Hey queen get better soon 🌟🌟🌟
Since your requests are open, some Sam fluff with just one bed trope pleeeeasee 🤭
Abso-flipping-lutely, babycakes.
I got another anon asking for this, so I hope they find it. I'm sooo sleep deprived, thus might revisit and jazz this up at a later date, but until then, here's one of many takes of the one bed trope <3
Masterlist
One Bed
Sam Drake x Reader {Fluff Req.}
Words: 4k approx | Warnings: Blood mention, weapons mention
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭
"Got that stupid coin of yours?"
You watch Sam cock his head at you in confusion whilst you perch on the dresser inside your newly-appointed motel room.
Sam ferrets around his duffel with a frown as he pulls out the time-worn coin he may as well attach to himself surgically at this point.
"Give."
"What are you doing?"
You ignore him, flexing your hand in his direction to encourage him into throwing it over. His brows furrow harder as a curious smile appears on his lips. Intrigued, He tosses you the coin, and you instantly conceal it in your hands.
"Heads or tails?"
"Uh...heads?" Sam shakes his own, not one to rope himself into something without any prior knowledge. "Hold on. What are we bettin’ on here?"
You flip the coin rather ungracefully, swivelling to catch it to avoid dropping it on the floor.
"Who gets the bed." You cover the coin post-flip, ready to reveal the winner. "And tails always wi..."
You trail off and stare at your palm in silence. Heads. Sam approaches and looks over your shoulder, patting you in commiseration.
"That backfired, huh?" He chuckles, snatching back his coin as he smirks at your defeat.
"Hmm." You retort, a sarcastic smile on your face as you trudge over to the bed and pick up a pillow with a sigh.
"What are you-" he puts his hand out in confusion, watching as you walk away from the bed and over to the bathroom door. “Where are you going with that pillow?"
"Bathtub. I'm sure as hell not sleeping on the floor and listening to you snore."
"The bath- just share the bed! We're adults, aren't we?" Sam lets out a bemused laugh. "And- you know full well- I don't snore."
You raise an accusatory brow, tucking the pillow under your arm. Sam shakes his head, throwing his arms up in the air as he walks over to where he’d kicked off his boots.
"I am an adult. Which is exactly why I refuse to share."
"Fine! I will go back to the grumpy old bastard at reception, and ask for a spare room."
You sigh. "Like you, I lack the energy to argue. If letting you have your own bed is what it'll take for you to remove whatever stick has been so uncomfortably jammed up your ass over the past few hours, I'm happy to leave it at that."
He grumbles, stepping back into his boots, too tired to do up the laces. "No- nope. You take it. I am nothing if not a gentleman. Besides, I don't want to hear you complaining for days about a stiff neck, or whatever other little princess injury you'd end up givin' yourself."
He puts the strap of his holdall back over his shoulder with a tired huff, approaching the door, hand resting on the handle. Before he turns it, he speaks once more.
“Anyways, I’ll have you know that I’ve shared a bed with many, many people," he chuckles, more so to himself than to you. "Not a single one of ‘em ever complained about snoring. Or... complained about anything, come to think of it." Sam smirks.
You scoff and roll your eyes at his need to make things crass, putting your hands together as if in prayer.
“Please, tell me more about what you and your dick get up to in your spare time. It’s fascinating.”
“Alright, alright.” He chuckles, opening the door. “Gotta admit, though,” He continues, looking behind him into the corridor before turning back to you with slightly narrowed eyes. “I really thought we had something good going here, sweetheart. I'm a little hurt you're so against a cozy one-night... cuddle.”
You grin into the pillow as you raise an inquisitive brow. “Oh yeah? Cuddle?” You laugh.
Sam simply looks at you with a smile, practically begging to be goaded further. You clear your throat and straighten your posture, as if you're assuming an act. “Tell me more.” You eventually say, voice muffled as you play along.
You’ve always been a fan of Sam’s… suggestive nature. And he’s always admired your ability to take it on the chin. You two are a match made in heaven.
