with another passionate kiss.
"Shh, we don't want to wake our sleepy head," he whispers, starting to pull up the baggy shirt you borrowed from Rafe.
Oh yes, Rafe. You almost forgot about him. He's curled up next to you under a blanket, mouth slightly open and snoring gently.
But before you can dwell on his peaceful form, Sean recaptures your attention by planting tender kisses along your exposed throat.
His soft bites are followed by soothing licks that send shivers down your spine.
You respond by tangling your fingers in his fiery hair, pulling his face away from your neck so you can capture his lips once more.
Your other hand roams over the contours of his biceps, relishing in the feel of his skin.
As you break apart for air, you whisper against his lips, "What has gotten into you, my love?"
Sean flashes a sly grin in response. "Waking up with you in my arms was all the inspiration I needed," he says, his eyes shining with affection and desire. "I just couldn't resist."
Still wearing that alluring boyish smile, he gently removes your sleeping shirt, and you assist him by lifting your arms. As the fabric falls away, a low growl rumbles from his throat.
Looking up at him, you meet his intense gaze as he takes in the sight of your soft and rounded breasts.
He leans in, enveloping one of your buds with his mouth while his thumb tenderly circles the other, coaxing more quiet gasps out of you.
This devil knows exactly what he's doing to you, and your hips betray you by buckling involuntarily against him, prompting an amused chuckle to rumble from his throat. Ass.
After teasing your breasts for a little longer, he begins his slow descent down towards your stomach, lavishing licks and reverent kisses all over your skin.
The coarse texture of his beard sends shivers through you, and the heat pooling in your abdomen becomes almost intoxicating, especially paired with the lingering drowsiness he roused you from.
He peels away your panties, and you sigh in relief as he exposes you. Your thighs part instinctively, sticky with anticipation, as you open yourself up to his hungry mouth.
He lowers himself instantly, lapping at your already slick folds before gently sucking on your clit.
The sensation is so intense that you're forced to muffle your sounds with one hand, not wanting to wake poor Rafe, while the other finds its way into his mohawk, gripping tight.
Fuck, he's too skilled, way too skilled, as he licks you open, savoring you like a fine meal and groaning in appreciation.
The vibrations against your core drive you to grind against his face, and he wraps his arms around your buttocks, pulling you in closer to devour you.
You want more of everything: more licks, more sucks, more moans escaping from your lips despite trying to keep them quiet.
One of his hands joins in, and he gently lifts your clitoral hood to latch back onto that sensitive nub.
His tongue dances across it, tracing patterns that blur together in a haze of pleasure.
Then, he goes all in, swirling his tongue in the way that always drives you wild, making your legs tremble.
As the pressure builds inside you, you hold your breath and feel like you might explode.
Your body tries to push him away from the intensity of it all but he knows how to keep you still and secure until the pleasure becomes too overwhelming and stars burst behind your closed eyes.
Even with your hand covering your mouth, the intensity of your orgasm cannot be silenced.
Breathing heavily, you try to come back to reality and regulate your breathing.
Sean is still between your thighs, placing gentle kisses on your skin as he gives you time to recover.
Then, you feel a smile form against your skin.
As you slowly blink your eyes open, you turn your face to the side, curiosity getting the better of you.
That's when you see Rafe, who's apparently been awake for a few minutes already.
He's gazing at you two with a mix of adoration and lust, his hand lazily stroking his hardened dick as he takes in the scene.
"You two are breathtaking," he says, his voice low and husky. "I'm not even mad about waking up to this. Mind if I join in?"
He flashes you both a boyish grin, and you can't help but smile back at him.
Rolling over, you press a kiss to his lips.
"Good morning, baby. I'm sorry we woke you up."
Rafe returns the kiss before gently booping your nose. "Never apologize for something like this," he says with a chuckle. "I love seeing you come."
Just then, you yelp as Sean pulls you back by the hips, and you look up to see him exchange a soft good morning kiss with Rafe.
As he gets back behind you and in postion, he slaps your ass and suggests, "Maybe you can help Rafe out after waking him up with that earth-shattering orgasm of yours?"
You're pulled back so far that your face is hovering over Rafe's proud erection.
Your mouth waters at the sight of it, and you glance up at Rafe before starting to tease him with kitten licks across his length.
Rafe lets out a satisfied sigh as his head falls back onto the pillow.
He gently strokes your hair away from your face as Sean nudges against your entrance from behind.
With ease, he slowly enters you - no resistance necessary since you are soaking wet.
Both of you let out moans in unison as Sean stretches you out.
It doesn't take long for him to grip your hips tightly, pulling back before thrusting into you with a steady rhythm.
Your eyes close in bliss as you murmur soft praises, lost in the sensation.
Finally, you press a kiss to Rafe's tip, your tongue gently swirling around him.
You lick up the vein that connects his foreskin, savoring the taste and texture. Then, you slowly take him in, sucking and spoiling him with the flat of your tongue.
With each hard thrust from Sean, a moan escapes from your lips while you continue to pleasure Rafe.
The vibrations of your voice cause him to grip your hair tighter, his fingers tangling in your locks as he holds you in place.
You love them, you love them so much that you take Rafe in as deep as you can, gazing up at him through your lashes as tears well up in your eyes.
The sensation is almost too much to bear as his head reaches the back of your throat.
Just as you are lost in the moment, an arm wraps around your chest and pulls you away from Rafe.
He opens his eyes, wincing at the cool air hitting his sensitive skin.
Sean pulls you close against his chest, thrusting into you with increased urgency. He brushes a sweet kiss against your shoulder before meeting Rafe's gaze.
"Sorry love, I'll give her back in a second," Sean whispers hastily.
As he speaks, he nibbles gently on your neck, driving himself deeper until he spills into you.
His rough groan is muffled, but the sound still sends shivers down your spine.
Then falls back onto his folded legs, holding you tight as he rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm.
You feel safe and secure in his strong arms, adorned with tattoos. He showers your shoulder and back with kisses as he holds you close.
Hearing the sheets rustle, you look up at Rafe who takes you out of Sean's lap.
"Hey Buttercup," he grins sweetly, spinning around to place you gently on the bed.
He guides your legs up against your shoulders before now slipping into you as well.
A sharp exhale escapes your lips as he stretches you further in this position, but it also feels incredible.
Your head falls back as he hits all the right spots, starting off slowly before picking up speed and chasing his own pleasure - but holds back until you once again come, quivering with bliss beneath him.
In the end, you are completely spent, sandwiched between your two partners who lazily kiss and caress your body, lulling you back into a deep and comfortable sleep.