Or is it more… platonic purgatory?
“Pfft. Of course.” He chuckles, folding his arms with his back leaned up against the door frame. He clears his throat too, putting his hand on his chin in thought. “All those passing glances when we were stuck in that forest…”
You lower the pillow, grin deepening. “Hmm. You must mean my turning to make sure you’ve managed to catch up with me?”
He raises a brow towards you, tongue toying with his teeth. Calculating. “…that sighing you keep doin’ around me...” He looks up to the ceiling in mock thought as you cut in again.
“A sign of my ever-dwindling patience?”
He swats his hand in the air, as if to keep you hushed. “This little back ’n’ forth bickering thing we’ve got goin’.” He clicks his tongue. “Gotta say, it’s a shame you're passin' up such an opportunity as this.” He gestures behind you, over to the bed.
You laugh, nodding. “Hmm. I guess sharing that bed could have us really getting to know each other.”
He gives you a teasing smirk, the mischievous glint in his eyes making your cheeks heat up- something you’ve been unable to help since your first job together. Luckily for the sake of your dignity, the pillow serves as a perfect shield.
Sam pouts, mimicking a kiss. Funny how almost dying leads you to revert back to childish conversation.
“Get out.” You laugh, throwing the pillow at him which he swerves just about as you swivel for the bathroom.
“Alright. I'm goin'. Enjoy your cold, lonely bed.”
“I will!” You chirp from behind the bathroom door, grabbing a towel from the folded pile beside the sink and hanging it beside the shower.
You hear the door close and turn on the shower, giving it a moment to warm up as you take off your mud and sweat-saturated clothes, unable to wipe the smile off of your face.
A fierce sting shoots through your upper leg as you peel off your cargos- upon closer inspection, you notice a tear in the fabric at your outer thigh. And thus, the smile is gone.
You kick them off, and ogle at the long gash along your skin- a sore reminder of the run-in with some somewhat feral bandits you and Sam had dealt with mere hours ago. The blood seems to have dried, effectively sealing the wound, but that’s not to say it doesn’t bite like a bitch.
You’d been wrestled to the ground by a member of the group that had the pair of you under attack, the gentleman in question had a knife in his hand, and your gun had long-been out of ammo. If it wasn’t for Sam’s boot swiftly connecting with your assailant's head, a lengthy cut on the thigh would’ve been the least of your problems.
For anyone else, this event alone would be enough to persuade one to partake in several therapy sessions. But, as is tradition with you two, a quick once-over for lethal injuries and a shaky joke about your uncharacteristic lack of finesse is all it took for to divert you back to the task in hand.
Ultimately, though, Sam did save your life today. You can’t help but think that maybe you should be the one finding somewhere else to sleep.
Or you should’ve just been an adult and let him share.
Shrugging off the soreness of your leg, and the guilt of letting Sam take responsibility for the single bed mishap, you step into the shower, using the entirety of the hotel’s adorably tiny tube of shower gel to scrub away evidence of the day’s toil.
Finished, you wrap yourself in your towel, brushing your teeth twice over before you hear the door open and close.
You cautiously open the door, peeking through the gap to see Sam lounging on the bed, chewing some sort of granola bar whilst he channel surfs through a series of programs that he has no actual interest in. You adjust your posture, relieved, but equally miffed that all you’ve got covering you is a towel- your bag on the other side of the room.
“Yay, he’s back!” You chirp through clenched teeth, hastily scampering over to your backpack which Sam has oh-so-conveniently placed himself right next to.
“No more rooms.” He shrugs, taking another bite as he continues to stare mindlessly at the TV, before taking a pause to inspect the bar’s packaging. “Decent vending machine, though.”
“Just when I thought there was no silver lining.” You smile sarcastically, hurriedly rifling through your bag for the cleanest t-shirt and pair of shorts you can find.
You finally catch his eye and an irksome wolf-whistle accompanies a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. You know it's a harmless joke, but you're growing increasingly more exhausted and, fuck, your leg is really stinging.
“Don't be a pest.”
“What? Hardly leaves much to the imagination.” He smirks to himself, looking back to the TV screen.
You frown, self-consciously tightening your hold on the towel wrapped around you. It’s extremely rare that Sam crosses the boundary between harmless flirtation and being straight up weird.
Unfortunately, the latter is swiftly making an appearance due to the rapid progression of your irritability caused by the pain in your leg.
He clears his throat as he clocks your sudden aversion to the conversation, and you direct your stare back to your bag. Slight unease fills the gap between the foreign TV show crackling in the background and the silence between you both.
"I'm..." He starts quietly, his hand cautiously rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away from you coyly. He sniffs. Anything to fill the silence. Anything to avoid an apology.
You press your hand on your thigh to push yourself back upright, ready to make a dash back to the bathroom to pull yourself together and get dressed. Unfortunately, the desired getaway is trampled on as you stand; you grunt suddenly as you accidentally apply pressure to the gash on your thigh, agitating it, and splitting it enough for it to start bleeding again. Almost instantly a small crimson patch becomes visible on the outside of your towel, and you hiss in annoyance, unwittingly attracting Sam’s attention.
"You good?” He asks almost awkwardly.
"Uh-" you bundle your clothes together, bunching them up around your upper thigh, turning away from Sam to dig your shorts out of your bag all whilst shielding your reddened cheeks from his eye line. "Yep. All good."
He adjusts his posture, swivelling his legs off of the bed as he sits up and narrows his eyes at you. “I smell bullshit here, sweetheart. What are you hiding?”
You screw your face up a little, debating whether to tell him or not, cheeks warming even more due to your flustered nature and the sudden protective softness of his tone… yay. Insult, meet injury.
You eventually grumble in defeat, knuckles tightening more around the twist in the towel by your chest as you return to the bathroom, angling the door for the sake of modesty. “You're not gonna leave this alone are you?" Your voice is muffled by your t-shirt as you shimmy out of the towel and slide it over your head. You step into your shorts with another wince as the fabric grazes the wound.
"Nope." He pops the ‘P’, arms folded as he stands, crumpling the wrapper of the granola bar thing in his hand as he chews on the last bite.
You sigh, slowly stepping back out of the bathroom, the material pulled aside to reveal the long, but fortunately not perilously deep nick, decorating your upper leg with a steadily dribbling stream of blood. Sam’s brows raise, and he freezes mid-chew, giving you an almost chastising glare which makes you instantly jump on the defence.
"Don't- look- It's fine. I'm fine."
“Bleeding pretty damn bad to be ‘fine’, if you ask me.” He swallows, as you scramble through your kit for first aid supplies. “When did that happen?"
You sigh, hating the fuss. "When do you think it happened?" You say, finding the small box of medical supplies stuffed amongst the rest of your belongings and quickly taking a seat on the end of the bed. You take out the things you need, saturating a cotton pad with a cleansing solution as you feel that horrible tension once more.
Sam double takes at you as he walks past you to dispose of his wrapper. "Oh, right. The guy with the knife that 'didn't touch you'?"
"I'm a good liar, Samuel, what can I say- ow!" You hiss as you dab cleansing solution over the wound.
Your hands tremble.
There’s always been something about fixing your own wounds that’s much more of a challenge than managing someone else’s.
"Well… at least now, you can feel less guilty about giving him a severe concussion."
He shrugs as he rinses off his hands in the bathroom sink before walking back over to you.
You try again, cheeks practically burning by now as you feel Sam’s scrutinising gaze fall over you. You daren’t look up- you presume his eyes are either going to be riddled with judgement or some sort of patronising sympathy- neither an option you care for. You hold your breath, dabbing the saturated cotton wool back against the worst part of the gash, but you grunt just a little too uncomfortably for Sam to stay silent for much longer.
“Alright- give me that.” He steps towards you, extending a hand to the first aid kit, which you let him take with a huff.
Sam kneels in front of you, carefully bracing a hand on your thigh whilst the other takes the cotton wool out of your shaky hand. He begins using the clean side to prevent a dribble of blood from hitting the sheets beneath you whilst he inspects the injury.
"It's only a flesh wound...so…" He says, almost as if he’s reassuring himself about something. You wait curiously as he gets out the remainder of your anti-bacterial solution and some more cotton wool from the small first aid kit, leaving the dirty cotton pad on the floor.
The end of his sentence never comes.
The sudden cold sting as he gently dabs at the sore gash on your thigh sends your hands instinctively grabbing at Sam’s forearm with another hiss, causing him to look at you with concern. There’s something else underlying the concern though. Not quite anger, but… he’s definitely vexed.
Sam's fingers are gentle, and you can't help but appreciate the care he’s taking, even if there seems to be a slight discomfort to the silence. He wraps some gauze over the wound before unravelling the last of the roll of bandage, hesitating for a moment.
He stays silent, and you frown as you watch a series of undecipherable expressions fall over him as he stares at your thigh, almost as if he’s daydreaming.
“Hey.” You gently nudge his chest with your knee, tilting your head down to bring him back to earth as he fiddles with the bandage. “What’s… going on up here?” You cautiously smile, tapping the spot between his eyebrows.
Sam’s eyes finally meet yours, and you feel your stomach drop a little as his stern expression doesn’t fade remotely.
He takes you in, eyes grazing over every part of your face; eyes, nose, cheeks, lips.
Then, with a speck of what you can only decipher as shame in his eyes, his stare snaps back to your leg.
"I…could’a lost you today."
His voice is low and sincere. So much so that it makes it hard for you to look at him. Serious moments between the two of you are few and far between- you’ve never really learned how to navigate them.
“It’s…just my leg. I’m okay.” You reply quietly, trying to keep the soft smile on your face.
“Could’ve been your throat.” He says, brows still knitted together, eyes flitting down to the bandage in his hands. “Should’ve got to you sooner.”
You frown.
“Why do you think I’m so incapable of holding my own?” You ask, almost taken aback by his sudden shift in tone, your fists grabbing the sheets in an attempt to alleviate the sharp sting from your wound still.
“What?” He scoffs, still concentrating on your leg as he begins to wrap the bandage over your skin. “I don’t think you’re incapable?”
“So why say that?” You ask, curiosity lilting your words.
His eyes are sympathetic for a moment, before they reinstate themselves with a hint of determination. "I think you’re more capable than me most days, ya know. Lift.” He instructs you to raise your leg so he can bring the bandage underneath, but his comment is far from lost by you. He stops speaking again, but it’s clear there’s something he wants to say.
“You don’t need to keep things from me.” you say, and Sam does a little huff to himself as he continues securing the bandage. Not good enough.
“Sam,” You urge, resting your hands on the sides of his face, forcing him to give you every ounce of his attention as you tilt him up to you. “You’re acting off all of a sudden. Talk to me.”
He’s hard to read for a moment, before he sighs and almost leans into your hands.
“With each run-in we’ve had over the past… two- three years, I feel like I’m becoming more and more scared about you-”
You let go of him, leaning back slightly. “So I am incapable.”
“Jesus- no! Let me speak.” He retorts, tightening the knot on the bandage before tucking it away. You sigh and shift back, pulling yourself fully onto the bed and patting the spot beside you to beckon him to sit too.
He stands, moving the first aid kit onto the floor before sitting, almost reluctantly, beside you on the bed.
Sam lays his head back against the headboard, folding his arms over his chest as he takes a moment to deduce his thoughts. “I’m already on thin ice here. I’m trying not to come across as some kinda-”
“Oh my god, spit it out.” You push, turning onto your side to look at him fully as he stares up to the ceiling, laughing a little at your sudden, but warranted impatience.
“I want to work with you. All the damn time. That’s pretty obvious, right?” He finally turns his head down to you, and you narrow your eyes slightly as you await whatever he’s about to say next. “Every time you get… hurt. No matter how stupid the injury, I can’t help but feel like it’s my fault. Like it’s my responsibility to…fuck, I don’t know.”
He gnaws at his lower lip, eyes suddenly struggling to stay in line with your own.
"I've... I've never felt- never had this... intrinsic need to be so protective over somebody, and I- ” Sam admits, his voice low and with an unsteadiness that makes your arm hairs stand on end. “Look. I know I make it difficult to know where we stand, sometimes. You n’me. I step over the line. N'I don't like making you feel... uncomfortable- inadequate, whatever-”
You stare at your bandaged leg, momentarily lost for words.
"Just- I don't know. Watching that guy on top'a you? The fear I felt-"
It’s fair to say that his… vulnerability strikes a chord deep within you- and you’re both acutely aware of the ever-festering bond the two of you have. Friendship scales tipped just off centre.
“I care about you.”
Suddenly, they’re erring on losing balance entirely.
You prop yourself up a little more. “Yeah, I know you do-”
“No- I- I really care."
He stares at his hands, eyes narrowed, almost as if he’s afraid to look in your direction.
You want to respond. To tell him that you understand, but the words don't come. The few seconds of silence feel like hours. It’s so thick you think you’re going to choke.
Sam clears his throat, poorly trying to mask his discomfort. "I'm gonna... take a shower. Need to clear my head." He stands up abruptly, almost knocking over the first aid kit in his haste.
You nod, giving him space. "Okay," you whisper, watching as he disappears into the bathroom. The muffled sound of running water fills the room, and you lie back, staring at the ceiling.
The day's events replay in your mind, mingling with Sam's emotional fluctuations. It feels like a weird turning point, a moment where a bunch of things are hanging in the balance- ready to do a 180° turn any moment. They just need a catalyst.
As the minutes tick by, exhaustion starts to creep in, mellowing the nervous pinch in your stomach. You close your eyes, letting the steady hum of the shower lull you into a light sleep. When you hear the bathroom door open again, you stir, blinking sleepily as Sam re-enters the room, steam billowing out from behind him.
He glances at you briefly before making his way to the bed, his movements cautious, almost hesitant.
He looks at you, a soft expression on his face as he stops towel-drying his hair, his free hand fiddling with the drawstring of his shorts.
"You sleepin’?”
"Not quite."
"Good," he says, grabbing the free pillow and tossing it to the ground, resting his damp towel flat beside it.. "Didn’t want to wake you."
“You- you’re not sleeping on the floor.”
“Yeah, well the tub’s too small so-”
“Sam.” You say, a tired rasp dulling down the sternness.
Sam pauses, his eyes flickering between your body and the floor, the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains softly illuminating his conflicted expression.
He’s rarely ever this hesitant. Usually, he’s full of confidence, even arrogance at times, but now… now he seems almost timid.
“Y’sure?” he asks quietly, the question barely more than a whisper.
You nod, patting the empty space beside you.
With a deep breath, he finally relents, sitting down on the edge with a cautiousness that makes your heart ache a little.
You watch as he carefully gets into bed, staying on top of the blankets and purposefully facing away from you. The distance feels unnecessary, almost painful. So you reach out, your fingers brushing against his upper arm.
“Hey.”
He turns slightly, looking over his shoulder at you. "Yeah?"
"I get it."
You don’t say anything else- you just shift closer, pressing a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. It’s a simple gesture, but it conveys everything you’re feeling. I care about you, too.
His skin is warm and smells faintly of soap, and you nuzzle your face into his upper back, only hoping he feels the same comfort that you do.
He tenses- just for a split second before he exhales, body relaxing.
Neither of you speak; You tuck your face deeper into his back, letting the rhythm of his breathing lull you further away from the day.
As you fall asleep, with a gentle yet deliberate motion, Sam finds your hand, his fingers threading through yours. He brings your arm around his waist, holding your hand tightly against his chest.
His thumb softly strokes the back of your hand, a soothing, repetitive motion that makes your heart swell.
"Thank you."
He shifts slightly, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your sore knuckles.
Any more words can wait ‘til morning.
